#girl help i cannot stop putting lyrics onto images

[luthiery]

Orpheus and Eurydice, Titian & Orpheus and Eurydice, George Frederic Watts // Silver Springs, Fleetwood Mac

[a-cure-for-writers-block]

#100 Song Lyric Prompts

No one specifically requested, but I wanted to do this so bad! Here we go...

“Will nature make a man of me yet?”- The Smiths, This Charming Man

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?”- Lynyrd Skynyrd, Free Bird

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her.”- Hozier, Work Song

“I don’t think that we should be alone together, when we’re in a room you get my eyes, you open your mouth I’m hypnotised”- The Neighbourhood, Single

“She looks as if she’s blowing a kiss at me and suddenly the sky is a scissor”- Arctic Monkeys, That’s where you’re wrong

“You think you want to be alone, just wait until you’re crying on the shower floor” “They’ve got a pretty face, but they’ve got a pretty empty head.” “But how the hell do you fall in love, the last time I checked you can’t fall in slow mo”- LANY- The Breakup *There were too many good ones in this song, I couldn’t help myself*

“I know it’s mad, but if I go to hell will you go with me or just leave?” - Panic! At The Disco, Do you know what I'm seeing?

“I don’t know who’s protecting me, but we hit it off”- Drake, Sandra’s Rose

“Do me a favour and break my nose, do me a favour and tell me to go away?”- Arctic monkeys, Do me a favour

“Baby just came back around, said she needs time to explore, said I can’t love her no more”- The Neighbourhood, Baby came home

“Just one mistake, you say you’re not in love no more, but was it really love if you can leave me for something so innocent is this the end?”- LANY, Thick and thin

“You can have Manhattan, I know it’s for the best, I’ll gather up the avenues and leave them on your doorstep. I’ll tiptoe away so you won’t have to say you heard me leave.” “You can have Manhattan, the one we used to share, the one where we were laughing and drunk on just being there. Hang onto the reverie, could you do that for me?”- Sara Bareilles, Manhattan

“You don’t love me, big fucking deal, I’ll never tell you how I feel.” “I'll send my best regards from Hell”- Marina and the Diamonds, Starring Role

“I been writing these songs ‘bout how I can’t be with you. I don’t want to be a monster, but I’ve been here for days, drinking too much now I want you, can’t get you off my brain.”- Henry, Monster, Eng. version

“Change lives, get better, yeah that be the plan” “That’s why you see me winning, yeah, even after I lose”- Jay Park, Ask bout me

“Love is not looking over shoulders, Love is you should trust what I told you” “Love is not struggling to say I love you”- 6LACK, Disconnect

“All these people taking miles when you give them an inch, all these followers but who's gonna follow me until the end?”- Drake, Emotionless

“She’s in the rain, you wanna hurt yourself I’ll stay with you, you wanna make yourself go through that pain, It’s better to be held than holding on,”- The Rose, She’s In The Rain *Absolutely love this one, don’t @ me, I will die for the The Rose**

“Sex by the fire at night”- Bruno Mars, That’s What I Like

“I’ve got the good side of you, sent it out into the blue.”- Troye Sivan, Good Side

“Standing by the window, rain falling, I want to have you full in my embrace and tell you, even when I’m born again and love you, even then, will you be with me?”- KREAM, 선물 Gift *Translated*

“It all passes, Someday, For sure, Certainly”- RM, ft. NELL, everythingoes *Translated*

“Please stay as long as you need, can't promise that things won't be broken, but I swear that I will never leave. Please stay forever with me”- Sleeping With Sirens, Scene One- James Dean & Audrey Hepburn

“When you move, I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“Wake up and smell the coffee, is your cup half full or empty?”- Billie Eilish, come out and play

“Am I a bad person? Or am I just in pain?”- DEAN, Sulli, Rad Museum, Dayfly *Translated*

“Kiss me on the lips, a secret just between the two of us, deeply poisoned by the jail of you, I cannot worship anyone but you and I knew the grail was poisoned but I drank it anyway”- BTS, Blood Sweat & Tears *Translated*

“When the sun sets and darkness comes, I only remember your warmth, where the stars wrap around us. I’m going there, I’ll be there”- SEVENTEEN, Highlight *Translated*

“I don't ever wanna feel like anything I do ever had a fucking resonance or meant a thing to you.”- Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes, I Hate You

“You can’t take this away from me, the way I hit the melody, the waves bring clarity, running through me”- Tom Misch, Del La Soul, It Runs Through Me

“It was a lie when they smiled and said you won’t feel a thing”- My Chemical Romance, Disenchanted

“The fog has lifted and things get clear, all the lies pass by like a reel of film. I hate you”- EXO, 내가 미쳐 (Going Crazy) *Translated*

“I’m sorry- no, I’m not sorry, I’m just getting started and my life’s a party”- DEAN, Eric Bellinger, I’m Not Sorry

“Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?”- Paramore, Ain’t It Fun

“Ready or not, we are coming back- yeah, we’re over, we can tell you ‘bout what you need. You can look it up when you’re older”- Evergreen, Cargo Cult

“You, you got so much potential, every moment spent with you I bet was always eventful”- Aminé, Kehlani, Heebiejeebies- Bonus

“Could you imagine the taste of your lips if we never tried to kiss on the drive to Queens? 'Cause I imagine the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips in the backseat”- Halsey, Roman Holiday

“Forever isn’t for everyone, is forever for you?”- Arctic Monkeys, Snap Out Of It

“Wish you good luck being lonely, I’mma push red every time you phone me. You vow to be a memory”- Ella Mai, ft. Ty Dolla $ign, She Don’t

“I’ve been dazed and confused from the day I met you, yeah I lost my head and I’d do it again”- Ruel, Dazed & Confused

“I just want you closer, is that alright? Baby let's get closer tonight”- Paolo Nutini, Last request

“You have no idea how pretty you are when you wake from sleep, you have no idea how beautiful you look as you get ready for bed”- Zion.T, No Makeup *Translated*

“I was thinking I could fly to your hotel tonight, baby, ‘cos I can’t get you off my mind”- Shawn Mendes, Lost In Japan

“She's soothing like the ocean rushing on the sand, she takes care of me, baby, she helps me be a better man. She's so beautiful, sometimes I stop to close my eyes, she's exactly what I need”- Jeremy Passion, Lemonade

“And her lips are like the galaxy's edge and her kiss the colour of a constellation falling into place”- Arctic Monkeys, Arabella

“It's how you look, not how you feel. A city of glass with no heart”- Queens of the Stone Age, If I Had a Tail

“I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife”- Hozier, Take Me To Church

“Bitter and hardened heart, Oh, aching- waiting for life to start”- Keane, Bend & Break

“When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“She said, ‘Baby, I'm afraid to fall in love, 'cause what if it's not reciprocated?’ I told her, ‘Don't rush girl, don’t you rush, guess it's all a game of patience.’”- Pink Sweat$, Honesty

“Share a casket with you, we’ll be buried alive, me and her playing truth ‘til the day we die.”- Granata Ft. Phoniks, You Dont Need Me

“And hope that I had survived yesterday, and today is jealous of tomorrow.”- Emeli Sandé, Breathing Underwater

“Heaven if you sent us down so we could build a playground for the sinners to play as saints, you'd be so proud of what we've made.” Stephen, Crossfire

“Tell me how do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night? How do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night?”- blackbear, make daddy proud

“If anyone looks perfect, you look perfect next to me.”- Nick Wilson, Obsolete

“When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you were my future), I’ll know (I was your yesterday). When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you protected me), I’ll know (I desired you).”- SEVENTEEN (Wen Junhui & Xu Minghao), My I *Translated*

“I need my sex n’ drugs, I need my money first, bless me with all my sins.”- Abhi The Nomad, Ft. Harrison Sands & Copper King, Sex ‘n Drugs

“Naked and fallin' in love, look here I got you. Safe where there's no one to judge, keep it insightful.”- Keiynan Lonsdale, Preach

“All alone, all we know is haunting me, making it harder to breathe, harder to breathe.”- The Neighbourhood, Leaving Tonight

“Now I see you get off of the subway, haven't seen you in months but it's okay. I'd forgotten but I feel the same, hate that I still wish you were...”- Claud, Wish You Were Gay

“A perfect stranger lying next to me, he's playing God with broken figurines. He keeps calling me his little queen and I believe.”- Jake Wesley Rogers, Little Queen (This song deserves way more recognition, make sure to give it a listen!)

“Hell is so close to Heaven, hell is so close to Heaven. Hold on don't look back, you know we're better- we’re better than that. Lost and thrown away, you know we're better- we’re better than that.”- Sleeping With Sirens, The Strays

“Alone tonight, I’m drawing my dreams across the sky farther than I can imagine- She wants it.”- CIX, Movie Star *Translated*

“Yeah I mixed words and some whiskey on the flight just to make sure I landed on time and I wrote me a song I could sing just in case I forgot everything.”- Marc E. Bassy, Last One I Love

“Don't ask questions you don't wanna know, learned my lesson way too long ago.” “Deadly fever, please don't ever break, be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate”- Billie Eilish, my strange addiction

“And it's worth it, it's divine, I have this some of the time.”- Hozier, Cherry Wine

“And I realize you're mine, Indeed, a fool am I.”- Queens of the Stone Age, No One Knows

“Look in the mirror ‘til I forget everything I know, everything I did was just a way to make the time feel faster.”- Miya Folick, Stock Image

“Do you feel how I feel? Are you numb? Do you tread crystal waters, bound to be stung? Are you scared? If I see you, we're upon, will you dye your hair dark so you're no longer blonde?”- Isaac Dunbar, Cologne

“Tell me; To you I’m bad & hurtful. Because I’ve been busy, you’re hurting. Bad, bad, bad, I’m bad, bad.”- Crush, NAPPA (나빠) *Translated*

“Just for the record, the weather today is slightly sarcastic with a good chance of: A. Indifference or B. disinterest to what the critics say.”- Panic! At The Disco, London Beckoned Songs About Money Written By Machines

“‘Cause you don’t say what you feel, I'm the one driving but you take the wheel. You wanna wait, 'til we're older, I'm the one who started this, but now I just want closure.”- Ieuan, Closure

“Our names carved in the pavement, sealed by what's left of our handprints, now. I told my mom, she'd love to meet you, but it's too bad she won't get the chance to.”- COIN, Malibu 1992

“I'm running outta time to hold you close, running outta time to be your man. I'm just lost in this moment, I've been zoning.”- blackbear, 4u

“Standing on your mama's porch, you told me that you'd wait forever. Oh and when you held my hand, I knew that it was now or never”- Bryan Adams, Summer Of ‘69

“I'll go out, grow my hair too long, sing your least favourite songs at the top of my lungs. I'll go out, kiss all of your friends, make a story and pretend it was me who made this end.”- The Vamps, Hair Too Long

“Getting my mind right, I'll wait 'til the time's right. I'm meaning to tell you why it's hard to sleep at night. There's nothing to fear now, girl, we should be here now. So why don't you hear me out?”- Jeremy Zucker, Ft. blackbear, talk is overrated

“We haven't spoke since you went away, comfortable silence is so overrated. Why won't you ever be the first one to break? Even my phone misses your call, by the way.”- Harry Styles, From the Dining Table

“Look overhead at the stars and the ocean, foggy emotions, moments, erosion. This supernova could cause a commotion, my minds of the notion, you'll still be my motive”- Ansel Elgort, Supernova

“I love that new dress you bought, yeah, you sure look nice. Heard you liked that new restaurant, you know, I've been there twice. And the way that you switch up your hair, all of the moments we've shared, strolling the streets back in Rome, oh, how I wish I was there. It ain't fair.”- Ruel, Face To Face

“Welcome to your life, there's no turning back. Even while we sleep we will find you acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature.”- Tear For Fears, Everybody Wants to Rule the World

“I'm wide awake, not losing any sleep, I picked up every piece and landed on my feet. I'm wide awake, need nothing to complete myself, no.” Katy Perry, Wide Awake

“If you don't realize, all of the things your life can do you will be left behind, swept up by the storm of those you knew.”- Meltycanon, thankful

“I always knew that we'd be by each other's side forever, now our time has come and I'd be satisfied if we died together. Yeah, our climate's fucked, we might as well enjoy the weather, our time is up and I'd be satisfied if we died together.”- Samsa, Anthropocene

“There's still so much to say, I'm faded, broken, pretending you're on the line, wasting my time. Sinking deeper, watching you spend your night, like I'll be fine and I'll be over this.”- NYK, Faded

“I’d rather go to hell, than be in purgatory, cut my hair, gag and bore me, pull this pin, let this world explode.”- My Chemical Romance, Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)

“I reached for a shooting star, it burned a hole through my hand Made its way through my heart, had fun in the promised land.”- blink-182, Wishing Well

“Let go of your baggage, but don’t think I don’t understand it’s probably a challenge,”- Isaac Lewis, Fly

“It's been a long night in New York city, it's been a long night in Baton Rouge. I don't remember you looking any better, but then again, I don't remember you.”- John Mayer, Who Says

“They say that love kills, it ain't quite what it seems, don't be shocked when you lost what you called ‘meant to be’.”- StayLoose, Bryce Fox, Sociopath

“When they come for You, I will shield Your name, I will field their questions, I will feel Your pain.”- Kanye West, Ultralight Beam

“Two steps forward, one step back and it won’t be long til my heart attack, yup! And common sense falls second place to the way it feels when you kiss my face, yup!”- The Band CAMINO, 2 / 14

“Leaving empty souls when he avenged, evil spirits flowed, he drank the blood like lemonade.”- Morcheeba, Blood Like Lemonade

“Your smile will become a classic; the brilliance of sunlight, the haziness of the moonlight exist for the sake of promises.”- WayV, Moonwalk

Dear God, I hope you got the letter and I pray you can make it better down here. I don't need a big reduction in the price of beer, but all the people that you made in your image- see them starving on their feet.”- Lawless, Sydney Wayser, Dear God

“Down below, sandy, like the ocean floor, quiet, like I like it; here I'll never be alone.”- slenderbodies, anemone

“I love everything, fire spreading all around my room, my world's so bright, it's hard to breathe but that's alright- hush.”- Sub Urban, Cradles

“I'm telling myself, I'm telling myself, ‘I don't need you anymore’.”- Lia Marie Johnson, Cold Heart Killer

“So I moved to California, but it's just a state of mind, it turns out everywhere you go, you take yourself, that's not a lie. Wish that you would hold me or just say that you were mine- it's killing me slowly.” Lana Del Rey,  Fuck it I love you

“See, she knows that I love her, but I don't think she'll stay and she knows that I need her, but my love's lost its weight. Spend my days longing for something real, spend my days stuck in the way I feel.”- JOBA, Sad Saturdays

[maxparkhurst]

SHADOW’S WARMTH

It was cold outside. Winter’s frost fogged the stained-glass window and only shadows cast from the fragmented light broke the chamber’s monotonous sprawl. Despite all his layers, Augustine shivered. He adjusted the crate of potions in his arms, vials chiming in alarm, and followed his sister through the Cathedral’s entry arch. Their echoing footfalls heralded their path through the pews. His steps sounded far off, muted beneath the dull buzz in his head. Fatigue nestled itself in the space between his shoulder blades, sickly sweet as it pulled the muscles taut. It made his arms quake beneath the weight of their delivery. He wasn’t sure when this sudden case of shakes began or if it’d ever leave.

Augustine kept his gaze trained on the small of Max’s back. Unlike some, he found no solace in the home of the Light. If anything those cold, empty pews sent a shiver down his spine. To believe in fate written by a sole force was to revoke one’s own agency in the coming of destiny. If he were to believe in anything, he believed in their work and the help it’d provide to those less fortunate. Thus, instead of raising his eyes to the angelic depictions splayed on stained glass he turned to his mentor for guidance.

Max walked with the same composure she always possessed. Those unaccustomed to her measured smile and level voice found his sister to be enigmatic. They approached her with wary eyes and shifting feet. Such was the case with the deacon who met them half-way.

“Master Parkhurst.” He dipped his head to Max, wringing his hands within the trenches of his belled sleeves. A pleasant, albeit weary, smile touched his lips when he turned to Augustine. “And son?”

Augustine mustered a meager grin. He wondered if it looked as fake as it felt.

“Apprentice,” Max corrected. She inclined her head to the deacon as she breathed a laugh. There wasn’t any emotion placed in the gesture. As with most things, the laugh was for display only. Something to fill the silence and lighten the air. “It’s good to see you in good health, Brother Matthews.”

Brother Matthews shifted on his heels, sending ripples through the hem of his diaconal vestments. Augustine imagined those flowing robes should bring a modicum of comfort to his restless soul. Quite the contrary. The gentleman hardly filled them out. Only the knobs of his shoulders poked through the dense fabric. Everything else? Lost beneath yards of cloth.

