#especially in arenas that were more male-dominated

[spoonerisrns]

I know this might not be a huge thing, but I love that nearly all the commentators seem to be women??? Realizing I've NEVER seen so many female sports commentators before, and so many different kinds of presentation among them? I've often seen One Pretty Cis Het Woman on a panel of cis het dudes. This is hella refreshing.

[ilovejeongintoo]

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕠 𝕎𝕚𝕟

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy, Gladiator/Minotaur? Jongho x Reader, Warnings: murder, deaths, time accurate sexism, strength kink, touch-starved Jongho, size kink, pet names (Nymph, Doc), no condom(wrap it up), praise Wordcount: 3145 Not proofread

I need red haired Jongho back, desperately. Why did I spend more research on ancient roman practices than this story, I'm crying.

Summary: As a female physician in ancient Rome you're in charge of minor duties, getting a call to the gladiator arena wasn't what you expected, especially with the first ranked one requiring a little more than some of your gauze and bandages.

You absolutely hated this part of the job. Being a physician was great and all but the comments from men never ceased to exist. And you were always made to look like an assistant, making countless people die of things that you were sure were treatable, the male physicians always dismissed any ideas you had, no matter how much proof you gave them.

You got the message today that they would need you at the local gladiator arena, that place shouldn't even exist in your opinion, but that would get you to get called a lunatic. As if being a woman in a male dominated field wasn't bad enough.

Usually, they called you to have you confirm that they were dead, you were usually the bringer of bad news and made sure that the important items on the person were returned to the family. Either to be kept or to be buried later in the day with the body.

That was the only positive things about that gruesome place. It reeked of death; the high, white colosseum walls far more intimidating than your little healing hut.

The guards led you through the open walkways getting you into the room with the dead bodies, you grimaced at the sight slightly. This job really didn't get any easier through the years.

"You better make this quick, we want you to look at a few people that are worth more than that pile over there." The other guard laughed. These were people once too.

"Every day, I wonder how they let a woman do a job like this." They weren't saying this out of concern, not to protect your eyes from this view but to mock you from being the gender you were.

"I'll make it as fast as I can." You did mean it, you wanted to get this over with and leave this place.

"You women should just stay and look after the kids, you're not suited for this kind of work." God if you could, you'd punch his face for even uttering a single word to you. The way their gazes ran over your body, undressing you, it made you feel absolutely repulsed. Men, men like this disgusted you to no end, they deserved the pain that Thanatos would give them when they inevitably perish.

They quickly left you, not too keen on watching touching and examining the corpses. You gently cleaned them off, blood grime and sweat stuck to them even after death. They bodies were hard to move around to get to dirty areas because rigor mortis had them laying in the same position after a while. You closed open wounds so they wouldn't leak as much anymore, so that they at the very least didn't sully the burial clothing.

As the very last step you put them on a blanket and covered their naked bodies with a blanket, ready to be taken to the burial grounds outside of the city.

You took your dirty rags and ceramic bowl with you and the rest of your medical equipment. This was the only thing that healers would allow you to do alone. So, you would at least complete these mundane task to the fullest.

You headed back up to the more residential hospital room, here were some guards and gladiators that survived their fights but weren't supported enough to get their own rooms. Just minor injuries and cuts, making you have to cauterize some wounds and treating some with lint, animal grease, and honey. Depending on how deep and bad they looked.

All this work exhausted you to no end but after a few hours everyone was put to bed for rest or were sent off home. Just as you were about to leave yourself another guard walked up to you before you had the chance to go.

"There's still someone you need to take a look at." He started walking down another way, making you follow him, your white tunica being swooshed around. The hallway seemed to drag on for forever until you were stopped in front of a big set of wooden doors.

"This is as far as I'm going to take you, he tends to… get a little aggressive with us guards." He added that he was the number one gladiator right now, so he was basically a celebrity and that you should treat him as such. You pushed the doors open with a short glance back to the lone guard, he was looking at you almost with a sympathetic face, as if he was in pain. Hopefully he wasn't the violent type, you could deal with an aggressive patient, but you weren't built to fight a professional killer.

The first thing you were greeted by was a big room, with lots of dimmed lights, giving it a warm orangish tone in the bedroom. There was a big bed in the middle of the room, it looked as if it could hold at least 4 people.

There were lit candles and torches all around that emitted the warm glow. The next thing you noticed was the hulking figure in the far end of the room, situated in front of a lit fireplace. They must have not noticed you yet because they didn't turn around at all. The door clicked close, that’s when the person turned their head to the side calling out to you.

"I told everyone, that I didn't want to be bothered." Usually you would leave at that, but there must be a reason why they needed to have a healer look at him, so you wouldn't leave until you did just that.

He didn't sound angry, only exasperated that something like this was happening. You moved forward slightly, clutching your things to your body, nervous because you weren't normally in charge of patients of such high profile.

You didn't look at him, out of respect trying to organize your things on a small table to the side of the meridienne that he was sat on. You only saw his outfit for a moment, barely enough to take in the leather pants and boots, a white shirt accompanying it.

"Didn't you hear what I said, do not bother me." You didn't respond, not too sure if you saying you were going to stay regardless or staying quiet would make him more irritated.

He didn't seem to keen on your lack of a response even though he didn't lash out at you. You were done setting everything up and kept kneeling next to him, now finally speaking.

"I was sent here to take care of any wounds tha-."

"I don't need that"

You lifted your head at the rude interruption, quickly getting stunned by the sight of the man.

Fiery dark red hair and a… surprisingly soft face, he looked young barely older than you. Dark eyebrows and eyes that perfectly matched the rest of his face. He didn't look like a gladiator at all. You've been to countless of fights before as a child, too curious to understand the brutality. And all of them were muscly big dark men, they looked like they would fight anyone and anything.

This man looked nothing of the sort. While there was a good amount of muscle on him, judging by the muscles in his arms and thighs, it was like something from a roman statue. One you'd see at the local temples, worshipped for its beauty and perfection. You wouldn't mind doing exactly that.

What?

No, you were here to help, nothing more, no matter how good looking he was. He was dangerous, he is dangerous.

-do something specific doc?"

What? You looked at his eyes. Not properly hearing him.

"I said, do you need me to do something specific doc?" Oh, right, treatment.

"Any pain anywhere? Or any injuries that you sustained; I'd like to take a look at them." He sighed not really wanting to, but seemingly just wanting to get this over with.

"Just a few cuts, on my arms and back."

"Mhm" He wasn't being transparent with you, so you'd just have to take a look now.

You were waiting for him to take his shirt off, but he didn't move a single inch. You didn't know what man-pride was stopping him from just showing you. Hah, this was going to be an even longer day now. "Just take your top off and I'll see if anything needs further treatment, if you don't let me take a look, you'll get an infection and die." You were talking to him like you were scolding a child, patience wearing thin very quickly.

His shirt was off the very next second and you had to hold back a gasp at all the scars littering his skin. It looked pretty, hard work evident in the scar tissue. Evidence of his survival. You took your jug of saltwater stopping just before pouring over a few open wounds. Warning him about the pain that was going to be coming in a few seconds, he just nodded. No flinch, no whimper, no groan absolutely nothing came out of him.

You knew just how much that hurt, like a burning fire the skin would similarily turn a little red. You quickly moved on to put a small amount of herbal paste on the few cuts along his chest impressed by his anatomy again. Hard to the touch but pliable. You tried to be as gentle as possible, as a last step you brought out some honey using it to form a barrier to the wound and disinfecting it again.

Before wrapping him up you caught sight of something on his shoulder, or back? You couldn't quite see from your position in front of him. You reached for his shoulder and then he turned away, glaring at you now.

"That one's fine." Anyone in s 5 mile radius could tell he was full of bullshit right now."

"No it's not and I'm not gonna let you fucking die from a cut that's easily treatable. So turn around or I will sedate you and do it while you're asleep." Welp, now you did it. Now there was no way that he wouldn't get angry, that must have been his last straw.

Your mouth was closed shut tightly in realization of what you had said. Praying to the gods above to help you out of this mess right now.

He was oddly quiet, that made you look at him. He stared at you, up, down, and then turned around. Without any words. You'd rather not mess with his graciousness again, so you also stayed silent throughout the process of caring for his gash, that was a lot bigger than expected. It would most definitely scar but he wouldn't die from a nasty infection at the very least.

When you were done you put some gauze around it, the other smaller wounds had pieces of fabric on them. You let your hands linger a little on his back muscles not wanting to finish out of nervousness of what he would say next and another part of you because you would be able to continue tracing along his body.

That thought in your mind made you stop, today was not your day. You were usually very professional about all your patients. But something about this man pulled you in. Maybe it was the endless scars that ran across his figure or the rough hand that had calluses from hard work, or the dark eyes that were now trained on you.

Dark eyes that were now trained on you.

You hurried a little out of your half kneeling form, not even noticing how one of your legs was on the sofa, knee buried in the soft cushioning.

You were stepping away a little when his hand shot out to grab your wrist.

"You know I don’t hurt women, I have honor as a warrior, as a man." He caressed your hands a little, looking at them, admiring them as if he wanted to figure out how your hands performed the magic of healing his wounds.

Your heart skipped a little at the contact. "I know." You did, he wasn't the type to do such a thing, not with a touch that soft.

"Say doctor, you would help me from all ailments, isn't that right?" He questioned.

"Of course." Had you missed a spot?

He looked up at you, pulling you into him, his chin resting on your stomach as your hands carefully landed on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, warming you and caging you against him. He was breathing you in for a few moments, seeming to enjoy the comfort of your closeness.

You couldn't imagine how long he must have been without human touch that wasn't violent or deadly. Someone to hold, to search comfort in.

If he needed that, you'd provide, after all you're a doctor and you just hate leaving your patients untreated.

Your hands wandered up his hair pulling his head back and leaning down and clasping your lips together. Climbing on top of him. You could tell hom much he missed this, messy kisses turning rushed and touches exploring every curve of your body. He tugged at a few stings attaching the flowy fabric of your tunic drop with the help of gravity. His hands finding their place on your waist. And yours making quick work of his pants.

"I missed this so much, you're so pretty, so good to me." You could honestly come from his words alone, your explorative touches from before had you thinking a little dirty before, now this was really happening.

"A true goddess sent down to heal me." His kisses just kept going. "Praise Venus for making you so desirable."

You'd never heard words like this from a man, only familiar with the degrading voice of men. He hiked you up slightly, easily lifting you. Getting you closer, your bodies touching in all places.

Your loincloth and breast covering were the next things to go, he was attaching himself immediately to suck onto your exposed boobs. Taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking, and letting go, looking up at you in pure mesmerism dripping from his orbs.

One hand moved down the curve of your back, over your butt and massaged your pussy. Massaging a few fingers over the sensitive slit.

"Jongho, my name, please, call for me." He paused each time, barely getting the words out over him working you up to your peak.

Your noises were unbelievably loud, you would have been embarrassed but you were too much in the moment to care. Moans and groans coming out of you without an ounce of control, Jongho stimulating you so well that you were praying that no gods above were watching this act between you two.

You were barely keeping yourself steadied, your arms slowly giving out. Jongho seemed to notice and flipped you onto the headrest of the couch, having placed himself between your legs. His fingers were now thrusting into you, you hadn't even notice him pumping them in until you really took a look. His big fingers took up so much space inside you, feeling like the biggest dick that you've had before.

He was still looking at you in that concentrated stare, fully intent on having you cum on his fingers. Which he did, only a moment later. Your teeth clenching muffling the loud moan that threatened to escape out of you. Your legs shaking and clamping against his hand, which was stimulating your clit in slow circles now.

It took you a few seconds to get back to earth and you noticed yourself being turned around, your knees propped up a little, stomach over the headrest now. Comfortable after tingles pouring through your nerves, leaving you sensitive.

You felt your entrance being touched with something wet, round, and big. You knew what it was, pushing slightly back to get him in you. You would be damned if you didn't get his cock in you today. Your prayers were answered at a moment’s notice, in the form of a stretching feeling, it burned a little despite the extensive amount of prep. You felt so full when you hear him mutter a little.

"Just a little more, you can take me." He wasn't even fully in and you felt like he was poking at your organs from the inside, brushing onto all the spots in you.

When he bottomed out you truly felt like you were being pushed to your limits, never having felt like this before.

He touched your stomach, pushing in slightly in amazement that you took him, praises falling from his lips, healing away the burn. When he started moving it felt like your insides were being pulled out, dragging long unfiltered moans out of you. Each thrust had him smacking a little harder against your ass, the skin-on-skin noises becoming almost as loud as you. He groaned and moaned when you clenched down especially hard.

"I could live like this, every day have you here spread on my cock. You'd like that wouldn't you little Nymph?" You fit him like a goddamn glove, he couldn’t even remember how sex felt like before this. Before this heavenly sensation.

"Just look at you." He pressed your back down a little, curving it slightly. And angled his thrusts, hitting even harder, knocking your breath out of you on occasion, not quite catching up on the pleasure and your breath.

You reached your hand back, calling his name, needing something to ground you and he obeyed, grabbing onto yours holding on. When his thrusts grew sloppier more desperate you knew he was close and you were too, screaming his name at the top of your lungs you came a second time.

He spilled himself into you at that, liquid filling you up just as much as his cock did. He carefully pulled out, grabbing a blanket that had been thrown down onto the ground and throwing it over you.

You must absolutely look like a mess but he leans down to press a kiss to your lips connecting you two for a few seconds, stopping himself to not have you cumming and bent over in the next few minutes again, as much as he enjoyed to do that. He pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his sweaty chest.

"Let's sleep or you're gonna be the death of me little Nymph." He kissed your head.

That made you remember, his wounds, making you sit up in his arms and checking him over.

"Jongho! you're bleeding."

He grumbled. Not bothered in the slightest. He pulled you down again, keeping you secured along his body. Not letting you leave his embrace and acess the damage properly.

"You can check on those anytime from now on, don't worry."

[tani-b-art]

The Venus/Serena/Beyoncé Impact.

Sports fans champion dominant players but not when those dominant players are Black women.

A’ja is experiencing the VSB impact for the first time in her young career and more than likely (and absolutely unfortunately) will probably face this several more times in her career. Because the fact that anyone this 2024 season has even inserted any other WNBA player into MVP talks with A’ja is downright ridiculous. Unjustified. This woman has dominated the entire first half of the season by miles and is doing the same the second half yet some people are still talking about it shouldn’t be unanimous?! With anyone else doing what she’s done all season…there would be no doubt whatsoever.

It’s the Venus/Serena/Beyoncé impact —where Black women are punished for their dominance and excellence. The last Grammy voters said that Beyoncé always wins or has already won several and that was their decision to not cast their vote to her for AOTY. Just watched the series “In The Arena: Serena Williams” and there was one episode (above clip) where they spoke on Venus & Serena’s reign for grand slam finals matchups and some of their peers and some tennis spectators were literally saying they were “bored” of them — that they didn’t want to see the same duo anymore in finals appearances. Simone Biles faces this too.

I don’t know if there’s an actual term for this type of reverse empowerment but it always happens.

Penalized for greatness — which is wild because isn’t that what sports (especially) and entertainment is about?! To be the best and the best is what is praised & hyped and awarded? Or don’t be a Black woman and be the best and dominate. [And I’ll go a step further and say when certain Black women are the best because there can also be two Black women (or a Black woman & a woman of color) going head-to-head and one gets favored over the next by way of respectability politics, colorism, featurism etc.]

We’d never hear this said against The Manning brothers if they had ever faced one another in the Super Bowl multiple, consecutive times. We don’t hear this said towards athletes who aren’t Black. Because they prefer they be the ones dominating. And we definitely don’t hear this said towards female athletes who aren’t Black. We never say this about any male athletes. Jordan never heard “he’s dominating too much” and we absolutely never heard this said about Tom Brady.

The curse of Black women athletes dominating. When misogyny and sports mix. Misogynoir.

With A’ja getting that 4th place vote last season, that ignited a fire in her. And not that she had to prove herself to anyone to disprove that 4th place vote but this season has been her simply outshining herself and wanting to be a better player by always improving her game. That’s the purpose of an athlete—being better than your last season self. This season is her season to show there won’t be any doubt.

Also, being an athlete on a team sport means you have to do as an individual and you have to do as part of a team for the collective. Both individual and team effort comes into play with the team sport known as basketball. She’s doing both.

It’s just expected for Black women athletes to be faced with this at some point in our (I experienced this too) sports careers — an unrequested rite of passage.

[[and the bit of the reporter saying a whole former opponent whined the Williams sisters hit the ball too hard…we all know what that is about—different topic]]

[mr-styles]

Harry Styles' Sonic Evolution: How He Grew From Teen Pop Idol To Ever-Evolving Superstar

Harry's House' not only gives Harry Styles his most GRAMMY recognition yet — it serves as a testament to how much he's expanded his sound over his already storied career.

GABRIEL AIKINS | GRAMMYS/JAN 25, 2023 - 12:02 PM

Watching 16 year-old Harry Styles walk onto the stage for his "The X Factor" audition in 2010, it's remarkable how little some things have changed in the following 13 years. Though his rendition of Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" was rather unpolished — even receiving a "no" from judge Louis Walsh — his magnetic charisma and natural talent were more than evident. And at just 16, Styles clearly knew he was on the right path.

