#what sounds taste like to Etienne

[authoralexharvey]

Five Senses Tag Game

Was tagged for this by @bookworm-center FOREVER ago and am finally doing it now lmao... I'm using ASMLP for it, obviously.

5 snippets of the five senses you've written, the only rules are you can't write the snippet after seeing this and do as many as you can; I'll go first.

Touch

In the blink of an eye, the scene is gone, leaving behind a blank world of grey. It wrinkles and warps, a puddle disturbed. When the image is clear once more, they stand over a clay jar, dusting their fingers over its smooth surface. A warm hand claps their shoulder. "What age is this artifact from, Simone?" Before they can answer, the scene changes again.

Taste

They chew on their bottom lip, relishing the raste of their own blood and how it distracts them. "Still no word?" they ask in Chantal's direction, if only to wrench them from their swirling thoughts.

Sight

"Welcome back, Etienne," says a voice behind them. Simone jumps with a squeak. When they turn, they expect a fellow Caster to have followed them in. Instead, they stare at a life-like portrait of a taller woman, her short black hair streaked with grey and fashioned into waves. To their shock, her eyes flutter closed as they regard her. A soft, golden beam of light shines through the trees overhead. Did he paint this, too? How could he even get it to move?

Smell

"Well," they say, gaze landing on the threadbare cat doll resting on Nadia's pillows, "she'll come back when she comes back. In the meantime..." A sudden yawn overtakes them. Rubbing their eyes, Simone slides under the blankets, holding Nadia's doll close. It smells of sweat and Serenity and dust, a bouquet all Nadia's own.

Sound

The silence is tangible, thick and waving and enough to make her dizzy. It's in this silence she waits, straining an ear for the sound of Simone's shoes on the floor. Leave me, she pleads from inside herself. There's nothing. Her gaze latches to the ceiling. Her mouth opens, but her thoughts linger at the end of yawning tunnels and she finds herself incapable of speaking. And then, mercifully, the squeak of their shoe fills the silence. Nadia knows without checking that she is alone. So utterly, terribly alone.

Like these excerpts? Sign up to be an ASMLP ARC reader!

Tagging: @moonshinemagpie, @dyoniawrites, @theprissythumbelina, @ardenfiction, @ddgraywrites, @zeenimf, and @mr-writes. Have fun!

[shadowetienne]

You know I've gotta ask how cOy and Night Flight taste

And questiOn mark taste bad and that added to your first impression?

The flavors of songs in my synesthesia experience are very heavily influenced by vocal flavor, so that's one of the first things that comes into play here. So as a basic run down of vocal flavors:

Junji - a nice lightly oxidized wulong tea, light notes of ginger and cardamom, a little bit of lychee and orange blossom

Rie - a somewhat delicate jasmine green tea, similar light notes of ginger and cardamom, heavier on the cardamom than Junji's voice, somewhat sweet, again with some lychee notes (Rie and Junji's voices have a similar palette for me, but the distribution is different)

Nine - malty black tea (such as Assam), hint of chocolate, hint of mint, some orange, when he goes into the airier part of his voice, loses some of the harshness/astringency that it can develop a little bit when he does the raspier tones

Love - strong (non-malty) black tea, some chocolate notes again, cinnamon, cloves, some ginger, some orange, like with Nine, in the airier parts of his voice, it does tone down the astringency some

KB - a more delicate black tea (Qimen - a Chinese black tea), a hint of sweetened condensed milk, cinnamon, cardamom, a hint of coconut

Yoojung - again a more delicate black tea, prepared milk tea style, a little bit of ginger, cardamom, and honey, honestly, his voice tastes a lot like one of my favorite boba tea orders and this is slightly confusing

Mill - a somewhat lightly flavored, spiced black tea w/ cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, a lot of orange, including the orange zest element of orange, honey

I actually really like the flavor palette of all their voices a lot, though Junji's and Rie's are my favorite both in balance and overall palette.

So how that interacts with the instrumentation and the individual songs.

"cOy"

They spend a lot of time in that lighter, airier configuration, stylistically in Junji and Rie's preferred zone (unsurprising, it's their song). This song's instrumentation brings a very light creamy element to the flavor, it reminds me of a very light ginger sponge cake with ice cream, with a lot of those ginger/orange/lychee/orange blossom elements present in several of their voices. There's a lovely balance of tea flavors, the overall flavor is very heavily balanced towards Rie and Junji's voices, with almost nothing in the way of the chocolate notes that Love and Nine can sometimes bring into songs.

"night flight"

The instrumentation of "night flight" brings forward some interesting smoky/campfire scents and flavors. Between KB and Yoojung's vocals being pretty forward in this and the instrumentation, along with a lot of them singing together, there's a lot of milk tea/creamy rich notes. Again, the instrumentation brings in some cake-like elements, but more like a coffee cake with plenty of cinnamon and spices. The chocolate elements in Love and Nine's voices are more brought forward in this song, but in a way that incorporates well with the overall flavor palette.

"? (questiOn mark)"

One of my biggest issues with this song comes down to the fact that one of the types of distortion that they're using hits one of my sound creates a touch/sensory response along with flavor, and I am getting a little bit of sand to the mouth from the distortions in the mixing/instrumentation. I've said a few times that the song sounds a little bit disjoint, and that also comes up here, there's not a lot of vocal blending, so in the different parts of the song, we're sort of jumping from member's vocal flavor to other member's vocal flavor, without the instrumentation providing a flavor element that unifies it. There is a distinct element of like sour hard candies added from the sort of "droplet" sounds in the instrumentation that is kind of neat though. So while it doesn't taste bad necessarily, it's certainly a somewhat disconcerting flavor ride.

Thank you so much for asking! Hopefully this was an interesting journey in what music tastes like to me.

[gassybots]

HCs for what each heroes gas would sound and smell like?

Quincy: Light and airy, most of the time they're real squeakers and he's very embarrassed about it. Doesn't smell like much. His burps can range from very cute (think anime girl burp) to loud and surprising.

Gwendolin: VERY loud, perhaps a contender for the longest farts. They sound a bit forced, but not too much so. Still doesn't smell like much but still dangerous (because she lights them on fire) Much the same when she belches.

Striker: Silent but deadly. Not often but when he does? Clear the room. No one ever thinks that it was him though.

Obyn: On both ends of gas, decently loud, barely even bubbly at all. Sounds like wind blowing through trees and smells like a gentle breeze. So overall one of the most pleasant farters.

Churchill: Hilariously loud and bubbly, you often hear them a bit muffled from the fabric of his clothes as he tries to look away and feign ignorance. Smells TERRIBLE, no one knows that more than him and he stinks up his tank more often than he'd like to admit.

Ben: Very normal farts. Sometimes they're loud, sometimes they bubble, sometimes they squeak, sometimes they don't make any sound. Smell depends on what he eats of course, but his diet consists of Dorito and Mountain Dew. He stinks more of Gamer than he does of Gas. Because he likes to drink soda, he tends to burp more than the others, but he at least tries to be polite about it and excuses himself.

Ezili: Ridiculously bubbly and wet sounding. You'd think she would've just sharted herself, but she's never done that (yet). Smells pretty damn nasty but you could swear, no matter how rancid they smell, there's a bit of a magical tingle on your nose. Her belches are similarly wet sounding, probably due to how much liquid she drinks.

Pat: Fart With Reverb

Adora: You would think it was impossible for her to fart, but it's not. She has such insane self control that she NEVER does it in front of anyone. But in the very small window in which she's alone, she lets go and its insane. AMAZINGLY Loud and they (somehow?) smell like Sunburn.

Brickell: She's not entirely consistent about her gas, but everything that comes out of both ends, it really DOES smell like it's been brewing for hours. Very polite and always excuses herself, if she's got a LOT brewing in her gut, she heads to the nearest bathroom, just so she can expel her gas privately. Sometimes it smells pretty bad, sometimes it's nothing.

Etienne: As per the NK blog, Etienne LOVES food. He spends his free time going to fancy food tasting events and even names his pets after food. However, no matter HOW fancy the food, his gut is insanely restless. Super loud and bubbly farts at nearly every time of the day, with mild burps to accompany. He's remarkably chill about it most of the time, but some days are just NOT his days and he can get apologetic about it. They have a potent stench, but not a bad one if that makes sense? It smells, but it doesn't smell BAD.

Sauda: If Gwen is second in place when it comes to length, Sauda's in first. Not too loud on either end, but both her farts AND belches can last MINUTES in length. Her diet consists of a lot of raw fish, but surprisingly they don't smell like much, go figure.

Geraldo: Unfortunately, has a LOT of elixirs and such that he sells, and because he doesn't want to be viewed as a snake oil salesman, he always tries them on himself. While he's barely gassy on his own, once he's tried a new potion of his, it can make his bowels go crazy. Force, volume and smell are all heavily dependent on what he drank.

[harry-leroy]

for the fic prompts, laertes and hamlet + “win” if you’re willing to write those two :)

Hi! I'm just having a look at my ask box, and goodness I know it has been a good while since I have even looked at things in my inbox. However, I just realized that I have not written anything (academically, or for fun) in several months, so I thought we would start with some fic prompts to settle back in with *words* again.

This was incredibly fun to write, though I am realizing how difficult it is just to get to 1000 words when writing prose - if anyone writes in prose on the regular, I bow down to you. I also kind of split up the characters (because of course I would), but I also used characters from that Hamlet play I posted snippets of earlier this year on my blog (because I'm obsessed with this little French OC boyfriend I've given Laertes), so that's the universe I'm operating in.