The deacon doesn’t wear the robes, he drowns in them.

“As good as I can be in these troubling times,” Brother Matthews chittered, running his fingers through an already thinning hair line.

His scalp visible through wisps of hair startled Augustine. This deacon could only be a few years older than him. Yet here this gentleman stood with less hair than perhaps what he started with at the beginning of the year. Stress must’ve aged him. Augustine grimaced and stole a glance up at his own locks. Had he faith in some deity, he’d pray to keep his hair once everything finally settled.

“...the potions?”

Augustine blinked. In his tired stupor, he missed the deacon’s question. The beginnings of a crimson blush crept up his neck as he scrambled for an answer. Luckily, Max stepped in.

“Yes,” she mused, coaxing the crate from Augustine’s grip, “They are.” She adjusted it in her arms, rattling the vials inside, and dipped her head to Brother Matthews. “If you’ll lead the way, Brother?”

Brother Matthews looked between the siblings before obliging with a nod.The hem of his robes fluttered as he drifted down the row of pews, looking almost spectral in the waning light. He paused at a stairwell’s threshold and beckoned. “This way…” he murmured.

Max stole a glance up at Augustine. Concern glistened in her eye as they made their descent down into the church’s underbelly. He tried to dissuade her skepticism with a forced smile. It merited a quirked brow followed by humoring silence. She hastened to fall in step with the deacon, lowering her voice so that they may converse in private. It suited Augustine just fine. If anything, he appreciated the momentary solitude. It allowed his thoughts to settle for the first time in over a week.

Has it really only been a week?

Augustine hugged his shoulders. He felt as if he lived two life times while toiling through this whole mess. With the brisk shake of his head, he dismissed the thought. Instead, he focused his gaze on the cobble stone and counted each step down into the lower levels. Only the faint glow cast from torches illuminated the long stretch of shadows. Each step deeper in the darkened veil seemed to put the deacon on edge. His shoulders buckled. His steps quickened. And he wouldn’t stop stealing suspicious glances at them over his shoulders.

For someone as old as you, Augustine mused, You shouldn’t be so scared of the dark.

Augustine simply didn’t understand. He grew more at ease the further from the Light they traveled. Warmth from the torches’ flames started to seep into his chilled bones. His arms slid down to hug his stomach as he cocked his head back, feeling the cobblestone walls brush against his shoulders. Small and dark. He closed his swollen eyes and heaved a sigh. Memories, vague and diluted images, lapped against the foreground of his scattered thoughts. The touch of fire… Press of stone… Long, dark shadows… If he let it, the memory could wash over him. Swallow him whole and cast him far from this cold, hellish nightmare. Send him to a simpler time. A time when he was small. And all he had to worry about was the next page read from Max’s lips as they nestled in the corner of their father’s forge.

He could be there if he fed the memory. Let it grow and consume his waking thoughts. All he needed to do was stoke its flame.

But there was work to be done…

He pushed the memory aside and opened his eyes. The stairwell led down into a hewn stone chamber. Smaller than the Cathedral’s grand hall but bigger than their apartment. Perhaps at some point it housed their clergy’s tomes and relics. Now bedrolls dominated what little space was available. Families huddled atop these meager homes, each in a different stage of misery. Some were mourning. Some were frightened. And some simply watched him pass with a blank stare.

Augustine paused and canted his head. A voice lifted in song. His heart ached from how sweet it sounded. He tossed a way-ward glance over his shoulder, watching as the deacon joined Max in offloading vials onto a workman’s table. They’d be fine without him. He shuffled his way through the huddled masses, following that melodic voice through the winding desolace.

“We cannot thank you enough for your contribution.”

Brother Matthews voice.  Spoken just a notch above a whisper. His quivering drawl broke the teen’s concentration for a split second. Augustine didn’t need to look at his sister to hear the cordial smile gracing her lips. She always spoke in the same tone; pleasant and unwavering.

“We’re only doing our part. Just as the church is doing theirs…”

Augustine allowed their conversation to fade into the background. Scanning the room, he listened for the voice. So sweet. It’d been days since he last heard another human being’s voice, much less hear one in song. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the sound of people. His heart yearned to hear child’s mirth and city bustle. To hear the town crier and to listen to the lady’s chitter. To feel warmth and life again in the city. For now, it’d settle for this voice. One so delicate...That it possessed him to follow it until he found its source.

“Awake, our souls; away with fears… … let every trembling thought be gone; Awake and run toward thy heavenly light, … And imbue me with cheerful courage.”

The girl’s hair glimmered in the torch’s dim light, glistening pale like silver thread. She bowed her head as she knelt on the cold stone. Dressed in nothing but a tattered dress, she shivered as she breathed each word. She spoke with a lyrical somberance which captivated Augustine. He watched her in awe until she caught sight of him. She balked, a hiccup catching in her throat.

Augustine bristled. “Y-your song!” he stammered, curling into himself, “It was… It was lovely.”

Her demur countenance darkened. “It’s not a song,” she murmured, “It’s a prayer.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I’m praying for courage…”

“Praying for courage?” he echoed.

“Yes.” The girl pursed her lips, turning her gaze back on Augustine. He felt his face warm as she searched him with wide, doe eyes. No shame resided in them, only resolve punctuated by the furrow of her brow. “The Prayer of Awakened Souls. Don’t you know it?”

Augustine shook his head. “I’m afraid not...”

“Why not?”

The question caught him off guard. A disquiet smile touched his lips as he tucked either hand in a pocket. He chewed on the question before shrugging. “The Light is viewed differently in Kul’tiras,” he professed, “There are Tidesages who blessed the ships and waters. As far as the Holy Light…” He averted his gaze. “Well. I figured it was only used by paladins…”

“By Paladins…” she echoed, flashing him a teasing smirk, “So they can smite their foes?”

Augustine bristled. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “M-maybe…”

The girl hummed with amusement. She scooted over on and beckoned Augustine to sit. “The Light,” she explained, settling back, “Is used for so much more. It can be wielded by anyone. You. Me. Even an infant. It grants those who believe in it strength.”

Augustine sat cross-legged and quirked a brow. “But the Light exists…It’s part of this world, just like arcane and nature magic. Believing or not, it’s an irrefutable fact.”

“There’s a difference…” She took his hands in her own.  “Between believing in its existence and believing in it…” She pressed both their hands to his chest. “When you truly embrace it. Its warmth will fill you.”

In his palms, he held his chittering heart. He searched for such faith in each pulse. His smile softened. He found no Light in his chest. It only harbored the crackle of a still borne fire. “I think I understand now…”

Augustine nodded thoughtfully as turned to steal a glance over his shoulder. The conversation between Max and the deacon looked to have drawn to a close. Shadows danced off her lithe form as she crossed the chamber, coming to stop just before him. She looked between him and the girl.

“It’s time to go, Augustine.”

The girl released his hands and curled into herself. “Augustine,” she murmured, brushing back an errant lock of hair, “That’s a nice name.” She summoned a demur smile. “I will pray that the Light gives you strength.”

Such a strange sentiment that he found oddly comforting. Augustine returned the smile as he rose to his feet. “I appreciate it…” A twang of guilt touched his heart. He couldn’t offer words of comfort. Not in the way her expectant gaze asked.

For his gifts of strength came in the form of tiny vials and mason jars.

Previous Chapter: What We Can

[shannygoatgruff]

Stay Safe, Stay Home Writing Challenge - (Call me if you need anything) @waiting4inspiration​

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Modern Ivar x OC

Warning: Language, strong sexual content

Rating: M

A/N:  First my apologies for taking so long to post this chapter. I lost the original version of chapter 7, but I hope you enjoy this slightly longer re-write.  I think this story only has 1 or 2 more chapters and it’s done.  I’m almost through telling the story I wanted to tell.

Next, I got the idea for this from experience I had with an ex, with whom I am still very close friends. We were actually talking about this particular encounter recently, and I thought it would be fun to write it. I will say, if you have never had sex with someone that you are truly friends with, you have no idea what you’re missing out on!  I think the sexiest sex is the kind where you talk to your partner.  Maybe it’s just the stage I’m in my life.  What you’re doing doesn’t interest me as much as what’s going on in your head.

Finally, I used the lyrics to ‘Imported’ by Jessie Reyes without permission.  I love her and that song and when I hear it, I see Ivar and Cash.  I have included the video at the end of the chapter - the vibe of the song is how I see them as a couple.

Enjoy!

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7

When Ivar moved across the floor, there was grace in his movements. His motions were fluid, and because he didn’t use his legs to aid him, how he curved his spine to usher his mobility gave him the agility of a big cat stalking his prey. One-shoulder worked in tandem with the hip on the opposite side of his body creating this... glide, that was simply fucking sexy.  Cash found herself wondering how good the view of him crawling would look from underneath him.      

Crawling for Cash, however, was anything but graceful. She hadn’t gotten very far, just from the dresser to the full-length mirror, but fuck a duck if it wasn’t hard. At first, she tried to be all sexy, and crawl on her hands and knees, but when she realized Ivar couldn’t use his knees, she switched to an Army crawl.  

After the first pass across the floor, she knew this crawling idea was going to be short-lived.  Not only did she not possess the upper body strength to keep it up, but she was also getting hella ashy.  It was bad enough the rain had washed away most of her lotion, but now she was sliding around on the carpet. She was going to look like she had been rolling around in flour at any minute. Her mother would have a fucking fit if she saw the state she was in.

And how the hell was she supposed to get her toiletry tote across the room? It wasn’t like it was a backpack. It was hard enough trying to maneuver herself around, let alone bring something with her.  She had tried dragging it and even pushing it in front of her.  Both ways were taking forever.  At the rate she was going, she and the tote would get to the mirror by her 30th birthday.  

Ivar leaned against the bed watching with curiosity.  He had never seen an able-bodied person struggle so hard to crawl. Why didn’t she just get up on all fours? He appreciated that view of her.  It was much more seductive then whatever the hell she was doing now.  Currently, she looked like she was trying to do the worm in a breakdance competition for quadriplegics.  

“It may be easier if you use your arms.  You have all of your weight on your elbows.  Try using your wrists and hands. That way, you can move your bag with you.” Ivar laid on his stomach facing Cash and demonstrated, “See?  Like this…” 

“See, like this,” Cash mocked in a high pitched voice rolling her eyes as she continued to struggle across the floor.  Suddenly, she felt the sting of his hand as it landed flat on her ass. It sounded much worse than it felt.  It didn’t hurt in the least, but she still gave him the evil eye, “Did you just?” she feigned shock.  

Being the youngest child, Ivar got away with a lot of shit.  He was used to blaming one of his brothers for everything and he always got away with it. It became a little game he liked to play with them that he lovingly titled, ‘How much trouble can I get you in?’  It was during that time that he started doing this mocking, side to side head motion to symbolize his victory.  As an adult, during a triumph, he continued to rock his head in this obnoxious manner, only now, it also included a shit-eating grin, followed by a dab.  

Cash watched the most incredibly mischievous smile spread across Ivar’s face as he bobbed his head and then he dabbed the air.  He spoke some foreign words and seemed mighty pleased with himself. “Oh, chuckle it up, Chuckles.” She rolled her eyes and sat up.  “Ya, perv.”

God, he had been wanting to do that ever since she started crawling. He just wanted to see if her ass was really as soft as it looked.  It was, and it had the right amount of bounce.  “Sorry. I could not resist,” his smile was so big, it was hard to make out what he was saying, “You were making fun of me. It was all I could think to do,” he whined.

Cash turned toward the mirror and started to dump out the contents of her bag. She picked up her wide-tooth comb and folded her legs beneath her. Leaning into the mirror, she fixed her eyes squarely on his image, “If you wanted to cop a feel, all you had to do was ask.”  She watched as his mouth opened and closed, like a fish. 

“What are you going to do?”  He asked, folding his hands in his lap. 

Cash parted her hair down the middle and secured half of it with a ponytail holder. Carefully detangling the other half with a comb, she reached in the bag for a jar and struggled with the top, “I’m going to put my hair in two braids, so I won’t look totally crazy.”  She held the jar out to Ivar.  “Can you open this for me?”

Silently, he crawled to where she sat and took the jar out of her hands.  With one turn he had the lid opened.  “This smells wonderful. What is it?”  

“A moisturizing mask.”

“It smells like coconuts and berries, and…and,” he took another big sniff but couldn’t quite place the scent, “I don’t know but it is amazing.  It smells soft. Like you.”

“Jasmine,” she took the jar from his hand and tried not to blush.  He thought she smelled soft?  “I made this.”

“You make this?”

“It’s not hard,” she shrugged, “All you need are some essential oils for the smell and different kinds of butters.  It’s pretty easy.  It’s good to keep moisture in.  I could even use it on your hair and it wouldn’t be greasy.  See feel.” She titled her hair for Ivar to feel her hair without the moisturizer. “Now you know I must like you because I’m letting you touch my hair.”  Then, she scooped a small amount of product onto her palm before rubbing it into her hair. After she had worked it though she tilted her head toward him again.  “Now feel.”

His eyes grew with amazement.  “That feels awesome.”  Of course, he couldn’t help but bring his nose to her hair.  “And it smells good.” His nose brushed the side of her ear before making its way to her neck, then back into her hair.  “I like this smell.”

Cash giggled at the feeling, but she couldn’t ignore the tiny goosebumps that started to prickle every inch of her skin.  “Do you know how to braid?”  She asked feeling her neck slowly start to lean more into the warmth of this breath. 

“Hmm?” He looked at her eyes in the mirror and noticed that he had been rubbing her arm.  When did that happen?  What the hell was in that jar? “Braid?  A little. I used to help my mother when I was young. She has very long hair.” He watched as a smooth smile crossed Cash’s face.  “Oh, no.  I cannot. I am terrible at it.”  

“Oh, you know nothing, Jon Snow,” she handed him a brush, “you do mine, and  I’ll do yours.”

“And we can have a sleeping party, like girlfriends,” he mocked in a high pitched girl voice and twirled his hair around his finger, “...and paint each other’s nails and do make-overs!”

“That’s a slumber party, jerk. And as long as there are no pillow fights, I’d be okay with it.”  She nudged his shoulder with her own. “But, I hope you don’t want to be my girlfriend.”

Ivar took the comb from Cash and looked at the floor.  He didn’t want to chance to catch her eyes in the mirror, just in case, “I was really kind of hoping that you would want to be mine.”  

“Really?”  Cash asked said softly before capturing his lips for a soft kiss.  “Good. It’s about time.  I was getting gray hair over here, waiting on you to make a move...”  Smiling into his lips, she wondered, how did her tongue always end up in his mouth?  Was she capable of kissing him without needing to feel his velvety tongue on hers?  She pulled away slightly and pecked him a few more times. “Now, I can’t be all kissing and everything with my hair looking like this.  I’m too cute to be looking this tore up. So you helping or nah?”  

Braiding each other’s hair had been the most intimate thing Cash had ever done with a man, besides Glenn, with her clothes on.  Why was it so easy to trust him?  She let him touch her hair – generally speaking, black women don’t let people other their mothers or their hairdresser touch their hair. Hell, Cash’s parents had been married for over 30 years and she seriously doubted that her father had ever touched her mother’s hair. She had known this man for almost 48 hours and she had already let him see her with ashy legs.  What the fuck was really going on?  

It was something more than just being comfortable around him being bushy and ashy, that’s for sure.  Maybe it was the fact that the things that she normally would be embarrassed about she didn’t give a fuck about anymore. She was pretty sure that if she needed to fart in front of him, she would have,  That’s how secure she felt with him.  

Ivar was amazed that he stopped focusing on his the fact that his bare legs were showing and that he was crawling, hours ago. Whatever it was that he was nervous about before he had met Cash in person seemed like a distant memory.  He had just let this woman braid his hair like he was a girl playing beauty shop. 

Granted, the hairstyle looked badass, especially with the way his head was shaved on the sides – but he knew for sure none of his brothers would have let their girlfriends do that.  Hvitserk would talk shit to him about it for years to come because of it, too.  But, he didn’t care, it felt right.  Everything about her delicate fingers gripping his hair and gently massaging his scalp felt incredible. If she wanted to take every braid out and start all over, he would let her.  He would let her do whatever she wanted if it would make her smile.

Speaking of smiling, as he flipped through his phone for more music for them to listen to, his face lit up when he ran across their song. “You feel like singing?” As soon as the opening beat of Imported by Jessie Reyes ft. 6lack started playing, Cash let her head lean back and smiled.  

Ivar grabbed a brush, and handed her one, too.  If they were going to do this duet any justice, they both needed their microphones and to get into character. Mother nature was already setting the scene outside with the rain still beating down against the patio, creating the perfect backdrop for their music video. 