"Singing is what I want to do," Styles said in an interview before his audition. "And if the people who can make that happen for me don't think that I should be doing that, then it's a major setback in my plans."

Of course, so much else has changed in the ensuing decade. Styles was tabbed alongside other contestants Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik to form the group One Direction. As the band stormed the charts and captured the love of fans globally, Styles grew into his abilities — and now, he's achieved a rarified level of fame. 

Even after being part of one of the most successful boy bands of all time, Styles has reached new heights of superstardom in his own right. In addition to selling millions of albums and selling out arenas around the world, he's starred in four feature films and became the first male cover star of Vogue magazine. The depth of Styles' charisma and drive he's shown from that first audition have made him an all-encompassing star like few before him.

While Styles was a solo star as soon as he emerged in 2017 — selling out his first-ever solo tour and debuting his self-titled first album atop the Billboard 200 — he has dominated the 2020s. His second album, 2019's Fine Line, spawned his first No. 1 hit in the U.S. in 2020 with "Watermelon Sugar," which also earned him his first GRAMMY in 2021 for Best Pop Solo Performance. But 2022 was the year he took his stardom to the next level — and it all began with an invitation to Harry's House. 

The lead single of Styles' third album, "As It Was," became undeniable, debuting atop the Billboard Hot 100 and spending 15 weeks there — the most in history for a British act. And when Harry's House arrived less than two months after "As It Was," it was clear that 2022 was the year of Harry. 

The album, featuring smooth electronic beats and funky bass riffs, went platinum in the UK and US, put four songs into the Billboard Top 10 at the same time, and earned Styles the most GRAMMY nominations of his career. His six nominations for the 2023 GRAMMYs include his first in the coveted Album Of The Year, Song Of The Year and Record Of The Year categories; Harry's House also earned a nod for Best Pop Vocal Album and "As It Was" is up for Best Pop Solo Performance and Best Music Video.

If you ask Tyler Johnson — who has co-written and co-produced the majority of Styles' three solo albums — the GRAMMY nominations may just be Styles' biggest validation yet. "It's really the music community recognizing him as Harry Styles — [his time in the band] is just another part of his resume, it no longer defines him. And that's really exciting."

In reality, Styles hardly ever let his past define him. Even Johnson sensed Styles' star power upon meeting the singer in 2015. "When I first met him, I knew a lot about him from the band, but it was obvious he was a star," he recalls. "Especially how he performed in the vocal booth, it was very brave. I was like, 'Wow, this person has no barriers.'"

With no barriers comes a willingness to always try something new — which is why the Harry Styles of Harry's House sounds much different than Harry Styles of One Direction. The change was heard immediately back in 2017 on his first solo single "Sign of the Times," released ahead of his self-titled debut LP later that year. It's a rock track to its core, starting with hearty piano chords and building to a crescendo of wailing electric guitar and crashing drums. This initial offering was a sign of what was to come, as Harry Styles is built on these rock sounds from beginning to end. 

Even if reviews weren't outright surprised by this sound, they noted the seemingly brand new, well, direction. "Few people probably predicted the 23-year-old ex-One Direction superstar to drop the kind of album that makes your uncle or your mom perk up," read Variety's review. Pitchfork mused, "If you only know one thing about Harry Styles, it's probably that the album bucks the established trends governing bids for young male solo pop stardom." Styles becoming a rock star was something new, but looking back at the totality of his work, it's not quite as surprising as it might be at first glance.

When assessing the music of One Direction, the singles will of course stand out. Tracks like "What Makes You Beautiful," "Live While We're Young," and "Best Song Ever" are big and boisterous, with infectiously fun hooks. And while each of the group's five albums had rock influences — queue the Clash-like electric guitar opening of "Live While We're Young" — they're all pop projects at their core. And the writers and producers behind them were pop masterminds, too, including Rami Yacoub, Steve Mac, Ed Sheeran, and Ryan Tedder.

By nature of an essentially constant touring schedule and working with so many other people — especially the four other members of the group — there was simply less opportunity to write. Across the 86 songs in the band's discography, Styles has writing credits on only 21 of them, whereas he serves as lead writer on every track on each of his three solo albums. 

"I think it was tough to really delve in and find out who you are as a writer when you're just kind of dipping your toe each time," Styles told Rolling Stonein 2017, recalling some of the struggles of being in a band. "We didn't get the six months to see what kind of s— you can work with."

Listening to the songs Styles did have a hand in writing for One Direction, though, the throughline of his career becomes clearer. Even the earliest tracks he co-wrote include key elements to his later songs.

The chorus of Up All Night's "Same Mistakes" takes his penchant for lyrical repetition, creating a folksy call-and-response feeling and pairing it with powerful guitar chords; he uses a similar pattern on Harry Styles' opening track "Meet Me in the Hallway." Made In The A.M. ballad "If I Could Fly" is strikingly vulnerable lyrically and melodically minimalistic; this combination is seen on Styles' solo ballads, like Fine Line's "Falling" or Harry's House's "Matilda."

Styles' solo success also stems from his versatility. Alongside folksy ballads, he has an ear for rock songs to fill a stadium (and after completely selling out his 2021 and 2022 Love On Tour stretches, stadiums may be where he's headed next). "Where Do Broken Hearts Go?" is one of One Direction's most anthemic tracks, tailor made for karaoke or shouting alongside a crowd. It's no surprise Styles is the sole One Direction member on the writing credits for it, and you can hear that same exuberance on his solo rock anthems, from Fine Line’s ultra cool smash "Watermelon Sugar" to the funk rock-infused "Late Night Talking" on Harry's House. 

In a 2017 New York Times interview, Styles explained his rock influence — and really, his musicality as a whole — stems from his own musical tastes. "I really wanted to make an album that I wanted to listen to," he said of Harry Styles. "That was the only way I knew I wouldn't look back on it and regret it. It was more, 'What do I want to sit and listen to?' rather than, 'How do I shake up compared to what's on radio right now?'"

Judging by the elevated sounds on Harry's House, Styles' musical interests have grown as he has evolved as an artist. While there are hints of his previous writing and growth on the album, Styles incorporated so many new elements, and that's what makes Harry's House so interesting and so refreshing. 

Funk pervades the record, with synths and stylized loops fleshing out tracks like "Music For A Sushi Restaurant" and "Keep Driving." There's a constant sense of playfulness throughout all 13 tracks — something that was apparent to Styles' collaborators long before the world got to hear it. 

"Harry just said that he's never been more proud of anything, and Tom [Hull, better known as producer Kid Harpoon] and I are just there for the ride," Johnson says. "We didn't feel too caught up in the kind of reality of who he is and having to put out an album very specific to the commerce side of it. It was a lot of having fun and just kind of burying our heads in the sand and enjoying doing it. That was very different from Fine Line."

Styles can seemingly feel his evolution himself, too. In a wide-ranging interview with Zane Lowe upon the album's release in May 2022, Styles revealed that he tried not to take direct sonic influences on this record like he had in the past. "I kinda felt like you can reference things by the emotions that they evoke," he said.

The same interview points out how much more comfortable Styles has become with being flexible and fluid, both in his own writing and his collaborators. And now that he's found his right-hand men in Johnson and Hull, he finds it easier to bring his ideas to life. This has allowed Styles to continue to expand his writing, and that resulted in an album that launched his superstardom to even greater heights — and showcased Harry Styles simply having fun.

Now 28 (almost 29!), Styles has been a beloved star for nearly half of his life. In that time, fans have watched his musical abilities mature, morph and expand; he has shown a willingness to always have an eye on what comes next — and that forward thinking paid off in a big way in 2022. However he evolves next, it seems Styles will never lose the drive and endearing charm the world first saw on the "X Factor" stage over a decade ago.

"He's a very similar person. He's a very consistent, loyal, kind person, very focused. That is all the same," Johnson insists. "He's just doing what people do when they do it more and more — he's focusing in on who he is more, he's gaining confidence, and he's becoming more and more himself — which is a very potent thing."

via Grammy.com

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Totally Hits 3 2000 Alternative Rock / Pop-Rock / Pop / R&B / Adult Contemporary / Teen Pop

Time for yet another fun turn-of-the-millennium trip down memory lane, folks! Yesterday we got into a dispatch from America's bestselling contemporary hits series, Now That's What I Call Music!, but today we've got something from what was once their greatest competitor instead: Totally Hits.

And the biggest difference between these two series was ultimately the partnerships between the labels that put them out: the US version of Now was the result of a link-up between Capitol, EMI, Universal, Virgin, and their many subsidiaries, and Totally Hits represented Sony, BMG, Warner, Elektra, Atlantic, and their many subsidiaries. Now always wound up having the upper hand with the more popular collective catalog, but Totally Hits wasn't any slouch, either, even if they were Now's perpetual kid sister.

So, here we have a pretty solid collection of late 90s and early 2000s commercial fare that should provide for a nice nostalgia rush, but the most glaring omission on this third Totally Hits installment is that there aren't any boy bands at all. And that's because, by the time this album had come out, NSYNC—who had made an appearance on the prior volume—had successfully left their label, RCA, citing the glaring and overt exploitative practices of their manager, Lou Pearlman. And as a result, at the height of the teen pop explosion, the massive conglomerate that made up Totally Hits only had acts like Christina Aguilera and Vitamin C to show for it, whereas Now, with Jive Records appearing to fall under their umbrella, had not only NSYNC, but also the Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears as well. And as a result, Totally Hits suffered because of it.

But TH wasn't to be totally ignored, because their releases still had plenty of good pop music on them, and although they may have faltered in the teen pop arena, where they seemed to make up for it was in alternative pop-rock and R&B, with late 90s-early 00s entities like Matchbox Twenty, Barenaked Ladies, and Third Eye Blind holding down the rock side of things, while dominant forces like Whitney Houston and Toni Braxton were able to supply some of the quality R&B.

And another dimension that Totally Hits had that Now really didn't was country. I might dislike the pair of tunes that TH selected here for this album, between Faith Hill's super poppy "The Way You Love Me,“ and John Michael Montgomery's eyeroll-inducing and deeply Christian-overtoned "The Little Girl," but including a very popular genre that Now wasn't paying much of any mind to at all definitely helped Totally Hits to differentiate themselves.

So, I'd expect a lot of people to be familiar with most of these songs, but two that I'd like to point out especially are Dido's "Here With Me" and Next's "Wifey." Both of these acts each had a hit that was far more popular than the one that ended up on this album—Dido's "Thank You," which was also liberally sampled for Eminem's "Stan," and Next's "Too Close," a #1 hit song about trying to suppress an erection while grinding on someone 😂. But "Here With Me," which was actually Dido's debut single, is a beautiful piece of tender female singer-songwriter pop, and "Wifey," the lead single off of Next's sophomore album, is a terrific slice of dreamy and softly funky male group R&B.

So if you're ever trying to piece together an eclectic representation of a turn-of-the-millennium American commercial pop music landscape, Now is, of course, essential, but it'd be foolish to sleep on what Totally Hits had to offer, because while Now was definitely better, they weren't monopolistic, and TH was there to capitalize on that circumstance.

Highlights:

Pink - "Some Girls" Matchbox Twenty - "Bent" Vertical Horizon - "Everything You Want" Third Eye Blind - "Deep Inside of You" Barenaked Ladies - "Pinch Me" Dido - "Here With Me" Toni Braxton - "He Wasn't Man Enough" Christina Aguilera - "What a Girl Wants" Next - "Wifey" Vitamin C - "Graduation" The Corrs - "Breathless" Whitney Houston - "Fine"

[catppuccinosblog]

I.) Sing-along

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨-

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

Grammatical Errors

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬/𝐓𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐌𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

❝ 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝘀𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗯𝗲𝗱. 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. 𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝘁 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝟭𝟲, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘀𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗮𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗵. 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝘀𝗼 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗽𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂. ❞

Today was a big day for a couple of reasons, (Your Name) was going to perform the latest songs her and her group made. Her favourite song they were going to sing was called 'Dynamite'. This was going to be the biggest show they've performed yet.

The (Eye Colour) eyed young woman wore the nicest clothes she had while still matching the theme, she wanted to look her best.

She is part of a K-Pop group called BTS. The young girl was the youngest and the only girl in the group. Jungkook being older than her by a year and something many months. (Your Name) was turning twenty-one today which boosted her mood even more.

It has been seven years since the band was formed, many memories and strong bonds were made. Everyone treated each other as family for the most part. The boys were very protective over their youngest member. Even if they hadn't known each other very well, they all had keeping her safe in common.

The stage crew made sure everything was in perfect working condition even if they were extremely busy, though one of the microphones where accidentally left unchecked. That specific microphone belonged to the (Hair Colour) haired member of BTS.

No one knew that there was something wrong with the wiring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was time, people had already filled the huge arena and were chanting the band members name's, some even had signs and poster with the members faces and or their names.

With a big smile and a deep breath, (Your Name) grabbed her special microphone from one of the stage hands while her friends were given cordless mic's. The piece of equipment that she now held in her soft, delicate hands was specially made for her.

Taking one last deep breath, all eight members made their way to the stage causing the extremely large crowd to scream in pure happiness and excitement. Before they started the actual concert, the fans and the seven males sang Happy Birthday to (Your- Name). She couldn't be more happier than was at that moment.

The music to Bulletproof, one of their older songs, started to play and the K-Pop group began to sing and dance.

After about three or four songs, a more upbeat sounding song begins to play. (Your Name) and Jungkook start singing the beginning of 'Dynamite' together, the rest of the members join in. Everyone was dancing in perfect synchronization.

The band was singing and dancing as if they had practiced this specific song a thousand times, which they had. Once again the crowd was going crazy while singing and dancing along with the Korean Pop Idols.

Meanwhile backstage with all the controls, the furthest part of the controls that connected to (Your- Name)'s microphone started to smoke, small sparks started flying from the outlet. This caught the attention of several people, sending everyone into a panic trying to stop it from sparking anymore and prevent anyone getting hurt, but it only made things worse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

About three quarters into the song, the music slowed down slightly and more mellow. It was the moment (Your- Name) had been waiting for. She was finally able to hit the high note in here solo. Dancing to the front of the group, her voice soft and slow.

"'Cause I, I, I'm in the stars tonight

So watch me bring the fire and set the night alight

Shining through the city with a little funk and soul

So I'ma light it up like dynamite"

(Your Name) took a deep breath and closed her eyes when the others started singing again. Raising her hand to the ceiling slowly, her dark lashes fluttered opened once more to reveal her bright (Eye Colour) orbs looking up to the ceiling. Confidence burning inside her, she was practically shaking from the amount of excitement.

"This is aaaahhhhHHHHHHHHH"

She did it, but something was wrong. Her entire body tensed up, causing her to freeze in her position. Before she finished the note, the once beautifully executed high note soon morphed into the most painful scream that could be made, her voice raising to the point her vocal cords would burst any moment. Never has she been in so much unexplainable pain, she felt as though she was being cooked from the inside out. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't let go of the microphone or stop screaming.

At first everyone was impressed and amazed, but those expressions soon faded into terrified looks. Everyone was horrified by what they were seeing. The scent of burning flesh wafted through the air, reaching everyone's noses. Even if some couldn't see what was happening on stage, there were several gigantic screens that also showed the band. The entire concert was being brodcasted on live television.

The boys of the group immediately stopped singing and dancing after they heard the hair raising scream. That sound would forever play on repeat in their minds. What they saw was nightmare inducing, something that could never be forgotten.

Their friend's microphone crackling with visible electricity, still firmly gripped in her (Dominant Hand) hand while her other hand was still raised to the ceiling. Her smooth, beautiful skin was smoking and if you looked closely, you could see the electricity lighting up her veins. Blood flowed out of her nose and ears. Tears were streaming down her face, pain was noticeable in her eyes.

The screaming continued and didn't seem to be stopping any time soon, everyone realized what was happening. No one could move, shock had taken over their bodies.

A vermilion liquid started to trickle out of (Your Name)'s plump lips, painting them the same metallic colour. Beautiful (Eye Colour) eyes were now bloodshot and glowing.

It took one person to cry out in pure terror to start a chain reaction. Almost everyone was pushing and shoving their way to the exits, no longer wanting to witness the gruesome sight. The rest of the band members called out her name even if it was useless.

This wasn't supposed to happen. What kind of sick horror movie was this?

A half hour later (Your Name)'s screams of agony started to fade into her chocking on her own blood. Her heart couldn't take the energy and bursted. If she hadn't already died from electrocution, then she surly would have died from her heart burstimg like a water balloon.

The paramedics, police and firefighters were called immediately. (Your Name)'s body crumbled to the ground before anyone could reach her, occasionally twitching even though she was no longer alive, blood pooled beneath her body. A petrified and pain filled expression remained on her face, her mouth now letting out a eternal silent scream.

There wasn't a single person who hadn't heard about what happened that day. BTS was never the same and eventually disbanded, though they all still lives with each other, comforting one another the best they could.

A year had passed since then, many people still sent gifts to the old band, especially for the deceased young Idol. It was (Birth Month) (Birthday) once again. The seven friends went to visit their 'younger sister's' grave.

Tons of flowers, gifts and pictures were placed neatly on the grave, the friends had placed their own flowers down with the others. Tears had formed in each of their eyes.