I'll leave it under a cut! Thank you again for all of your lovely asks (and if anyone wants to request a fic, you can totally leave something in my ask box, it just might take several months for me to get back to you ahahah).

“What is it today? I have grown bored of playing cards,” Etienne rolled over to kiss Laertes on the cheek, then on the nose, the mouth, marking a blazon with the repeated gesture.

“We all have,” Laertes returned, between breaths. “I have certainly grown too old to gamble,”

“Nonsense,” Etienne said. “You are young. Believe me,”

“Old in my heart then,” Laertes said. “They weren’t lying when they said France dulls a man’s senses. Libertines are about as common as beggars or whores. A fool I was to expect some kind of excitement away from Denmark,”

“Who else would give us our money?” Etienne asked. “No cards today, my love,”

“Swords then,” Laertes sat up, still following Etienne’s affection. “I can gamble with the rest of them, but perhaps I’ve grown soft in my physicality,”

“What? Do you intend to be a soldier when your fortune comes calling?” Etienne asked.

“If I must,” Laertes sighed. “You always challenge my thoughts, Etienne. More often than not, I find myself at a loss with you. I must win at something,”

“Do not trouble yourself with that loss,” Etienne pressed his forehead against Laertes’s. “Men like me must win at something, considering where our pithy fortunes are made. I merely tell you what I see. I must tell someone of interest,”

“What do you have to tell today?” Laertes asked.

“Even when you’ve put your cards away, you are still building your hand,” Etienne paused in his affection. “First, it’s sex, then it is gambling, then dancing, now combat. A fair hand, I will admit, though you are missing the winning trick,”

“Oh? What would that be?” Laertes asked.

“Diplomacy,” Etienne said, eyes grave, as though he were truly a way seer. It was like that with Etienne, Laertes knew. Every night was like having a counsel with a cautious God, profane as such a comparison felt. Laertes would often wonder if others had looked into Etienne’s eyes and saw the bold heaven he saw, the judgement, the doomsday book, written in fire. Some nights, he wondered if Etienne were real.

Laertes let out a laugh.

“Diplomacy is a dead man’s language,” he said. “Have you heard our new king? Just talking, talking, talking… the prince too. No one of any real consequence has ears, you know,”

“So, that is why you do not listen to me?” Etienne teased, placing another kiss on Laertes’s lips. To Laertes, it was God chastising him again, knocking down his attempt at pretty words in exchange for reason, self-reflection, guilt. Etienne kept talking between kisses. “Or to your father? Or to your sister? Because you are a man of consequence?”

“Some men must be,” Laertes’s face fell. “Whether we wish it or not,” In truth, Etienne was no better than any common whore. He took his gold and spent it where he could. He made love to other men under this roof, or perhaps out on the streets, if the price were high enough. France was nothing but a hell, gilded in pleasure to cover the sores beneath. Polonius was right to send a spy his way, though there were no real secrets to uncover. France was itself. Laertes his own self. The shame had long since melted away after Etienne’s tender kisses.

“Alright,” Etienne said, after a moment, tone brighter, keen on making the joy. In his heart, the love, whatever feeling came to him so fleetingly, last but only a moment longer. “Swords it is. Leave diplomacy for the little men. You better win. Make it worth my time to watch,”

* * *

“It is off,” Hamlet frowned. “The attack. It is all a simple matter of parry and riposte. Like the joke, you see, Horatio? Except I am at the end of it, stabbed through,”

Horatio only picked his head up upon hearing his own name, as he had been straightening the blade of his foil. His friend had been slightly off in his footing today, though it was nothing to wince at. Even in his tired state, Hamlet had still made a joke out of fencing, no matter how dire he made it sound. That blend of the humorous and the horrible was something only Hamlet could bravely serve and make it seem convincing, if not ridiculous.

“Would you like to stop?” Horatio asked.

“Stop? If only it were so easy… to stop.” Hamlet said before taking a sharp breath in and holding it, as if to demonstrate.

“I suppose, my lord,” Horatio said, his tongue quick despite how tired it felt, if only his friend would breathe again.

“Again, Horatio,” Hamlet rose to his feet.

“If you insist on it,” Horatio replied.

“What would you rather me do?” Hamlet’s temper rose, as it had been edging that way all morning. Temper appeared to be the curse of any royal line these days.

“I really don’t know,” Horatio shrugged with only one shoulder and readied his stance across their makeshift piste. “There are times when something such as a swordfight does not matter, in the end, win or lose. The world turns on and on, really, but… I speak too readily,”

“No,” Hamlet nodded. “No, you speak perfectly,”

“What is it that you fear, my lord? Truly? Deeply? Irrevocably?” Horatio asked, their friendship as schoolboys taking the greater part of his mannered reason.

“Truly?” Hamlet lowered his sword, “That what you say is true. That the odds are tossed against our favors by some terrible third hand,”

“The hand of God?” Horatio mused.

“Or that of my uncle,” Hamlet met the humor of Horatio’s tone.

“I could not imagine your uncle taking a sword against you,” Horatio said.

A moment passed. Hamlet turned away and off their piste.

“That is it though, is it not?” he asked, voice haunted. “He would not. He holds onto cards we cannot even see, much less imagine, until he plays them. Oh, and he plays them brutally, does he not?”

“I do not know what to say to that, my lord,” Horatio said after a pause, his manner returning, the Wittenberg friend lost once more.

“There is nothing to say,” Hamlet smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “That is how you know we have hit a truth. Even at Wittenberg, when the truths we hit were just beyond the reality of our real lives, hypothetical and such, it always did taste bitter. There is loss for all of us, right at the end of the bout,”

“But fight we must,” Horatio held out a hand.

“Yes,” Hamlet took the hand in his own. “Yes. Fight we will,”

[sweeterthankarma]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: SKAM (France) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Maya Etienne/Lola Lecomte Characters: Lola Lecomte, Maya Etienne Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 06, Pre-Rehab, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Fluff Summary:

It’s a little bit embarrassing for Lola, if she’s honest. There are two thoughts fluttering around in her mind, desperate to be said, though she keeps her mouth shut, busies it with kissing Maya’s. One: she’s in love. Two: she doesn’t want to leave.

Title comes from the song "Lucky Strike" by Troye Sivan.

Grass tickles Lola’s ankles, the stretch of skin between the hem of her jeans and her high rise socks that scrunch against her shins. With fabric the color of rosewood and patterned with little flowers that have lost their definition after too many cycles in the wash, Lola figures that even a stranger could likely tell that they don’t belong to her, but rather the girl beside her.

Lola doesn’t ask, but she knows she’s taking these socks with her when she goes, maybe even snagging a few other pairs from Maya’s drawers, the ones with cats or pizza or funny sayings scrawled with loose, stringy thread. “Putain, c’est lundi,” reads one pair that Lola’s seen Maya wear most frequently, always on the correct day of the week, and never without a chipper, unwavering smile on her face. Lola thinks Maya should give those socks to her indefinitely, or at least for the next few weeks as well, considering that her own wardrobe— almost exclusively solitary colors, primarily black— echoes the sentiment rather well.

Besides, Lola just wants every piece of Maya that she can get, every bit that she can possibly hold onto.

They’re not exactly dancing around the subject— where Lola’s going, why she’s going, how long it’s going to be— but they’re not really talking about it either. Lola doesn’t exactly want to either,  hence why she brought the food— crepes, bread, salad drenched in vinegar, feta, and olives; Icelandic style yogurt, countless pre-packed containers of fruit, just to name a few. It’s all in hopes to keep them busy, sated, though she knows they don’t need food to accomplish that.

Some bird squawks in the distance. Lola’s knees shift, twist up the picnic blanket, and Maya laughs beneath her, the sound shiny and silver and golden and actually just about every color Lola’s ever seen, ever known, mixing and blending into one. The dots of eyeliner beneath Maya’s lower lash line scrunch up against her top one when she goes on, keeps giggling, keeps looking at Lola like she’s lucky, like she’s happy. It’s hard for Lola to believe that she is. Even harder to believe that Maya is beautiful— so, so beautiful— and Maya is hers. Even if just for right now, just for this brief, fleeting moment. If that’s all that this is, all it’ll ever be, Lola will take it, no questions asked.

But she feels safe, steady, like she can trust this. Like it isn’t going anywhere, like Maya isn’t running, or won’t be as soon as she gets the chance. Her hands skate up Lola’s back, tap against either side of her spine, each notch, all the way until she reaches the nape of Lola’s neck. Lola doesn’t need coaxing to bend down, to kiss her, again and again and again and again. She could tell Maya that, but she won’t. Won’t do anything to make them move, to get Maya to pull her hands away from her shoulders, to make her be in any position where she can’t be like this, holding her, with her.

It’s a little bit embarrassing for Lola, if she’s honest. There are two thoughts fluttering around in her mind, desperate to be said, though she keeps her mouth shut, busies it with kissing Maya’s.

One: she’s in love. Two: she doesn’t want to leave.

She sticks with silence. Maya is good for her, but Maya is good, period, just as whole on her own as she is when she’s in Lola’s arms, splayed out beneath her looking like the purest picture of heaven Lola’s ever imagined. Lola, however, needs to be just as good on her own, and there’s one third, final statement that she knows, maybe even truer than the first two, no matter how much she’s going to drag her heels on the way out the door: she has to leave.

It’s what she needs right now. There’s no way around it. And honestly, it’s a good thing. It’s going to be a good thing. This time, she swears it’ll be different.

    “You taste like strawberries,” Maya mumbles against Lola’s lips, nudging them back together in more of a languid movement than a purposeful kiss. Lola’s back burns hot from the sun, from Maya’s fingers playing with the straps of her shirt.