Bringing the hairbrush up to his mouth, he wanted Cash to see how he had choreographed his movements to the song.  He only wished that he had his braces on because he had an entire dance to go with it.  

Hi, my name is 6Lack And sometimes people me SIX-LACK I don’t mind because they stubborn And my bank account is looking mighty fine We can skip the wine and dine Go straight for the wind and grind She wanna cum, I can make it happen, fuck trying

Ivar rolled his hips from his sitting position on the floor with a devilish look on his face that made Cash lick her lips.  Damn, that boy could sing. Plus, he was sexy and gyrating…fuck! She was trying so hard to be good, but the song was talking about going straight for the wind and grind making people cum and sexy stuff and whatnot…she was only human.

Sometimes, I get messy, you can be my biggest secret I ain’t sliding if you wit him Baby, you gon’ have to have to leave him

Ivar wagged his finger at Cash to let her know that he wasn’t the cheating type. He winked at her when she smiled. 

I got morals on Sundays, sometimes on Wednesdays

He shrugged his shoulder and raised a brow.

Really, it depends but,

Ivar tried his best not to laugh at the face she was making at his stage-worthy performance. He was giving her his best big dick energy vibes. 

You, you’re in love with somebody else Maybe I could offer some help (Maybe I could offer some help) Get over them by getting under me

He watched as Cash closed her eyes and began to sing.  He could listen to her sing all day.  She had a beautiful voice and he loved the changes she made to songs. He especially loved what she did to Jessie Reyes’s part of this song.  

But you might O.D. if you get too much of me Might O.D. if you get too much of me

Cash, too, had a routine for this song, but she was not going to do it for him. Instead, she just did what felt natural at the moment.  She ran her hand down her throat to her collarbone then pulled her legs up to her chest. As she sang, she rubbed her cheek against her knee and gave him a vulnerable stare…

Hi, my name is not important I’m not from here, I’m imported I drink liquor like it’s water Hope my liver can afford it I’ve been lyin’ here with I’ve been lyin…, I’ll be lyin here I’m under the covers like

Her voice…that was the same voice he had listened to countless times over the phone, that was singing to him in person.  It was a little overwhelming.  He reached up and cupped her cheek, and when she opened her eyes he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss so slow and deep and it conveyed every thought and feeling that Ivar couldn’t put into words. 

He had so much he wanted to tell her, too.  Like how he was glad she replied to his comment that day on the Jessie Reyes blog for this song.  He had been listening to Imported on repeat because he was still in love with Freydis.  Even though they had been broken up for a couple of years and he didn’t want her back, he couldn’t get over her.  He was stuck mourning for what they could have been. He had so many hopes and dreams for them.  He thought he had found a beautiful woman that could love him despite his disabilities and he would have a chance at a normal life.  But, it didn’t work that way. Nothing in his life ever worked out that way.

Enter this song and this girl: the song was about finding someone to help you get over a broken heart and the girl...she was feeling a certain way because her first serious boyfriend, who she hadn’t been for over five years, was getting married.  Feelings had a funny way of fucking you up.  

But there they were; keyboard gangsters, in their feelings and being flirty.  They were two people on different continents who were never going to meet, so what harm was it to bare their souls?  Nobody ever died from having another friend; especially friends that liked to sing loved musicals and could go into a monologue from a movie with just the last word of a sentence. Really, friends like that were hard to come by.  

Now, if things kept going in the right direction, soon they would be lovers.  

Thank you, Jessie Reyes.

Cash bit Ivar’s neck, causing him to groan and squeeze her body tighter. Good thing the rain hadn’t washed off the scent of Aqua di Gio that seemed to be oozing from his pores.  Damn! How did he know exactly what scents got her going?  Did this man always smell like walking sex?  And was it natural for a man to have skin this damn soft?  

She watched her fingers as they trailed the lines of his tattoo along his left shoulder.  “What’s this?”  She asked as her fingertips came dangerously close to his nipple, before tracing the line back up the head of the figure to the center of his chest.

Ivar watched her nail slowly move across his skin and tucked his lip in between his teeth at the feeling.  “The mythical Norse dragon, Fáfnir.” Did his voice just crack?  She made him feel like a teenager all over again.  

Cash giggled.  She loved the way he suddenly started rolling his “r” and how his “th” started to sound like a z.  Had it always and she just not notice?  “Your accent is stronger,” she let her tongue follow along the line of his jaw, “it’s so sexy.”  

“It’s hard to concentrate on English,” he said matter-of-factly, making sure to slur his Norwegian tongue into his English words,  hands still gripping her waist, gently rocking with her on his lap, “when you do that.”  He pointed his chin toward the ceiling to grant her better access to his Adam’s apple, “You know, I don’t think I have ever been in this situation and had to speak English.”

Cash's eyes opened in bewilderment as she lifted her head. “You know what? I’ve never seen an uncircumcised penis.”  The thought just hit her.  If they were about to go there and she hoped to God they were, they needed to get all of this shit out of the way.  She sat back on his thighs and looped her arms around his neck.  

Ivar’s smile was so big, his eyes crinkled in the corners.  “Now?  You think of that now?  Really?” 

“I’m serious.”  She said settling back with a slight pout, “Circumcision is a big thing in the US, like everybody does it.  But here, not so much, right?  I mean, you’re not Jewish, are you?”  She raised her brow and nudged her head toward him.  “You know what I mean?”

He shook his head.  “You want to know if I am?”

“Kinda?”  Talk about killing the mood.  There were things that she might want to try with him, but she wanted to know what she might be in for first. Nobody liked those kinds of surprises during sex.  “ Is that weird?”  There were just certain things you need to be upfront about. Even though she suspected she wasn’t certain. 

Ivar shrugged with a glint of mischief in his eyes.  “Perhaps you will just have to find out.”  

“Oh, just tell me.”  She slapped his bare chest and rolled her eyes when he made a face like it hurt. “I’ll tell you something.”  

“I’m not telling you that.  But, I will tell you, that I have never seen brown nipples.”  He ran his fingers between Cash’s bra straps and her shoulders, slowly lowering the straps down her arm. When she didn’t protest, he continued to pull the straps lower.  He looked her in the eyes while she bent her arms through the loops to free herself of them. 

Sucking his lip, he let his eyes trail from hers down to her lips, then lower to her neck.  He admired how her pulse quickened when his hands touched just above her cleavage and when his thumbs gently pushed the lace down to expose her to him, he wanted to lick the hollow of her throat.  “You are beautiful.”  

Brown, white, black or pink, skin was skin, and Cash’s was beautiful and the skin on her breasts was just as soft and warm as the rest of her.  He patiently waited while she unhooked her bra and discarded it away from them, before he wrapped his muscular arms around her, burying his face in between her breasts. “I love boobs.” 

“Really?” She said smiling, as he looked up at her from the middle of her chest. “You didn’t strike me a breast man.” 

“I am an everything man.”  He smiled rubbing his face across her soft skin.  “What is that smell?  God…”  

“Ahh…that is Heliotrope Gingembre,  my favorite perfume.”

“Mine now, too,” he said absently.  Closing his eyes with his head laid on her chest.

She kissed him on the top of his head and started to rub the back of his neck, “You think I don’t know that you’re avoiding my question?  I shared.”

“I did not ask you a question and you did not tell me anything.”  He looked up at her and started to bob his head with that shit-eating grin again.  

“I will pop that little bobblehead of yours off your shoulders.  Now you’re just cheating.”  She rolled off his lap and laughed when he pouted at her and started to reach for her like a child.  “Not until you answer me.”  She sat next to him, but faced him and absently rubbed her hand along the hair on his legs.

He watched in amazement as she did.  She didn’t seem the least bit weirded out by his scars. “Okay, I’m sorry. You want to know if I was cut as a baby?” Ivar laid back on the floor and laced his hand with hers.  He looked at their joined hands and held them up to his line of vision before rolling his wrist. Why prolong the inevitable?  She was going to find out sooner or later.  He figured, if she could see his legs and be perfectly with fine them, odds were she'd okay with an unsnipped prick.  “No,  I was not.”  He laid her hand on his stomach with the laziest hint of a smirk on his face.

“Hmm. Interesting,” she responded wiggling her toes.  She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment then shrugged her shoulders.  “Okay,” she got up on her knees and knelt beside him.  Cash let her hands trail down his muscular stomach and found herself smile when she realized that he was ticklish in the spot between his navel and his waist. 

Carefully, her deft fingers slid under the grey waistband of his boxer briefs before she smoothed her hands around to his hips.  Slowly, she lowered the shorts down his legs, never once taking her eyes off of his.  Since Ivar couldn’t hoist his backside off the floor, he aided her by rocking from side to side as she continued to pull the garment down lower and lower. 

And there he was.  Ivar Ragnarsson in all of his birthday glory.  He was a sexy man.  It was the moment of truth and Cash didn’t quite know what to do or say. Was she supposed to comment or compliment?  Was she supposed to touch him or ask questions? There was so much she wanted to do, but she wasn’t sure if any of it was okay.  

“So?” Ivar placed one hand behind his head and the other on his chest.  “No witty observations?”

“Well, you already know you’re sexy, AF.”  She tilted her head and let her fingers trace the dark line of hair that traveled from his navel to the soft tufts at his groin. “But this…it’s different.”

“Different?  What the hell does that mean?” Ivar laughed.  “It looks the same to me.” 

Her eyes got big and she nodded, “Well, you’ve seen it before.  I haven’t…” She touched it.  It felt the same as others she’d held in her hands.  It was thick, had a nice length, and just the right amount of curve to it.  The bounce back, when she pulled it toward her and let it go, so that it slapped back against his pelvis, made a good sound.  By all accounts, it was a normal cock.  It was hard, and hot in her hands and she even noticed how Ivar’s stomach clenched when she made contact with it.  “So does it feel different?”

“Different than what?” He asked with a labored breath as she continued to hold and turn him over in her hand.  “It feels the same to me.”  Did she know what she was doing to him? She wasn’t jerking him or doing anything sexual, not really, merely touching and having a conversation with him.  It was such a turn on.  

“Let me show you.”  He removed his hand from behind his head and placed it on himself. Lifting his head, he attempted some sort of origami thing with the skin.  “This, I think, is what you are used to seeing.”  He rolled his eyes in his head and sucked his teeth, “Whatever.”  He released the skin and smiled.  “My way is much better.  Much more sensation.” 

“Oh, really?”  She was intrigued.  If she were being honest, it wasn’t the cutest one she’d ever seen.  But, that was because she just wasn’t used to it, yet. She was sure in a few days, she would think it was the hottest one she’d ever seen! “How so?”

“This part in there…feels everything, sometimes too much.”  He picked up her hand and placed it back on his swollen member, before closing his eyes at the feeling, “Sometimes, you have to touch it through the skin…”

“Like a clit?” 

Ivar shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know.  I do not have one of those.”  He let his hand travel up Cash’s thigh and settle right below her hip.  “If direct pressure is applied to you, does it make you,” he wound his hands to try to drive the words forward, “finish faster?”

Now it was Cash’s turn to shrug, “Honestly?  I’ve never had an orgasm with another person.”

“What?”  Ivar sat up, instantly regretting the warmth of her hand leaving his body.  “Are you serious?”  This was great!  Neither had he. But wait…if neither of them had, then this could be the worst awkward first sexual experience in the history of awkward first sexual experiences. They would either be eternally frustrated or their first sexual encounter could literally last indefinitely.  

“Yup. Not ever.”  Cash sat up on her knees so that he had full access to her hips. She placed her hands on his and watched as he slowly started to pull down her panties.  “I think the guys that I’ve been with think all women like the same things.  They don’t want to hear that you might want something different, or they just are in it for themselves. I just usually finish myself off.”

Ivar smoothed the lace down her thighs and held still as she used his shoulders to brace herself against him so she could lift each knee up to allow him to slide the material under her legs. 

He didn’t want to seem like a total pervert but he couldn’t help but look at her. She was right next to him with the most neatly trimmed Mohawk he’d ever seen.  “You’re into landscaping?”  He didn’t reply when she nodded.  Instead, he pressed his lips to her stomach.  “So, when you finish yourself off, do you do it alone or in front of others?”

“Like do I perform?”  She gently caressed his head, “It depends on how deserving the audience is.”  

God, he wanted her.  But, he needed to get one more thing out in the open before that could happen.  He wanted total transparency between them, once and for all.  “Me either.” 

He felt his head being lifted from her warm skin and but he immediately dropped his eyes in embarrassment, “I have never had an orgasm during sex.  The doctor thinks it was stress.”   

“That is so sad,” she wanted to hug him, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad.   She was used to it.  There were millions of women who never had and probably never will have an orgasm – so was the plight of being a woman. But for Ivar to never experience it?  He was too sweet a guy.  It nearly broke her heart. “Do you at least get anything out of it?”

“Yeah. I like giving pleasure to someone else.” He tried to sound upbeat, but it wasn’t exactly a happy subject for him.  What he was saying was true, he used to thoroughly enjoy making Freydis feel good. But, what about him? Didn’t he deserve to feel that way? Shouldn’t he get to experience an orgasmic high, at least once in his life?  At least one time that wasn’t self-inflicted? “ And it does feel good.”

“Do you finish yourself off?”

“Never in front of anyone.”  A devilish smile crept across Ivar’s face and when Cash saw that mischievous twinkle in those beautiful blue eyes, her face broke out in a smile, too.  

Ivar had had many sexual conversations with women before but never before had he had a sex conversation with his partner.  This whole thing, this talking and being together, looking at, touching, and getting to know about each other…all of this intimacy was amazing.  

It was scary as hell for both of them, but damn it all if it didn’t feel natural.  Even if their first time together wouldn’t be perfect, or they would have figure out who couldn’t do what because of physical limitations or just plain dislike, it would all pay off in the end.  Neither of them had a point to try to prove to the other or to themselves.  All they needed to do was enjoy each other.  Who cared if neither had an orgasm?  For the first time, they both were feeling something they hadn’t felt in a very long time.  They felt at home, and safe with each other.   

Cash closed the space between them and pressed her lips to his, “Bed or floor.” She laughed when he laid back and put both hands behind his head.  “Oh yea, carpet burns and group masturbation...I knew you were freaky.” 

Tags: @oddsnendsfanfics​  @a-mess-of-fandoms​​ @waiting4inspiration @simsadventures​ @chipster-21​  @tgrrose​  @alicedopey​   @thelastemzy​​  @naaladareia​ @alexa4040​ @absolutelynotanidiot​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​ @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​ @skadithegoddess​  @dina-m16​  @tiyetiye​ @synnersaint​ @lostinthoughtsandfeelings@moonlightsspirit​ @geekandbooknerd​​ @dreamlesswonder86​ @inforapound @youbloodymadgenius​ @cruelfvckingsummer​ @mummybear @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @honestsycrets @thatendymion @jzr201

[oopssasha]

Dear Sasha,

I know you said you felt dumb for typing out all the plot bunny from that playlist. But you have to know that you made my days for weeks. Honestly, I wasn’t planning on luring you onto the shipping train. You got there all on your own without even realizing it and it’s both hilarious and so seriously incredibly adorably you. I have no clue how to put the amount of affection I have for you into letters.

I love how you couldn’t help yourself and had to ask how the Larry Stylinson thing came to be. Just remember this before you read any further: Curiosity killed the cat. I hope you subscribe to the idea that satisfaction brought it back, otherwise this is going to leave you dead. You asked about it the last time we talked. So here’s my thoughts on what could have happened if the hypothesis that HS and LT were/are in an actual relationship is true. Keep in mind that I have no clue what actually happened. I’m just a song nerd, investing way too much in musical inspirations.

First of all, let me just get this out of the way. I love Taylor Swift as an incredible songwriter that she is and she was the one who got me to notice 1D because she was dating Harry Styles that one time. Her song, ‘Style’ screamed PR stunt to me like nothing else. Actually, her whole 1989 album felt like a middle finger to incompetent PR managers everywhere. ‘Blank Space’ was the epitome of “I can manage my public persona better than you ever could.” ‘New Romantics’ was a love letter to fans filled with irony about high profile public life. How it sucks and makes everything possible at the same time.

Oh my god. I’m sorry I went off the rail. I just love her and her music. Please forgive my ramblings. Again.

Anyway, back to Larry Stylinson. Taylor mentioned how ‘Out of the Woods’ was inspired by a relationship she was in. And the biggest feeling in that whole relationship was anxiety. Funnily enough, ‘Out of the Woods’ makes the most sense to me if Taylor was in a PR relationship with HS, being fully aware that HS and LT were together, and wrote the whole song from imagining LT’s perspective. Taylor put herself in somebody else’s shoes in a song all the time. The most sincerely heartbreaking one to date for me is ‘Ronan’ and I cannot tell you how hard I cried for that song. ‘You were my best four years,’ got me bawling my eyes out. Every. Single. Time.