(Last Name) (Your Name)

(Birth Month) (Birthday) 1999 - (Birth Month) (Birthday) 2020

A wonderful daughter, friend and Idol. A young woman who meant a lot to others. She will forever be remembered and loved.

Death-

Electrocution

[storydays]

Season 1, ep2, p3

The lights went off, the crowd cheered in anticipation. You inhaled and exhaled softly, before opening your (e/c) eyes that were focused and ready. The announcer came out into the middle of the arena. "Introducing the Fire Ferrets!" You waved as fans screamed. "Ahh! I love you, Bolin! Mako, you're so awesome! Marry me, (Y/N)!" You laughed softly, as the main announcer took over. "The rookie Ferrets came out of nowhere, and have made it further than anyone had expected this season. But tonight, they face the toughest test yet, folks." 

You smirk at your opponent, noting he was a fire bender. Time slowed down as you shoot your hand up, allowing the water to be pushed back, but he retaliated by sending fire towards your face. You ducked, and rolled under Mako's leg, and ran around Bolin's figure. "Oh, the two teams waste no time trying to blast each other out of Zone One." Mako jumped over your back, as you sent a water blast towards the firebender, knocking him back into Zone 2. 

"Migo is the first to have wet socks, curtsy of (Your fake name)! The Tigerdillos try to repay the favor but (Y/F/N) is too quick! Meanwhile, Mako showcases his trademark "Cool Under Fire" style." Bolin groaned as the opposing waterbender him back, but you knocked the earthbender off the edge in return. "Oh, and Tico is out and down for the count, quickly followed by Migo!" The opposing waterbender looked nervous, as the three of you smirked before Bolin sent a double whammy and knocked him out. "Ohh, and the Fire Ferrets win round 1 with no trouble at all!"

Round 2 was over before you knew it, and now were panting heavily, the Tigerdillos weren't happy and were fighting with anger clouding their vision, and pride. Mako took the lead and knocked down the other firebender into the drink. You did a back flip, having the water flick the opposing waterbender in the stomach, before Bolin knocked him back into the firerbender, and Mako used his finishing move with a fire blast that made both teens lose their balance and fall into the water below.

"It's a knock out! Such teamwork!" The Ferrets fans cheered loudly as the announcer told them that the Ferrets were going to the championships. The three of you walked to back to the platform that took you back to your side of the arena. Nagisa was cheering your "name" happily, while Kazan was jumping up and down, grinning excitedly. You laughed softly, as the two children ran around you, as you took your helmet off, and took a drink of water. Bolin came around the corner. 

"So what'd you think, Korra? Bolin's got some moves, huh?" He said, cockily. You chuckled, stepping behind a curtain to change into your Water Tribe clothes, leaving your hair in it's high ponytail. Noticing your arrows on your hands peeking out again, your tightened your gloves around your hands, so no slip ups happened. "What did I think? What did I think? That was amazing!" Korra cried, as Nagisa happily agreed. 

"You did a good job, (Your fake name). That was some good footwork." Mako gave you a half smile, and walked to his locker. Turning to the firebender, Korra tried to talk to him again. "You guys were incredible out there. Especially you, Mr Foot Work." Korra complemented. "Oh, you're still here?" Mako snapped. "Oh, you're still a jerk?" She grumbled. Rolling your eyes at their behavior, you put your radio in your ear, and waited for the person on the end to pick up. 

"Hello?" An irritated voice asked from the other side. "Hey, I-I need a favor." You sighed, sadly.

--Meanwhile--

"It's like there's a whole new way of bending here! Think you can teach me a couple moves?" She asked Bolin, as Nagisa jumped on Korra's back, and Kazan held Mako's hand. Surprised, the amber eyed male looked down at the younger, before shrugging and continued listening to the chattering benders in front of him. He sent a worried side glance towards you, you were hunched over, and were talking into a radio, looking concerned and sad, almost ancient. "Absolutely." Bolin said happily. 

 "Right now? Come on, Bolin." Mako sighed, a frown and irritation pulling at his face. "Just ignore him. Yeah, I could show you the basics. I'm just not sure how my earthbending would translate to your waterbending, but we'll figure it out." You got off the phone with an agitated look on your normally relaxed face, and gently took Nagisa off of Korra's back, and held her as you tuned into the conversation. "Won't be a problem. I'm actually an earthbender." Korra said, cockily. "I'm sorry, no, no, I didn't mean to assume. 'Cause I--You know, I was just figuring--with your Water Tribe getup that you are a Water Tribe gal." Bolin mumbled over his words, like the awkward dork he is. 

"Nope, you're right. I am a waterbender....and a firebender." She stated, as Mako froze and you sighed. Bolin was stuck trying to figure it out out. "Mm. Mm-hmm. I'm very confused right now." "You're the Avatar, and I'm an idiot." Mako hung his head, as Korra agreed. "Both are true." Korra replied, jumping when you gently dragged the two little ones with you. "(Your fake name), where are you going?" Korra asked, tentatively. "Nothing. What could I possibly know?" You snapped, slamming the door, and leading the children with you. "(Fake name)? Where are we going?" Nagisa asked, as you lead them down the stairs. 

Turning to the small children, you smile, knowing you owed them an explanation. "My name isn't (Fake name), I've just been using that name because I wanted to be a normal guy for a while. You're kids,  but you are smarter than you think. My real name is (Y//N), and I am sorry for what happened to your parents. I know you've been left alone and probably feel like no one cares about you, but that ends now. I'm going to tell you a huge secret, because as of today, you two are going to be taken care of." You sent a blinding smile at the children who looked back at you with hope in their eyes. 

--The next morning--

Korra growled, as she sleepily tried the gates again. Korra ran through the gates with aggression as Tenzin cried out, "Patience,Korra!" Korra growled as she starting burning up the exercise. You dropped your apple that you were sharing with Nevermore, in shock. Korra panted heavily as she realized what she did. "That was a 2,000 year old historical treasure." Tenzin started as you snapped,"What is wrong with you?" "There's nothing wrong with me! I've been practicing, just like you both taught me! But it isn't sinking in, okay? It hasn't clicked like you said you would.: She ranted. 

"Korra, this isn't something you can't force.If you would only listen to me and (Y/N)--" Tenzin started. "I have been! But you know what I think? Maybe the problem isn't me. Maybe the reason I haven't learn airbending yet, is because you're a terrible teacher!" Korra accused before stomping off. "Yeah, Daddy, you're a terrible teacher." Meelo giggled innocently.Sensing their father's hurt, the girls hugged Tenzin's waist. You pat your uncle's shoulder. 

"She didn't mean it, Uncle. You're a great teacher, but some of your methods are old school, and while some may respond to this style of teaching, some may not. Don't forget that her dominant element is water," You began leading him over to a pond, got into a waterbending position and began dancing with the waves, you following their movements. 

"Others may need more of a hard push that can end in gentle reassurance. Like Mother used to say, A flower cannot bloom without sunshine and rain. When I asked her about it, she said that it meant, with out balance, nothing will get done." You said, gently dropping the water of your mother's memorial Magnolia tree, sending a warm gentle breeze and listening to your cousins' awed gasps. Turning to your Uncle, you told him, "Follow her tonight and you'll see." You said with a mischievous glint in your eye.

--That night--

You left your hair down and put a beanie on, before heading underground into an abandoned tunnel, taking the way you normally do to get to the city undetected. But something was different in the air tonight. You closed your eyes, inhaled and exhaled softly, before whirling around, eyes ablaze with annoyance. 

"You know, it's not like I can't feel when someone's following me." You snap putting your hands on your hips, sensing a sheepish aura from the person, hiding behind the corner. The figure stepped out and you immediately tensed up in a fighting position.  "Well, something big must be going down if the big boss himself came to see little ol' me." You snark sarcastically as Amon stepped out from the shadows. 

"Ah, (Y/f/n), quick with the mouth as always I see." You could sense he was grinning under his mask, so you rolled your eyes. "Kiss my--" "Hey, now, use nice language." He chuckled, standing a few feet away from you. "You didn't know where I was going with that.....Ass!" You replied sassily. Amon remained silent, leaving the air with a thick tension, until you cleared your throat. "Okay, maybe you did." You replied weakly, before you gasped, feeling your left arm being pinned to your back, and right arm couldn't move at all. 

"You always were a little smart mouth. But tonight will be the first step to baiting the Avatar to fall into my plans....just like I did to your mother." He said, lowly. You growled, flicking ice shards into the man's arm, just as he used several chi-blocking pressure points. You cry out, as you felt pain crawling up to your forearm and down to your wrist. Falling to the ground, withering, you fell to the ground on your injured arm, and looked up at the masked man with foggy eyes. 

"What are you going to take my powers away? Go ahead, I'm not afraid of a loser, like you." You spat, feeling fear run through you as an electric rod was pressed into your ribs. While you yelped from the shock, Amon laughed. "No, I am not going to take away your bending. You've suffered enough and I have sent a message, thanks to you, ((Y/F/N). Until we meet again." Hitting the highest switch, you scream and black out, hoping someone will find you soon. 

--Meanwhile (3rd Person's POV)--

 Korra entered the Ferret's dressing room to see Mako and Bolin looking rather sullen. But you were nowhere to be found. "I didn't miss your match, did I?You guys look like you lost it already.  And where is (Y/F/N)?" She asked. "We don't know! He's usually here early! Earlier than us, and we live here! We may have already lost the match." Bolin said, sadly. "It's not like him." Mako mumbled as the referee popped his head in.  "You've got two minutes ready to play or your disqualified." 

Mako huffed. "Well, there goes our shot at the championship and the winnings." Curious, Korra couldn't help but ask, "What about one of the other players? Can't you ask one of them to fill in?" "No, the rules say you can only compete on one team." Bolin replied. "Well, then, what about me? I'm a top-notch waterbender if I do say so, myself." She said cockily. "But, you're the Avatar. Isn't that cheating?" The green eyed teen asked. 

"It's not cheating if I only use waterbending." Korra said confidently. "No way, I'd rather forfeit than look like a fool out there." Mako complained. "Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence." Korra rolled her eyes as the referee popped his head into the room. "Time's up! Are you in or out?" "We're in!" "Yes!" "Hey, I didn't agree to this!" Mako whined. "You can thank me later!" called Korra, as she put on your uniform. "This girl is crazy." The firebender muttered, as he put his helmet on. 

"Looks like the ferrets have ferret'd out a last minute waterbender replacement!" Immediately (Y/N) fans began booing and demanding to know where you were. "Let's see if she's another diamond in the rough, like the brothers from the School of Hard Knocks." The announcer called, giving the green light to prepare to play. "Don't do anything too aggressive or too fancy. In face, don't do anything." Mako grumbled. "Just tried not to get knocked off the ring." "You got it, Captain." Korra replied, sarcastically. 

"Players, are you ready?" The referee blew his whistle, and Korra sent the opposing waterbender off the rink with a powerful blast.  Korra cheered as Mako facepalmed and Bolin winced in sympathy. "Fire Ferrets waterbender, penalty. Move back one zone." Called the ref. "What? Why?" Demanded Korra. "You're only allowed to knock players off the back of the ring, not the sides." Mako explained as Korra  winced. 

"And we're back in action after that hiccup. But I'm not so sure this replacement player knows what she's doing." As soon as the words left the announcer's mouth, the ref called another foul for Korra. "Foul! Over the line, move back to Zone Three." "Korra grunted and muttered under her breath. The bell rung loudly as the Platypus Bears took Round One. The Bears know a green player when they see one. They're focusing on the brunt of their attacks on this poor girl." 

Korra couldn't take it anymore, and used fire and earth to block the incoming attacks. "Wait a minute! Did that waterbender just earthbend?" He ask as the room froze. The referee blew the whistle and called out, "Foul, I think. Did I see that right?" Korra laughed sheepishly as Mako growled under his breath. "Hold on folks, we're just waiting for the ref's official call, but I think the replacement waterbender could be--no way! She's the Avatar, folks! Playing in a pro-bending match! Can you believe that?"

"The Avatar will be permitted to continue, so long as she uses waterbending only." The Platypus bears grumble before attacking the Avatar with even more aggressively. "This girl may be the Avatar, but she's no pro-bender,and the Platypus-Bears are exploiting that weakness. Their giving her their best and her best just isn't good enough to stop it. And she's in the sink!" 

Korra grumbled as she pulled herself out of the water before looking up to see a very angry Airbender starring down at him. "Oh, hey, Tenzin. I thought you didn't like coming to these matches." She chuckled awkwardly. "Once again, you have flagrantly disobeyed my orders. You were to stay on the island. Let's go." Tenzin said, sternly. "No, I'm kind of in the middle of something." "I have tried my very best to get through to you by being gentle and patient, but clearly the only thing you respond to is force! So I am ordering you to come back to the temple right now." Tenzin yelled. "Why? So I can sit around and meditate about how bad I am at airbending?You know, I am beginning to think there's a reason I haven't been able to learn it. Maybe I don't even need it!"

"What? That is a ludicrous suggestion. The Avatar needs to learn airbending. It is not optional." Tenzin was at his limit. "No, this is what I need to learn. Modern styles of fighting." Korra protested. "Being the Avatar isn't all about fighting, Korra. When will you learn that?" Tenzin placed his hands on his hips as Korra began walking away. "I have a match to go finish." 

The next three minutes were some of the most annoying moments of Korra's life but your voice echoed in her head, reminding her to breathe, and suddenly she was a graceful swan, dodging fire and earth disks before moving forward with her attacks. "Well, how about that." Tenzin said, softly. The next thing the Platypus-Bears knew, they were all in the sink, and the Ferrets were finally in the championships. 

The Ferrets made their way into the room, the brothers allowing Korra to get changed first. Tenzin came into the room with a soft grin on his face. "It seems my nephew was right about this being a better teaching for you. You did good Korra. You moved just like an airbender." Korra grinned, knowing both sides were calmed down and have no hard feelings toward the others. 

"Speaking of my nephew, where is he?" Tenzin asked as they walked out the gym, as he promised the Ferrets a celebratory dinner, "He was the one who mentioned I should come down here tonight." Before anyone could reply, Lin Beifong landed in front of them with a worried expression on her usually stoic face. "Lin, what is the matter?" The older Airbending master hurried to his old friend's side, the teens looking at the Chief in concern. 

"It's (Y/N), he's in the hospital."

[dwellordream]

“After the pageants were suppressed, the early modern alehouse became a prime place for the cross-fertilization of everyday jesting and theater. Many forms of popular performance, such as sports, games, morris dancing, jigging, and ballad singing, took place at the alehouse; and in the remoter reaches of the country, traveling players sometimes gave plays and interludes in alehouses. Satirists were fond of accusing playwrights of culling material there; one called the tavern: a broacher of more newes then Hogs-heads, & more jests then newes, which are suckt up here by some spongy braine, and from thence squeaz'd into a Comedy .... Tis the best Theater of natures where they are truly acted, not plaid, and the businesse as in the rest of the world up and downe, to wit, from the bottom of the Seller to the Great Chamber.

What part did women play in this "Theater of natures"? Historians take a narrow view. Many agree with Barry Reay's statement that alehouses were "male-dominated milieus, then as now.  Peter Clark maintains that "respectable women" did not go to the alehouse alone and that many people bitterly resented all alewives for profiting from husbandly drunkenness and harboring prostitutes. From the 1590s onward, alehouses certainly faced growing competition from male-headed breweries, while misogynist prejudice fueled the campaigns of social reformers who pummeled home brewers with killing fines, as Judith Bennett has shown. Nonetheless, the alehouse was far from an all-male space. 

The issue is an important one because the alehouse was often the real social center in a neighborhood, the place where news and rumors flew, where people traded jokes, jigged jigs, sang and bought ballads, and heard chapbooks read aloud. Furthermore, it served as one of the few places one could speak one's mind, offering "a sanctuary for relative freedom of speech, for cathartic release in story and song, jest and mockery." If women were there, they could hardly have been segregated from this rich circuit of text, speech, and performance. Wrightson argues persuasively that many women ran alehouses or worked in them, while wives went there with husbands, maidservants and young women gathered there, and lovers met and were even wed there.

Thomas Platter, astounded by the number of drinking places in London in 1599, wrote, "what is particularly curious is that the women as well as the men, in fact more than they, will frequent the taverns or alehouses for enjoyment." In ballads, jests, and woodcuts, the alehouse is often shown or described as a mixed-gender space. Maids huddle with their sweethearts, while wives carouse with their husbands or nag them to go home. Women sitting together gossip, laugh, and sing; complain about husbands; and escape their domestic chores. Despite all these signs of female presence, Clark concludes by casting men as the players - and women as their servants - in what he, too, calls "a neighbourhood theatre": 

The enduring reason for the success of the English alehouse in the centuries before 1830 is that it was quintessentially a neighbourhood theatre in the widest sense, in which ordinary people could be actors and observers. Against the backdrop of its flickering fire men could gossip and rant, joke, laugh and posture, sublimate their miseries in drunkenness, applaud their own success in generosity and games. [With] their pots and tankards kept brimming by an explosive Mother Bunch or the serving wench... they could discover a further dimension of themselves and their lives. 