    “We ate a lot of strawberry things,” Lola supplies. A little movement of her elbow and she’s both shrugging the strap down more and nudging the non-alcoholic champagne beside them. It rolls off the fabric of the blanket and into the grass, onto its condensation-wet side. Maya turns her head to the side to look at it, as if wistfully, like it’s long gone and wouldn’t take another effortless, lackadaisical attempt to retrieve it. Then she’s peering back up at Lola again— unbothered, still beaming, flushed from Lola’s kisses and the July sun— and that’s as close as they’ll get to the topic.

That’s okay with Lola. This is more than okay with her, finding solace and hope and renewal in the arms of the first person who’s ever truly loved her without any kind of force, any sort of mandate. Maya is pure, giddy and true, and Lola is sure she mirrors her expression, even if not her soul— at least not quite yet anyways, though Lola’s really not expecting to come out of rehab with a heart that’s anywhere as close to gold as Maya’s. It’s therapy and routine and good influences, not magic.

But Lola has no doubts that if she could see herself, more than just the limited reflection in Maya’s summer-drenched eyes, that she’d have difficulty recognizing herself. For once, she finally means that in a good way.

     “Viens ici, chérie,” Maya says, and Lola’s sinking down again, fitting her legs between Maya’s and dropping her cheek against her chest. The softness of her t-shirt , decorated with cherries and a stitched-in saying in English, something about féminisme, sweeps against Lola’s kiss-stained lips, rhythmic with every rise and fall of Maya’s chest.

    “Let’s stay here all day,” Maya decides, sounding wistful and far away. Lola wonders how it’s taken her this long to propose that idea when she’s been thinking since the moment they arrived that maybe they should just say “screw it” to the rest of the world, camp out here forever, find eternal blue sky in some vacant park far too wide and flourishing to sensibly be this empty.

    “That was the plan,” Lola answers, sounding entirely committal and meaning it. She reaches up, finds loose fists of lilac hair, the back of her hand brushing against the shell of Maya’s right ear. Maya hums in content— maybe at the touch, maybe at the words, maybe just at Lola’s presence— and Lola does it right back, then sets on a mission to kiss every centimeter of Maya’s skin that she can reach. She does it for now, for the minute after that she hasn’t yet gotten to, and when that minute comes, she’ll do it for tonight, when Basile will make her his famous risotto again and Daphné will cry like she always does when these sorts of departures happen, even though this time it’ll be for different reasons than before. Lola kisses Maya for tomorrow when she’ll be too busy packing, for the evening when she’ll sleep alone in her bed for the last time for a while, and she kisses her for every day after that, every day until she comes home.

Goodbye will be hard, but it won’t be for long. Lola swears she’ll be rebuilt, rejuvenated, better in no time.

If you enjoyed, please let me know! Comments and kudos make my day.

Come say hi and talk to me about the Skamverse at my Tumblr blog here or at my Twitter account here! I adore Lola and Maya, so if there's anything else you'd like me to write for them, tell me about it and I'll see what I can do!

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

A Delicious Dilemma by Sera Taíno

 Debut novel that brings a taste of Puerto Rico, a bit of French, and some American to the table in this romance that takes place in a small community faced with potentially huge changes…if a compromise is not found.

 What I liked: * Val: chef, sister, daughter, friend, community leader, has trust issues, loves deeply

* Phillip: developer, designer, wealthy, friend, son, focused , good hearted, honest…mostly

* The family aspect of the story – how family impacts both of the main characters

* The food…sounded scrumptious

* The tour of Val’s neighborhood

* The chemistry between Val and Phillip

* Etienne: wondering if he will end up in a story

* Val’s family and friends – will they have books of their own or is this a standalone story?

* The community Val grew up in

* The idea of roots and history within community as well as the people who are willing to look out for one another

* That there was a HEA

 What I didn’t like:

* That Phillip’s father had become so focused on success, winning, and money that he had lost sight of community

* Val’s inability to “see” as clearly as she could have

 Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Yes

 Thank you to NetGalley and HQN for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 4 Stars

     BLURB

Different worlds collide in Sera Taino's debut novel. It's hard to remain enemies when you've broken bread together Val Navarro’s first mistake: going out dancing after a bad breakup when the chef should be focused on her family business. Her second mistake? Thinking the handsome, sensitive stranger she meets could be more than a rebound – until she discovers he’s Philip Wagner of Wagner Developments. His father’s company could shut down her Puerto Rican restaurant and unravel her tight-knit neighborhood. When Philip takes over negotiations, Val wants to believe he has good intentions. But is following her heart a recipe for disaster? From Harlequin Special Edition: Believe in love. Overcome obstacles. Find happiness.

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Luton-based rapper BXKS has emerged once more with visuals to compliment her infectious track ‘This Don’t Boom’. Coming from her debut mixtape Full Time Daydreamer, ‘This Don’t Boom’ is a playful track which sees BXKS display her cold flow over a bass-heavy production courtesy of TK The Producer. The visuals that follow go a long way in showcasing the energy of the newcomer. Teaming up with a large force of creatives, BXKS unleashes a set of cinematic visuals. Shot and directed by Joel Mathieu, each distinctive scene bleeds the contagious energy of the emerging spitter. [via GRM Daily]

Out of Savannah, Georgia comes rapper Carla The Poet, with an attention-grabbing style of personal raps and with her non-conforming aesthetics. On her latest release titled ‘Legend’, she flexes her pen game with some personal insights on her journey as an artist who wants to be great on her own accord. The production by H E A L strays from the usual trap style and centers on cinematic and somewhat atmospheric textures layered over bouncy drum grooves. Carla in turn rides the beat effortlessly with an impassioned flow and hunger that provides her with the right impetus to succeed. She switches up her flow every now but for the most part, she is letting the universe know of her dreams and hopefully it conspires with all the elements to make it a reality. [via Earmilk]

Rico Nasty released her “debut” studio album, Nightmare Vacation, at the end of last year. She has a new project planned for this year called Rx and back in June we got our first taste of it with ‘Magic.’ Now, she’s released another new single, ‘Buss,’ which she first teased live at Lollapalooza. It starts right off with the chorus and then dives into some shit talking (“This sugar trap shit, I invented it/ You lil bitches really just rented it”) and heads right back to that hook. [via Stereogum]

Lavida Loca is back with her all-new offering titled ‘M Way’. Flowing over an instrumental which borrows elements and sounds from South America, Lavida Loca embodies the spirit and energy of Narcos on this track as she raps about trap life and its perils. A reflective yet catchy track, Lavida explores the many reasons why people choose the trap life and thanks to its raw honesty, we receive a quality release from the star.[via GRM Daily]

Queen Key, Chicago’s lyrical Queen. returns with the highly anticipated new project, Your Highness 3 via Machine Entertainment Group. Alongside her new project, Queen Key dropped the visual for ‘What I Do’ as well, featuring her beautiful family.

Emerging singer-songwriter Bee-B taps into the spirit of the legendary rapper and producer duo of Missy Elliot and Timbaland on her new release titled ‘Confidence.’ The track sees her working with producers Harmony “H Money “ Samuels and Edgar "JV" Etienne who flip Missy's classic track ‘She's A Bitch’ into something new for 2021. They employ the same low tone bassline, iconic stabs with some added features like sizzling synths and punchy drum grooves to match Bee-B's smooth flow and empowering lyrics that dwell on positive affirmation. Bee-B also got the approval of both Timbaland and Missy who gave her their blessing and the rest is history as the saying goes. The visual makes use of a plethora of colorful motifs and set pieces that tie into the confidence theme of the song. From the '90s fashion and bubble goose gear, a slight nod to the Olympics, Michael Jackson's Thriller to the classic hip-hop entourage settings, the video delivers the goods which keep viewers locked in. Bee-B is in pure performance mode as she steps to bat with an animated style as she channels inspiration from Missy Elliot herself. [via Earmilk]

[elegant-etienne]

Catharsis

WARNINGS: Abusive/toxic relationship talk generalized abuse talk, drugging and substance abuse, suicide, self-loathing, externalized and internalized transphobia, complicated feelings and bitterness, sex talk. This ship was Yikes On Bikes.

And a special shout out to @avenai / @stormandozone for the tarot reading mentioned a few times in this (and @likeadistantstar / @celestialalignment  who recently posted an amazing piece about responding to tarot readings!), that led me to think about how Etienne wanted to finally make peace with things. I decided they’d write their ex-husband a final letter.

Don't hold your breath, forget you ever saw me at my best You don't deserve what you don't respect Don't deserve what you say you love and then neglect

- Lucy Dacus, Night Shift

"This is Sizha'to. He doesn't talk."

You used to wear that mortarboard hat. Even in the Quicksand, really, it was adorably clueless. And as I quickly found out, you were alright writing notes back and forth. I perched on a stool, leaning over in the crush of bodies and sweat and folks looking to drink, forget, and get laid, not necessarily in that order. You were alright if we spoke slowly. You were just surprised, you said, that someone like me would talk to someone like you. People didn't take the time. We were outsiders in Ul'dah together. I made you little bouts of ice in front of the Ossuary. 

It was nice to just talk. I had the reputation back then for being frigid. For telling men loudly I didn't want to fuck them. I didn't want to back then. I didn't want anything to do with anyone. I thought I'd always feel that way because I felt it intensely then. A kind of intense argumentative rebelliousness.

You said you fell in love with me in a few days, the day I chewed out a man who teased you about your stutter. I had forgotten that I even did that until you told me.