Here’s my line by line lyrics interpretation for ‘Out of the Woods’ on the assumption that Taylor wrote it from LT’s perspective.

>Looking at it now, it all seems so simple.

[HS was in a PR relationship to stop the gay rumors and hype up 1D world tour. Taylor was in it to turn her image into ‘good girl gone bad’ without having to go full on Miley Cyrus’s ‘Wrecking Ball’ and hype up her own world tour. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Simple but effective.]

>We were lying on your couch. I remember.

[LT once said, ‘Nobody knows where we live’ but the public narrative at the time said HS and LT no longer lived together. Hence, your couch, not ours.]

>You took a Polaroid of us, then discovered the rest of the world was black and white.

[Introducing artsy black and white Polaroid aesthetic to set the stage.]

>But we were in screaming color

[Obvious rainbow reference became painfully obvious.]

>And I remember thinking…

[The following repetitive chorus is so claustrophobic. It plays out as if it was a constant cloud hanging over LT’s head at all times. Like, will people leave us alone now that they no longer think we’re together? Are highly publicized heterosexual relationships enough to keep the scrutiny away? Can we just be together since we’re sworn to the secrecy now? We’re okay, right? We have to be. But are we really?]

>>>

Are we out of the woods yet?

Are we out of the woods yet?

Are we out of the woods yet?

Are we out of the woods?

Are we in the clear yet?

Are we in the clear yet?

Are we in the clear yet?

In the clear yet? Good

Are we out of the woods yet?

Are we out of the woods yet?

Are we out of the woods yet?

Are we out of the woods?

Are we in the clear yet?

Are we in the clear yet?

Are we in the clear yet?

In the clear yet? Good

Are we out of the woods?

>>>

>Looking at it now, last December we were built to fall apart then fall back together.

[Seeing each other in a PR relationship with someone else hurt further than just simple jealousy. It’s also a reminder that their relationship is not meant to exist, let alone to last.]

>>>

Your necklace hanging from my neck

The night we couldn't quite forget

When we decided (we decided)

To move the furniture so we could dance

Baby, like we stood a chance

Two paper airplanes flying, flying, flying

>>>

[This is where either my imagination ran away with me or Taylor is an actual Queen of Reference. I think it make sense that two paper airplanes here are a combination of a retrospective reference to HS’s necklace and an acknowledgment of LT’s paper airplane tattoo. In ‘Style’ MV at 00:13, HS’s paper airplane necklace, one Taylor wore publicly before, shows up. At her lucky number of seconds, Taylor is holding it like she’s praying, implying her best wishes for the relationship that the paper airplane represented. Throughout the music video, all the broken mirrors and jaded reflections alluded to a recognition of a kindred spirit. Media portrayals of their identities are so distorted to the point where the relationship people see is just a theatrical show for entertainment. I mean, ‘Style’ is almost 4 minutes long and, just 40 seconds in, the lyrics transition to ‘Fade into view’. If this doesn’t scream cinematic, I don’t know what else does. When Taylor flippantly said she could’ve named ‘Style’ as ‘I’m not even sorry’ and called it a day, I think she meant how she twisted the narrative in her favor and the media bought into it so much so that they’re chasing their own tails. Which is a reference I just made to ‘I Know Places’. What can I say? I’m a slave to my queen.]

>And I remember thinkin'

[Then the chorus repeats here. So I’m not going to repeat the interpretation.]

>Remember when you hit the brakes too soon?

>Twenty stitches in the hospital room

>When you started cryin', baby, I did, too

[If your loved one got hurt when they’re away on a job, would you cry when you heard the news? Especially when there’s nothing you could do to help? Then consider this. If Taylor was there to witness the conversation between two heartbroken boys, wouldn’t she decide right then and there to protect them against the world? She talked about the incident once before and how she kept its details on the downlow by looking at people involved dead in the eyes and straight up asking for decency. That’s such a mama bear thing to do, if you ask me.]

>But when the sun came up, I was lookin' at you

[The sunrise usually represents hope. I don’t see why this would be any different. Isn’t nice to know that there’s one more person in your corner?]

>Remember when we couldn't take the heat

>I walked out and said, "I'm settin' you free"

>But the monsters turned out to be just trees.

>And when the sun came up, you were lookin' at me

[This is the biggest reach ever. But I think this is when things had gotten so bad for HS and LT. That if they were together, this was probably their first potential breakup. But then HS got his ship tattoo. As a reminder that no matter where he is, he’s homeward bound. And then LT proceeded to get the compass pointing toward home tattooed on his arm. Taylor was there with HS because she’s a character in the PR narrative, just like a tree in the woods. For her, the show must go on. But she’s not a monster so as soon as the PR stunt was done, she booked it out of there. Her ‘I Know Places’ is almost a promise to not out HS & LT even if their PR relationship went down the drain in public. 1D just broke into North America which was sadly rather homophobic half the time, and, well, “Loose lips sink ships all the damn time. Not this time.”]

I need to go to sleep. I can’t believe I just wrote an essay about one hypothetical angle of a relationship that isn’t from a lit class required reading. If you’re dumb, I’m dumber. It’s 4 AM here and I have work in the morning.

Love you, but don’t call me tonight. I need to catch more zzzZzz.

Delaney

[greywindys]

It’s that time of year again! I, and possibly a good number of you reading this, just spent the whole of 2018 in the Gorillaz fandom. Congratulations! You made it! Because this year...kinda sucked. Not just for the Gorillaz fandom but, if this Washington Post article is any indication, for the rest of the world too. Maybe on an individual level there were moments of light. Maybe Gorillaz was your moment of light. If it was I’m genuinely happy because that means you probably found a way to avoid or ignore all the chaos that went down this year. But overall? Fandom was rife with disappointments, confusion and conflict with some good parts (for me, at least) sprinkled in here and there. Below is a personal reflection on the top 10 significant events in fandom of 2018.

1. Murdoc Goes to Prison

2018 started out peacefully for fandom. We were just finishing up sharing our scans of G-Magazine and theorizing over the next album when we’re treated with this - a nineteen second mocap of a frantic Murdoc accepting a Brit Award with an “oh by the way I’m going to prison.” We didn’t know why or for how long, and, though fans were confused and Murdoc going to prison is a tired, overplayed storyline at this point, it was cherished as any new Gorillaz content, especially animation, is cherished. Memes were made, most notably the #FreeMurdoc hashtag complete with a petition which was acknowledged by creators and caused the first big outburst in fandom for its messy tag. I did what I always do with Murdoc videos and went through the entire thing frame by frame to collect screenshots. Little did I know that this would be the only time I would get to indulge in this beloved past time. Little did I know that I would be wearing the same expression as Murdoc is in this screencap this entire phase.

2. Murdoc hate

Murdoc hate has always existed. It’s also generally accepted. However, when it was confirmed that Murdoc was going to be in prison for an undetermined amount of time and that he may not even speak this phase (thanks a lot, phase 5 plot!) it reached unprecedented levels of viciousness. Some fans took every opportunity to drag him in the main tag, start debates with anyone who might mention one positive thing about him and expressed how they genuinely wanted him to die and/or never come back. It kinda reminded me of this season of MTV’s The Challenge when everyone ganged up on Johnny Bananas. Like, yes he’s an asshole and yes this was probably long overdue but also omg when is there and end point? Is there an end point? It was like some people hated Murdoc more than they liked Gorillaz. For some additional context - this tense environment was born out of an astoundingly severe conflict that happened in spring where three separate fandom storms that had been brewing since late 2017 collided into one huge mess. Discords were raided, friendships were lost, the police were called (I’m not even exaggerating). I won’t go into it more but if you were there, you know what i’m talking about. Murdoc wasn’t the cause of this, but his character was at the center of one of those storms and the canon sending him to prison only reignited the ire towards him. For awhile Murdoc fans weren’t sure were exactly they stood with the greater fandom, and new fans were confused as to why this one green character was the source of so much grief for haters and fans alike. This continued for most of the year (and still continues today), hence why it’s getting a mention now.

3. Ace

Believe it or not Murdoc and Ace are confirmed #friends. You wouldn’t know that from all the Murdoc vs Ace content that sprung out of this year but Ace was the one who joined Murdoc for hot chocolate after he got out of prison, “they go way back” etc etc. Ace was a big deal because it was probably the only time the fandom guessed something correctly this entire year. Jamie began posting cryptic pictures of Noodle with this unidentified man, then another with only the Ace card visible. “It a Powerpuff Girls crossover!” Some people claimed. But that seemed so random? Really? A B-list cartoon villain from a cartoon targeting an entirely different demographic? More likely than you think! Ace never spoke a word and he wasn’t allowed to smoke or have sex. People obsessed over him anyways. To this day I still have no idea who he is or what kind of personality he has or really anything. But he wasn’t a bad guy (more on that later) and he was Murdoc’s friend so he’s alright with me.

4. Messaging Denholm

By now the fandom was fraught with distress on so many levels. We were lost. We needed someone to guide us, to show us the way, to show us the #truth. I don’t know exactly who started this trend but it soon spread around Reddit and other social media sites that Jamie’s son Denholm was replying to dm’s on Instagram and soon, he was graced with a deluge of of inquiries from casual fans and Murdoc stans alike. The thing is though - he actually *did* answer them. Many of us had spoilers re: Murdoc and Ace’s friendship, Murdoc getting out of prison, etc. MONTHS before they happened. I believe he even told us that 2D was fine back in like, June or something. Denholm knew! Eventually we pissed him off but it didn’t stop him from answering. He just answered angrier. It also caused fans to argue more because people started accusing others of photoshopping his responses and nothing can ever be done peacefully here. I haven’t followed up on this story singe the end of summer but I think fans have finally scaled back on the messaging. But I hear he’s working on a Gorillaz documentary for 2019 so...I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.

5. Noodle

I want to take a moment here to also acknowledge the struggle AMA Gorillaz hosted on, of all places, Youtube. Thankfully, diligent redditors compiled a google doc of all the answers otherwise they would lost thanks to Youtube’s confusing interface. ANYHOW. The answer that stirred up the biggest milieu of debate and confusion came from Noodle. This isn’t exactly my lane - I don’t wade into Noodle issues and I don’t id as part of the LGBT community - so I’m not going to say much here other than, at the very least, this was the second or third time she has officially denied any interest in dating her bandmates.

6. 2D’s journal/2Doc

Okay first of all: 2DOC...jk, jk...jk? But no, honestly, this actually did become a big story this year, much bigger than expected. The release of 2D’s journal was the catalyst here, revealing a number of drawings and images of Murdoc. “Souk Eye,” a song that came with visuals featuring close ups of Murdoc’s face and vaguely romantic lyrics was depicted in 2D’s journal next to yet another drawing of Murdoc. We were confused! 2D didn’t care that Murdoc was gone, right? 2Doc shippers were intrigued. I was hesitant. We were all called delusional. However, “Souk Eye” was later confirmed to be a love song by Damon Albarn, and Murdoc and 2D have both claimed their relationship is “better” since the end of phase 5 (hhMmMmM). Obvi, take this with a grain of salt because it’s Gorillaz but the journal was instrumental in confirming how closely The Now Now (and the entire plot of phase 5, really) was tied to Murdoc and 2D’s relationship, particularly what 2D thinks of Murdoc. Think of it as platonic if you want but they share a closeness on SOME level and the content of 2018, from interviews to the Murdoc chats to the album itself, supports this. I rest my case.

7. Lost theories

Pour one out for all the lost theories. If you were a new fan this year you probably came up with a theory, or you got really invested in a theory. Some examples: HIM from PPG orchestrating the destruction of Gorillaz by possessing 2D and getting Murdoc framed with Ace as a double agent, or Murdoc’s imprisonment being tied to his trouble with EMI from phase 4, or phase 5 being about time travel, or Murdoc crashing Demon Dayz fest and fighting El Mierda on stage, or 2D being the one to frame Murdoc or Murdoc’s inmate number (24602) being a Les Mis reference implying that he’d get a character arc similar to Jean Valjean...you get the idea. But there are dreams that cannot beeee, and there are storms we cannot weather. You can argue about the budget or G-Shock or whatever but the truth is Gorillaz is just disorganized. This is their Brand™.

8. The Murdoc Chatbot

Gorillaz did an interesting thing this year - it let us talk to Murdoc! Sometime around June, he writers decided that the plot of phase 5 would be best spent, not on exploring the band’s dynamic with Murdoc gone or developing Ace’s personality, but on Murdoc! Fandom spent most of the summer following Murdoc’s experience in prison and helping to “free” him via a chatbot you could access through Kik, Instagram or Facebook. Basically, Murdoc was Paddington from Paddington 2, and we the fans were supposed to be the Browns trying to break him out and prove his innocence. Other fans begrudgingly used the chatbot to make fun of him or tell him to die and follow along with the story (it was the only place you could get plot updates). It was a neat idea as well as a funny experience to pretend to be talking to him, and the plot was very engaging at times. It was the chatbot that revealed the very dissatisfying (albeit happy) conclusion that Murdoc is no Paddington and had lied about everything - being framed, El Mierda etc. - but felt really bad about it. His apology was basically this. I’m going to also tag the #FreeMurdoc merchandise debacle, how overpriced it was and how it ended up being pointless anyways because Murdoc wasn’t framed and didn’t need to be “freed” onto this, because it all falls under the same event. Oh, and you got to talk to Noodle sometimes, too. 

9. G-shock ends phase 5

I put “ends phase 5″ in strikethrough because G-Shock on its own is actually pretty cool, and made up for the lack of videos (2 in total) that were released this year. The now Murdoc inclusive band goes to space and starts an alien war! That’s fun! Completely removed from whatever phase 5 was, but fun! (And I say that genuinely) What was messy about G-shock was that it came out of nowhere. The final Murdoc chat, that was SUPPOSED to reveal the ending to the prison arc, hadn’t even happened but suddenly, Murdoc was back to sell watches to aliens with the rest of the band and Ace was gone. But the final chat was delayed by a month and G-Shock came out anyways. Out of this came memes about how phase 5 ended so Gorillaz could try to sell us watches.

10. Cass Browne Tells us the True Plastic Beach Ending

We ended 2018 with not one but two major interviews from the fancast, Hallelujah Monkeyz but I’m choosing to cover their latest interview with Cass Browne, writer of Rise of the Ogre. If you were new this year you probably heard older fans mention ad nauseam how much they missed this guy name Cass. Well, Cass came back and dropped actual bombs about the true ending of phase 3, Murdoc’s lost backstory and the Plastic Beach book he found AND that a sequel to ROTO was planned and dropped. Understandably, this sparked a lot of discussion and also revealed just how important Cass was to the continuity of the Gorillaz storyline. Back then, we had ROTO and Plastic Beach. Today, we have “Murdoc drowns in poop and reunites with the band offscreen”

And that’s the year! And look I’m not saying this because I’m a stan but this was a Murdoc year. He was at the center of like, at least 80% of the angst and joy of fandom and I could make separate “top 10 Murdoc moments” or  “top 10 2Doc moments.” I guess for me, on an individual level, it was an alright year. For one, I actually talked to more people this year and met some really great friends (something I don’t typically do in fandom). I also get to check “write a fanfic” off my bucket list (it’s still a WIP but it’s the first WIP I’ve ever had so I’m counting it). And personally, my life has changed and without getting into too many details I’ve overcome a lot, grown professionally and...I think I can be kinda proud of myself for that. I expect 2019 to be a slower year than this one, and, I think the fandom needs that. Hopefully I’ll still see some of you around because I’m going to be here for at least the next few months while I finish up you know what. 

Honorable mentions: 2D “Dies” of Ligma and other 2D memes, 2D writes The Now Now, Benjamin Clementine says he regrets working with Gorillaz, Noodles old VA confirms Jamie ghosted her and recast Noodle without telling her, Gorillaz delay the final Murdoc chat by a month, Demon Dayz doesn’t get streamed, Music video releases - “Humilty” and “Tranz”, Cyborg Noodle returns with boobs and causes debate, the “Let Ace Speak” petition,

[effxrvescentrose-blog]

ℝ𝕀ℂℍ𝔼ℝ 𝕋ℍ𝔸ℕ 𝔻𝕀𝔸𝕄𝕆ℕ𝔻𝕊 𝕆ℝ 𝕁𝕌𝕊𝕋 𝔸 𝕃𝕀𝕋𝕋𝕃𝔼 ℂℍ𝔼𝔸ℙ𝔼ℝ 𝕋ℍ𝔸ℕ 𝕊ℙ𝕀𝕋 ? 𝕒 𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕒 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕟𝕫𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

i humbly entitle this aesthetic ‘ laziness ‘. i dislike making graphics, and am exhausted,  and therefore mashed together images in my photo folder. anyway, i did put a lot of work in the playlist though, which is below, which hopefully makes up for shoddy graphics. 