Clark's scene making shunts women to the margins. When male historians write about popular culture, comments Lyndal Roper, women are usually "confined to walk-on parts" in precisely this way, with the result that "most accounts of popular culture are actually about men's culture." Somehow the alehouse, a vitally important site of social drama and popular culture in town, village, and city, was often run by women and patronized by women yet at the same time remained off limits and off-putting to women. This leaky paradox is built of the same assumptions I challenge vis-a-vis the jest. 

Widely believed to be a discourse available only to men, the jesting literature actually has far greater female presence than has been noticed. And like the clientele of the alehouse, not all the women who are players in the jesting culture are well-to-do, respectable, or literate. Using available evidence, one can reconstruct an alehouse scene that looks quite different from the mostly male resort created by Clark. In 1600 women could gather in London to drink ale made by another woman, at an alehouse she owned and ran, hear a female ballad seller pitch a song complaining about drunken husbands and impotent lovers, and buy a copy of the penny broadside. They could compose a mocking song together, to be used in shaming a recalcitrant neighbor. 

This hypothetical but entirely possible group could gaze up at walls and doors plastered with ballad woodcuts of condemned rogues, horned husbands, country lovers, and bizarre births. Women were rarely named as authors of ballads and pamphlets; but in a world of cheap and mostly anonymous print, this consideration recedes in importance next to questions of transmission and reception. Some of the jests they told and heard were undoubtedly the kind Thomas Wilson deplored: "it is not onely meete to avoyde al grosse bourdyng, and alehouse jesting, but also to eschew all foolish talke, and ruffin manners, much as no honest eares can ones abide."

My study of jesting culture has convinced me that some women were fully capable of this kind of speech, inside the alehouse and out. Down among the lowliest texts and the smallest transactions, women were undeniably present as sellers, performers, spectators, and buyers. The key role of the alehouse in the microeconomics of the neighborhood constitutes a running theme in jests and drama. The alewife who drives Sly out of her alehouse in The Taming of the Shrew dominates a scene familiar from jests: the tussle between the lackpenny lush and the loud, brash, and muscular alewife. Such bouts were not always decided in favor of the male customer, perhaps because there were too many alewives listening. 

In one jest a hostess confronts a rude justice who always insists on taking leftovers with him. Fed up, she pours ale and pottage into his saddlebag. When he rails at her, she is ready: "Oh sir," quod the wife, "I know well ye are a judge of the realm, and I perceive by you, your mind is to do right and to have that is your own, and your mind is to have all things with you that you paid for. ... I have therefore put in your [bags] the pottage that ye left because ye have well and truly paid for them. For if I shold keep any thing from you that ye have paid for, peradventure ye would trouble me in the law another time." Here ye may see that he that playeth the niggard too much sometime it turneth him to his own loss.

In the brief moment of a jest, a humble alewife can get the better of an educated and far more powerful man. This is not to imply that women's active role in ale culture escaped censure. Vital yet often derided, the alehouse was an especially fraught social and economic arena; and women who kept alehouses were often subject to misogynist attacks. Although her product was crucial to subsistence survival, and although ale was the daily drink of every man, woman, and child, the alewife had been the special target of satire since early medieval times. Everyman is seduced in an alehouse. Pageant drama satirized a lusty, boozy alewife, who appeared as a ghost sent to hell, clashing her "cuppes and cans" and lamenting her cheating ways.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Ale and Female: Gossips as Players, Alehouse as Theater.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England.

[thecrownnet]

In this season's final episode of "The Crown," Margaret Thatcher and Queen Elizabeth have one last meeting, perhaps the most touching of their 11 years sparring over the direction of the United Kingdom.

"I was shocked by the way in which you were forced to leave office," the Queen said. "And I wanted to offer my sympathy, not just as Queen to prime minister, but woman to woman." Though a fictional depiction, words underscored a very real shared experience that united the two leaders, even though that similarity did little to strengthen their relationship to one another.

"The Crown" is not the only scripted drama this year to delve into ways women navigate arenas of power once closed off to them. Three major period dramas of 2020 -- Netflix's "The Crown" and "The Queen's Gambit" (a story about Beth Harmon, a young woman chess prodigy) and FX's "Mrs. America" (a reinterpreted history of 1970s political activism by Phyllis Schlafly, Gloria Steinem, Shirley Chisholm and others) -- have centered on the lives of women in a world dominated by men.

From the Queen and the first woman prime minister dueling over the direction of Britain to feminists and anti-feminists scrapping over the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), these shows have blown past the days of the Bechdel test (do at least two women in a show talk to one another about something other than a man?) to a much deeper reflection on how women navigate the possibilities of power.

Set in a not-too-distant past, these shows feel both relevant and safe: centering ambitious women in an era where the sexism is both obvious and easy to condemn. The moral clarity that structures these shows -- the buffoonish men who demean or dismiss these women are easy to ridicule and condemn -- provides a comfortable backdrop against which richer conversations ranging from racism and sexuality to emotion and ambition play out.

And as historical dramas, they offer an extra bit of comfort to make them easily bingeable in a year when we crave certainty: we know how the world will change after these women's stories end, because it's the world we're living in. It's especially telling that the year's most thorough explorations of women's power come in the form of period pieces, ranging from the 1950s through the 1980s. By slipping back several decades, the shows unfold in a time when the very idea of women wielding power in the US or UK struck many as unusual if not unwelcome, and where the framework of being "first" still dominates.

The image of a woman alone in room full of men repeats again and again in both "The Crown" and "The Queen's Gambit," a stark visualization of the novelty and isolation that often frames the experience of being the first, and a reminder that "first" usually also means "only."

Situating these experiences in the past makes the sexism, when it appears, instantly recognizable for the viewer. Take a scene from the first episode of "Mrs. America," when conservative activist Schlafly meets with Republican Sen. Barry Goldwater. Goldwater knows Schlafly -- she was a committed activist who supported his 1964 presidential bid -- and greets her warmly. She is, in many ways, already an insider: known for her writing on foreign policy and her electoral energy. But when the meeting begins, one of the men in the room calls on Schlafly to take notes while the men talk.

You don't have to be particularly evolved on gender politics to get the snub, nor to cringe in the next episode when one of Steinem's male colleagues carries on about her nice legs. The writers on these shows also seem to understand that morally uncomplicated stories are usually less interesting, so the historically grounded sexism is often sparingly or strategically used in the narrative. In "The Queen's Gambit," for instance, there are only a few moments where rank sexism ever appears: when Harmon is paired with the only other woman in her first tournament and when a woman writer for Life magazine focuses more on Harmon's gender than her chess strategies. Otherwise she glides through the male-dominated world of chess with ease, gathering friends, admirers, lovers and few if any detractors. Harmon is a fictional creation, drawn from the 1983 novel by Walter Tevis -- but so is the chess world she navigates. In the 1960s women could not compete with men at the World Championships. When they finally could in the late 1980s, they did not receive a warm welcome. "They were too nice to her," chess champion Judit Polgar told The New York Times, noting that when she was coming up in the chess world men were far more disparaging.

While "The Queen's Gambit" erases misogyny, "Mrs. America" and "The Crown" are fascinated by it. Rather than challenge chauvinism, their main characters weaponize it. The most intriguing characters in both are the conservative women who rise to power while openly hostile to feminism -- and often, to other women, even those closest to them (while close to their sons, both Schlafly and Thatcher clash with their own daughters.)

In real life, Thatcher declared, "I owe nothing to women's lib." She included no women in her original cabinet, a deliberate choice her character in "The Crown" explains to the Queen: "Not just because there aren't any suitable candidates. But I have found women in general tend not to be suited to high office anyways," adding that they are "too emotional."

The fictional Thatcher is hardest on herself when she betrays any emotion that she feels is too feminine, berating herself for crying (over her missing son, as we learn) during an audience with the Queen and seeming to miss or ignore the monarch's assurance that Thatcher was far from the first prime minister to have shed tears during their meetings.

At the same time, Thatcher eagerly embraces traditionally feminine roles at home -- she dotes on her son and cooks for him and her cabinet ministers alike -- while approaching politics firmly as a world where she must act like a man to succeed. Schlafly, however, makes those traditionally feminine roles core to her political identity: she is the iron housewife battling against the ERA, arguing that equality will destroy the differences between men and women and must be prevented and sealing her point with gestures like bringing fresh baked goods for the legislators she and her allies intend to lobby.

"Mrs. America" makes clear the ways Schlafly defends misogyny while still being cramped by it: it's only when not taken seriously as a foreign policy mind that she turns to fighting the ERA to amplify her political voice. And, of course, the show makes a meal of her hypocrisies, particularly her ambition for a political career that takes her out of her home and into the halls of power, all while promoting a politics rooted in traditional gender roles.

Even these more complex tales are eased by their historical setting. In the 1990s, conservative women forged a language and identity that more neatly squared their traditionalism and their political ambitions, so much so that many right-wing women today identify as feminist, or at least embrace the idea of women's equality.

In the 1970s and 1980s, the tensions and hypocrisies of anti-feminist activism are clearer, giving us two historical anti-heroes with an intriguing complexity that their feminist counterparts, at least in the case of "Mrs. America," lack. All of this means that these stories, though fascinating and layered, nonetheless feel like comfort food, something familiar and interesting but not too challenging. Which is not to dismiss their value -- we could all use some comfort food these days. More than that, these shows offer an on-ramp to critical thinking and more intense conversations about ambition, genius, intersectionality, motherhood and power.

But they also allow viewers an easier option, to marinate in the magnificent costumes and music, to escape their own reality by judging the horrid characters and applauding the sympathetic ones. That flexibility explains, perhaps, why three shows have been so immensely popular: they speak to us, but not too loudly.

[coreastories]

Magnificent Women: Spotlight on the PM of Corea

The Prime Minister of Corea is the kingdom’s first female prime minister and their youngest ever, selected and appointed into office at 34.

She is presently in her second term and remains a formidable leader, battling the male-dominated arena of Corean politics, now independent of any party (she was formerly with the Jinsun Party). 

She doesn’t compromise when it comes to good governance. 

Doesn’t compromise on impeccable feminine style either. 

Emphasis on impeccable and feminine and style. 

The PM has been criticized for being “too obsessed with her looks, always in makeup and dressed in luxury brands.” 

To these critics, the 38-year-old Koo Seo-ryeong only laughed. “Is that all you can nitpick about me? I’m glad.” 

I love her. When I’m not gushing over the king and queen, I’m staring at the prime minister in respect and admiration. 

This kingdom has won the lottery in its leaders. With a Prime Minister like this, and a king and queen like that, it’s too good it’s almost unfair.

Corea is currently led by two powerful women. Her Majesty the Queen and the Prime Minister of Corea represent two sides of womanhood, and together, they send a powerful message: Dress however you want. Own your style. Don’t recognize glass ceilings. Keep rising. 

This is what PM Koo did. Known for being ruthless even in her days as a newscaster, she accepted the suit of KU Group Chairman Choe and then divorced him and sent him to jail with evidence for embezzlement, fund diversion and breach of duty. 

After the divorce, there was speculation of a special attachment between the king and the Prime Minister, with the PM appearing at the palace every Friday for weekly reports. But now we know the reports were simply that, reports. 

Despite so many photos of them together, the rumored romance didn’t materialize and the king soon married the queen, who quickly became friends with the PM. 

The Prime Minister enjoying the late apples in Pyeongchang

Her Majesty and the PM have spearheaded several projects together, the latest being the Eomoni Foundation, now international, and they recently broke ground for The Queen So-yong University, for women and taught by women. Nine buildings will rise on site, two of them for dormitories and seven for academics and applied research. Seven college departments are already open for enrollment and currently housed in several buildings across Seoul and Busan. 

The kingdom’s best and brightest female professors and students are being wooed with above-market salaries and scholarship packages. Applications from abroad are also pouring in, but the pioneer students will be exclusively Coreans.  

Would the PM Koo teach a class? The PM laughed at my question. “I don’t have the time. Because if I teach a class, it won’t be a one-off one-hour special. I’ll want to make sure they retained what I taught. And I’ll probably make them cry.” 

This made the author laugh. It wasn’t long ago that the PM would have been quite sweet in her answer, but these days, the PM is more candid, and now more beloved for that candidness. She doesn’t mince words. 

For instance, the PM is an alumna of Corea University, and while the university wholly supports the PM, she is vocal about “the old farts” who run it. Hopefully, this comment will lead to a shakeup that will make Corea University leadership better.  

And why would the PM need to be sweet anyway? Her connections are nothing short of glittering. Through her adopted sister, the Lady Seo-gyeong, she’s connected to the queen. 

PM Koo is also connected to the pharma-fortune Parks, half-sister to Hogyeong heiress Park Ji-young. And yes, the PM is the illegitimate child of the Parks, a connection they openly acknowledge especially after the death of the PM’s biological father, Park Go-yong.

The last openly acknowledged illegitimate child in Corean high society was none other than the traitor Lee Lim, Prince Imperial Geum.

The positive outcome of that was non-discrimination laws for illegitimate children and unwed mothers. As expected, society was slow to accept and adapt, but by the time PM Koo was born, her mother wasn’t turned into a pariah like what would have happened in previous generations. 

PM Koo often said she was proud and happy to bear her mother’s name.  

If circumstances had been different, where would the country be without their PM? 

But like the traitor, PM Koo grew up in relative normalcy, even if there were whispers about her parentage.  

And unlike the traitor, PM Koo is loyal to the royal family.  

Asked about her friendship with the queen, the PM was tight-lipped. “It’s a friendship just like anyone else’s. And what kind of friend would I be if I talked about my friends? You know enough about the queen to be going on with. It’s up to Their Majesties what else they decide to make public.”

Is it true she influenced the queen’s leg-displaying outfit and short haircut? 

The PM laughed uproariously at this. “As if I could influence Her Majesty about anything. You have to admit she has nice legs.” 

See the photo here in our recap of queenly photos. 

This author was lucky enough to have this quick interview with the PM, so I certainly didn’t waste time being a nuisance (and risk losing the same privilege in future). 

The PM is too much of an impressive figure to irritate. She doesn’t have the usual and quite annoying air of humility many women in power sadly find the need to project. No, the PM Koo is unapologetic about her position and her excellence. And every woman needs to be. 

The King is surrounded by strong women: he has the queen, his cousin the Lady Se-jin, and the Prime Minister. He was also raised by Head Court Lady Noh and assisted in all his work by the formidable Secretary Mo, pictured above with PM Koo. 

The PM delivered this message to the women of Corea. 

“It’s quite painful when you’re not spending your days to realize your full potential. 

“I’m not saying women in non-political or non-ambitious lives are in pain. You can be perfectly happy as a mother. As a wife. But if you happen to have a passion or ambition, as a mother, as a wife, or in whichever career you are in, or in another niche entirely, then by all means, go after it. 

“Don’t just sit there dreaming it or thinking you’ll do it later. Make time. Make it happen. Because if you don’t, it hurts.

“And this is what makes some women catty. For heaven’s sake, just go after what you want. Make yourself happy. When you see other women going after their ambition, don’t resent them. The knee-jerk reaction is, “Who does she think she is?” Flip that around. Recognize that you can succeed like her. Who do you think you can be? The only thing stopping you is yourself. 

“As for the rest, we’re working to fix things and make things easier for you-- the way it has been easy for men.”  

With a smile, the PM signaled that she was done, and that was quite a closing, referring to the laws she and the queen are working on for gender parity and equality across all industries in the kingdom.  

Thank you, Prime Minister. 

Go here for our report on Zero Discrimination Day 

Go here for our coverage of all the International Women’s Day programs and festivities across Corea

International Women’s Day #ChoosetoChallenge

---------------------------------------------------------------

Again with an Easter egg for another K-drama I loved. :) Hint: It’s the university. Happy International Women’s Day! 

[hisunshiine]

primal |kth|

♡ 𝘵𝘢𝘦𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘹 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 ♡ 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳!𝘵𝘢𝘦 𝘹 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺!𝘰𝘤 ♡ 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 ♡ 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 @shades_of_blue

—

“I saw you and him! You let him feed you.. Let him touch you..” His eyes, typically your favorite shade of deep mahogany were now black.

“Tae, I swear, it was innocent. If I had refused, they would have known.. I think they suspect so—”

Tae’s large hand tightened on your throat slightly, and you gasped, arching slightly.

“Kneel.”

-6 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰-

You had just gotten hired by KimHit Entertainment, an up and coming company that had great talent of all kinds signed to them. They worked with multiple artists, rappers like RM and Agust D, singing dance duo J-Hope and Jimin (J2J), had content creators/artists like JayKay and Vante, and they were all managed by Kim Seokjin, one of the most famous vocalists in the world. He had decided to create a company to help others flourish once he felt like he had met all of his own goals.

While he still made music, he wanted to make sure to solidify himself as a top tier business man as well, like his father before him. He took over his dad’s small company and created a chaebol with his ability to spot talent and help it bloom. His brother had recently run the food services department for KimHit, but he had recently gotten married, so he was unable to do the tours for the next 2 quarters.

You had gone to culinary school with Seokjin’s older brother, which was how you found out about the company, and applied. Despite your love for music, your job however, had nothing to do with being “Talent”, unless you counted what you did in the kitchen.