I tried not to speak for you, usually. Once or twice you wrote me a note, and I read it to someone else, but more often, I tried to get them to slow down - to let the asking and answer take their own forms. It was better, I thought, to simply not force things to happen before their time. While we were together, I watched you blossom. I watched you run Medica, patch up adventurers. You were the good one, the innocent one, and I was the dirt for you to grow in. That is how I viewed it.

It is not really your fault that is how I viewed it.

But.

Something is wrong. I can't say anything.

When is the first time I had that thought, about you and me?

Far later along in things than it should've been. A full turn after we met? Later? A turn and a half? To be honest, I ignored the worries in the pit of my stomach the sun before we got married. I did anyway. I promised. I couldn't think of a good enough reason not to. I wanted to be the kind of person who would get married, I wanted you to want to be my husband. Even after your dark shadow said he'd kill me. Even after the nights of shouting at each other about necromancy. Even after you did the ritual that left you so addled you no longer remembered me. No, those were all problems I blamed on myself. So I think it was after Henri abducted me. After your heroic rescue.

Back then, I spent a lot of time on that bench in Medica, staring at the medicine cabinet across from it. You were always working late with patients late into the night, and I was always waiting. I'd bring up a tray of tea and fresh-grilled crumpets from the kitchen downstairs and wait. I never looked behind the curtain.

I sat there that day, after we both staggered back hurt, and begged with my mind, Tell them I'm hurt. Tell them I need help.

No one noticed I wasn't speaking.

I thought, Please tell them I'm hurt, and you kept not mentioning me, even though the whole thing was because of me. And everyone was telling you that you were brave and stupid for going to help me. I'd been missing for almost a day. What a good husband. What a frightening experience.

Finally, one of your medic friends approached me and realized I could not speak, my breathing was coming in wheezes. I'd been beaten to the seventh hell. Everything tasted sour and bloody and bitter and nauseating. Everything hurt. And I wondered if I had pushed you forward, in front of me, if I had shaken my head and indicated that I'd be alright. It could've easily been my mistake. But that's the first time I recall thinking things weren't going well. 

As my throat was recovering, I spent a lot of time thinking about how much I wanted to speak now that I couldn't. Hardly anyone we worked with knew what my voice sounded like, and therefore most did not notice its absence. I wrote to you, Ask me what happened when I can speak again. You never asked. Mayhap I was never ready to speak.

It's a joke to think there's narrative symmetry here, that there's structure, that there will be a moment of revelatory truth toward the end. That this story has an ending. You tried to force one, but I made a mistake and kept living.

It’s just ironic when I write it all down. This started out without you not talking. I suppose it’s fitting, then, that you didn’t say a thing when you left.

Did you leave because you were disappointed I didn't have the balls to leave you? I threatened you only twice, toward the end. After all, if I even asked to be alone for a little while, you started to cry and beg me not to leave you. You fucking prick. You cheated on me while I was in the long-term care after the suicide attempt. The third one I had because I did not know how else to get a moment away from you, and I kept having thoughts like I cannot get away and this will not change and he will not let me leave him.

How many suns was I in care before you got bored and started fooling around? I was only gone two sennights.

And I don't care if you fucked him or not (You absolutely fucked him. I know you did. But even if you didn't--). You lied about his feelings for you and pretended I was insane for noticing how he stared. You lied about what you were doing. You, in fact, did every single thing I asked you not to do. To me, that is cheating. And I don't care if you fucked him or not. But you absolutely did, I could tell. I scared the shit out of him when I came looking for you.

You once told me that you would be disgusted if I ever had breasts. That you hated them, feared them really. What a thing for a medic to say. Perhaps, you said, you would have come to think of me as an older sister and cared for me that way, but you would not have ever loved me. I thanked you for your honesty and thanked my body for its shape. When I fucked you on the couch I thought I should be grateful. I should be grateful anyone at all would want this body. I should be grateful the makeup never bothered you. I should be grateful you did your best to switch pronouns. Some would find filing for divorce easier than changing pronouns.

While we're being honest, darling, I was broken before I met you. It's possible I was born broken. I told you everything, and you held it, and I thought there would never be anyone else who would try. I trusted you because you listened, long before I knew what you were really like. That was my fault.

I had a glamour prism I wore sometimes to the market. It made me look feminine. I showed you once, and started crying, and put it away. You asked if it was because I felt like I couldn't have that. You asked if it was because I was sad when the illusion was done. I wondered if you remembered what you said before. I said it felt wrong. I said I wanted a child one day, too, and I hate I could not give you one, though you had not asked for one. We were always going to adopt. We call this future faking. Sometimes I forget that you were the first person I told all that because it hurt too much to consider in the days you left. Because I knew what you truly felt. You'd told me. And staying would've been a compromise.

You promised you would try and understand, try and find a way for us to have that child. You dealt with my tears with promises, usually, or drugs. You could've just told me no. I suppose you did, eventually.

I'm not saying you forced me back into the closet. I was too afraid that others would reject me, it's true. But. Well.

I've changed so much since you left me. I will probably adopt children one day. I don't need anyone's help with that.

If you wanted to leave, you should've just said. I could've taken it. I would have understood if you couldn't love me anymore. If you made the distinction that it was because you no longer desired me, I would not have grown to believe it was because I was an inconvenience. Perhaps this is quibbling. Most folks do not receive itemized lists on why their relationships fell apart.

I don't really remember the morning you left. Even growing up during the war, I'd never felt someone disappear so completely. Not without saying goodbye. Not without a prayer or a personal effect to hold onto. I couldn't stay in the apartment. It was the skeletal belly of our marriage: white, bleached, echoing. Though I was no longer being digested, my skin still burned.

Did we kiss each other goodnight the last time I saw you? I don't recall. Probably. I digress.

Back when you brought me to that boy of yours, the one I already knew about, I started seeing double. Your dark shadow, the poor vulnerable thing you pretend to be when you want men to love you, and my husband, spineless, but mine, damn it. Mine and worth fighting for. Your dark shadow huddled against him. You sat next to me too. The light was dancing through leaves, everything green and sweet-smelling and indistinct. We sat on the stone benches in the view of the waterfall and the blooming flowers. That was the idyllic scene in which you told me the truth of it all. I think all three of you expected me to be shocked and to cry. I was shocked by how calm and unsurprised I was. I told you how little I thought of you. I told you just what a violation it was, from the beginning, how much it had taken for me to trust you. How you lied to my face about the nature of the relationship when I suspected, both you and your shadow and your boy. I told you both in no uncertain terms who I was, the person you all betrayed. I suppose I ended it when I said if you ever put me in such a position again I would leave. I suppose, from a certain perspective, you were the one who had to gather up the strength to go. 

I suppose I was unreasonable. We had not discussed the terms of our marriage. I had assumed you would not lie to my face. I had assumed you would not run off with some little boy while I was in care. I had assumed after I nursed you through your agonies that you could care for me similarly. I say you abandoned me in the night without warning. That is wrong. You abandoned long before that. Some part of me had accepted it by the time you brought me to those stone benches. Most do folks do not leave your life all at once. They leave little by little like the color leaves bones bleaching in the sun.

I write this as if it is entirely your fault you felt you had to split yourself between him and me. It is not. I can say now with confidence I would have been fine if you left me for him. I might have even let you keep seeing him while we were married if you hadn't lied. I can that now with confidence because I was fine. But. I know you were worried. If only had been a bit more calm and stable when you twisted me up in a web I couldn't seem to escape. If only I hadn't thought I needed you so much. If I only I were as beautiful and immutable as a sword. Then I would've been able to let you feel the freedom to leave. Then I would have been sharp and strong, and I could have cut our cords with a light, clean snap.

You hurt me, alright.

You hurt me and it's so godsdamn humiliating. Does anyone meet someone with my height and my broad shoulders and my cleverness and level-headedness and experience and think that some spineless, stammering healer could reduce me thus? How dare you. How dare you embarrass me like that. I made excuses about you to my friends. You made me look like a fool.

Who could I tell about it? Who would have believed me? The wedding that dozens of our coworkers attended? You never hit me. And the way you cowered when I shouted at you. I was a monster every time I was angry. I had a beast inside me that I fed drinks. When we were together, I lost the capability to win arguments or be right about anything, but I foolishly kept trying.

You hurt me and recently the stars or the cards or a girl said I need to admit that it hurt. I have wanted to be above it for so long. When I look behind me to the road I paved with the mistakes I made getting away from you, I don't like to acknowledge that you had anything to do with it. I am too proud to be hurt. I was hurt for a little while and I got over it when I realized I was better off. That is how I tell the story. I was relieved you left. That was the truth. I put myself back together. I went to parties. I cried a little. I recovered. That is how I tell it.

Grief is not static, grief is not a river that you jump over. I am still here with this grief. But you were not the 'before,' and now is not the 'after.' I should have admitted a long time ago that I never really got over being abandoned like that. Not because it was going well when you did it. Not because I had no idea what was wrong.

Your leaving added insult to injury.

I should have left, but you left. I deserved one victory, but you left.

It's so embarrassing. I would have let you kill me.

Maybe the stars or the cards or a girl meant that you were hurt, you needed to admit that hurt. I'm sorry. I think I wanted you to be someone you weren't. If I hurt you, I'm sorry. I have examined every angle and I am not sure what I could have done differently aside from throwing you out. Imagining I knew your feelings and told you to be honest with yourself about them. What else can I apologize for?

I'm sorry I tried so hard to make it work.

I'm sorry I was your first.

I'm sorry I'm a drunkard.