ℕ𝕆 𝕆ℕ𝔼 𝔼𝕃𝕊𝔼- 𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕒, 𝕡𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕖, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟-𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖

i have selected ‘ no one else ‘ for the reason as to how excellent it suits the softer & romantic side of rosana. it is undeniable to say that there is a fire and spark within rosana, lips flirtatious naturally, and hardly minding of the rules that correlate to her status- but despite that, rosana truly holds a softer romantic side within her. she wants something real in her life, she wants love, the sort that angels sing of, and that make her feel so blissfully happy. she’s currently undertaking an affair, but even in that, she earnestly views there to be something deeper within. it isn’t to anyone specific, this song, but it proves more as a lyrical representation of the hopes and dreams within rosana, and how she visualises love to truly be. also, i would be speaking false if i didn’t say i was injecting Some natasha rostova into rosana. the great comet / war and peace ? loves of my life !

𝕋ℍ𝔼 ℂ𝕆𝕌ℕ𝕋𝔼𝕊𝕊 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕋ℍ𝔼 ℂ𝕆𝕄𝕄𝕆ℕ 𝕄𝔸ℕ- 𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕒

another musical song ! because that is all this glorious disaster shall be. anyway, i chose this one, for the fact it pertains to a specific relationship in the life of rosana. she is currently engaged in an affair with the count of orem, and considering this song speaks on an affair...yeah ! rosana however, viewed in the position of how lily is in this song. the most exquisite rose! it’s rosana, all!  rosana is complicated in terms of how she is torn between viewing herself with a high self worth, and a low self worth, but this speaks to her higher self worth. i feel this song sums up a royal affair well enough, even if it isn’t including someone of a common level. 

𝔻𝕆ℕ'𝕋 𝔻𝕆 𝕊𝔸𝔻ℕ𝔼𝕊𝕊/𝔹𝕃𝕌𝔼 𝕎𝕀ℕ𝔻- 𝕤𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘

i was torn upon including this song, but upon analysing the genius lyrics analysis, i settled upon it as rather fitting. this song speaks to the sadder side of rosana. she tries to make her skin steel, but there is a waterfall threatening to break from her, and there is a true sadness brewing beneath her, a volatile mess of a girl. she wants to be a force ignorant to sadness, a cool summer wind, light and free, without any of the burdens she inwardly carries within. she cannot handle her pain, and she tries to say that she does not do sadness, that she does not experience, but everything burns at her from the inside. life...it has better days, the summer and spring that intertwine with the blues, and she’s thankful to see them, and act that way, but it doesn’t hide the sadness she tries to not do.

ℍ𝔸𝕌𝕊 𝕆𝔽 ℍ𝕆𝕃𝔹𝔼𝕀ℕ- 𝕤𝕚𝕩

c’mon, i had to have a six song on here! now, whilst haus of holbein speaks on surface level as being a humorous, maddening, neon ruff german rave, there is more to it if you look onto a deeper level. i mean, the standards aren’t good. what they put themselves through to look perfect. and rosana highly places a value on her looks, and her outward appearance, taking a pride in that, believing it to be a crowning glory of hers. politics? not her thing. and she isn’t the heir. so she views some high value on how she looks, even if she must push herself through pressures to get there. alongside that, the very nature of haus of holbein is tudor tinder. she knows she needs to make a good match, maybe these qualities will aid her.  

𝕃𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕆𝔽 𝕐𝔼𝕊𝕋𝔼ℝ𝔻𝔸𝕐- 𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕒

wow, i told myself, i wouldn’t put more than one song from any musical on here, otherwise this playlist would be entitled ‘natasha, pierre, and the great comet of eighteen-twelve’, but honestly? we’re getting another anastasia song on here! if this song doesn’t speak to the more hedonistic side of rosana, i don’t know what does. she dares to live, and she lives as the royalty she is, an indulgent and vivacious sort. life is hers for the taking, and hers to live. 

𝕎ℍ𝔸𝕋 𝕀𝕊 𝕋ℍ𝕀𝕊 𝔽𝔼𝔼𝕃𝕀ℕ𝔾- 𝕨𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕

this song speaks to the relationship that rosana feels towards her sister. loathing, unadulterated loathing! alright, some parts of her truly care for her sister, but at the same time, they are so contrasting, and rosana cannot help but want to battle against her, naturally feeling a distance between them, grudging the slight age difference between them. she certainly feels a martyr for putting up with her, for accepting the second place. she tries to make herself more different, and the more lighter and partying side of glinda compared to the serious, yet fiery nature of elphaba, suits the dynamic well. 

𝕐𝕆𝕌 ℂ𝕆𝕌𝕃𝔻 𝔻ℝ𝕀𝕍𝔼 𝔸 ℙ𝔼ℝ𝕊𝕆ℕ ℂℝ𝔸ℤ𝕐- 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪-𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟

okay, so, i’m specifically going for the gorgeously wonderful london revival of this song, because london company revival is the company i like. rosana for sure views herself as someone who could drive a person crazy, driving a person frantic, making them feel all romantic. but she’s elusive, an enigma, and there is a battle between her cynical and hopeful nature. she’s ready, ready for love, ready for marriage, or so she views herself, but at the same time, she is cynical, and she is scared, and she runs away, finding it easier to put on a flirtatious mirth and merriment, than truly give herself away, even if she naively loves the idea of love. dirty flirt! elusive you! she’s a truly troubled person. 

ℕ𝕆 ℝ𝔼𝔸𝕊𝕆ℕ- 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕛𝕦𝕚𝕔𝕖

i feel that the simplest way to explain this is to say that rosana holds the viewpoints of both delia, and lydia in this. this is her inner dichotomy, which is something i try to explore well as a core part of rosana. she tries to be a light in the world, and tries to act positive, though she will never be spiritual or godly, she tries to believe the universe holds a beautiful path for her, and that she can live and wait for it to come. but at the same time? she is a cynical girl. despite her rose-tinted glasses, she holds somewhat a cynical nature. good people die. there is famine and war. life isn’t all unicorns and rainbows, and she cannot just try and hide away negative thinking with a brightness. 

𝔸𝕃𝕃 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕊𝕆ℕ𝔾𝕊, 𝔹𝔸𝕊𝕀ℂ𝔸𝕃𝕃𝕐- 𝕓𝕒𝕥 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝

i’m literally putting All the Songs because this is one of those cast recordings that speaks so vividly in so many different ways! i feel it holds the whole spectrum of emotions within it, speaking to her sadness, speaking to her passion, and there is so much. so damn much within it, that i physically could not choose one or two singular songs to place upon here. 

𝕊𝕋𝕀𝕃𝕃- 𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕓𝕪 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥

once more, i feel that in a way, this speaks to rosana from both perspectives being sung. she goes too fast, she blitzes through life, without pausing for a breath, she wants to further the story, as time chases her, not knowing how long she has, she is a star that is about to burn out too fast, so she wants to make the most of life she can. however, in that respect, in a way, she is also singing from the perspective of alice, along with that of alfred. she uses the world and the act she puts on, to immersive herself away from the darker thoughts, akin to how alice uses escaping into the book of wonderland, to escape from the darker truth on the outside. in some ways, she wants to pause her story also, and live in the rosy afternoons, rather than going to confront the darker world, wanting to confront things through rose-tinted glasses. stop the world! why can things not be still for a moment?

𝕊𝕋𝔸ℝℂℍ𝕀𝕃𝔻- 𝕘𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕥

i am infected with disbelief and blasphemy. i will never have a holy land. i am a ghost in the eyes of my god. oh, such a rosana mood! a part of her is exploring her own views on religion, and though she outwardly keeps up the needed pretence, due to her country being catholic, she views herself with some lack of religion, she finds herself becoming so infected with disbelief. so, yes, i feel this part of the song speaks so beautifully to her, as she explores her growing lack of faith. and then the rest of this song. i will vomit this loser out of me! it’s time to get out of bed, and be the starchild i can be. as i’ve mentioned before. rosana does hold a fair lack of self-worth, but she tries to combat that. she is going to burn brighter than any man, even if starlight burns away, a ghost. it is dead when we see it, even though it seems so effervescent still. 

[fayewonglibrary]

Hong Kong stars steal show (1999)

by special correspondent Monty DiPietro  

* excerpts *

Chinese box-office hit elevates Hong Kong’s cultural image

Perhaps, it should not have been a surprise at all. For years, Japanese have shown a keen interest in Asian languages as, in many ways, the image Japanese had of the rest of Asia continued its ever-quickening evolution - from boring to exotic and from backward to chic. Japan had begun to really look at its neighbours and liked what it saw. If enlightenment has an adversary it is the stereotype. For a long time, Hong Kong was regarded as little more than a cheap place to buy nice things.

Culturally, Hong Kong was widely considered a producer of low-budget kung fu films. But such impressions are now like old story lines, rejected and forgotten. It is difficult to determine exactly when or why the old stereotype died out.

The movie, Chungking Express, certainly helped elevate Hong Kong to the new cultural level of respect that it now enjoys in Japan. With its 1996 release under the Japanese title, Koi Suru Wakusei, or World in Love, the Wong Kar Wai film put a new face on Hong Kong pop culture. These days the film’s singer-actress Faye Wong is on the Japanese hit parade and plays sold-out concerts at the prestigious Budokan.

Tokyo film distribution company Prenom H is so confident of Wong Kar Wai’s appeal in the Japanese market that it pre-bought his most recent release, Happy Together. Retitled Buenos Aires in Japan, this gay love story set in Argentina was a massive silver-screen and video hit.

Meanwhile, the enthusiasm has enveloped other Hong Kong cultural exports. Fruit Chan’s Made in Hong Kong is one of this year’s most anticipated film releases.

In May, Japan’s biggest listings magazine, Pia, ran a seven-page spread that featured photos and biographies of the likes of Leslie Cheung, Tony Leung, Jordan Chan and 11 other new-generation Asian superstars. As far as the youth-driven Japanese consumer market is concerned, Hong Kong has definitely been discovered, and it is very cool. Japan is a country where trends catch on fast, and right now at least, it appears that anything Hong Kong creates a stir. The only losers in the game are those players who have not kept up with the changes in consumer preferences.

“Kung fu movies are basically dead in Japan, ” says film critic Sozo Teruoka. “Nowadays, kung fu movie fans make up a very small section of the market. Instead of patronising a cinema, they prefer to watch a kung fu video.”

Local characters on silver screen attract movie-goers

Even as interest in serious Hong Kong cinema is growing in the Japanese market, there remain some actors so popular as to be exempt from trends. The premier example is Hong Kong’s best-known cultural export - martial arts master, stuntman extraordinaire, and just-plain-loveable Jackie Chan. All of Jackie Chan’s releases are well received in Japan. There is a full-colour magazine to keep more than 3,000 dedicated Japanese members of his international fan club informed of the superstar’s activities. Fans are already awaiting Chan’s new film, Gorgeous, with great anticipation. One reason is that Tony Leung, the handsome star of Happy Together is appearing together with Chan. Although Chan is far and away the bigger draw, there will be more than a few young people buying tickets to see Leung, who is incredibly popular with Japanese audiences. His inclusion in the cast of Gorgeous ensures that the film will have the widest possible appeal in Japan.

A lesson learned from African-American actor Chris Tucker’s welcome appearance in Chan’s Rush Hour, which grossed more than US$100 million at the box office, is that a little local colour can go a long way towards attracting audiences to a new movie. Japanese actresses Takako Tokiwa and Hikari Ishida are co-starring in new Hong Kong films, and their roles will certainly increase interest among Japanese movie-goers.

Another Hong Kong artiste whose popularity in Japan is skyrocketing is Faye Wong. Like Leung, Wong also got much of her initial Japanese exposure from the film Chungking Express. Toshiba EMI reports sales of more than 100,000 units for the Beijing-born singer’s new album, Chang You, which features the hit, Eyes on Me.“ As far as Tokyo radio station J-Wave can recall, Wong is the only Canto-pop singer to have made it onto its playlist. And like her contemporaries in Hong Kong cinema, she owes much of her popularity to a mature, sophisticated image. "I was attending the launch of a record company’s new album a while back, and after this J-Pop girl did her thing, Faye Wong was brought into the room,” recalls Billboard magazine’s Tokyo bureau chief Steve McClure. “She didn’t smile insipidly like all the other female idol-types do. She had real charisma. And that is what makes Faye Wong different and interesting.” Not to mention a great voice and a beautiful face.

Wong got a big break early this year when she was chosen to sing the theme song for Final Fantasy VIII, the latest release in a series that is one of Japan’s most popular role-playing video games. Naturally, the game was hyped on Japanese television, and Faye Wong became a familiar face. A promotional tie-in that places an artiste’s material in a TV commercial results in nation-wide exposure. This is one of the best ways to establish a musical act in Japan.

Foreign chains import CDs to cater to urban customers The Eyes on Me single also benefited from cross-marketing - it was sold in computer game stores as well as record shops. EMI Hong Kong should be doing rather nicely selling copies of Chang You in Japan, but it is not. The reason?

Eyes on Me appears on the made-in-Japan version of the album but not on the Hong Kong import.

The Japanese CD market is uniquely Japanese. There is a funny little thing called the Retail Price Maintenance System that covers sound recordings, books, and newspapers. It enjoys a special exemption from the government’s anti-monopoly act, and ensures that a Japanese-made CD priced at 3,059 (HK$190) in Hokkaido will also sell for the same price in Tokyo and everywhere else in the country.

However, when a Japanese record label licenses a product from an overseas company, it cannot buy exclusive Japanese distribution rights and block all imports because that would violate international trade agreements. So, most Japanese record companies have established divisions to handle parallel importing. Imported CDs are not affected by the retail price-fixing system; they can be sold for at least 30% less than the price tag of a Japanese release. One might guess that the moment imported CDs hit the stores, customers would scoop them up and leave the pricey Japanese versions sitting in the racks. Wrong!

“Japanese like to have things explained to them,” says Toshiba EMI’s Hiroto Hizume, “but imported CDs do not include Japanese-language liner notes or translations of the lyrics.” Another reason Japanese pay a premium for locally-manufactured CDs is that most of Japan’s 7,000 CD shops do not bother to give their customers any choice - they simply do not stock imported versions. In recent years, foreign chains such as Tower Records and Virgin Megastore have broken the protectionist compact by offering imports in major urban centres.

Songs in English appeal to large Japanese following

The Japanese Retail Price Maintenance System is currently being phased out, and should be gone, officially at least, by 2002. But the fact that a domestic CD manufacturing industry survived for so long even when the prices of imports were lower underscores the difficulties foreign companies often have in penetrating the Japanese market. Kelly Chen and Shirley Kwan do not benefit from commercial tie-ins that put their music all over Japanese television and radio. Instead, their CDs languish in the “World” music sections of those stores that do carry imports. And despite the steadily increasing interest in Asian pop culture, the general international section of a CD shop is still the first stop for Japanese music fans searching for new releases from overseas. The only CDs that are placed in the general international section are those which feature English numbers. Hong Kong pop releases share shelf space with Turkish folk songs in the “World” section.

Although she has the voice of an angel, Faye Wong had to render English-language songs before her Japanese fans would listen. Toshiba’s Hizume explains that Japanese consumers are simply more accustomed to hearing English than Cantonese. Wong is expected to record another English track for her next album, which Toshiba EMI says is due out sometime later this year.

An approach that has helped several Asian artistes make their foray into Japan is to sing in Japanese. Maybe, the time has come for another Teresa Teng, the late Taiwanese singer who charmed her way into Japanese hearts during the 1970s. Radio, cable and satellite music video programmes are another avenue for foreign singers and bands to get exposure in Japan, but there is a Catch-22. Artistes will not get on radio or TV unless they are popular, and cannot become popular until they get on radio or TV. Booking a promotional tour is an expensive option unless a record company is underwriting the act. This only happens if it has a fan base and when its product is available in stores. By comparison, bringing a film to Japan is fairly straightforward. Like almost everyone in the industry, Cine City Hong Kong’s Yuko Yoshinaga says producers should approach the film festivals first. Established in 1991, Cine City Hong Kong is located in an airy, two-storey building in Tokyo’s very fashionable Aoyama district. Along with a wide selection of movie books and posters, the company also sells video tapes, DVDs and other cinema-related products. Cine City Hong Kong is affiliated with Prenom H, the distribution company that funded the Japanese rights to Wong Kar Wai’s Happy Together. Yoshinaga says major Japanese film festivals, most of which are held annually, are invaluable vehicles for introducing new Hong Kong films and establishing contacts with the dozens of distribution companies that can put a movie in cinemas, video shops or on television.