“Carla, holy fuck, this is delicious!” Nayeon had just licked her finger clean from where she had dipped it into your batter for the dessert for the Talent. She went to double dip, and you swatted her hand away with the oven mitt you were holding.

“Yes, that’s why I was hired. But Gemini is coming down soon to eat, and they need to be fed before their performance tonight. A 2 hour set is no joke.” Nayeon nodded and backed away, hands up.

“Fine, fine.. I’m headed back to my station, but save me some please!” She smiled as she turned and headed to the door, her slim hips swaying as she disappeared through the swinging doors of the kitchen.

You finished plating the main dishes and began trekking them through the same swinging doors to set up for the meal. Each venue had a different style, but with tours, within the country, it was easier on you to maintain a routine. Traveling across the globe with bigger artists meant you had to go with them to each stadium or arena and cook with the kitchen they provided. Here in your home country, you could easily travel from home to work each day, prepare the meals, set up the spread, and relax. Others were hired to handle the clean up. You hustled back and forth, carrying out the now heavy metal serving dishes before the cast and crew arrived for their pre-show meal.

Panting slightly, you shook your head. How you were not losing weight at a faster rate was beyond you, but you liked that you maintained your curves despite the bustle of this job. Cooking protein rich and healthy fat filled foods helped you keep your more curvy figure. You were happy with your natural assets; you’d never had a problem filling out your outfits in all the right places, and direct or indirect compliments on your figure from the opposite sex had become the norm for you.

You watched the managers slowly file in, followed by the lighting crew, music techs, videographers and more, getting their food before running off to carry out various pre-show set up. They thanked you, happy with the upgraded meals they received ever since KimHit hired you.

“Hi.”

You jumped, not expecting the baritone voice to sound. Turning, you clutch your now racing heart as you take in a remarkable face—jawline that could slice the cake you had been placing, cheekbones that had to have been sculpted by Michaelangelo himself, and a toffee colored gaze that heated you to your core.

“You scared me!” you squeaked out, unable to maintain eye contact with him.

“Sorry,” his voice—as familiar as it was smooth—continued, “I just wanted to say that this smells… delicious.”

You shivered, sure that he was talking about more than the food. That he could smell the arousal mixed with fear as his predatory gaze continued to drink you in, tracing each curve slowly as if he could imagine what you would feel like if he stared long enough. Hard enough.

You attempted to breath slowly, knowing that predators enjoy the toying, and will chase when their prey panics and runs. You naturally responded to his movements, extending the chase when you whirled around and went back to what you were doing. You heard him take a sharp inhale, and inwardly smiled.

5, 4, 3, 2…

“Thanks,” you replied, barely giving him a glance as you straightened back up and made to walk past him. Pausing, you place your hand on his shoulder almost in a motherly way, though the way your voice had taken on a sultry tone suggested you were anything but.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you want to eat.”

As you walked into the kitchen, you heard him let out a low chuckle, and felt excitement bubble within you.

Kim Taehung, or Vante, was the famous photographer that KimHit managed, and would be helping out with catching still photo content for various artist’s within the company. Part of Seokjin’s philosophy was to have his talent work with each other, to build camaraderie across the different mediums as well as maintain wealth within the company.

It was well known within the entertainment world that Taehyung had an… eccentric taste. Once you started working at KimHit, you found out that it was not just within his art. He had been spotted by other coworkers frequenting Primal—a sex club for the elite to delve into their deepest desires. You and Nayeon had bonded over your love for Vante and his art, and she had shared this information.  

Another stylist had gone with him once, and shared quite eagerly with Nayeon and the other stylists that he was definitely a dominating type, that he enjoyed the pursuit of his partner, and was essentially, a predator.

You had done exactly the thing to drive him to begin the chase. You responded to him in a way that caught his attention, and then tried to quell your prey driven response and assert yourself as unaffected. If there was one thing that was going to make him pursue it was the dismissive way you treated his compliment paired with a very forward statement. He wanted to know more about you, wanted to push your limits, to conquer you.

Taehyung began his pursuit not long after that first encounter and you played along, as he aggressively flirted, took you out on dates, and then, like a chess match, called his checkmate. And you were his Queen.

The only problem was that you were under contract with KimHit to not become romantically involved with any of the Talent. Tae knew this, and was careful with his behaviors in public. He maintained his stoic disposition when in company of others, but once the cafe area was empty, he was dragging you away before you could lock up. Tae was all over you, mouth ravishing your body as his hands took possession of your body, laying claim to every curve, tracing the swell of your breasts, the roundness of your ass, squeezing your thighs tightly as he buried his cock deep within your walls.

-Earlier that day-

Gemini, the girl group who had been on tour previously was finished with their schedule, and you would be staying on for the next round of artists. This consisted of the prominent male artists, J2J opening for RM and Agust D, who had recently dropped a joint album. These sets of performances were different from your previous tour in that they would be holding performances at the same arena for the span of a month, allowing fans all over the country to have time to come see them before the month was up.

There was just one catch to the good news of being able to work for a month without traveling. Taehyung would be leaving for a month to work on his own art, paired with JayKay who would be the videographer for his project. Neither of you were happy about being separated, especially since he was friends with all of the men you would be cooking for, who knew nothing about the two of you dating.

He would never tell you that that was his reason, he had never said anything about his friends talking about you when they saw you in the KimHit office cafe working, when there were no Gemini schedules at the venues in town. Or, how they lusted over your body, your lovely features, your soft and gentle manner, over everything that was his . Every predator’s biggest fear is losing their territory.

It wasn’t that Tae didn’t have faith in you, it was that he understood how other predators were. You belonged to him in a different way now, he had already conquered you in a prey-like aspect. You were almost akin to pups, cubs, or other vulnerable babies of mammal species. You were his. Call you territory, call you a kitten or cub, you belonged to him. And anyone sniffing around what was his... well it didn’t sit well with him.

The night before he left, he marked you, trailing merlot colored bruises down your neck, across your collarbone, accompanying bite marks to your chest, scarlet handprints staining your skin on your backside, small fingerprint sized marks showing his lasting grip to your hips and thighs, if only he could be sure that he had left lasting marks to your heart.

He was in love with you, which scared him. He feared you leaving him while he was gone more than anything else. More than you not loving him back. He could deal with you not loving him as long as you didn’t leave .

While you slept in his arms that last night, after that particularly rigorous session, he held you, whispering his love into your hair in the dead of the night, silent prayers that you would still be his when he returned.

—

Taehyung enjoyed his time traveling around France for the month. With Jungkook as his companion and you being on the other end of the many FaceTime calls, it wasn’t so hard for Taehyung to get through the month. He felt his insecurities subside a little more  when he called you and you answered. He knew that you weren’t in danger of leaving him.

You on the other hand struggled with his absence. Your body craved his touch, and you spent evenings touching yourself in hopes that it would feel like him, but it never did. The new talent you were working with  didn’t make it any easier for you while missing Taehyung.

J-Hope, half of the dancing duo J2J,spent almost the entire month flirting with you, relentlessly. He was handsome, tall, lithe; his body, moved in ways you’d never seen before until he took the stage. You loved Taehyung and had no intentions of cheating on him.  However, you missed the up close and personal attention you’d become so accustomed to with Taehyung, and you enjoyed the attention from J-Hope—or Hobi, the name he asked you to call him.

He shamelessly flirted with you nonstop, to the point that you were fairly certain Tae would be highly upset if he were to witness it. But it appeared harmless to you since your heart and body were already taken by Taehyung, even if no one else knew it.

—

“Hey,” Hobi approached you while you were finishing up for the day, catching you right before you disappeared behind the swinging metal kitchen doors. “I had a question for you.”

“Sure, what’s up?” your hands were positioned on your hips as you turned, and you didn’t miss the way his gaze took its time traveling up before settling on your own.

“I wanted to have a small party tonight, to celebrate the end of the performances. I’ll text you the address, I would love for you to come.”

“Oh, I’ll have to see...” you replied, knowing that Taehyung and JayKay would be arriving back to town that evening.

“Please, Carla, I hope you can make it.” Hobi stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “At the very least, can I pay you to make a cake for the celebration tonight?”

You found yourself nodding to that. That way you could still do something nice for a friend without upsetting Tae by spending his first night back home out with his friends and not with him.

“Of course, Hobi. Just text me the address. I’ll make you your favorite… my signature Devil’s Food Cake with Cream Cheese icing and strawberries.”

“You’re an actual angel, babe.” Hobi smiled his heart shaped smile, but the glint in his eye was as devilish as the cake you planned to make. “I can’t wait. The party is black and red attire… but please, come in all white.”

—

Texting Tae, you mentioned that you would be a little late to his place due to a last minute catering stop. You had started doing small catering services since you wouldn’t be traveling out of town this month, so it wasn’t unusual for you to tell Tae that you needed an hour or two in order to fulfill orders for your customers.  

Before leaving for the party, you double checked the white body con dress you had put on. It had a heart shaped neckline with baby doll straps, and you had tied your hair into a chignon, slicked back to show off your decolletage. A simple necklace with a small camera charm hung from the chain rested almost into your cleavage, the tiny diamond in the lens catching the light from the bulb in the hallway.

Liking the reflection you saw, you carted off your finished cake to your SUV and made your way to the location on your map.

Turning onto a main road, you had thought that the party Hobi was hosting was at his own place, but as you pulled into a parking lot you couldn’t help but notice the bright red sign. Primal . The very club that allowed people to explore their sexual desires on the second floor while the dance floor allowed people to party on the first. You had always wanted to come here after you found out about Taehyung coming here, but as the top floor was invite only…

Once you had started dating Tae in secret, you had forgotten about this place, not needing to seek out a place to explore your fantasies when they happened in his bedroom now. Unloading the SUV, you carried the boxed cake towards the entrance, where the bouncer at the front signalled for you to enter.

“Hoseok said to be on the lookout for the angel in white with a cake.”

You laughed to yourself, warmth crossed your cheeks at the description.

“Just head to the desk, tell them you’re headed to room 7, the password for your party is ‘hope in hell’.”

Following the instructions he gave you, the attendant at the desk led you to the door of room 7, which was tucked in the back corner of the second floor. She opened the door, which allowed you to walk into the room, lit with red lights. Music was playing throughout the speakers on the walls, and you heard the chatter of the party goers as you ascended into the depths of Primal.

“Carla!” Hobi’s voice called over the hum of the party and you turned to take in his outfit, all black to match his hair. He waved you in his direction, and upon reaching him, you handed the box off and he placed the cake on the table beside him.

“Wow, this looks amazing!” he said as he unboxed it, eyes turning back to you as he licked his lips. “Purely… delectable.”

You couldn’t help the way your body reacted. Taking in how you responded to his words, he smirked as he watched you look away. Looking around the room now, you were able to take in the scene. You truly were the only person that was in white. You could see people gyrating on each other, talking closely in small groups, drinking their fair share of alcohol, and disappearing into other rooms with each other, carnal looks in their eyes. Hobi grabbed a strawberry and held it to your mouth. You opened when it touched your bottom lip, but he teased you, trailing it along your full bottom lip before pushing it slowly into your mouth. You bite, taking in the sweetness of the fruit.

Setting down the tuft of green left over, he grabbed a napkin, clearing his fingers of the red residue before grabbing another strawberry, which he handed to you.

“Feed me.”  

Unable to say no to his demand, you oblige. You had drawn an audience since you walked through the door; heated gazes on you, watching your every move, you couldn’t have said no to the host, and he knew it. Holding the strawberry up to him, his lips wrapped delicately around the plump fruit, teeth seamlessly slicing through it as some of the red liquid dripped down his chin. Your gaze follows the trail of it and you bite your lip.

“Thank you again, angel.” Hobi pulls your glance back to his eyes, stepping closer towards you for a hug.

“Thank you for inviting me Hobi, I can’t stay long, but I appreciate it.”

As he gathers you into a hug, you feel his hands drift down along your curves, hands holding your ass in a way that prevented you from moving away from him. His length, hard, pressed between your thighs and you felt his lips ghost over your neck.

“Do you have enough time for me to show you a good time?” he asked, and as much as you would have said yes if you were single, you had Taehyung possibly already waiting for you at your place.

“Sorry, I can’t tonight.” You pout, trying your best to be vague. No one knew about you and Tae, and you had to keep it that way.

“Not tonight? So when can I get you all alone?” This time, his teeth nipped at your skin, and you involuntarily shivered in his arms, moving closer into his grip.

“Um..” you tried hard to formulate words, his dominating persona calling to the submissive in you.

“𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗮𝗻'𝘁.”

Taehyung’s low voice practically growled as his hand gripped your neck possessively. Hobi released you, his eyes a mischievous smile as he took in the way your head turned in response to Tae’s voice, body moving towards him as if it was second nature.

“She’s mine, Hobi-hyung.”

The song was low, changing from one to another, and you felt the eyes of the other guests on the three of you. From your peripheral you could see that RM, Suga, and Jimin were watching, amused, while JayKay was standing off to the side of Tae, snickering.

“Ahhhh,” Hobi said, mind putting together all of the information over the past few months. The way that Taehyung had always grown quiet when they talked about asking you out until he would forcefully say that you were unavailable, that you had told him you weren’t single. The way you had turned down all the advances Hobi had made. The way that Taehyung seemed to almost be enraged when the crew would talk about your sumptuous body. His eyes met Jin’s, who shrugged and pretended not to see anything, walking away with a girl who had on a black lingerie set.

Tugging your hand, Tae led you towards a door and pulled you inside. It was dim, quiet, empty of passerby and onlookers.

Taehyung turned to face you, backing you towards the door you had just walked through. His arm reached over you, swinging the door shut so you were pressed against it.

“I’m gone for a month, Carla... and this is how you behave when Daddy is away?” His eyes don’t meet yours, instead they follow the path his finger makes as it trails down your cheek, slow and deliberate.

“I was trying to keep up appearances… I was about to leave, I promise.”

“Didn’t much look like you were trying to leave. Looked like you were allowing him to touch what was mine.”

“Tae, I promise—” your voice was frantic, worried he would leave you, but he cut you off.

“I saw you and him! You let him feed you.. Let him touch you..” His eyes, typically your favorite shade of deep mahogany were now black.

“Tae, I swear, it was innocent. If I had refused, they would have known.. I think they suspect so—”

Tae’s large hand tightened on your throat slightly, and you gasped, arching slightly.

“Kneel.”

Falling to your knees, your eyes meet the floor as you watch his slip on black Gucci loafers circle around you. You can hear his fingers meddle with his belt.

“You,” he paused, attempting to tame his anger, “are mine.”

His hand gripped your chignon, pulling your head in whatever direction he wanted as he continued speaking. You kept your body loose so that he could control your movements. Angling your head to look up at him, he took his other hand and used his fingers to pinch your cheeks and open your mouth.

“This mouth… is mine.”

His cock, standing at full length, entered your mouth roughly and you slackened your jaw to allow his girth to fill your hole. He face-fucked you, hips snapping as he plunged his cock into your throat. You hollow your cheeks, running your warm tongue along the bottom and grazing his frenulum. The flared tip caught on your lips as he pulled out, and you suckled the head how he liked as he held your face still with only the tip engulfed in the warmth of your mouth.

“Fuck, like that angel.” Taehyung expressed his enjoyment with low grunts and caresses to your face as you did your best to please him and apologize for what he witnessed.

“Ah, this mouth is sinful… aren’t you my little angel?” he asked, removing himself from your lips with a lewd popping sound. His hands moved to your chignon and he pulled out the pin holding it together, allowing your hair to fall.

“Yes,” you panted, short of breath, “I’m your angel.”

He nodded with a low hum, and brought you to stand. His mouth was harsh, rough as he kissed and bit your now swollen lips with his own. His grasp on your body was tight; you expected to see small fingertip bruises from his grip in the morning.

Pulling away, the trail of saliva from your mouth to his strained thin before snapping, and Tae was more turned on than ever watching the way you leaned forward chasing the kiss.

“You aren’t acting like my angel... You’re dressed like her, but you haven’t been behaving like her.”

As he moves through the room, you finally take in your surroundings. The room is mostly bare, no bed, but there is a small love seat on the wall to the left and a door in the wall straight ahead that had a sex swing attached to it. Your stomach flipped in excitement. Taehyung gave you a series of looks and, without words, you obeyed his commands. He had you naked and strapped into the swing in a matter of minutes, shedding his flowing black silk shirt.

“That’s better… the white dress made you look too pure for what I’m about to do to you.”

Running his cock along your folds, your slick coated the tip and he pushed himself into you without much prep. This was a part of your punishment, you knew, and the feeling of him so full inside of you had your body adjusting to him with more of your juices produced with every thrust he made. Your legs were propped up in the sex swing, held by straps that wrapped around your thighs, and you slid up along the door with the force of Taehyung’s hips.

“You’re mine, Carla. All mine.”

“Yes... Fuck, yes Tae, I’m yours.”

His teeth marked your neck, his large hands gripping your thighs and you could feel the throbbing of his dick as he continuously buried it inside of you. You moaned out, unable to stay quiet after a month of being deprived of him. His scent filled the surrounding area and enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t enough, you wanted more of him.

“Please Tae.. I need… I— I need m-more...”