I'm sorry I struggled to remain well.

I'm sorry I wasn't the man you thought you married.

I'm sorry for pressuring you with my expectations of marriage.

I'm sorry for trying to keep you on the path I saw as good.

I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't leave, so you had to sneak around. And then away.

I'm just really sorry it ended like this. I wish I could have said goodbye, but I might've just told you to fuck off and die, so, perhaps your instinct was correct.

I know folks who can do exorcisms, but you can't exorcise the memory of a person. That is the problem. You can't drink them away, either. Little pieces of you will always be embedded in me, shards of glass. Your nickname for me. The way you'd yawn and stretch in our bed. The jobs I joined and left for you. The jolt of the seal on the door when I touched it the time you locked me in. The steady quality of your voice as you adjusted the dose and promised it wasn't habit-forming. The way your voice sounded the first time you threatened me. The color of your eyes. The way you'd smile and call my name. Your vows.

(What color tuxedo did you wear to our wedding? I wore pink. I don't remember. Red? That sounds right.)

(Actually, what color are your eyes?)

Did you even love me? Do you even know how to love? Or do you just like folks to push, folks to test things out on, folks to bleed into inkwells and then write spells with? Did you even like the food I cooked you? Did a fresh fried fish taste as good as forbidden aether?

I could be falling again. I am afraid to say I am falling again. I'll tell you that because you were my first love (You weren't. You were my first love since I was free.). I'll tell you that because I hate the thought of you believing I never moved on. I hate the idea of you getting off to the fact that you broke me, broke my heart, was never anything more than what I was when you pinned my arms over my head or talked me off a ledge (Which of those things did I ask you to do for me? Which was for my own good?). I think I am terrified of you coming back and saying, very sincerely, with a very sad face, that you are sorry. I am equally terrified that you never, ever will. I am terrified you are dead, and I am still angry, and I want us to remain connected by the intimacy of how thoroughly we ruined each other's lives. Except you aren't here, so it's just me. I'm ruined. If you told me to live my life and be happy because I deserved more than you, I think I'd slap you across the face. Nothing in life is about what you deserve, there is only what is and what isn't. And you weren't. I wasn't.

If we were to look at it that way, my darling, my sweetest one, my one and only, my beloved, my dearest, my dear heart, I think we deserved one another just fine. I wanted to be punished, and you gave me just that.

I know I'm supposed to say it's all your fault. Victims can't change their abusers. But victims are allowed to feel a lot of things. And what's hurt the most over all these years is my impotent frustration at not getting the ending I wanted. I didn't get to stand with my hands on my hips, triumphant to have defeated you. I didn't get to hear you sincerely regretted any of it, or that you didn't mean it, or that you were wrong. My friends have told me the best revenge is living well, and damn have I ever lived well. But I don't feel better about it. I don't know if it's something I'll ever feel good about.

We were both so stupid. Oh. Darling.

I asked the stars or the cards or a girl about you, and she said you had the potential to be happy, or maybe she meant I do, because you were not present. You are living some other life now, and you probably haven't thought of me in a very long time. She said I was an amazing person and I deserved for someone to treat me as the priority I am. I said I am trying, and I hope it happens.

You hurt me. You hurt me. You hurt me. You hurt me.

You didn't respect me. You didn't deserve me. But I was still willing. I was still so willing.

That will always hurt, but it's a hangnail, not an open wound. I'll let someone else rip me open again. I know I will. I want to. I'll keep trying until someone pours my inside into a jar that I like the shape of. I look at him now and I think, oh, he could ruin my life, but I won't let him. Oh, I hope I don't ruin his life.

I hope I ruined your life.

I need to get out from under the shadow cast by your loss. The job I took out of guilt, the life I live to try and somehow alter all the ways I've been broken, as if somehow if I bled nothing but light and sunshine and fucking grace and sweetness everywhere it would cancel it all out. Not just you. Not just Henri. All of it. The being-born-in-a-body-I-hate thing. The-raised-away-from-my-own-people thing. The alcoholism. The grooming. The institutionalized abuse. The coercive abuse. The Church. The suicide attempts. I thought I could cancel it all out if I was just a good enough person. I'd be satisfied if I somehow approached some enlightened state of self where I never felt guilty about anything. How arrogant of me.

How arrogant to assume the abuse only happened because I was secretly good because if I was secretly bad, I deserved it. No. I know I fucked up.

I was arrogant to think I could ever change you. All we can ever really do is love one another, and sometimes we do it entirely wrong. We could have been amazing, but we weren't. And that's all I really have to say. It’s true that you hurt me. It’s true that it still hurts. But... I hope you are well. Not sarcastically. I hope you are doing as well as I am. I hope you are not hurting anyone else, but there’s nothing I can do if you found someone new to abuse. I could do no more than I did.

I’m ready to be done. It isn’t a river I jumped over, but the water only barely covers my feet now. A little more time, and perhaps I will do the unthinkable and simply step out.

Your loss, love.

Goodbye.

[caddy-whump-us]

New vampire whump??? WHAT??? GET EXCITED!!!  

So I wanted to consider the different ways that these vampires might train their victims (within the whole “Black Swan” phenomenon in vampire culture). Viktor, as we’ve seen, seems to like to beat them into submission. His “brother” Adrastos has a different kind of tactic. 

Nikolai first appeared back here, when Viktor went to visit his brother with Etienne in tow. This is much earlier in their time, uh, together. And there will probably be more of these two to come. 

Caution: threatened and simulated noncon; nothing actually happens but three characters make very obvious and overt threats to another.

---

“Nikolai,” Adrastos said and Nikolai looked up from the book he had been reading (he had been “at his studies,” or so Adrastos like to say). “Go and fetch me my diary. I believe I left it downstairs. The dining room, I think.”

A strange place for it to be left, a strange place for Adrastos to be at all, but Nikolai rose and bowed and left the study to fetch the diary.

Down the hall (dark) from the study (and its fire and candles), to the back stairs, down three flights, and then into the back hallway from the kitchens to the dining room.

Nikolai stepped into the hallway, first built for servants ferrying feasts from the kitchen to the dining room now used only by a skulking few and never to bear food--and found three of the postulates leering at him from the shadows. (And where were the other four? Not to be seen.) He stopped; they stared.

Nikolai dropped his head. He trembled. “Lord Adrastos,” he said quietly, “has sent me to fetch something for him.”

“You don’t look like a dog to me.”

“Let me pass,” Nikolai said but with less force than he might have wished. “He’s sent me on an errand.”

The postulates looked at one another. One of them spoke: “I think you’ll have to pay a toll to pass.”

Nikolai’s shoulders slumped. Again. The mocking, the pushing and shoving, the ridiculous demands--and slap to the face or a kick, something to leave a bruise, if he didn’t submit. The postulates, once sure of their place, now threatened by him--as though he were a threat. He wanted only to escape and leave them content in their old hierarchy. If they understood that, they would help him at best and ignore him at worst. But, it seemed, at least to him, as though they were getting worse. 

“I haven’t any money. You know that.”

“Of course we know that. So you’ll have to pay your passage some other way.”

One of the three slipped behind him and caught him around the waist, pinning his arms. Nikolai did nothing, only stood slumped there among them as the other two came nearer--and one caught a handful of Nikolai’s hair and raised his head. He brought their faces together and whispered against Nikolai’s skin, “Don’t cry. It won’t be so bad this time.”

The other postulate set his hands one Nikolai’s shoulder and breathed into his ear, “This time it won’t be so bad. But next time--”

The one at his face whispered again, “--next time we may have more demands, other demands--” and the one at his back took the tip of Nikolai’s ear into his mouth and bit gently as the one at his face went on: “You understand?”

Nikolai lowered his eyes. He writhed. His face was hot.

“Let’s practice.” The one at his face stroked Nikolai’s jaw and throat and smiled. “Let’s practice for the next time.”

And though Nikolai tried to lock his knees against it, the postulate at his back pulled him down and forced him to kneel. One of Nikolai’s slippers sprang loose from his foot and fell into the dark of the hallway; the old rug in the hallway was worn thin and little better than the floor beneath it.

The postulate still had his handful of Nikolai’s hair and he dragged Nikolai’s face forward, against his hips. Nikolai made some sound of protest as his face was buried in the postulate’s robes.

“Be quiet. It’s not so bad.” He rolled his hips against Nikolai’s face. “It’s just like this. See?”

Nikolai tried to fight against them, to turn his face away, and the postulate let go of his hair.

“Look at that,” he said. “You already know what to do. Here,” he said, turning to the postulate beside him, “You try.”

He stepped back, leaving Nikolai panting for air, but the other postulate was there in half a step, throwing his robe over Nikolai’s head and pushing Nikolai’s head against the buttons of the trousers he wore beneath. The first postulate giggled. And, behind him, Nikolai could feel the postulate behind him beginning to roll his hips and push against him, gripping harder.

The postulate above him laughed and squirmed. “He’ll be brilliant. I’m so tired of all of you.”

“We’re all tired of you,” his companion said.

The one at Nikolai’s back was thrusting harder against him and his hands moved higher on Nikolai’s chest for a better hold. Nikolai saw his chance, even buried under the postulate’s robe, and bit at the arms that held him.

The postulate fell back instantly, with Nikolai still in his grip and still biting at him--he only let go when Nikolai drew blood. Nikolai kicked himself free and tumbled into a crouch in the hallway (one slipper still missing), panting and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

The postulate stood up, holding his bleeding arm. The other two reached out, one, two, and caught Nikolai under his arms and hauled him to his feet.