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

SOURCE: THE JAPAN TIMES

[araminthe-ispwitch]

The Accursed Tale of Viktor Nikiforov

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Yuri on Ice

Rating: K+

Pairing/s: Viktor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki

Summary: 

Once upon a time, there was a man named Viktor Nikiforov. However, his story isn't something clear-cut like generic fairytales.

This is my birthday fic/song fic/attempted character study for Viktor Nikiforov a.k.a. that other dude born on December 25.

Emphasis on the "attempted" part.

Anyways, because he's on Christmas and Georgi "My Stupid Son" Popovich was born on Dec. 26 (can you believe the writers' cruelty???), I've decided that a short series of indirectly comparing them—going along with the theme of Georgi always being shadowed by Viktor—was a great idea.

(It's not actually, because now my other fics had to be put on hold.)

Cross-posted in: AO3 (don’t bother with the FFNet version because FFNet rejects songfics so I had to edit out this poetic fiction of mine there—but as if that’ll make me stop writing them because of the music industries’ logic)

Important Stuff to Note: 1) This Viktor-centric oneshot is very poetic—like REALLY poetic. Because it's a song fic—complete with lyrics and all that—I've tried to visualize it as an AMV of sorts, which is why the writing is like that and there's not much exposition (which, if you've read my other stuff, you'll know is my specialty).

2) Those lines centered, bolded, and italicized all together are the lyrics... and other stuff. ;D

3) There's a lot of time-skips here because we get to see how Viktor's life progresses.

4) I highly, HIGHLY encourage you to watch/listen to "Fairytale" by Alexander Rybak, the very inspiration for this and Georgi's own b-day fic. (The link I gave is his music video because you need to see how cute that fucker is, but okay that video's volume is low so here's a nice lyric video instead.)

5) Did you listen to it yet? You should. In fact, somebody should seriously fucking skate to it. I mean, it won Eurovision Song Contest 2009, didn't it? What do you mean it's not the greatest song ever?

6) I use the Victor-with-a-k spelling, so please get used to it.

7) Of course I don’t own YOI or Alexander Rybak’s song. T-T

The Accursed Tale of Viktor Nikiforov

Part 1 of the Two Sides of a Fairytale series

Once upon a time, a lone violin cry deafened the silence.

The spotlights from above grew warm and comforting.

The sound of ice being sliced coalesced into its own song.

And the world stilled to watch and listen.

Come.

Witness the tale of the Accursed Man.

Years ago, when I was younger

I kinda liked a girl I knew

Turquoise-colored eyes fluttered open with their beautiful silver lashes. The sight before them was familiar: a sea of indistinct faces, blurring into the colorful background behind the gleaming horizon of ice and light and white. Everywhere the eyes swept, the images couldn’t imprint on their memory long enough as the owner gracefully turned around and around and around. The dancing man outstretched his arms, beckoning to the empty air. To his precious audience, he was alone up on the glittering stage, but only the man could see the young feminine form coming to him, taking his hands.

Viktor smiled softly, his eyes only for her—for the beautiful creature who only ever answered to him. The girl laughed, eyes crinkling as the brilliant lights of the stadium bore down upon her veil of silver hair and moonlit skin.

They drew close, foreheads touching in a solemn, intimate prayer.

She was mine and we were sweethearts

That was then, but then it’s true

Then they backed away—fingertips still connected—and the mirror dance began.

I’m in love with a fairytale

Even though it hurts

Jump.

Spin.

Balance.

Glide.

Every movement, every action coursed through Viktor’s body as if they were natural to have occurred. And underneath the caress of the piercing music reverberating throughout the stage, they were. Viktor didn’t need to see if the girl was doing well—if she was copying him perfectly.

After all, they were one.

Their heartbeats were dancing to the same song—their skates gliding on the same ice.

They were one. And they will never let each other go.

‘Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind

I’m already cursed

They will always be with each other.

Every day we started fighting

Every night, we fell in love

“Don’t you think your hair is getting too long?”

Viktor blinked at his fellow skater, halting his brushing movements. His silver mane stilled as he did.

“What?”

“It’s not really fitting well with your look right now.”

Viktor blinked some more. “What do you mean?”

“Well… your body is getting more defined throughout the years…” the woman explained. “I think you would look better with a shorter hairstyle.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” quipped another skater—a guy this time. “You’re past your puberty now, right? Having a mature look would get you more fans!”

Viktor barely heard the man’s encouraging enthusiasm, his hands restarting their brushing motion. His coach came into his view as the others chatted about how Viktor would look like in the future.

“Yakov…”

“Hm?”

Turquoise eyes lifted up to the old man, a glazed and unfocused look to them. “Do you think I should cut my hair?”

Yakov raised a brow.

“Really short, I mean?”

“Ah.” Yakov hummed in thought. He eyed his student’s suddenly-serious disposition. “It would make a good image on you, at least. You’ve never really had short hair before, right?”

Viktor nodded.

“Hairstyle changes can be good sometimes,” said Yakov with a shrug. He eyed Viktor carefully once again. “But it’s alright to not change anything. It’s up to you.”

Viktor nodded again, gaze staring past the floor’s pattern. His hands were busy with brushing, but every bristle of his mane against his fingers felt so keenly sensitive.

No one else could make me sadder

But no one else could lift me high above

“Isn’t your hair a bit too long?”

“You’re an adult now, aren’t you?”

“You should act more mature.”

“A manly sex appeal would suit you!”

“Just think of how the world would fawn over you if you changed your image!”

Darkness. A familiar space. Sometimes, there was color—and other times, it was a void.

A mirror was in front of him. It had always been with him ever since he could remember. It helped him see himself clearly.

His vibrant girl was staring back at him, as usual. But for once, they were wearing the same dull expression.

Unintelligible whispers were echoing throughout the space and every hiss reaching them made his girl shiver. But she wouldn’t openly show her fear. She was strong.

The garbled hissing wrapped itself around Viktor, but he didn’t need to understand them. He knew what they were all about.

Change.

Change.

Change.

Viktor was at the cusp of metamorphosis and he ought to change.

Ought.

The girl stayed silent, looking back at him with muted blue orbs.

But I like it long.

I don’t know what I was doing

When suddenly, we fell apart

Viktor didn’t know how and when the poisoned words—compelling, daunting, choking words—started to sear themselves into his skin like sentient tattoos, but sear into his skin they did, and Viktor quickly discovered that he was at the mercy of their cruelty.

A game of tug-of-war ensued—Viktor helpless to the pull of the invisible chains linked from his unwanted tattoos to the door outside his sanctuary, yet still stubbornly digging his feet into the ground as he battled to keep his fingertips on the mirror.

Honestly, it was no longer just a game.

His girl mouthed words only audible to him and he managed to add another fraction inch of skin on the reflective glass, at the cost of his curses cutting deeper into his body.

A light suddenly flew past him, startling both man and girl.

Viktor looked over his shoulder. A familiar figure was going ahead to the outside world, and a sense of dread started coiling itself into Viktor’s stomach.

Several more lights flew past the pitch-black sanctuary and Viktor realized with horror that… they were all leaving him behind.

The earth beneath him shifted and the familiar warm feeling of being watched—of being appreciated, of being appraised, of being acknowledged—left his skin like a cold mist settling in. The coiling dread spread almost immediately.

The buzzing in his ears grew louder, a mixture of his girl’s voice and the thousand voices of the outside world.

You can’t stay still.

They’ll get bored.

You need to evolve.

Viktor slowly turned back to his girl, finding her beautiful turquoise orbs filled with uncertainty. He lifted a hand and caressed the image of her porcelain cheek.

Nowadays, I cannot find her

But when I do, we’ll get a brand new start

“Oh, hey, Vik—oh, wow! You look great!”

Viktor squeezed the doorknob as several of his fellow skaters crowded around him to marvel at his new haircut.

“I told you you’d look amazing with short hair!” said the woman who’d suggested the idea to him. They all murmured agreements as they continued to ogle and croon at him.

Unseen to his audience, Viktor looked back over his shoulder, where light from the opened world spilled onto a landscape of darkness and coldness.

A lone mirror stands at the center.

She wasn’t there.

But the hissing and pain of his tattoos had stopped.

Viktor slowly closed the door. He turned back to the audience and forced the corners of his lips to stretch.

“I know, right?”

I’m in love with a fairytale

Turquoise-colored eyes fluttered open with their beautiful silver lashes. The sight before them was familiar: a sea of indistinct faces, blurring into the colorful background behind the gleaming horizon of ice and light and white. Everywhere the eyes swept, the images couldn’t imprint on their memory long enough as the owner gracefully turned around and around and around. The dancing man outstretched his arms, beckoning to the empty air.

It remained empty.

Even though it hurts

Snow fell softly on the dimly-lit garden. Seated, Viktor stared up into the dark sky, his arms around his beloved dog. The world was quiet and there was no spotlight or camera flash for Viktor to pose for. Not a soul was in sight for him to entertain.  

He was all alone.

But still, the air remained empty.

And deep inside, a hole in his soul grew larger as the days passed.

‘Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind

For every year that passed, the painful inward tugs of the coercive tattoos come and go. They were always the sign that Viktor needed to evolve even further.

His past self must die and be reborn to become stronger—better. He couldn’t let his rivals surpass him for long. He couldn’t let his audience feel bored.

But sometimes, when he’s alone with his thoughts, he would visit the abandoned sanctuary.

The mirror had become transparent glass.

I’m already cursed

Cameras flashed left and right, illuminating the proudly-smiling and charismatic face of Viktor as he held up his gold medal for the world to see.

But the low thrumming of the tattoos were just underneath his costume. He had to change—to unfurl as a new flower—once again.

I’m at the end of my rope. At some point, I’ll have to stop spinning for the world.

Viktor smiled just a little bit wider. He can evolve.

In the darkness, a faint cracking could be heard.

She’s a fairytale, yeah

“A commemorative photo? Sure.”

Viktor couldn’t help his eyes widening by a fraction when the bespectacled man he was one-sidedly talking to just turned away from him without any goodbye whatsoever.

Deep within his core, a familiar tug ached… and brought him back to a time when he lifted his fingertips off that glass.

Viktor turned back to Yakov and Yuri. Just another reminder of the past. Nothing to it.

At least the man had looked horrified at him before he left. That was a nice difference.

Even though it hurts

“Be my coach, Viktor!”

Viktor stared—gaped—unbelieving at the slurred words of the giddy Japanese man clinging to him—who had, only hours before, walked away from the five-time consecutive Grand Prix Final champion like said champion was nothing.

A resounding crack of glass—a shiver—reverberated through him—within him—and Viktor barely stopped himself from letting out an effervescent sob.

‘Cause I don’t care if I lose my mind

When he caught wind of a perfect copy of his winning FS routine for the Worlds already viral online, Viktor’s brows unabashedly cocked in surprise. That wasn’t anything new—some skaters had tried the same throughout the years.

But the way people were reacting to it piqued his curiosity.

Now, lying on his sofa with Makkachin resting on him as he watched the aforementioned video for the fifth time, Viktor understood and respected their awe.

Yuuri Katsuki was something else.

There was no music—only the song of his skates making love with the ice—and yet, Viktor could hear every single note of the familiar melody as if he was right there with him.

A swish of silver hair and tinkling laughter flashed before his mind’s eyes and his lips thinned, bitten inside to prevent him from making any noise.

The video finished too soon for his taste. Unbidden, a small voice asked—whispered—for another replay.

Viktor didn’t hesitate to heed it.

I’m already cursed

“I want to eat pork cutlet bowls with you, Viktor.”

Short silver hair swished to fully turn to Yuuri and turquoise-colored eyes widened in surprise and confusion at the wish of the skater.

“I want to keep on winning, and keep on eating pork cutlet bowls!”

Viktor blinked, the words resurfacing buried images in his mind—of the proud roar of a crowd, of the satisfying weight of a medal around his neck, of the wonderful feeling of his precious mane slipping through his fingers as he lets the rush of the wind toy with it.

“So I’ll skate to ‘Eros’!”

There must be something else I can do to surprise the world. The tattoos had tugged harder, urging him to think of anything. This can’t be the end.

“I’ll give it all the eros I’ve got!”

When Viktor had arrived in Japan, he had convinced himself that this was the path he had been seeking. Yuuri Katsuki had provided that with his drunken plea to him back at the banquet months ago, and after seeing him copy Viktor’s routine, the silver-haired man clung to this hope that he can still evolve—still change and wow the crowd—through this.

But now, seeing the Japanese man boldly declare to him that he was going to fight for a chance to eat with Viktor—to be with Viktor—well…

For the first time in a long while, the searing curse entwined around him and the seeking shadows of that long-abandoned sanctuary stilled for just a moment as Viktor smiled vibrantly, genuinely happy with Yuuri’s wish.

I’m already cursed

The tattoos curl around him for the nth time, and Viktor lets his previous smile linger into just a plain line as the stark whiteness of the outside world’s sanctuary—his new sanctuary—enveloped him completely.

I’m already…

The need to push himself—to extend the rope even further, to exert every last drop of his strength into staying, to hold on until he was forced to let go—curls around him.

Yeah…

His new mirror reflects the sickly white of the place. His hair looks almost non-existent amidst the light.

…

“I hate you.”

The mirror is silent.

No one’s home.

No...

“Viktor?”

No.

A tinkle of familiar laughter.

But when Viktor blinked at a worried Yuuri suddenly so close to his face, the laughter seemed so far away.

No…?

“Is everything okay…?”

Viktor couldn’t help the sudden, quiet intake of breath. Yuuri was a vision in blue. He’s seen the outfit several times already, but never in that color—and for once, he’s glad he let Yuuri choose the shade.

I’m… not?

He lifted his adoring eyes, sparkling in warmth when he notices the dark-haired skater’s pink cheeks.

“H-How do I look…?”

I’m not… cursed…?

Viktor laughs quietly, and the phantom pain from the past ebbs away even further.

“You look beautiful, Yuuri.”

No… I’m not cursed.

“S-So do you!”

Viktor smiles softly. Yuuri was getting nervous again. But this wasn’t something he couldn’t handle.

I’m not.

Now, on the glittering stage they both knew and love so much—with only the lights up above illuminating their story, Viktor inhales and holds his head up high.

Not while I’m with you.

When he fell for Yuuri Katsuki, he realized with shame how much of an idiot he actually is. The sanctuary of white was abysmal, at best, but all this time—even when he came to be with Yuuri and learned to love Yuuri—he never bothered to look around. It had been a self-punishment of sorts.

But just because he had torn himself from his old comfort zone didn’t mean that he couldn’t learn to make this new one comforting.

Viktor looked down. His breath hitched.

He was stepping on a mirror.

The entire floor was a mirror.

A long mane of vibrant silver swayed on the other side, and turquoise eyes widened as its younger version crinkled happily back at him.

Viktor took a step.

His long-lost girl took the step with him.

This time, Viktor didn’t bother stopping his sobs.

His precious girl never left—never disappeared when he did without warning.

She simply found another way to stay.  

So please…

“If I win this dance-off, you’ll become my coach, right?”

“I want to eat pork cutlet bowls with you, Viktor.”

“I’m going to become a super tasty pork cutlet bowl, so please watch me!”

“I want you to stay who you are, Viktor!”

“Viktor is the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to. I don’t really have a name for that emotion, but I have decided to call it ‘love.’ Now that I know what love is and am stronger for it, I’ll prove it to myself with a Grand Prix Final gold medal!”

“Don’t ever take your eyes off me.”

“Just have more faith than I do that I’ll win! You don’t have to say anything. Just stand by me!”

“I’ll show my love to the whole of Russia.”

“Please be my coach until I retire!”

“I-I’ll try my best from tomorrow on so… tell me something for good luck!”

“After the Finals, let’s end this.”

“Please stay with me in competitive figure skating for one more year! This time, I’ll win gold for sure!”

Please stay.

Turquoise-colored eyes fluttered open with their beautiful silver lashes. The sight before them was familiar: a sea of indistinct faces, blurring into the colorful—dimmed—background behind the gleaming horizon of ice and light and white. Everywhere the eyes swept, the images couldn’t imprint on their memory long enough as the owner gracefully turned around and around and around. The dancing man outstretched his arms, beckoning to the empty air.

Another pair of hands gripped them and Viktor squeezed back.

Viktor smiled softly, his eyes only for him—for the beautiful creature whose gaze stole his heart, whose voice woke him up, whose touch wiped his tattoos. The other man laughed, eyes crinkling as the brilliant colored lights of the stadium bore down upon his jet-black hair and creamy skin.

Yuuri wasn’t a replacement for his old dancing partner. Far from it.

Viktor could feel his little girl moving within him, eagerly shadowing his movements as they led their partner—lover—on this intimate dance.