He thrusts into you deeply, slapping your ass as he pushes against your cervix and you cry out, nails digging into his back. You’re sure that you’ve left small crescent moons along his shoulder blades. He circles his hips while remaining deep inside of you, and he growls in your ear.

“You feel so good, God, I missed you.”

“-m-missed you… too...”

“It’s so tight, baby. I’m gonna… fuck, I’m gonna fill you so good baby.”

“Please,” you beg, and he drops his hand down to press against your clit.

You felt it building fast, the pull in your abdomen and as your hips bucked to gain more friction against his hardened member, you squeezed around him, feeling every curve and vein along the shaft and he bit hard onto your shoulder, his hot cum filling you up.

Crying out, you’re so close, but Tae pulls out of you, eyes meeting yours. And you know he’s not going to allow you release at this moment. Punishment for your earlier behavior.

You almost whine at him, exhausted because all you want is to fall apart before you fall asleep wrapped in his arms. You make to say something to him, going against your submissive state to tell him that you want more, you want to finish, before his voice whispers a command.

“Clench.”

You follow his directive, using your walls to force his cum out of you and you smile sleepily as you hear his slight intake of breath as you feel him drip down your thigh. The pads of his fingers are gentle as he scooped it back up and tucked his release back inside of you, two fingers eliciting a quiet, slick sound as they enter your abused core.

“You can cum later tonight baby, after I get you home...”

You nod, glad that he was going to allow you an orgasm at some point tonight. He leans forward to kiss you, his tongue tangling lazily with yours as he releases you from the sex swing.

“.. If you earn it.”

RUNNER UP COVER THAT DIDN’T WIN BUT I LOVE IT TOO SO HERE IT IS

[d3nt4l-d4m4g3]

Consider: The effeminists

Effeminist—(historical) A member of a male homosexual movement opposing prejudices against effeminate behaviour.  —Wikipedia

The next quote is from Jeanne Cordova’s When We Were Outlaws. She was a major figure in the lesbian feminist movement and created the most prominent lesbian newspaper of the time, The Lesbian Tide. This part of her autobiography is set when the lesbians employeed at the gay center (who created some of the first health care programs for women alcoholics, btw)  are shoved out of power. Most of the gay male employees at the GCSC were fine with what was clearly manipulative and misogynistic bullshit that would disempower an entire neighborhood of poor, lower-class women. However, one group of men stood by the lesbians:

“In recent weeks a handful of the gay male employees [at the Gay Community Services Center] had begun to support us, calling themselves “effeminists,” a term used by radical left wing of the gay movement. Effeminists glorified in the name “gay faeries” and understood that the straight world mocked them because they as (f-slur)  identified with women. They championed feminist principles like lesbian equality in the gay movement. They were usually feminine, rather than butch gay men, and they became our natural allies.” (Cordova 97-98)

The Effeminists’ 1973 Manifesto is below, transcribed from this archive:

The Effeminist Manifesto (1973) Steven Dansky, John Knoebel, Kenneth Pitchford

We, the undersigned Effeminists of Double-F hereby invite all like-minded men to join with us in making our declaration of independence from Gay Liberation and all other Male-Ideologies by unalterably asserting our stand of revolutionary commitment to the following Thirteen Principles that form the quintessential substance of our politics:

       On the oppression of women. 1. SEXISM. All women are oppressed by all men, including ourselves. This systematic oppression is called sexism. 2. MALE SUPREMACY. Sexism itself is the product of male supremacy, which produces all other forms of oppression that patriarchal societies exhibit: racism, classism, ageism, economic exploitation, ecological imbalance. 3. GYNARCHISM. Only that revolution which strikes at the root of all oppression can end any and all of its forms. That is why we are gynarchists; that is, we are among those who believe that women will seize power from the patriarchy and, thereby, totally change life on this planet as we know it. 4. WOMEN’S LEADERSHIP. Exactly how women will go about seizing power is no business of ours, being men. But as effeminate men oppressed by masculinist standards, we ourselves have a stake in the destruction of the patriarchy, and thus we must struggle with the dilemma of being partisans – as effeminists – of a revolution opposed to us – as men. To conceal our partisanship and remain inactive for fear of women’s leadership or to tamper with questions which women will decide would be no less despicable. Therefore, we have a duty to take sides, to struggle to change ourselves, to act.

       On the oppression of effeminate men. 5. MASCULINISM. Faggots and all effeminate men are oppressed by the patriarchy’s systematic enforcement of masculinist standards, whether these standards are expressed as physical, mental, emotional, or sexual stereotypes of what is desirable in a man. 6. EFFEMINISM. Our purpose is to urge all such men as ourselves (whether celibate, homosexual, or heterosexual) to become traitors to the class of men by uniting in a movement of Revolutionary Effeminism so that collectively we can struggle to change ourselves from non-masculinists into anti-masculinists and begin attacking those aspects of the patriarchal system that most directly oppress us. 7. PREVIOUS MALE-IDEOLOGIES. Three previous attempts by men to create a politics of fighting oppression have failed because of their incomplete analysis: the Male Left, Male Liberation, and Gay Liberation. These and other formations, such as sexual libertarianism and the counter-culture, are all tactics for preserving power in men’s hands by pretending to struggle for change. We specifically reject a hands by pretending to struggle for change. We specifically reject a carry-over from one or more of these earlier ideologies – the damaging combination of ultra-egalitarianism, anti-leadership, anti-technology, and downward mobility. All are based on a politics of guilt and a hypocritical attitude towards power which prevents us from developing skills urgently needed in our struggle and which confuses the competence needed for revolutionary work with the careerism of those who seek personal accommodation within the patriarchal system. 8. COLLABORATORS AND CAMP FOLLOWERS. Even we effeminate men are given an option by the patriarchy: to become collaborators in the task of keeping women in their place. Faggots, especially, are offered a subculture by the patriarchy which is designed to keep us oppressed and also increase the oppression of women. This subculture includes a combination of anti-women mimicry and self-mockery known as camp which, to its trivializing effect, would deny us any chance of awakening to our own suffering, the expression of which can be recognized as revolutionary sanity by the oppressed. 9.SADO-MASCULINITY: ROLE PLAYING AND OBJECTIFICATION. The Male Principle, as exhibited in the last ten thousand years, is chiefly characterized by an appetite for objectification, role-playing, and sadism. First, the masculine preference for thinking as opposed to feeling encourages men to regard other people as things, and to use them accordingly. Second, inflicting pain upon people and animals has come to be deemed a mark of manhood, thereby explaining the well-known proclivity for rape and torture. Finally, a lust for power-dominance is rewarded in the playing out of that ultimate role, The Man, whose rapacity is amply displayed in witch-hunts, lynchings, pogroms, and episodes of genocide, not to mention the day-to-day (often life-long) subservience that he exacts from those closest to him. Masculine bias, thus, appears in our behavior whenever we act out the following categories, regardless of which element in each pair we are most drawn to at any moment: subject/object; dominant/submissive; master/slave; butch/femme. All of these false dichotomies are inherently sexist, since they express the desire to be masculine or to possess the masculine in someone else. The racism of white faggots often reveals the same set of polarities, regardless of whether they choose to act out the dominant or submissive role with black or third-world men. In all cases, only by rejecting the very terms of these categories can we become effeminists. This means explicitly rejecting, as well, the objectification of people based on such things as age; body; build; color; size or shape of facial features, eyes, hair, genitals; ethnicity or race; physical and mental handicap; life-style; sex. We must therefore strive to detect and expose every embodiment of The Male Principle, no matter how and where it may be enshrined and glorified, including those arenas of faggot objectification (baths, bars, docks, parks) where power-dominance, as it operates in the selecting of roles and objects, is known as “cruising.” 10. MASOCH-EONISM. Among those aspects of our oppression which The Man has foisted upon us, two male heterosexual perversions, in particular, are popularly thought of as being “acceptable” behavior for effeminate men: eonism (that is, male transvestitism) and masochism. Just as sadism and masculinism, by merging into one identity, tend to become indistinguishable one from the other, so masochism and eonism are born of an identical impulse to mock subservience in men, as a way to project intense anti-women feelings and also to pressure women into conformity by providing those degrading stereotypes most appealing to the sado-masculinist. Certainly, sado-masoch-eonism is in all its forms the very anti-thesis of effeminism. Both the masochist and the eonist are particularly an insult to women since they overtly parody female oppression and pose as object lessons in servility. 11. LIFE-STYLE: APPEARANCE AND REALITY. We must learn to discover and value The Female Principle in men as something inherent, beyond roles or superficial decoration, and thus beyond definition by any one particular life-style (such as the recent androgeny fad, transsexuality, or other purely personal solutions). Therefore, we do not automatically support or condemn faggots or effeminists who live alone, who live together in couples, who live together in all-male collectives, who live with women, or who live in any other way – since all these modes of living in and of themselves can be sexist but also can conceivably come to function as bases for anti-sexist struggle. Even as we learn to affirm in ourselves the cooperative impulse and to admire in each other what is tender and gentle, what is aesthetic, considerate, affectionate, lyrical, sweet, we should not confuse our own time with that post-revolutionary world when our effeminist natures will be free to express themselves openly without fear or punishment or danger of oppressing others. Above all, we must remember that it is not merely a change of appearance that we seek, but a change in reality. 12. TACTICS. We mean to support, defend and promote effeminism in all men everywhere by any means except those inherently male supremacist or those in conflict with the goals of feminists intent on seizing power. We hope to find militant ways for fighting our oppression that will meet these requirements. Obviously, we do not seek the legalization of faggotry, quotas, or civil-rights for faggots or other measures designed to reform the patriarchy. Practically, we see three phases of activity: naming our enemies to start with, next confronting them, and ultimately divesting them of their power. This means both the Cock Rocker and the Drag Rocker among counter-cultist heroes, both the Radical Therapist and the Faggot-Torturer among effemiphobic psychiatrists, both the creators of beefcake pornography and of eonistic travesties. It also means all branches of the patriarchy that institutionalize the persecution of faggots (schools, church, army, prison, asylum, old-age home). But whatever the immediate target, we would be wise to prepare for all forms of sabotage and rebellion which women might ask of us, since it is not as pacifists that we can expect to serve in the emerging world-wide anti-gender revolution. We must also constantly ask ourselves and each other for a greater measure of risk and commitment than we may have dreamt was possible yesterday. Above all, our joining in this struggle must discover in us a new respect for women, a new ability to love each other as effeminists, both of which have previously been denied us by our misogyny and effemiphobia, so that our bonding until now has been the traditional male solidarity that is always inimical to the interests of women and pernicious of our own sense of effeminist self-hood. 13. DRUDGERY AND CHILDCARE: RE-DEFINING GENDER. Our first and most important step, however, must be to take upon ourselves at least our own share of the day-to-day life-sustaining drudgery that is usually consigned to women alone. To be useful in this way can release women to do other work of their choosing and can also begin to re-define gender for the next generation. Of paramount concern here, we ask to be included in the time-consuming work of raising and caring for children, as a duty, right and privilege.

Attested to this twenty-seventh day of Teves and first day of January, in the year of our falthering Judeo-Christian Patriarchy, 5733 and 1973, by Steven Dansky, John Knoebel, and Kenneth Pitchford.

[giveabeat]

House Music’s Diverse Origins

This Black History Month, We Honor the Black, LGBTQ+ Communities Who Gave Us House Music

House music club in the early 90s

By Sanjana Sanghani

Every month should be Black history month, but we’ve taken this annual month-long celebration of Black joy, perseverance, and strength as an opportunity to explore a genre of music indebted to the Black community: house music. 

While modern media sources may tell you otherwise, the origins of house music are clear. House music was established in the south side of Chicago, by none other than Black and LGBTQ+ groups. Pushed out of almost all other spaces in the 1980s, these marginalized groups formed a community around their common love for music. It makes sense that in a society that rejected their identities, these groups felt drawn to an area that allowed people to shed societal limitations and focus on the art that collectively kept them going. 

A discussion of house music wouldn’t be complete without mentioning Frankie Knuckles, a pioneer of the genre. In the 80s, Knuckles’ held residency at his dance club, The Warehouse, which is how the term “house music'' arose in the first place. Similarly, Larry Levan was a prominent DJ with residency in his club The Paradise Garage. Described as “church for people who [had] fallen from grace,” the music they played in these clubs itself is reflective of that: house music’s repetitive 4/4 rhythm and sparse or absent vocals drown out all else in a way that is reliable, centering, and trance-like. The dark rooms and steady beats of dance clubs filter out anything unwanted, at least temporarily. It also offers a versatile base for a myriad of layered sounds, which many Black African artists have embraced through the incorporation of African drums. Further, part of what allowed house music to thrive was its accessibility, not only musically, but also financially, with electronic instruments that were easily adapted and affordable for people at the time. House music was quite literally built upon the foundations of inclusivity, love, and compassion – woven into the very identities of individuals who created it, dance clubs easily became some of the most progressive spaces in the country. 

It is important to emphasize that a large part of house music’s success also has to do with Black LGBTQ+ folks specifically, those with unique intersectional identities that deserve much more credit in the arena. The Human Rights Ordinance that granted equal treatment to those with differing racial and sexual orientation was passed only in 1988, and even then, as we all very well know, legal changes take decades to manifest into social change. Black LGBTQ+ individuals were especially unwelcome in society, so their existence was forced into places like underground dance clubs, where house music thrived. 

As in many areas, house music’s modern-day mainstream faces do not accurately reflect its diverse and colorful history. From rock and roll to country, Black musicians have frequently been deprived of their rightful credit, and this, too, is no exception. We all know about the David Guettas and Calvin Harrises of the world, but do we know about the descendants of communities that actually created the movement? Long after 1988, Black and LGBTQ+ interests do not align with mainstream interests to this day. 

Give a Beat remains committed to these very interests, and was founded within this music community that brings together diverse people of all types of ethnicities, genders, languages, sexual orientations, disabilities, and socioeconomic classes. The organization's values reflect the founding values of electronic music culture created by BIPOC: peace, love, compassion, understanding, inclusivity, justice, equality. The principles are the pillars of programs and advocacy work created by this organization. In our Prison Electronic Music Program, we not only honor the founders of house music, but also walk participants through getting hands-on with learning about electronic music production and DJing, encouraging personal and societal betterment. Participants work within a digital jukebox that includes work from artists like Osunalade, Channel Tres, and Kevin Saunderson. 

Stacey Hotwaxx Hale with Students at a Give a Beat Youth Music Workshop – Photo by Sue Hudelson

As an organization passionate about marginalized voices, Give a Beat is excited to have the support of several successful Black house music artists. One of the first known female DJs to mix, DJ Stacey Hotwaxx Hale is largely recognized as the “Godmother of House Music.” As a Black woman in a male-dominated field, she was not without her struggles, which included balancing the expectations and image that people expected from her with her own unadulterated passion for music. Currently, she hosts several radio shows, educates younger girls on music, and serves as an inspiration for aspiring female DJs of color across the board. Similarly, Ultra Naté is yet another Black female DJ who has enriched the genre, releasing singles that have never missed the mark and consistently made their way onto U.S. Dance Club charts. Artists like DJ Minx and DJ Heather are other exceptional Black house artists that we love that have shaped the scene.

Unfortunately, the music industry is fraught with injustices at every step, and much of it is still white-dominated. House music is not exempt from plagiarizing and hijacking intellectual labor from Black creatives, and several sources state that white producers and music executives owe close to millions to Black musicians of the past. Luckily, none of this has deterred talent from burgeoning in between the cracks. From Jesse Saunders to Gene Farris to Ron Trent, Black artists continue to fuel the electronic music tradition. The artists mentioned throughout this piece, along with many others, including Rich Medina, King Britt, Roy Davis Jr., and Derrick Carter, carry the genre forward while remaining rooted in its origins. If we’ve learned anything from the life-changing events of 2020, it is that we must amplify marginalized voices – and what better way to do that than celebrating their music? 

Here’s where you can learn more about house music: 

> Learn more about Larry Levan and Paradise Garage in this video

> Watch artists of today provide their own perspectives on what house music means to the industry, and world: here

> Listen to what it was like in Knuckles’ The Warehouse

> Listen to DJ Minx’s Black History Month Spotify Guest List Playlist 

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part vi

Part vi is here! As always, I love hearing any kind of feedback, so reblogs and inboxes are so welcome!

part i part ii part iii part iv part v

part vi

January 30 

Cass was distracted as she walked into the arena, distracted as she found Mat’s family, and distracted as she sat down. Fiona’s words were weighing on her, and she didn’t know what to do about them. It didn’t help that she hadn’t seen Mat since that morning, he had press and practice and some fan stuff with the league. It was maybe ten minutes before puck drop, and Cass didn’t know where her head was at. She was picking at a loose thread on the hem of her jersey when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she was surprised to see that it was his mom. 

“Are you okay, love? You look distracted.” She asked, concern clear on her face. 

“Yeah?” Cass responded, almost like a question. 

Nadia gave her the “mom” look, the kind that pierces through your soul and knows all of your secrets. “I know you don’t know me all that well and I won’t make you talk about it if you don’t want to, but I can tell something’s on your mind, Cassidy. And I have a feeling it has to do with my son.”

Cass let out a defeated sigh. “Yeah. It’s just...everything’s piling on top of each other, and it’s hard to sort out what’s important and what’s just...static, if that makes sense.”