“The first thing we need to do,” one hissed into his face, snapping at each word with his teeth, “is teach this little beast not to bite.”

And he raised one hand and slapped Nikolai across the face--an open hand, at least, though it stung. And again. The second postulate joined in, striking from the other direction. Nikolai stumbled. The postulate with the bleeding arm joined them, striking Nikolai with the back of his hand; Nikolai tasted blood in his mouth. 

They went on with their game, taking slow turns. When Nikolai stumbled, they’d stand him up again. When Nikolai tried to shield his face with his hands, they pulled them down. And when Nikolai tried to cry out, they slapped him across the mouth to silence him.

But there were footsteps approaching--slow, measured, unhurried. The carpet, however worn, deadened them but the heartbeat sound of them still came on. And then, a voice like red velvet: “Nikolai.”

The three postulates backed away from him instantly. Nikolai shuffled to straighten his shirt and his hair. Adrastos crossed to him in three strides and caught him by the throat. And Nikolai stiffened and fought the urge to grab at his master’s hand at his throat.

“I sent you to fetch my diary from the dining room and here I find you fighting with the postulates--again.” 

The postulates were all looking at each other or around the hallway at nothing.

Adrastos let go of Nikolai’s throat and shoved his shoulder to turn him around. Nikolai’s breath came in shudders. Adrastos took him by the back of the neck and marched him down the hall and into the dark.

Down at the far end of the hall, Adrastos pushed open a door almost invisible in the dark: a small butler’s room, the bed and washstand cramped in one corner and with a massive wardrobe dominating the other wall stuffed, inexplicably, with long fur coats, yards of velvet robes, and brocaded dressing gowns.

Adrastos pushed Nikolai into the room and stopped, whipping him around by the shoulder to face him again. 

“They are furious with you,” he said to the top of Nikolai’s bowed head. And Nikolai nodded. 

“I will see to disciplining them first. But the rest of them will seek after you. Their brothers have already told them. So you must go into hiding for a time until I’ve finished with them, lest they find you in the meantime.”

He crossed to the wardrobe and opened the doors wider. “Here,” he said.

Nikolai, obedient for lack of any recourse, went and crept into the wardrobe. Adrastos moved to close the doors and Nikolai whimpered.

“Hush now. You must be quiet or they’ll hear you. Do you understand?”

Nikolai shook his head for a moment to clear it and calm himself. He took a breath. “Yes, I do.”

Adrastos knelt there before him and dabbed at the blood on Nikolai’s lip with his handkerchief. “Then stay here and be silent. I will deal with them, but they’ll want to vent their anger on you after.”

Nikolai nodded, drawing back further into the recesses of the wardrobe, letting the furs and velvets hide him.

“Perfect,” Adrastos said and passed him the handkerchief. “Now keep quiet, dearheart.” And he shut up the doors, leaving Nikolai in the dark, save for a sliver of silver light from the keyhole.

Time passed, though Nikolai could hardly tell how much. He slept, he woke (cramped), he waited. The light from the keyhole went out and he was in the dark, surrounded by long velvet robes and winter coats--the darkness as soft and thick as any velvet. He took to stroking the sleeve of a coat, for comfort, for want of anything else to do. His head ached.

He had been dozing again when something struck the doors of the wardrobe; Nikolai caught his cry behind his hands. It pounded at the doors again, twice, three times. Nikolai crouched lower into the back corner and kept his hands over his mouth.

An axe? It should have broken the door by now. Something as brutish as a club? They did seem outright savage here in this wilderness. There was silence and Nikolai kept it, breathing slow and low and reminding himself that the postulates are not like their master: they could not hear his heartbeat, no matter how loud it might seem in the walls of the wardrobe (coffin-thing). They were yet mortal, like him. Their likenesses to Adrastos were affectations, performances. They were not and could not be the same. 

But if they battered down the doors--and the pounding began again; could that just be their fists?--it would, without doubt, mean his death. Eventually his death, only after--Nikolai closed his eyes, laid still, and waited.

The pounding at the door came in waves but with no pattern. Every time he thought that perhaps it was over, that Adrastos would come to chase away whatever postulate and whatever weapon they carried, the thunderous pounding came again.

After a time, he no longer started at the sound. Instead, it grated on his nerves and rang in his ears. His head ached more. But still he waited.

If anything, he was surprised by the silence when the knocking and pounding finally stopped. The silence itself was almost like a sound, but he scarcely noticed it when it began. Only when it first lingered, then became more sustained, did he truly hear it. And he sighed, just as quietly, with relief into the sleeve of the fur coat.

In time, then, another sound: the satisfying rattle and click of the wardrobe doors opening. Still, Nikolai kept himself in the corner--until Adrastos parted the coats and peered down at him. A faint smile spread across his face. 

“There you are,” he said.

He drew Nikolai back out of the wardrobe and Nikolai found himself blinking even in the candlelight in the room (had there been candles before? he could not recall). He stretched, painful but almost catlike and straightened his clothes again.

“You understand,” Adrastos said, “of course, that you must also be punished. You angered my postulates. And while they’ve punished for what they did, you must also be punished for what you did.”

And though Nikolai frowned, he still said, “Yes, I understand.” Hadn’t the torment at the postulate’s hands and then in the dark of the wardrobe been punishment enough? But what else was there to say?

“Bread and water for a few nights, I think,” Adrastos said. “And you will be required to stay at my side--at my side at all times, lest you wander into fights with the postulates again.”

Nikolai opened his mouth to argue but Adrastos raised one hand, gently, as though conducting an orchestra or a dance, and Nikolai kept silent: threats need no sharp edges.

“Come now, dearheart. They did no real damage--save for your cut lip, which as like as not you bit yourself.” Nikolai touched the cut on his mouth: dry, no more blood. 

Adrastos reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a velvet dressing gown and draped it around Nikolai’s shoulders; the hem pooled on the ground and trailed behind him, like a prince’s cape. Adrastos smiled. And, after a moment, Nikolai smiled in return, but then felt tears beginning to rise in his eyes. 

Adrastos caught Nikolai up in his arms and held him--against a chest where no living heart beat. He threaded cold fingers through Nikolai’s hair. Nikolai’s tears were hot and brought no relief; he had left the handkerchief in the wardrobe and it lay on the floor like a dead bird.

One quick swoop and Adrastos had Nikolai in his arms like a child and was carrying him back to the study and the chair before the fire, where the night had begun.

He pulled off Nikolai’s lone slipper and left it in the servant’s room before the wardrobe and he murmured to Nikolai as he walked and slipped back into his study again: “Yes, sit here at the fire. It’s been such a long night. Dawn will be here soon. And with that we will all go to bed. Would you like me to read to you a while? I think you would like that. Such a very long night. Come, lean here against my chair and let me read to you until you fall asleep.”

He set Nikolai down and Nikolai did lean against the chair, still wrapped in the velvet robe. Adrastos sat down and took up a book. His dog came out of the shadows and laid down beside him too.

And Nikolai was warmer in the light of the fire, with Adrastos’ gentle voice droning softly the lines of the poem he read, he on one side of the chair and Barghest the old black wolfhound on the other, both dreamy and dozing.

They had done no real damage. Perhaps he had bitten his own lip when they struck him. It had been his own fault to go into the midst of them when he knew they hated him. It had, of course, been his own fault. They had all wronged the master of the house in their own ways. Barghest was the only loyal one.

Barghest, with his eyes first on the fire, then on his master’s face, then back to the fire, then back to his master’s face.

I failed, Nikolai thought, sliding down to lie on the rug before the fire--no, to lie at his master’s feet like the dog he was, like the dog he ought to be.

[johannesviii]

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 1988

So that’s the year I was born. A controversial move that had its detractors but ended up being recognised as “eh it's all right I guess” a few decades later.

Obviously my first-hand experience of “hearing songs on the radio and actually liking some of them” starts when I was around 3 or 4, so nostalgia will have very little to do with the first top 10 lists I’m making.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

To be honest, we’re off to a good start because I didn’t mind listening to these year-end lists for the most part. Not a bad year for music overall.

Number 3 and 2 are heavily debatable because wikipedia doesn’t have a reliable list of the French year-end top 100 and the other sources I have contradict each other.

10 - I Think We’re Alone Now (Tiffany)

US: not on the list / FR: #57

I know it’s a cover. It’s not even an objectively good cover. It’s full of terribly 80s synth noises. Tiffany’s voice isn’t very strong either. And the version I’m the most familiar with is the cover made by The Birthday Massacre.

What can I say. I like it anyway, especially these little isolated keyboard notes that really shine over the mess of the music. The guitar makes some parts pretty epic too. Also, singing “RUNNING JUST AS FAST AS WE CAN” and failing to hit some notes feels great for some reason.

9- Need You Tonight (INXS)

US: #2 / FR: #45

Surprising a grand total of exactly zero people, edgy teen Johannes thought these guys were delightful every time there was an 80s retrospective on tv. Never actively listened to their stuff, but they still pop up pretty regularly on the radio here, and yeah, very good song.

Guess their other songs from that year would be honorable mentions.

8- Combien de Temps (Stephan Eicher)

US: not on the list / FR: #79

After this point, there’s only songs I’ve actively listened to at some point in my life.

This one has never been on any of my cd compilations but I kept it on one of my tapes and it was a delight to hear it every time, even though I can’t stand the singer’s voice and the lyrics make very little sense. The music is THAT good. It’s some quality pop-ish French new wave full of instruments and it’s visual eye candy and I adore it to the point I’m willing to ignore the rest.