Stay close to me.

And never leave.

Yuuri smiled up at him, drawing close as they switched places and he held Viktor tenderly.

Man and girl, one as can be, sighed in content… and embraced him back.

Yuuri is his muse—his life and love.

“Viktor! Long time no see! Wow, you look great!”

Viktor smiled at Yuko as he entered Ice Castle. They were back in Japan after training in Russia. “Hey, Yuko!”

“Oh, you’re growing out your hair, huh?”

At the mention, the skater’s hand went up to smooth his silver mane back, still unused to finding a hair tie on it. It’s been a while.

“Well, I found out that Yuuri really liked it long back then, so…” he trailed off teasingly, sharing a conspiratorial grin with Yuko as the aforementioned male joined them in the lobby.

“Hm? My hair?”

Yuuri nodded, leaning back against the sofa’s backrest as Viktor lied his head down on his lap, idly watching the television in their apartment’s living room.

“Why’d you cut it back then?”

Viktor’s answered the question so many times already that it comes almost automatically to him. But remembering that this was Yuuri—his Yuuri—asking, he paused and pondered on what to say.

“No reason, really. I guess I was just getting tired of it being so long and decided I should change things up.” In the end, he couldn’t think of a better-sounding answer.

Yuuri hummed in reply, carding his fingers through Viktor’s crowning glory spilled on his thighs.

Viktor looked up at him. “Why? Do you like it longer?”

Yuuri’s used to his teasing by now, but he still couldn’t play off the blush on his cheeks. “W-Well… I’m just remembering how beautiful you looked with it…”

Viktor pouted. His little girl giggled softly at his silly envy. “Why? Don’t I look beautiful right now?”

He expected Yuuri to flounder, but was taken aback when the other replied almost immediately, “You do.”

Turquoise eyes widened, and his girl and his heart both gasped in disbelief at the pure happiness the two words evoked deeply within them. His sanctuary flickered like a shining prism.

“So…” The fingers combing his head hadn’t faltered in their movements. “Do you want to see me like that again?”

Now they did. And Viktor found with glee that Yuuri’s expression reserved only for him never stops filling him with life.

“Why are you two looking at me like that…?” asked Yuuri warily, looking back and forth between the two. Viktor couldn’t help flashing him a mischievous grin.

“No reason…” he drawled with a wiggle of his eyebrows, twirling a piece of his silver locks that were already reaching past his shoulders.

Yuuri jolted, turning his head away—but his ears were obviously red.

“C-C’mon already! D-Didn’t you say you wanted to s-skate?!”

As Yuko and Viktor laughed at Yuuri’s frazzled composure, Viktor inwardly smiled and let himself be pulled back into his sanctuary.

He didn’t know when and how, but the old one eventually melded with his new one, a door no longer separating the two together. The mirror floor was as beautiful as ever, but unlike the ice, this one granted Viktor clear view of himself and the things in his sanctum. His girl was with him, as usual, and she started dancing to silent music as the colors bled and spilled into their place, ever-changing and vibrant as the lights hit them. Viktor stared down at her fondly, watching her skate along her side of the mirror.

The tattoos were slithering on him again—never truly erased—but this time… they compelled Viktor to join her.

To join him.

Viktor brought himself back to the outside world, where Yuuri was waiting for him on the rink. He hurriedly tied his laces with a smile on his face.

Funny, he thought to himself. His cheeks would always hurt from smiling too much, but this time, he didn’t mind it at all. He liked it.

Now, come, my love…

His excited eyes quickly spotted Yuuri as he entered the rink.

People say you can’t love someone else if you don’t love yourself.

Yuuri kicked off with his favorite triple axel, cleanly landing as his arms gracefully balanced his body.

Bullshit.

Viktor’s lips twitched when his fearless girl intoned her similar thoughts passionately alongside his.

I’ve never loved myself.

A hazy world filled with dimmed memories came to him and he didn’t fight it for once.

But you…

Then, hazel orbs caught his turquoise ones, and despite the distance and its poor eyesight, they held on to his almost stubbornly.

Oh god, you…

They sparkled when Viktor came closer, so much closer.

I loved you so much, I forgot what hating myself felt like.

Then they fluttered close and so did Viktor’s, as they let their unheard song guide their heartbeats on what dance to do.

Join me in this fairytale

And let’s never let it end.

This is the incomplete tale of the Accursed Man named Viktor Nikiforov—who thought that he was cursed, but it was only in his mind.

Come.

See the current dance finish in rapture.

Let the song of the ice soothe your souls.

Make the spotlights your allies in this wonderful stage we call life.

Now, as lover and lover spin slowly to a halt, tucking their blades into a dramatic pose…

A crashing crescendo deafens the silence.

And the crowd roars in applause, yelling for an encore.

A/N:

Right, you probably want my explanation on this mindfuckery now.

Well, when I first thought of a birthday fic for Viktor, I figured a song fic would be better and won't take much time. (It did, though. Fuck you, writer's block.) Since I'm too obsessed with Alexander Rybak's Fairytale, I immediately saw a good analogy for him there (and an even more literal one with Georgi, but I'll explain that on his own oneshot). This was inspired specifically by this post, about one of the headcanons on why Viktor cut his long hair. I waited for the anime to finish so that I could properly arrange my thoughts on this headcanon and how it would've affected his life until the end of Season 1.

Viktor's oneshot is the poetic, figurative, and symbolic side of the song Fairytale (while Georgi's is the literal). His little girl is his inner self, and I've applied this symbolism liberally—and now, whether it denotes his feminine side, his gay side, or his soft side is all up to you readers. All I know is, during his life as a skater, he had to give up lots of things or turn his back on them, and for me, one of that was his old self. (I like the idea that he sees her as his skating partner back then.) When he met Yuuri, he gained another view on life and managed to reconnect with his past. And now, he's happier and healthier inside, because he had never wanted to lose his past self in the first place. That's not to say he's lost his maturity or something—more like, when he was younger, he was so dependent on that side of him, but now that he's grown as a person and he reunites with her, he becomes even better because he can now clearly see so many things that he had ignored up until that point.

(Am I making sense? Maybe you guys can just chalk it up to poetic license.)

I took a lot of scenes and lines from the anime that fit so well with this. Think you can find them all? :D

Also, the last batch of monologue when Viktor joins Yuuri skating in Ice Castle is a tribute to this post. It had Yuuri saying those lines about Viktor, but we all know that it can also go both ways, right? :3

All in all, Viktor Nikiforov is a complex man and I can't wait to see more of him in Season 2. After all, this fairytale isn't over yet, is it? :D

Belated happy birthday, you silly Russian man.

(someone hold me writing this hurt my heart omg)

Georgi’s side (Part 2 of the Two Sides of a Fairytale series)

[luthiery]

summer interior, edward hopper // girls against god, florence + the machine 

[ID: An oil painting of a woman resting on the floor beside a bed with sunlight streaming in through a window beside her. The painting is in shades of pale yellow, green, blue, orange, and dark red. The lyrics “When I decided to wage holy war, / it looked very much / like staring at my bedroom floor” have been placed on top in white in all caps. The first part of the lyrics are curved around the end of the bed and the second part of the lyrics are angled along where the wall and floor meet. /end ID.] ID by @britomart​

[dreamweaversofficial]

Year One, Chapter Four

“How did they do this?”  Lyric growls, lifting her bag above her head.  “How do they find the time?”

Garen climbs onto a chair and pulls her up after him.  “I don’t think they sleep.  Or do homework.”

“How can they just not do homework?” she sputters.

“I think you should be asking how they avoid sleeping, but to each their own.”

She’s most offended by the fact that they were going to use this library.  That everyone used this library, not least the librarian and older students.  Pulling a stunt like this wasn’t just disrespectful to the school as a whole, it was an inconvenience for the entire student body.

“It could be worse,” Garen decides.

Lyric stares back at him.  “How.  Garen, the entire library is filled with slime.”

“Sentient slime,” he retaliates.  “Like in Cubemake.”

“Cubemake is boring.”

“Take that back!”

A nearby daydream track student bursts into tears, to the horror and dismay of the prophetic track student next to her.  They pat her back soothingly, their face a mask of panic, and eyes the bookcases like they’re debating climbing to escape.  A few books are scattered over their table, pages open to images of complicated spells and long, scrolling lines of text.

“I’m going to fail,” she hiccups, hands over her mouth and eyes screwed shut.  Her white robes darken in spots where tears fall.

Her friend bites their lip.  “We can ask for an extension?  He can’t expect you to have your assignment done with -” (here, they wave their hand at the slime coating the library) “all this.”

She just shakes her head, breathing erratically.  Lyric’s heart clenches.  Hesitantly, she pulls some paper out of her backpack and uses it to wipe the girl’s essay off.  The dayweaver gives her a weak smile in gratitude.

“We don’t know it’s them,” Garen reminds her, flicking slime off his hands.  A funny expression crosses his face.  “I think it’s in my mouth.”

“Who else would do something like this?”  Lyric counters.  She eyes the slow waves of slime oozing their way into the library, then tosses her bag to a table closer to the door.  Pink goop covers the books, the walls, the floor.  With a huff, she jumps.  Garen follows close behind.

He wobbles, then stabilizes.  “Innocent until proven guilty?”

She sighs, pulls her bag onto her shoulders, and makes the final jump out of the door.  Turning to wait for him, her gaze slides to the label beside the doorway.

RS & DN, the card reads.  It’s pink, but not from the slime.  Lyric growls.  “I hardly think this counts as innocent.”

From inside, the librarian shrieks something about bloody retribution, perched impressively in heels on top of her desk.  Lyric pries the card off the wall, her fingers now sticky with tape.  Garen tows her down the hallway.

“We have to report this.”

She tucks the label into her pocket.  “Is this enough proof?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, eyelids shuttering, then exhales loudly.  “But this isn’t how I imagined my first year at Mentality going.”

“We’ve got fated rivals!”  Lyric declares in an attempt to wax poetic.

There are less people the further they walk, students staying in their dorms or dashing to the library.  A few teachers pass by but pay them no mind.  Yellow lines trail the walls in strips, glowing duly.  She remembers reading about them - a backup light source if the generator was somehow to fail.

The whole place seems strangely normal (if futuristic) for a magic school.  There aren’t any force fields outside, no armed guards, no magic scans to check if dreameaters have infiltrated the building.  Then again, perhaps they consider the professors protection enough.  

She’s seen the results of dreameaters, if not the creatures themselves.  Dreams are more than just nighttime fantasies - they’re a source of imagination, a place of rest.  Stealing something so integral to the human mind can’t end well.  Lyric remembers the news in care blaring something about an attack a few days before she left for Mentality.  Dreameaters, the anchor had announced, have attacked a local apartment complex. Dreamweavers were quickly on the scene, but were unable to arrive in time to save the afflicted.

The people in the videos had looked hollowed out.  Ill.  When a paramedic suggested one lie down, attempt sleep, the woman had blanched so fiercely that he’d instantly changed course.

“There,” Garen says decisively.  He jabs his finger at a door.  “That’s the one.”

“We have got to stop bugging the headmaster this often,” Lyric replies.  Taking in a shaky breath at the thought of the woman’s displeasure, she turns the handle.

Reema and Devon are already standing inside, Devon’s hands in their pockets and Reema’s hair frazzled at the edges.  She flicks her gaze over her shoulder.  Face contorting into a sneer, the girl slouches a bit more, rolling her shoulders.

Headmaster spots the card in Lyric’s hand and waves her in.  “Ah, Lyric - and Garen.  Truly, it’s nice to see the two of you hitting it off.  I know I was thick as sage tastes with my roommate.”

“We were hoping to give you this?”  Lyric says hesitantly.  Slowly, she offers the label.  “I think it - proves -”

Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth, words falling dumb from between her lips instead of an exhaled release.  Devon’s nose twitches.

“It’s evidence.”  Garen sounds as guilty as he looks, which snaps Lyric out of it.  They have no reason to feel bad for turning someone in for a crime they committed!  His head dips, and she resists the urge to nudge it back up.  Heat flickers in her throat.

“Yes, thank you.”  Headmaster smiles, amused, and takes the proffered card.  “I think our discipline is over.  You may go, so long as you report to detention.  I hear Professor Serin is cleaning uniforms covered in dreameater gore.”

“What?”  Reema exclaims, at the same time Lyric demands, “That’s it?”

“Dreameater gore isn’t exactly a picnic to remove,” the headmaster hums.  She turns back to her papers, sliding the pink label into her office wastebasket.  “It was a prank.  An irritating but ultimately harmless one that we can fix soon enough.”

Lyric seethes, but consoles herself with the knowledge that Headmaster surely knows what she’s doing.  A petty part of her revels in watching Reema’s jaw twitch.  Beside her, Devon puts their tongue between their teeth and turns to leave, jerking the back of Reema’s shirt as they do.  The girl scoffs, but follows with a last poisonous look at Lyric and Garen.

“I can’t believe this,” she complains, dragging a hand along the walls.  Her fingers, slim and strong, tap out a beat on the cool surface.

Lyric snorts.  “You can’t believe this?  What is this, your third offense?”

“Seventh,” Devon replies.  “Really, don’t shame us.  We’re efficient.”

“You’re despicable.”

“Finally,” Reema drawls, “something we can agree on.”

Garen throws his hands into the air, makes a mouth-zipping motion at Lyric, and mimes going to the sports field.  Lyric tips her head backwards.  The ceiling shimmers with dark powder, in direct contrast to the pulsing glow of the walls.  The floor stays the same basic grey.  Magic lives to disappoint.

(That’s not true.  Lyric’s dazzled in hundreds of different ways every day, at the brilliance that lies under the skin of every student here.  The purpose.)

“I don’t understand how you can just give this up,” she mutters, suddenly tired.

Reema comes to a stop in front of her, the line of her shoulders even.  Devon raises a single eyebrow, tilts their head, and continues walking at a slightly slower pace.

“I don’t understand how you can give your life up,” Reema hisses, acidic, “to be conscripted into a fight you didn’t sign up for.”

“Nobody signed up for it!”  Lyric argues.  Garen winces, shifting his feet, but she knows he’s never thrown a punch before.  “We have something that can help, which makes it our duty to repay it.  We’re chosen.”

There’s a silence that makes the hallway feel cold.  Reema exhales, tips her head to show the barest hint of her eyes.  Most of her face is hidden.  

“I get it,” she states simply.  “You’re too pathetic to go back.”

Her voice is cold, clinical, with no sign of emotion.  For a moment, Lyric just stares.  Then the words forge past the tone, a chilly touch on the back of her neck sinking into skin.  She lets out an incredulous puff of air.

She’s right, of course.  There’s no life to go back to.  Lyric needs this in a way nobody else seems to, as much as Reema seems to hate it, enough to feel protective over a school that’s been hers for only a few months.

“Get off your high horse,” Reema says, voice low.  Her face shifts from serious to mocking in the blink of an eye.  “And stop following us.  People are going to start to talk.”

Lyric lets her walk away.

She lets her walk away.

She lets her walk -

Garen has a death grip on her arm, right when she’s thinking how easy it would be to just shove Reema into a pit of live vipers.  Granted, they’d have to find vipers, but it would be a worthy use of time.

“Yeah,” he mutters, watching her.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I know.”

Lyric sighs.  “Let’s go to the field.”

He watches her for another long moment, then releases her arm.  The sky is blue when they emerge into the open air, there are the sound of whistles blowing, and Lyric settles into the stands to watch.  She absolutely cannot afford to get into any fights while she’s here.  Punching someone?  That would be such an incredibly terrible move.

Instead, she can sit and clap as Garen haphazardly throws a ball around.  On another patch of grass, Salza is doing much the same (albeit smoother and far more professional looking than any twelve year old has a right to).  She doesn’t appear to have noticed him.  Lyric files that under things she’s not going to tell Garen.

It’s a small list.

.

.

.

A month or two later, she heads to the library.  There’s an assignment due in a few days that needs researching, and this is the best place to do it.  Instead of writing her paper on dreameaters hunting patterns, like Garen and the majority of the student body, Lyric has decided to write about how to summon them.

It’s a complicated process, something about pulling dream material out of someone’s unconsciousness, and she’s exhausted her sources.  The standard textbooks don’t exactly discuss summoning the enemy in detail.  Lyric slides her books into the return cart and glances around for the librarian, eyeing the books’ magical journey to the shelves.

“Something you need, hon?” the librarian chirps, appearing suddenly from behind the desk.

After her heartbeat returns to resting rate, Lyric flashes her a grin.  “I need to know about summoning dreameaters.  It’s for a project in -”

“Professor Cadence, yes.”  She bustles around the desk, scooping up a reference card.  “There was a student just in here asking about the same thing.”

She’d literally rather have been doused in fish oil than repeat an idea.  “Someone named Salza?”