She nodded wisely. “What kind of things?”

“Outside opinions on us, on Mat and I’s relationship. People thinking that they have a right to make a judgement one way or another. People thinking that I don’t belong here, or with him, because of who I am, and how I look, and what I do.” Cass paused from her monologuing for a moment. “And it’s not always done out of spite. I’ve got a friend at school who just texted me basically asking if I’m sure that my priorities are in the right place. And I know she means well, she’s a wonderful person, but it’s just…” She trailed off.

“Tiring,” Nadia supplied. Cass nodded. “Well,” she began, “Obviously I’m not an expert. I’ve never been in a relationship with a professional athlete, and I’m not you. But I know what pressure feels like, and I know Mat.” Cass gave a watery chuckle. “And I know that my son is head over heels for you. He thinks the world of you, he really does.”

“But, all due respect, it’s not like I’m his first girlfriend or anything.”

“True,” she started carefully, “but I’ve also never seen him like this. I won’t insult your intelligence and say that there haven’t been other girls, because there have, but he’s never been this wholeheartedly invested in someone before. Did you know that you’re the first one he’s introduced us to since he moved to New York?”

Cass shook her head. “No, I didn’t. He never told me.”

“And why would he? Mat’s a good man and he’s got a good heart, but sometimes he can be remarkably dense. Doesn’t always notice what’s right in front of him.”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed that much,” Cass said, laughing. 

Her thumb ran across Cass’s shoulder. “I guess this all just goes to say that you’ve got to talk to him. He cares about you, a lot. He’ll listen. And if he doesn’t, you send him to me, okay?”

Cass smiled. “I will.” The players had just come out, and the anthems were about to start. Cass rose from her seat, hand over her heart and Mat on her mind. 

The score at the ten-minute mark was 3-3, and Cass had to constantly stop herself from chewing her nails down to nubs. The 3-on-3  format made it easier to keep track of the puck, but there was so much open space on the ice it was sometimes impossible to tell where the players were trying to go in the first place. There were three minutes left, and Mat had just nabbed a pass from Konecny. Skating down the ice, he caught a breakaway. Faked to his left, skated to the right, and poked it right past Vasilevsky in the far corner. Half of the arena exploded, half sunk to their seats and groaned. Cass cheered loudly, cupping her hands around her mouth and hugging the rest of the family. He skated over to the side, hi-fiving the guys on the bench before taking his seat for the next shift. 

Metro division ended up winning 8-6, and Cass shot off a quick congratulations text to Mat, knowing that he probably wouldn’t be able to read it until after the final. She half-payed attention to the Western conference semifinal, only enough to know that the Pacific division won. She couldn’t even say by how much. 

The final was close, much closer than the first game had seemed, with no more than a single goal separating the two teams at any time. Late in the game, it looked like the Metro team would be able to run away with it, but Tkachuk sniped from the blue line, pulling Pacific ahead and giving them the win. She followed his family down to the hall where everyone was waiting, internally cringing at the thought of how Mat might be taking the loss. He had gotten better, a lot better, after they had made it clear that communication was a priority and something that needed to be worked on in their relationship, but he wasn’t perfect, and neither was she. 

So needless to say, she was more than a little surprised when he came out of the locker room with a smile on his face, embracing his family and giving her a kiss on the head. The group walked outside as they said their goodbyes — Mat’s family had an early flight back, Miami to Vancouver wasn’t exactly an in-demand route — and Mat’s sister hugged Cass, turning to her brother after and sternly telling him “don’t screw this up. She’s way too good for you.” 

It was pretty late, and a beautiful night, and most of the fans had left, so Cass and Mat walked hand-in-hand back to the hotel. “What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” Mat murmured. So I guess we’re going to have this conversation now, Cass thought, on the sidewalk in an Islanders jersey in the middle of Sunset, Florida. 

“You really can read me like a book, can’t you?” Cass asked softly.

Mat shrugged. “That, and the fact that you keep glancing between me and the street. Might have been a little bit of a giveaway.” 

“The interview from the other day’s been on my mind. I know it seems kind of stupid and childish, but it’s getting to me. What he said about me not being a ‘typical’ hockey girlfriend.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Mat said dismissively. 

“I know that, you know that, but it’s the perception, Mat. Either that I don’t support you or your career because I have my own things to deal with sometimes, or that I don’t occupy the ‘place’ I should by pursuing education and a career. By pursuing a male-dominated career, especially. I’m worried I don’t…” She took a breath. “I’m worried I don’t live up to the expectations everyone’s setting for me.” Cass was annoyed, not at Mat or at the interviewer, even, but at the situation. At the thought that she had to continually prove to people that she was enough and she had earned her place. 

“Fuck expectations,” Mat said abruptly. “I want you. All of you.” He stopped for a moment. “I’m so, so proud of you. I know I’ve said it already, and I hope you don’t get tired of hearing it, because it’s true. You have this incredible future ahead of you, and you’ve worked so hard to get to where you are. Everyone sees it. You’re going to do such good work, whether it’s bailing dumbass hockey players out or defending immigrant kids. You’re made for this.” Cass had gone into law school thinking she wanted to go into immigration law, motivated in no small part by the fact that Alejandra, her best friend down in Texas, was a DACA recipient. She had legal status for the time being, but it broke her heart to think that she could be forced out of the only country she had ever known. And when Cass was pissed off about something, she wasn’t the type to keep her mouth shut. 

“People will want to write you off,” he continued, “because maybe they’ve never seen anyone do what you do, but that just makes it all the more incredible and impressive that you are able to do it. To have it all.”

Cass let out a humorless laugh. “Have it all, sure.”

“What else happened?” Mat asked, getting the sense that there was still something she was holding back. And he was right. 

“Fiona sent this text checking up on me,” Cass said, not quite sure where to start. 

Mat’s eyebrows furrowed. “But isn’t that good? That she wanted to catch up?”

“I mean, it would be,” Cass sighed, “but she was saying without saying it that she’s not sure my priorities are in the right place since I’ve started seeing you. Almost like you’re...I don’t know. Distracting me from school or something.”

“But—” She cut him off.

“Don’t be mad at her. She means well, I know she does,” Cass replied sharply. Even frustrated, she was still protective of her friends. “And she’s right in the fact that I’ve had more things taking up my time now, and maybe I’m not spending quite as much time at school or the library or wherever as I used to. But that’s fine. Right? Because I’ve been working hard, and I’m still getting good grades but this is making me worried that everything I’m working so hard for isn’t going to pan out—”

“Are you happier?” Mat asked abruptly. 

Cass turned to him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Are you happier now than you were before we met?” She could see his Adam’s apple bobbing. He was nervous. Mat had taken a gamble asking her the question, and he wasn’t sure of the answer. 

“I am,” she said softly. 

Mat squeezed her hand. “Then what else really matters?”

They arrived back at the hotel some twenty minutes later, dropping their bags on the floor and grabbing a change of clothes. There was a party at a bar downtown, and everyone was invited. By everyone, that meant all the players and whoever they decided to bring along. “I don’t actually know who booked the place,” Mat said, pulling one leg through a pair of black jeans. “Segs, maybe?” Out of anyone she had met that weekend, Tyler Seguin renting out a bar would surprise her the least. It was kind of sweet, she thought, zipping up her ankle boots, that the teams could check each other on the ice and then go celebrate together after. Being in the hockey world was really just like having a weird, dysfunctional family. 

“You ready to go?” Cass asked, grabbing a jacket. 

“After you,” Mat said, opening the door. They met a handful of others in the lobby, and the group grabbed a pair of Ubers over to the venue. It was packed by the time they got there, most of the players hanging out in the roped-off section  towards the back. Mat helped her up, grabbing them a pair of what she’s pretty sure were whiskey sours, and introducing her to everyone they ran into. She couldn’t keep track of all the names, there was Nathan MacKinnon and Seth Jones and the Tkachuk brothers and a half dozen other players she didn’t recognize. “Please, for the love of God, shave the mustache,” she said to Auston, sipping her drink and staring at him judgily. “It’s not a good look.” He waved her off good-naturedly, and she smacked his shoulder as she walked back to Mat, wrapping her free arm around his front and kissing his shoulder. 

“Let’s dance, chou,” Cass said, shucking off her jacket and leaving it on a spare chair. Mat smiled, taking her hand and guiding her out to the dance floor, where a mix of hockey and decidedly-not-hockey couples were gathered under the bright lights. Ah, sweat, the great equalizer. 

“Do you think any of these Florida men are, you know, Florida Men?” Mat asked over the noise. Cass threw her head back laughing, remembering their first real conversation. 

“Absolutely. We’re going to get pulled into their gator cult.”

It was Mat’s turn to laugh. “I’ll protect you.”

“I’m swooning,” Cass replied. “You’re my knight in shining armor, Mathew.” 

Cass sat down her second drink of the night onto a nearby table, draping her arms around his neck. His hands snaked around her to the back of her waist, pulling her up against him, pulling her closer. She couldn’t even say what song was playing, some dance remix of a top-40 hit that the DJ in the corner was more than likely butchering, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was Mat’s hands on her and how he made her feel. For once in her life, Cass felt like she didn’t have any pressing responsibilities. For one night, she didn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was 24, and she was going to party like she was 24. 

Cass leaned up to Mat, kissing him, whimpering when his tongue slipped between her lips. In a normal context, Cass never would have done something like that in public, and maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she finally couldn’t care less what people thought of them. “I don’t think the girls behind us know I speak Spanish,” she murmured, his face still so close she could feel him breathing, “because they’re all talking about how hot you are.” Mat laughed, letting his hands down a little more than was respectable. “Soy mexicana, hablo español,” she said over her shoulder, raising one eyebrow as the girls blushed and hurried off. “Now where were we?”

They kissed for what felt like hours, until her lips were starting to get puffy and she needed to come up for air. “I’m going to get another drink. You want anything?” 

“Gimlet?” Mat asked hopefully, giving Cass a peck on the cheek as she made her way to the bar. Waiting among the throngs of people vying for the bartender’s attention, she threw her hair up in a high pony. It may have been January, but it was still Miami and they were still in a club — it was hot as hell. Five minutes later, she had finally shoved her way to the front, ordering Mat’s gimlet and a mojito for herself. Cass scrolled through her Instagram feed as she waited, sensing someone who she assumed was Mat off to her right side. 

“Hey,” she said, looking up, expecting to see her boyfriend. It wasn’t her boyfriend. The men was a little taller than Mat, blond instead of brunet, and any other time, she probably would have been all over him. She wished she hadn’t started a conversation.

“Hey,” he said, resting an elbow on the bar. “What’s your name?” 

“Cassidy,” she said, flashing him a tight smile. He didn’t deserve the nickname. 

He nodded. “Cool, cool. That’s a beautiful name. I’m Justin. Can I buy you a drink?” He was clearly a few in himself, not enough to be drunk but more than enough to engage in a spectacularly poor decision-making process.

“I’ve already ordered one, thanks.” Cass was trying to negotiate, walking the fine line between politeness and interest, hating that she had to talk to someone she didn’t want to just in the interest of safety.

 “You from the area?”

She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, willing the bartender to come back with the drinks. “No, not really. Just visiting. Leaving tomorrow,” she said, hoping that that would be enough of a hint to get him off of her back. As it turned out, that would be simply too big of an ask. 

“Then I guess we’ve got to make the most of tonight, huh?” Gross, she thought. She wasn’t leading him on, wasn’t doing anything more than making polite conversation so he wouldn’t get even more pissed at her, so what gave him the right?

“Listen, Justin,” she said, finally turning and facing him. “That’s not my style. And I have a boyfriend.”

He cracked a smile, clearly not buying it. As subtly as she could, she tried to find Mat, but she couldn’t. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom? And she didn’t want to leave without having gotten their drinks, cocktails didn’t come cheap and she didn’t want to throw her money away. “It’s okay, babe, you don’t have to play that game with me. He’s not here.” 

“I’m not interested.”

“Hey, come on,” Justin said, inching closer and growing more aggressive by the second. “I was just trying to be nice. Don’t have to be such a bitch about it.” She took a deep breath, about to flag down the bouncer and tell her that this guy just wasn’t taking no for an answer, but she didn’t have to. 

“What’s going on here?” That voice, she recognized. That voice was Mat. Cass let out a sign of relief, gladly moving to the side and letting Mat step in between them. 

“This the boyfriend?” Justin asked with disdain. 

Mat arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m ‘the boyfriend,’ but it shouldn’t matter. She’s not interested, and you’re having trouble respecting that.”

Justin huffed. “Fine, She wouldn’t have been worth it anyway.” Cass had to grab Mat’s wrist to stop him from going after the guy. 

“God, I wanted to punch that guy,” Mat said, running a hand through his hair and visually inspecting her. “You okay? Did he do anything?”

She shook her head. “No, thank God. A little shook up, but nothing serious. He just didn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

He kissed the top of her head, grabbing the drinks from the bartender, who had just slid them over. “You good to stay?” He wouldn’t have blamed her if she wanted to leave.

Cass shook her head. “No, I’m good. Liquor me up.”

“As you wish,” Mat said, handing her the glass. 

The two made their way back to the cordoned-off section, where Cass downed the entirety of her mojito in under 10 minutes. She wasn’t in a sipping mood. Then someone from the Pacific Division — maybe they were on the Sharks? — bought the whole room a round, then she finished half of Mat’s Whiteclaw. Then somehow, she was goaded into body shots. 

“You cool with this?” Mat asked as she scrambled up onto the table. Cass nodded quickly, trying to control her giggles. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” Cass said, scrunching the bottom of her shirt up, trying not to think about what her mom would think if she saw her right now. 

Someone had obviously made a run to one of the bars, returning with a bowl of limes and a saltshaker. She tried not to think of how good it felt when his tongue ran over her stomach, licking up the salt, tried to distract herself when his head was ducked just above where her shirt barely covered her bra, throwing back the tequila, and definitely didn’t want to think about his lips just barely touching hers to grab the lime wedge. He threw away the wedge and bro-hugged a few of his onlooking friends, collapsing over Cass in laughter and kisses while he helped her off of the table. 

A little under an hour and a few more drinks later, most of the group had finally decided to call it quits. To put it technically, everyone was shitfaced. A few people luckily still had the wherewithal to call Ubers, and they split up with Instagram handles written in eyeliner on hands to cars grouped by hotel. It was her, Mat, Seguin, and someone’s little sister packed into a white Honda Civic, Mat lazily kissing Cass’s neck, shoulder, anywhere he could reach. They tipped the driver  — very well — before stumbling into the elevators, saying goodbye to Tyler, who was the floor below them. She barely managed to wipe off her makeup and brush her teeth before falling into bed with Mat, who immediately draped his arm over her waist and pulled her into his chest. Even drunk, she wasn’t complaining. 

---

Jan. 31 (sun)

 Cass groaned, her head pounding as she looked she rolled over in bed to grab her phone, looking at the time. 9:22. Great, their flight was at noon, so there wasn’t any time for self-pity before they needed to leave. Mat was up too, rubbing his eyes with a grump look on his face. He leaned over, giving her a kiss good morning. “How are you feeling, babe?” He asked. Mat’s head wasn’t hurting too bad  — he knew he could hold his liquor just fine  — but he had never seen Cass drink as much as she had last night. 

“Ugh,” Cass moaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples. “It was so much fun, but I’m never doing that again. I don’t think I’ve been this hungover since the SAE color party junior year.”

“Oh yeah,” Mat mused, “I forgot you were a sorority girl,” he said in sing-song. 

Cass huffed. “I was president, thank you very much.”

“Does my sorority girl need an Advil?” Mat asked. 

“Your sorority girl will punch you if you keep saying that, but yes. Advil would be much appreciated.”

Mat padded away, returning from the bathroom a moment later with the bottle in his hand. He shook two out, grabbing her water bottle from the nightstand and unscrewing the cap. “Here you are.”

“Thank you,” Cass said, flashing him a small, begrudged, but genuine smile. “You’re really too good to me, Mat.”

He kissed her shoulder, pulling a t-shirt over his head. “You deserve it.”

---

Feb 13 (sat)

 Cass’s hair was thrown up in a messy bun as she padded through the aisle of the grocery store. Shopping duties rotated every week, and it was her turn for errands. She handed her card over to the cashier, pulling out her bag-of-bags and beginning to separate. Fridge. Fridge. Pantry. Freezer. Pantry. Errands had always been somewhat of a soothing activity for her; Cass liked just being able to listen to her music and drive around and go into stores for a reason, not just to kill time. As much as she loved spending time with Mat and her roommates and her friends at law school, the constant human interaction could get draining sometimes, and the precious few free hours were alone time she craved. Loading all the bags into her trunk, she set off for the CVS. The bathroom was running out of soap, she needed a box of tampons, and she had gotten a call that the refill on her birth control was ready. 

It was also the day before Valentine’s, which hadn’t always been the best time of year for Cass. It seemed like most of her Valentine’s Days had been filled with sitting alone in her room or binge-watching Bachelor reruns with friends. Or, in the case of her junior year of college, it was crying in her bedroom at the sorority house over the fact that Alex, her boyfriend of a year, had broken up with her two days prior because a relationship was just “too much work.” And Cass was all in favor of self-reflection, but that didn’t mean the rejection stung any less. They had been together for almost a year, and even though she had had other boyfriends before, he was the first one she loved, the first one she really saw a future with. So, needless to say, her track record wasn’t the best. Which she told Mat, that she didn’t want anything elaborate or extravagant, especially since he was leaving for a roadie the day after and would have to get up early. 