If you’ve never heard it before, check it out just for the sake of the music video featuring a guy rolling on the floor to get anywhere because it’s quite surreal and funny.

Also, despite the fact the lyrics are mostly nonsense, I still adore the line “J’ai de la folie plein les veines” (”My veins are full of madness”).

7- Heaven is a Place on Earth (Belinda Carlisle)

US: #7 / FR: Not on the list

I discovered this song in January 2012 thanks to Todd In The Shadows’ Worst of 2011 list, where he joked about being worried that every 80s song he liked would be ruined by “Dirty Bit” by The Black Eyed Peas someday and he used this song as an example. I loved it instantly and put it on my mp3 player at the time.

Until a few months ago, this was still on my mp3 player.

I don’t think this needs further justification to be on this list.

6- Pourvu Qu'elles Soient Douces (Mylène Farmer)

US: not on the list / FR: # 5

This was one of the biggest hits of the year in France in 1988.

It’s made by one of my favorite French artists ever, Mylène Farmer, and I used to be a huge fan.

It’s a song about butts entirely written in euphemisms, with an earwormy chorus, and accompanied by an insanely long (18 minutes) artsy music video in 18th century costumes featuring an army being massacred in slow motion, mud, broken bottles, really terrible jokes, and a shit ton of not safe for work content, including (but not limited to), indeed, butts.

It’s also right there on the very, very first personal top 30 list I ever wrote down, back when I was 14. It’s number 21.

If you think I’m sorry, think again.

5- John (Desireless)

US: not on the list / FR: # 34

I had literally no idea that song existed until 48 hours ago and in that time I’ve listened to it more than twenty times.

Desireless is basically the French Eurythmics and I love her but for the longest time I was dead certain she was a one-hit wonder with her monster hit Voyage Voyage, and clearly, I was wrong since she had a second hit the next year. This is about an unknown soldier dying at war and I can’t believe this was completely erased from public consciousness to the point a new wave fan like me didn’t even know it existed.

Better late than never I guess.

4- Always On My Mind (Pet Shop Boys)

US: #80 / FR: Not on the list

This isn’t my favorite Pet Shop Boys song by a mile. And it’s a cover. And it’s full of weird synth noises left right and center, and it’s visually absolute chaos.

What can I say. It’s Pet Shop Boys. I love them and I love this cover and it sounds happy and epic and energetic, and it transforms a song I didn’t even like in the first place into something that puts a smile on my face every time I listen to it, and frankly it was #3 at first when I made this list, until I realised how long the next song stayed on my list of favorite songs.

3- Bleu Comme toi (Etienne Daho)

US: not on the list / FR: one site swears to me it was top 30, the other tells me it didn’t make the year-end list. Fuck it. Too late now.

I discovered this song in April 2005. I know this because I wrote it on the back of my top 30 favorite songs list labelled “9 April 2005″.

It immediately appeared on my list the next month as #15 and never left it until I stopped making these lists in 2007.

It’s an upbeat song about being depressed and finding another person who’s just as depressed as you and suddenly things don’t seem that bad when you’re together. Let’s just say it struck a chord with me at the time. A lot. A looooooot. And it builds into this epic thing and you and up singing “et mon humeur est down down down” (”my mood is down down down”) even though it SHOULDN’T be epic at all.

I haven’t actively listened to it in years but I sing along every time I hear it on the radio. I think at some point I had it on three different cd compilations, including one with both the single version and the live version. That’s the level of adoration we’re talking about here, and it still hasn’t completely faded.

2- Behind the Wheel (Depeche Mode)

US: not on the list / FR: same thing, one site swears to me it’s not on the top 100, another tells me it’s number 21. Whatever.

This was a big hit here and even though I don’t have a reliable list, whatever, this is my blog and not a professional publication.

If you know me a little the fact that I love Depeche Mode and have been loving Depeche Mode for a long time isn’t really a secret, so this is a bit like picking the Pet Shop Boy song at #4: I see one of their songs I like, it ends up on the list. Not my favorite of their songs by a mile either, but still wonderful.

1- Fast Car (Tracy Chapman)

US: #76 / FR: Not on the list

The problem when you like a song and don’t speak the language it’s in is that you can spend years without knowing what it’s called and who’s the author.

My father would play this song fairly often when I was a kid and it took me years to know what it was, who was singing it, and even more years to actually understand the lyrics and what it was about.

I loved it even before knowing all that. It already made me want to cry and I got the general idea of longing and sadness and hope way before I started to learn English. It is that good. It is that powerful. I can’t possibly rank any song above that one in good conscience and it was going to be #1 the moment I saw it on the Billboard list.

Next up: 1989, which is probably gonna feature a lot less songs I actually love.

[ecofinisher]

Off to Rust! - Chapter 6

Chapter    6

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137411/chapters/59850997

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13415645/6/Off-to-Rust

https://www.wattpad.com/904913806-off-to-rust-chapter-6

The fencing class sat around a table with the absence of Adrien, Kagami and Etienne, which were standing at the buffet together to scope for themselves what they wanted to eat.

“That’s why it’s called all-you-can-eat,” Etienne told Adrien, which had on his plate a bit of asparagus covered with hollandaise sauce. “You’re allowed to put everything you want on your table no matter if the combination makes sense or not”

“Okay,” Adrien answered.

“You could even put the hollandaise sauce over the spaghetti instead of the tomato sauce for example. It wouldn’t matter”

“Okay, thank you” Adrien answered, then looked over the buffet at the variations of foods spread all over the buffet, then Adrien looked at the two gastronom containers one filled with Pommes Frites and the other filled with cooked potatoes, then Adrien smiled and picked with the pliers onto his plate a few fries, then moved forward to look at the various meat sorts and procession of the different menus. Adrien looked up at the plastic protection to see the names on it.

“What should I pick?” Adrien asked “Sliced meat in the Vienna or the Zurich-style?” Adrien asked making Etienne roll his eyes.

“Why don’t you pick up both?” The brunette answered sarcastically, then Adrien smiled and put a half spoon from both types of meat on his plate making Etienne wide his eyes at his deed. “You’re really going to eat that much?”

“I can eat a lot without any problem” Adrien answered. “I just don’t have the chance to take so much, because of my father”

“Okay” Etienne responded, then Adrien looked at Kagami, which stood in front of him picking up a spring roll, then looked back at the boys, which waited for her to continue.

“Hey are you interested in spring rolls, they’re delicious” Kagami offered earning a nod from Adrien.

“Sure” Adrien replied, then Etienne widened his eyes as he saw a few containers behind the ones of the minced meat a waiter fill a container with Duchess potatoes.

“I found something better for me, be right back” Etienne mentioned moving behind Kagami to get to the man, so he could e able to scoop out for himself the freshly-made potatoes.

“I could take one to try it” Kagami mentioned picking out with the pliers a roll for Adrien, then picked a second one earning a smile from Adrien.

“Thanks” Adrien answered moving forwards with the girl. “Oh, there’s Gnocchi” Adrien pointed out making Kagami chuckle.

“Adrien, you’re going to explode with the amount of food you have on the plate” Kagami joked making Adrien shake his head.

“No I won’t” Adrien answered making the girl shake her head at his denial.

“Alright, but don’t forget there’s dessert after lunch,”

“I know, there’s enough space for it” Adrien assured afterward the trio walked back to their seats and Adrien sat vice versa to Kagami, which sat between Zeynep and the dog plush Adrien won at the competition. Adrien sat between Amir and Eveline, then Amir elbowed the blonde and pointed at the plush.

“This is Jasmin, my date for today” Amir joked making Adrien laugh.

“Well she sure is a loyal partner to you”

“Whoa, Mr. Agreste you’re taking it really far than I thought anyone would” Armand D’Argencourt mentioned looking at the amount of food the blonde had on the plate.

“I can just bring it back, if you want to” Adrien mentioned embarrassed making Armand shake his head.

“No don’t worry, eat as much as you want. Your father isn’t here to judge you” The teacher explained making Adrien smile and grab his cutlery to start cutting his asparagus.

“What have you all got for weird combinations?” Etienne asked looking over at the other classmates.

“I’ve got chicken nuggets from the fast-food buffet covered with cocktail sauce, fries, peas, and tomato filled with minced meat and covered with cheese” Mohamed recited his full plate.

“I’ve got the same, but I included noodles with Carbonara, Hollandaise, Cinque Pi, and Pesto sauce” Amir added.

“I’ve got Schnitzel, Mashed Potatoes, Fries and cauliflower,” Zeynep pointed out.

“I’ve got Tofu with Broccoli and Beans” Eveline answered. “Later I may get something else,”

“I’ve picked Potatoes with Stroganoff and Carrots for now” Laura mentioned. “I’m not very hungry at the moment”

“You can always have another round if you have to,” Armand said. “You all can. The price is still the same”

“I bet Adrien will have a second round” Etienne jested making Adrien stick his tongue out at the boy’s comment.

“No, I take a dessert after it” Responded the blonde taking his fork full of minced meat into his mouth, making him smile at the flavor of the tasted meat. “That sauce is delicious, bad I didn’t pay attention, which sort is which,”

“You can all start eating without me, I just want to inform you all about the next step. We will overnight at the museum-hotel far on the other end of the park. If I’m not wrong, it’s the Scandinavian part. We’re going to be at that hotel for the rest of our nights here and dinner time will be around 19:00. The rest of the night you can all hang out in the bedroom, in the lounge, coffee bar, do whatever you want as long as you don’t get into trouble”

“Anything?” Mohamed asked widening his eyes.

“I don’t know, what you have in your mind boy, but avoid messing up things or else we all are kicked out of here” Mr. D’Argencourt warned earning a nod from the boy.