“Reema Salten, I believe.  You need express permission from the headmaster to read those books, but it was all approved.”  The librarian writes something on a note sheet.

Mind whirling furiously, Lyric shoulders her bag.  “Thanks anyway - got to go -”

“I can request it for you, if you like?” she calls after her.

“No thanks!  I had a different idea!”

This is ridiculous, Lyric reminds herself as she speedwalks down the hallway.  Nobody would be stupid enough to summon a dreameater, much less a rebellious twelve year old.

She’ll talk to Garen, and he’ll convince her that she’s being ridiculous and reading too much into things again, and then they’ll procrastinate on studying for final exams together.  They’ll talk about burning their homework.  They’ll studiously avoid talking about Garen’s inevitable return home, and Lyric’s inevitable loneliness over the break.

She turns around and heads down a side corridor instead.

They’ve been doing enough not talking about it recently, and she’d rather take a moment to shove it out of her head completely.  Lyric’s not entirely sure what she’ll do, once she’s alone once more, but she’s sure it’ll involve casting spells in the vague direction of their bathroom that she’s fairly sure is haunted.

The hallway she’s slunk down is empty, with a few open doors displaying a noticeable lack of teachers.  Most of the first year students have time to study in their own rooms, consult the library, or engage in some kind of sport or club.  Fairly certain she’s never been down this path before, Lyric walks further.

Right before she turns a corner, she hears something akin to the panicked breathing some of the kids in care used to have, right before they woke from a nightmare they’d never divulge.  It’s the sound of suppressed fear coming to a head.

Lyric hasn’t been having very good luck with corners, this year, but she turns this one.

Reema is curled into herself, pressed against the wall.  Her body shivers and seizes.  Biting her tongue, Lyric slides along the wall next to her and sits down.

“You okay?”

Do I look okay, Reema seems to reply between furious hiccups.  Lyric finding her is clearly the last thing she wants - the last person.

She hesitates.  “Should I find Devon?”

“You should leave me alone,” Reema forces through gritted teeth, every word a battle.  She takes a laboured, if slightly slower, breath.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Lyric muses.  “I dislike you.”

Reema smiles.  Lyric laces her fingers in her lap, loose but precise, to avoid plucking at a tear in the other girl’s jacket.  She’s certain that wasn’t there at the start of the year.  “But I don’t want to just leave you here, either.”

No response.  Sitting here, breathing, Lyric can almost ignore the irritation that bubbles under her skin when she sees Reema.  It’s easier now, when she’s so clearly not a threat.  When Lyric’s so close to the end of their first year, a few months away from thirteen.  But to think like that is to underestimate her.

Reema’s breathing slows, steadies, comes in gentle inhales instead of sweeping gusts.  She pushes herself to her feet and jerks away.  “Don’t pity me just because you’re projecting.”

“I’m not projecting,” Lyric says, exasperated.  “You may not be able to feel sympathy, but I -”

She doesn’t see the shove coming.

One second she’s lifting herself off the ground, cold press of the floor against her hands, and then she’s skidding abruptly backwards.  Her legs fumble underneath her, and she can tell she’s going to fall before it happens.

“Are you kidding me,” she demands, staring up at Reema.

In response, Reema balls her hands into fists.  So that’s how it is, Lyric thinks, grimly determined, then: Garen is going to be so disappointed in me.  Then she shoves herself upright, shoulders set, and grabs Reema by the collar.  There’s no plan.  No method.  Just stop her from doing anything else.  

However, all grabbing her does is put Reema closer to her, all the better for a few solid whacks, before there’s yelling at the end of the corridor.  A teacher runs up to them, palm flashing with light.  She glares.

“What on earth are you doing?” the woman demands, forcing them apart.  “Goodness, can’t you restrain yourselves at least until you hit teenage angst?”

“She started it,” Lyric spits out, and instantly feels very small in her perhaps not-so-righteous anger.

“I’m finishing it,” the teacher replies, eyeing Reem’s sullen face, and points a finger at the administrative wing.  “Headmaster’s.  Now.”

[beyondforks]

Tour! A Review of Only a Mistress Will Do by Jenna Jaxon

Only a Mistress Will Do (House of Pleasure #3) by Jenna Jaxon Genre: Young Adult (Paranormal/Fantasy Romance) Date Published: April 4, 2017 Publisher: Lyrical Press

The man of her dreams . . . belongs to another woman. 

Destitute and without friends, Violet Carlton is forced to seek employment at the House of Pleasure in London. She steels herself for her first customer and is shocked when the man rescues her instead of ravishing her. A grateful Violet cannot help but admire the handsome Viscount Trevor. But she must curb her desire for the dashing nobleman she can never have because he is already betrothed to another . . .

Tristan had gone to the House of Pleasure for a last bit of fun before he became a faithful married man. But when he recognizes the woman in his bed, he becomes determined to save her instead. Now, his heart wars with his head as he falls for the vulnerable courtesan. Unable to break his betrothal without a scandal, Tris resolves to find Violet proper employment or a husband of her own. Still, his arms ache for Violet, urging him to abandon propriety and sacrifice everything to be with the woman he loves. . . 

Only a Mistress Will Do is the third book in the House of Pleasure Series by Jenna Jaxon. The moment Tristan and Violet met, I could feel their chemistry and attraction, but very soon after they proclaimed to love each other, then these crazy and at times unbelievable obstacles kept popping up. I don't know what happened, but somewhere along the way it lost the sizzle for me. A lot of that has to do with Tristan's interactions with his betrothed(who I actually grew to like.. I wonder if she'll get a book). Sometimes I was ready for the plot to move on, and one of those 'obstacles' would happen, and it would slow things down instead. On the other hand, there was quite a bit going on to keep you reading. The story was entertaining and funny. I am curious about the previous two books in this series. I'd like to get to know those characters as well. Only a Mistress Will Do by Jenna Jaxon was kindly provided to me by Silver Dagger Book Tours for review. The opinions are my own.

Chapter 1 London, November 1761 Shivering in the brisk wind cutting straight through her thin gown, Violet Carlton trudged across the small dirt-packed backyard, littered with tufts of dead grass and scattered brown and red leaves. Teeth clenched to stop their chattering, she mounted the short three steps of the back stoop, straightened her shoulders, and rapped three times on the dull gray door of the silvery clapboard house. Beyond the weathered board fence of   the house next door a dog barked, but no one stirred. No prying eyes to witness her shame. The door opened a crack, and a lad of about twelve stuck his head out. “What you doin’ ’ere this time o’ day?” “I would like to speak with Madame Vestry, please.” Perhaps she should have waited until later in the morning. Such an establishment would obviously keep late hours. But the ache in her belly had forced her here as soon as the sun had risen. “She’s still sleep. Come back later today.” He started to push the door closed but Violet rammed her boot between it and the jamb. The boy kept shoving, squeezing her foot until she winced in pain, but she gritted her teeth, put her shoulder to the door and pushed back. If she didn’t do this now, she wouldn’t have the courage, or the strength, to come back. “I need to see her now.” She raised her voice, and threw her weight against the rough boards. Despite her small stature, she was stronger. He staggered back and she fell into a narrow back foyer with a row of coat hooks and the devastating yeasty smell of baking bread. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten for days. Blond hair straggling from under a mobcap, a girl, maybe fourteen, rushed into the room. “What the hell’s going on in here Willie?” She wiped her hands on her apron, streaked with flour and grease. Warily, her gaze shifted from Willie to Violet. “Who are you?” “I’ve come to see Madame Vestry.” Violet focused on the girl’s narrowed eyes.  “I need to talk to her, please.” Her heart gave a sickening lurch. In one practiced glance, the girl took in her appearance, from what used to be her second-best hat to the rumpled and stained deep-purple dress to her scuffed black boots, and sniffed. “I see you do.” The appraisal stung, but was probably fair. She’d come down fast in the months since her grandmother’s death. Her possessions long gone, her wardrobe—reduced to two dresses and a well-worn cloak—had been sold, leaving her with only the dress she stood up in. These clothes wouldn’t fetch a shilling in a secondhand shop now. The servant girl nodded to Willie. “Close the door before we freeze to death, jingle-brains. Come on.” She led Violet out of the foyer. “I’ll ask if Madame will see you. But she won’t be happy being woke up this early, you can bet your dippers on that.” The last thing she wanted was to antagonize her future employer. Still, she couldn’t risk waiting until later. Taking a firm grip on herself, she followed the girl down a shadowy hallway until she motioned her into an equally dim reception room. “Wait here.” The girl turned on her heel and left. Violet let out the breath she’d been holding. She hadn’t fainted yet, though her empty stomach had tied itself in knots. The pain meant she was alive and by God she intended to stay that way. She strode farther into the room and perched on the red cushioned sofa. Let the woman arrive swiftly to get this over with. Sitting rigidly, she stared at her hands clenched in her lap, then shook herself. She had better be stronger than this. Determined, she sat straighter. A classical-style painting in a large gilt frame across from her caught her interest. A naked woman lay on a chaise, her legs spread. Oh, good Lord. Her womanly parts were exposed and a swan lay with its beak pressed between her thighs. Her face heated and she had to look somewhere else, anywhere else but at that painting. The fireplace on her right held two candlesticks, shaped like naked women. Wax had dripped onto the figures, drops hanging from the nipples. Was there nowhere in the room without a lewd image? Violet gripped the end of the sofa. The plush red carpet seemed safe to study. The smooth, polished wood under her fingers had been carved in an oval with folds in the middle. She traced the pattern absently, still unable to get the image of the painting out of her mind. The swan’s long neck lying at the apex of the woman’s open legs. Her forefinger stroked the wooden oval, so similar to the— “Dear God!” She snatched her hand away and rubbed it against her gown. “Miss Carlton?” A small, dark-haired woman in an exotic scarlet silk robe seemed to fill the room. Violet jumped to her feet, her heart thudding wildly. “My maid said you wished to see me?” Madame Vestry’s dark eyes took in every detail of Violet’s appearance. She raised an eyebrow. On the tip of her tongue to retort of course, she did not wish to see the owner of a brothel, she instead swallowed back her anger. She could ill afford to provoke Madame Vestry. “Yes, ma’am. My brother told me if things went very badly for me I should…” Words stuck in her throat like a fish bone. “Come to my establishment?” Face flushing, Violet nodded. “Yes.” “Who is your brother, Miss Carlton?” A narrowing of the woman’s eyes echoed the suspicion in her voice. “James Carlton, ma’am.” Vestry’s head rose slightly and she relaxed. “Ah, yes, Jamie. You are his sister? Then I am sorry for your loss, Miss Carlton.” “Thank you, Madame Vestry.” Thankfully, her voice held steady, the months since her brother’s death easing the grief to the point she did not weep instantly at the thought. Her current plight was enough to do that. “And you have now come to that desperate point where you seek employment with me?” The business-like tone, neither condoning nor condemning, stiffened Violet’s resolve. “Yes, ma’am. As of today, I have nowhere else to go, no one to turn to.” A sickening churn of her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger sent tension through her. “Nothing else of value.” Except herself. “You are how old, Miss Carlton?” “Nineteen, ma’am. Almost twenty.” “Let me see you walk, please.” With a crisp snap, Vestry pulled the curtains open and nodded to the path between the sofa and fireplace. Violet straightened her skirts as best she could. Suddenly stiff and self- conscious, she concentrated on putting one foot before the other until she came face to face with another obscene painting. She clenched her hands and averted her eyes. “Turn please.” Feeling more and more like a horse or a cow at Smithfield market, she did as she was told, hopefully with a bit more grace. In reward, Vestry gave her a slight nod. “You speak and move as befit your station, Miss Carlton. With a little training, I suspect you will be quite popular with our patrons. I should be able to command a high price for your virginity.” Violet’s feet tangled in the plush carpet. The scant approval vanished as Vestry glared at her. “I  assume  you are intact?” Oh, the shame. How could this woman suggest she had already lain with a man? Bitterness flooded her mouth and her chest ached with mortification. Finally, she managed a curt nod. “Lie down on the sofa please.” “What? Why?” “I am not fool enough to take your word, Miss Carlton.” Vestry smiled mirthlessly. “A brief inspection will allow me to assure your buyer he is indeed purchasing a virgin.” Her cheeks heated at the humiliation this woman suggested. The cold inevitability of her situation rolled over her, engulfing her as though she was drowning beneath a relentless sea. Madame Vestry demanded almost nothing compared to the real horror awaiting her at the hands of her buyer. Still, she had chosen to live. She could no longer afford the luxury of respectability. Vestry stood immobile, a flicker in her eyes the only hint of interest. Steeling herself, without word or plea, Violet lay down on the disgusting sofa, raised her knees and turned her head toward the garish red satin cushion. Cool air rushed past her thighs. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to cry. The time for weakness had passed. “You may sit up now.” Indignant, Violet sat up and raised her chin. “Are you satisfied as to my honesty now?” “I always was, Miss Carlton.” Madame Vestry stared into Violet’s eyes, her gaze seeming to penetrate to her soul. “Then why—” “I needed to test your mettle.” Rising, Violet scowled. Simply coming to this place should have shown her determination. “Respectable women often believe they can eschew respectability to save their lives, only to find, in the end, starvation far pleasanter than immorality,” Vestry continued matter-of-factly. “You, however, I believe will do, Cassandra. Come with me.” Motioning her to follow, she headed out of the room. “Cassandra?” Violet hurried to keep up. “All of my girls have false names, false identities.” At the end of the hallway, they headed up a flight of stairs. “The life they lead in the House of Pleasure is just as fraudulent. Cassandra is the mask you will wear to protect a vestige of your self-respect.” When they reached the landing, Madame twitched her silky robe out of the way and turned to her. “Think of it as a role, very like one an actress might take upon the stage. It is not who you are, unless you allow it be.” The vehemence of the last sentence rang in the cramped stairwell. Violet stumbled back a step. “Why Cassandra?” It was a classical reference she couldn’t quite place. A peculiar smile curled Madame Vestry’s red lips. “She was a prophet and a spoil of war. A woman men used but dismissed because they could not understand her prophecies, although they came true with a vengeance.” A fire glowed in her cunning eyes as she scrutinized Violet’s body. More than her earlier examination, Vestry’s calculating perusal made Violet uncomfortable. “What prophecy will you reveal to your customers, I wonder, Miss Carlton? A promise of pleasure or one of pain?” The light extinguished as quickly as it had come. “This way.” She started down a corridor to the right. “You will have a room of your own on the second floor. Depending on circumstances, you will entertain your clients either there or in one of the ground-floor rooms.” Violet followed, each step hardening her heart. “I will see to your training during the next week.” Passion drained from her voice. The businesswoman had returned. A shiver shot down Violet’s spine. “I will also inform certain special clients I have an item of interest for them.” No going back now. She had become a whore. Tears threatened, but she beat them back. “You can only sell your virtue once and I will make sure you receive the highest price, my dear. Half of those proceeds are yours.” Violet wavered between fainting and nausea, then steadied. Perhaps thinking of the encounter as a business deal might make the situation tolerable. Madame Vestry showed her into a small, clean room boasting no lewd artwork, only a wide oak bed, a chest on chest, an armchair and table. “This room is yours as long as you work for me, though should you receive a better offer, I’d advise you take it.” “A better offer?” Who on earth would want her after this? “Many of my girls have gone on to become exclusive mistresses to the noblemen who take a fancy to them. Such arrangements are often quite lucrative. With judicious saving one might have enough to start their life over after four or five years.” A mischievous smile flitted across Madame Vestry’s face. “One of the girls who passed through here briefly—very briefly, mind you—ended up marrying a marquess. That smacks more of fairytale than reality. Still the tale is true.” The animation drained from her face as the brusque woman of business returned. “I will leave you to settle in, although I’ll expect you ready for your first lesson this afternoon. We serve late luncheon at four and supper after midnight. The house opens for clients at dusk.” She looked Violet up and down once more, lingering on her face. “You might want to stay in your room tonight. Just ignore anything you may hear. You’ll get used to the noise rather quickly.” Abruptly, she shut the door. Violet dropped into the chair as her legs finally gave out, praying to God she could get through this nightmare, if only one moment at a time.

Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary romance. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise—so expect her to incorporate these elements into her work! She lives in Virginia with her family and a small menagerie of pets where she is currently working on the next House of Pleasure book, Only A Mistress Will Do, as well as a Regency series. When not reading or writing, she indulges her passion for the theatre, working with local theatres as a director. She often feels she is directing her characters on their own private stage when she writes. Jenna equates her writing to an addiction to chocolate—once she starts she just can’t stop!

To learn more about Jenna Jaxon and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Google+, YouTube, Pinterest, and Twitter.

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saturn (1636), peter paul rubens // eat your young (2023), hozier

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