But they say love makes people do crazy things. And Mat didn’t want her memories of a day that, commercialized as it was, was supposed to be about celebrating love and commitment and admiration for your partner. And anyone who knew Mathew Barzal knew that he was stubborn as hell with a heart of gold. But if Cass didn’t want anything big, he wasn’t going to do anything big; as much as he would have been absolutely willing to rent out the entire damn Empire State Building just to shout from the rooftops that he was absolutely, unequivocally in love with Cassidy María Cabrera Shaw, but her comfort came before anything. He’d bend over backwards to make her know how much he cared. But this was also Mat Barzal, and Mat Barzal never did anything halfway. 

So it really wasn’t a surprise at all when, just as Cass pulled into her parking spot and killed the gas on her car that her phone lit up with a text from Mat. Picking you up at 5:30 tomorrow. Dress like you’re going to a diner. 

[fmufmu]

Rough.

           Liking someone can be rough. Especially when you don’t know where you stand with them.

 As a successful idol, you know that dating is off the table. You, when you signed that contract, made a deal with yourself that you wouldn’t date anyone until you were a household name and as hard as that was, you did it. It took years of practise and grafting but you’re here almost a decade later as one of the most successful solo artists. And of course, with fame, comes loneliness. You’re twenty-five – never gone on a real date, haven’t kissed a man in so long and been pretty much devoid of all male attention. You were okay with this when you were busy promoting, busy selling out arenas, busy on tv-shows. But now . . . now, you’re not okay with the emptiness in your apartment.

           All your friends were happy in relationships, married or with kids. And you with your dozens and dozens of awards. It’s not quite the same. You’ve never quite had enough time to like anyone, to go on dates, to even have sex. Quite frankly, you’re very much devoid of all male attention.

           And then you get the opportunity to work with your favourite rapper.

           “How did that sound?” You stare at Deokkwang through the glass, speaking into the microphone. “I think I could’ve pronounced the last few words better, you know?” You’re nervous. You’ve worked with rappers before like Simon Dominic, Jay Park, Loco – even Drunken Tiger JK. But you’ve never worked with someone like Deokkwang who you happen to have the biggest crush on.

           It was your manager that set this all up – you knew you were collaborating with someone but when you walked into the studio months and months ago, you didn’t think it would’ve been Deokkwang.

           “You sounded great, y/n.” Deokkwang says back and you feel yourself smiling at the praise. You can’t but think about how this process has gone so quickly – it felt like only yesterday you greeted him at the studio. Now, almost two months later, the song was ready to be mixed down and reviewed by the big bosses. You wouldn’t say you both were friends, but you can’t deny the fond feelings you have for him. “I don’t think we’ve could’ve done better if we even tried.”

           You come out of the booth, a bittersweet feeling flowing through you. You sit across from Deokkwang and he listens to the entire mix with you. It sounds good – you’re a pop idol while Deokkwang is a fast-paced rapper and it’s a good mix. You can feel yourself bopping along and in the corner of your eye, Deokkwang looks at you before looking away. You’re not shy but around him, you curl into yourself.

           “I really like this.” You say, excitedly once the song ends, turning to Deokkwang. “I can’t wait to release it.” You reach for the water that sits between you and so does Deokkwang. Your fingers brush together and you find yourself getting embarrassed. You quickly retract your hand and let out a small laugh.

           “It sounds really good – your voice is really nice. We’re a good mix together.” Deokkwang lets out a laugh as well. You didn’t want this to end. Would it be too forward to tell him you wanted to maybe see him again? “We should do this again.” And your eyes meet. Properly. You liked people before, from afar, never up close like this. Deokkwang is exactly how you’d imagine him – funny, bashful, full of never ending conversation. But then, he can be shy. Soft and sweet. It feels like the moment, you know, the moment when you realise that you want to see this person again and again.

“Deokkwang,” You should tell him. Months of awkward moment when you’d catch his eye when he’d think you’re not looking. You feel yourself moving forward on the chair and you can see Deokkwang doing the same. Was this it? was this the moment you’ve been waiting for? You’re both pulled out by the sound of your phone ringing with your managers number plastered across. He’s probably waiting downstairs for you. Leaning back with a cough, you grab your phone declining the call.

“You don’t want to keep your manager waiting, right?” Deokkwang turns away from you, cheeks red. “Should I walk you out?”

“No, stay.” You insist. You don’t think you can stand in an elevator with Deokkwang without doing something like trying to kiss him. Instead you pack up and it’s quiet. “I guess this is it.” You say instead, grabbing your bag from the floor. You awkwardly linger around the chair, biting your lip. You didn’t want this to be over so quickly. “Hopefully we work together again, Deokkwang . . . you’re really great and I’d like to, uh, do this again. With you.” You shyly say. You don’t know what you expect.

“Yeah, totally.” But certainly not that half-hearted response. “Next time.” Definitely not the how he extends his hand for a firm handshake. You look at his hand and back at him. Really? A handshake? You’ve written a song about love and first meetings and this is how it ends? Irony at its finest.

You try not to look incredibly disappointed, but it shows. You take his hand, shake it and leave with that horrible deflating feeling inside of your body.

You leave the building, feeling colder than Seoul as you hop into the car. You don’t even acknowledge your manager properly. You keep quiet during the ride back to your apartment. You don’t know what you expected, maybe to be friends. Maybe to even go out for coffee or dinner. Just not a handshake.

‘song go ok?’ your best friend texts you. You groan, turning the screen off on your phone. Your manager gives you a sympathetic look through the mirror.

By the time you get home and get undressed, you’re still reeling about todays events. You shuffle around your bedroom, staring at your phone. Maybe you should text him? You might as well. You’re deliberating it enough. Before you can touch any buttons on your phone, your doorbell goes off and you frown. Who was coming to your apartment this late? It goes off again and you groan.

Shuffling towards the door, you look through the screen to see Deokkwang standing outside. Your heart lurches and you can feel yourself sweating.

“Deokkwang?” You say through the intercom. He looks up to the camera with a lopsided smile and you hold yourself back from cooing.

“Hey.” You can hear how nervous he is. “Sorry it’s late y/n but, uh, could we talk?”

“Yes!” You say too quickly. You press the buzzer and immediately through yourself to your room, grabbing your dressing gown and looking at yourself in the mirror. Not too bad. You hear the door click open, spray yourself down before almost slipping onto the floor to look as causal as possible. You stand against the wall, hearing the door unlock and you feel your stomach fill with butterflies. Deokkwang walks in nervously with a bag and you smile.

“Deokkwang, this is such a surprise.” You try and keep the excitement out of your body. “If I knew you were coming I would’ve . . .” you trailed off to your pyjamas. You can’t help but giggle.

“You left your jacket earlier.” Your smile drops at Deokkwangs voice. Right. Why would he be here for any other reason? All you did was work on a song together, barely even became friends. “I just wanted to drop it over.”

“Oh.” You say, sighing, curling into yourself. “You could’ve just told my manager, he would’ve collected it tomorrow.” You try not to sound disappointed. He places the bag by your feet. “Thank you.” You say. You can’t even fake a smile. Deokkwang nods, an awkward smile placing itself on his face. you both stand there for a minute before Deokkwang looks around, hands tapping against his side.

“Nice place, by the way.” He compliments.

“Thanks.” You can’t stop from feeling bitter. You can’t fake happiness now. You’ve never felt more rejected than you have right now. You’ve never wanted someone to like you so much than you have in this moment. “It’s late and I’m tired.” You state, annoyed. Deokkwang agrees with a silent nod.

“Well,” Deokkwang points to the hallway. “I’ll let myself out.” You don’t say anything but nod and watch how he leaves quietly.

You weren’t one to pretend that you don’t have feelings for someone. You’re not one to stand around idly. If you want something, you’ll get it, no matter what. Your feet carry you to the door, catching Deokkwangs’ wrist as he opens the handle.

“Wait.” You say, slightly breathless. “Did you really come here to just drop off my jacket? There was no other reason? You just wanted to be nice? Not anything else?” Deokkwang swallows, shrugging.

“I just – yeah. I wanted to be nice.” You let go of his wrist. “Is that a problem?” He sounds confused.  

“Yes.” You say, suddenly feeling angry. You can’t stop the narrowing of your eyebrows as you hold his wrist. “It is a problem actually.”

“Oh?” Deokkwang blinks at you. You retract your hand, folding your arms together. “I thought . . . it’s cold and it’s a nice jacket.” He explains and it’s stupid. Stupid and cute and you hate how Deokkwang looks like he just got a cold bucket of water poured down himself. “It’s winter, y/n.”

“Don’t come here again.” You say, upset. “I don’t want to see you, Deokkwang. Once promotions are over, we shouldn’t see each other again.” You watch his face to see his expression. Deokkwang stares at you blankly, eyes unblinking. You sigh. “I like you.” You say, with as much confidence as possible. You find yourself suddenly not able to meet his eyes. “I like you a lot, Deokkwang. And I just – it makes me just –,” you shake your head.

“You like me?” Deokkwang says before gesturing to himself. “Me?”

“I said I wanted to see you again!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up. “Our hands always touched, and I would get so embarrassed and – and the first time I met, I told you that you happen to be my favourite rapper.” You don’t even want to think about the first time you met and how you were buzzing with excitement about seeing Deokkwang in person. “I told you I wanted to do this again with you and all you said was ‘yeah okay.’”

“Y/n . . . “ Deokkwang trails off, blinking.

“I get it. I’m not your type or whatever.” You mumble.

“No,” Deokkwang says, shaking his head. “I just . . . you think I’m attractive? Y/L/N Y/N? The nations daughter? You think that I’m . . . your type?” You blink. What? “I thought that – god, I thought I was making it up. You’re so nice and I thought you were just being nice.”

“I was being nice.” You counter back. “But I . . .  I wanted to be extra nice to you.” Deokkwang lets out a loud laugh before looking at you with a smile.

“I came here because I wanted to ask you out, y/n. But I didn’t know how, and I thought bringing your jacket would be a good idea but as soon as I saw you – god, I couldn’t do it.” You heart skips a beat. Deokkwang wanted to ask you out? “But I guess you’ve beat me too it, huh?” This . . . this was unexpected. Deokkwang having the same feelings for you? Deokkwang having the same feelings for you this whole time? Deokkwang thinking he wasn’t good enough for you?

“I like you, Deokkwang.” You admit, sheepishly. “I think you’re great.”

“I think you’re great.” He says back, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“And I think that you’re the most attractive guy I’ve ever seen.” You say. His face goes red. “And I want to get to know you more . . . if that’s okay?” You tack on at the end and he nods rapidly.

“If that’s the case,” Deokkwang draws out, hand reaching out to take yours, which you gladly accept and let your fingers tangle with his. “Y/n, can I take you out for coffee tomorrow?”

“I’d love that.”

[comparatist]

Okay, so, here goes the original work regarding Homai Vyarawalla. Will be updating Prem Mathur soon.

Homai Vyarawalla: The First Indian Woman To Be A Photo Journalist

It was the time when India was undergoing structural changes finally preparing herself to draw a line to the 200 years of British Raj. It was only a few decades into the 20th century. Women were still shackled within the restrictions of the public and private and often discouraged available luxury of being educated. Though the participation of women picking down the barriers of discrimination, in the freedom struggle of India was extremely noteworthy, it was something, the male writers are narrators of Indian history have always somewhat omitted both knowingly or without intention, hence the amount of sacrifice and contribution to the freedom fight however did little in knocking down the walls of the existing social norms binding moment in the post independence era. The arena of photojournalism was then a male dominated sphere. Homai Vyarawalla was the first woman who dared to challenge the patriarchal nature of the domain, being the first woman behind the lens.

• Early Life:

Homai was born to a Parsi family staying in Navsari, Gujarat on 9th December 1913. Her initial years were spent in a Vyara near Surat. Then her family resolved to move to tardio, Mumbai and she completed her education with an Honors Degree from Bombay University. Homai valued the importance of education in her life and was always ready to dodge every bullet of social discrimination, often subjected towards woman, to continue her education. She was the only girl to complete her Matriculation among 36 students. Her parents, Dossabhai and Soonabhai Hathiram weren’t well educated, however left no stone unturned to encourage her to learn English thereby enrolling her in the grant Rd high school in Tardeo. Her attempts to receive proper education were often obstructed by social regulations imposed upon women. Due to her economy condition, she often had to move in and out of houses and travel long ways in order to reach the school. The stigma around the subject of menstruation used toasting her the most owing to her parsi roots. After completion of her Matriculation Homai pursued a degree in Economics from St. Xavier's College.

• Introduction To Her Profession: Homai met Maneckshaw Vyarawalla in 1926, the man who inaugurated the magical world of photography in her life at a railway station, who thereby continued to be an inspiration in our works of art. Homai primarily received mentorship from Maneckshaw to pick up the skills for photography. She also underwent a formal training and completed a diploma from the J.J School of Arts. They shared the Rolliflex of Maneckshaw, to develop their films in a dark bathroom. In 1941 Homai tied the knot with Maneckshaw, being fully aware of his mother’s displeasure regarding the current situation.

“In those days, Orthodox people did not want college educated girls for their sons. Especially those who had studied with boys,” she said.

• Career As A Photo Journalist:

All Homai started assisting Maneckshaw, who was working with The Illustrated Weekly of India and the Bombay Chronicle at that point. Some of her works even got recognition under the name of Maneckshaw Vyarawalla, as woman weren’t approved to be professional photographers then. The day to day activities of urban woman in Bombay where the foundations of our initial works. Her art captured there seems like no one.

In the wake of the Second World War and the events that followed by, Homai got to grab several opportunities to showcase her talent by capturing the political consequences of the war in India. The crisis had laid the participation of women in public domains, being the flag bearers of change, particularly in the era of post- independence. Both Parsi and British women in their public avatar were seen getting featured through her works.

The war also gave her a chance to permanently move out from Bombay. In 1942, the couple moved to Delhi. It was on outstanding move as it represented the initiation of her public life as a photo journalist. Homai and Maneckshaw began to work with the British High Commission which accelerated the success in Homai's career, for her familiarity the then Authoritiy, made her a regular at all events, irrespective of the nature. This was the start of the golden period in her career as a photo journalist.

• Golden Period:

Events that would later determine the history of the 20th century were on their way of happening when Homai had reached the zenith of her profession. The context on which she supported her artwork is therefore extremely significant for tracing her contribution to the Indian History. Always draped in a sari, accompanied by her Rolliflex camera, Homai was present at every significant event, archiving historical happenings and capturing renowned personalities like Jacqueline Kennedy, Queen Elizabeth, Eisenhower etc. Her penchant, however was for capturing India’s first Prime Minister Jwaharlal Nehru, a man, she considered to be extremely photogenic. Her favourite area of work was chronicling some of the greatest moments of Nehru's career and personal life including his initiation to the position of power, parties at the Delhi Gymkhana Club, the period when the Non-Alignment movement had picked up the heat among the masses and the 1955 Bandung Conference. Homai never lay the backdrop over public engagements turn out to be her definition. She kept distance between the public and private affairs. She went outdoors outdoors and utilised her outgoing nature for the sake of her creation. Her effortless display of her works in a series of black and white an order she's particularly enthusiastic about chose to be her medium of expression.

Some of the most important moments of her career consist of snaps of the Reception hosted by Lord Mountbatten at the Rashtrapati Bhavan on August 15th 1947, the meeting of Congress leading to the Third Plan, the decision of Partition, the flag hoisting at the Red Fort for the first time, funeral of Mahatma Gandhi, Dalai Lama entering India for the first time through Sikkim in 1956.

However, the earth below the pillars upholding India's structure was still volatile, so was homai's struggle for consistency in the male dominated environment. Her work was often overlooked for her male contemporaries got more credits for the prevalent patriarchal views in the society. In 1930, when Bombay chronicles published her first shot in of picnic party of the members of Women’s Club in Bombay, it was done under the name of her husband.

• The End of an Era:

Maneckshaw Vyarawalla had been a great influence on Homai’s career choices and their bonding lasted for 40 years. It was probably because of the heartfelt connecion the duo shared, Homai left her job behind with Maneckshaw's demise in 1969 and went to lead a life of seclusion and anonymity in Pilani with son Farouq. Her life there, adored simplicity of doing things, she did not have the opportunity to go for earlier. She enjoyed her life accompanied by women, something she didn’t go through earlier, due to her lack of connection with them.

“I was afraid of being with women. I only heard them talk about maid-servants, jewellery and make-up that I could never relate to. My world was so different. It was in Pilani that I understood woman can be good friends too and I shouldn’t be afraid of them.”

Homai Vyarawalla made sure she documented history through her lens. She had been giving several recognitions and awards including the second high civilian honour in India, the Padma Vibhushan in 2011. She passed away on 15 Jan, 2012. Her prized possessions are now in the Alkazi Fouundation for Arts and the National Gallery of Modern Art in New Delhi.