“Amir is most likely to do that,” Mohamed said.

“Stop lying, Amir!” Amir shouted making the twin flip his bird jokingly at him taking his brother’s name to trick out their teacher.

“This won’t work, idiot” Mohamed warned picking up a nugget from his plate to eat. “Doing that, when Kagami or Etienne were new worked”

“Now…..at least most of the times, I could figure out you two” Kagami confessed scooping into her mouth rice with her fork.

“With the time, you realize both are a little more different than they seem to be” Adrien added shoving fries in his mouth. “Has anyone got ketchup?” Mumbled the blonde, then Eveline passed the ketchup bottle out to the blonde. “Merci”

“Has anyone already have an idea, what to ride next?” Zeynep asked, watching the group shrug their shoulders.

“Why don’t you tell us your suggestion?” Eveline said.

“Yeah” Etienne agreed. “You were once here after all”

“Hmm before….I think first we should take a regular ride, that’s not that fast or has any loops, that could make us feel bad after riding it” Zeynep mentioned.

“What do you suggest? Adrien asked while picking up meat from his plate.

“Let me see the map” Zeynep answered opening the map in front of the table to check the locations, that the amusement park had to offer. “The nearest thing here is the panorama trail, which goes around the park like a regular locomotive”

“Is a good start” Etienne mentioned. “Hey before we head to the roller coasters, which is the slowest one?”

“Are you…..nugget?” Amir asked. “Get it? Chicken? Nugget?” The Egyptian boy said making Etienne look displeased at Amir’s bad joke.

“No, I had the idea we could begin from the slowest ones to the fastest one” Etienne mentioned. “Just an idea” “We could actually” Laura answered. “So we can get used to the speeds”

“And the forms” Eveline added.

“In case someone is still feeling full from the lunch…..maybe Adrien” Zeynep added making a few chuckle.

“Why is everyone offended by my eating habit?” Adrien asked before he guided his fork filled with a cut piece of asparagus covered in white sauce.

“We’re not offended. We just want to make sure no one has to puke, mostly you, since you’ve got so much in your stomach”

“Oh…..thanks” Adrien answered embarrassed.

“Hey, we could take the Alp Express in the Austrian part. It’s not that fast and it’s almost a straight rail,”

“Sounds good” Kagami answered. “Afterward we can take a faster rollercoaster”

“Hey I’d like to try out the ones with the two towers, can we try them afterward?” Mohamed asked earning a nod from the Turkish girl.

“Yeah why not” Zeynep answered. “I’ve seen a lot of people there, I don’t know, how long we have to wait”

“I feel like we will have to wait a lot in the evening. Have you seen the number of visitors?” Eveline asked.

“We better stay there for the next hour, until it comes to our turn” Mohamed suggested.

“We lose time anyway with walking around looking for attractions and their waiting time” Kagami added earning a nod from Zeynep and Eveline.

“Alright, so we take the panorama rail, then the alp express and in the end, we take the Euromir, then we check out for a next ride” Zeynep listed down for the others to hear it.

“Don’t forget the ones with the tower” Amir mentioned.

“I’ve mentioned it” Zeynep pointed out.

“Oh...”

“Sounds good to me” Etienne answered with the others nodding.

“Yeah” Adrien approved, then grabbed his cup with juice to take a sip, continuing to lunch along with his fencing pals.

The fencing class sat around a table with the absence of Adrien, Kagami and Etienne, which were standing at the buffet together to scope for themselves what they wanted to eat.

“That’s why it’s called all-you-can-eat,” Etienne told Adrien, which had on his plate a bit of asparagus covered with hollandaise sauce. “You’re allowed to put everything you want on your table no matter if the combination makes sense or not”

“Okay,” Adrien answered.

“You could even put the hollandaise sauce over the spaghetti instead of the tomato sauce for example. It wouldn’t matter”

“Okay, thank you” Adrien answered, then looked over the buffet at the variations of foods spread all over the buffet, then Adrien looked at the two gastronom containers one filled with Pommes Frites and the other filled with cooked potatoes, then Adrien smiled and picked with the pliers onto his plate a few fries, then moved forward to look at the various meat sorts and procession of the different menus. Adrien looked up at the plastic protection to see the names on it.

“What should I pick?” Adrien asked “Sliced meat in the Vienna or the Zurich-style?” Adrien asked making Etienne roll his eyes.

“Why don’t you pick up both?” The brunette answered sarcastically, then Adrien smiled and put a half spoon from both types of meat on his plate making Etienne wide his eyes at his deed. “You’re really going to eat that much?”

“I can eat a lot without any problem” Adrien answered. “I just don’t have the chance to take so much, because of my father”

“Okay” Etienne responded, then Adrien looked at Kagami, which stood in front of him picking up a spring roll, then looked back at the boys, which waited for her to continue.

“Hey are you interested in spring rolls, they’re delicious” Kagami offered earning a nod from Adrien.

“Sure” Adrien replied, then Etienne widened his eyes as he saw a few containers behind the ones of the minced meat a waiter fill a container with Duchess potatoes.

“I found something better for me, be right back” Etienne mentioned moving behind Kagami to get to the man, so he could e able to scoop out for himself the freshly-made potatoes.

“I could take one to try it” Kagami mentioned picking out with the pliers a roll for Adrien, then picked a second one earning a smile from Adrien.

“Thanks” Adrien answered moving forwards with the girl. “Oh, there’s Gnocchi” Adrien pointed out making Kagami chuckle.

“Adrien, you’re going to explode with the amount of food you have on the plate” Kagami joked making Adrien shake his head.

“No I won’t” Adrien answered making the girl shake her head at his denial.

“Alright, but don’t forget there’s dessert after lunch,”

“I know, there’s enough space for it” Adrien assured afterward the trio walked back to their seats and Adrien sat vice versa to Kagami, which sat between Zeynep and the dog plush Adrien won at the competition. Adrien sat between Amir and Eveline, then Amir elbowed the blonde and pointed at the plush.

“This is Jasmin, my date for today” Amir joked making Adrien laugh.

“Well she sure is a loyal partner to you”

“Whoa, Mr. Agreste you’re taking it really far than I thought anyone would” Armand D’Argencourt mentioned looking at the amount of food the blonde had on the plate.

“I can just bring it back, if you want to” Adrien mentioned embarrassed making Armand shake his head.

“No don’t worry, eat as much as you want. Your father isn’t here to judge you” The teacher explained making Adrien smile and grab his cutlery to start cutting his asparagus.

“What have you all got for weird combinations?” Etienne asked looking over at the other classmates.

“I’ve got chicken nuggets from the fast-food buffet covered with cocktail sauce, fries, peas, and tomato filled with minced meat and covered with cheese” Mohamed recited his full plate.

“I’ve got the same, but I included noodles with Carbonara, Hollandaise, Cinque Pi, and Pesto sauce” Amir added.

“I’ve got Schnitzel, Mashed Potatoes, Fries and cauliflower,” Zeynep pointed out.

“I’ve got Tofu with Broccoli and Beans” Eveline answered. “Later I may get something else,”

“I’ve picked Potatoes with Stroganoff and Carrots for now” Laura mentioned. “I’m not very hungry at the moment”

“You can always have another round if you have to,” Armand said. “You all can. The price is still the same”

“I bet Adrien will have a second round” Etienne jested making Adrien stick his tongue out at the boy’s comment.

“No, I take a dessert after it” Responded the blonde taking his fork full of minced meat into his mouth, making him smile at the flavor of the tasted meat. “That sauce is delicious, bad I didn’t pay attention, which sort is which,”

“You can all start eating without me, I just want to inform you all about the next step. We will overnight at the museum-hotel far on the other end of the park. If I’m not wrong, it’s the Scandinavian part. We’re going to be at that hotel for the rest of our nights here and dinner time will be around 19:00. The rest of the night you can all hang out in the bedroom, in the lounge, coffee bar, do whatever you want as long as you don’t get into trouble”

“Anything?” Mohamed asked widening his eyes.

“I don’t know, what you have in your mind boy, but avoid messing up things or else we all are kicked out of here” Mr. D’Argencourt warned earning a nod from the boy.

“Amir is most likely to do that,” Mohamed said.

“Stop lying, Amir!” Amir shouted making the twin flip his bird jokingly at him taking his brother’s name to trick out their teacher.

“This won’t work, idiot” Mohamed warned picking up a nugget from his plate to eat. “Doing that, when Kagami or Etienne were new worked”

“Now…..at least most of the times, I could figure out you two” Kagami confessed scooping into her mouth rice with her fork.

“With the time, you realize both are a little more different than they seem to be” Adrien added shoving fries in his mouth. “Has anyone got ketchup?” Mumbled the blonde, then Eveline passed the ketchup bottle out to the blonde. “Merci”

“Has anyone already have an idea, what to ride next?” Zeynep asked, watching the group shrug their shoulders.

“Why don’t you tell us your suggestion?” Eveline said.

“Yeah” Etienne agreed. “You were once here after all”

“Hmm before….I think first we should take a regular ride, that’s not that fast or has any loops, that could make us feel bad after riding it” Zeynep mentioned.

“What do you suggest? Adrien asked while picking up meat from his plate.

“Let me see the map” Zeynep answered opening the map in front of the table to check the locations, that the amusement park had to offer. “The nearest thing here is the panorama trail, which goes around the park like a regular locomotive”

“Is a good start” Etienne mentioned. “Hey before we head to the roller coasters, which is the slowest one?”

“Are you…..nugget?” Amir asked. “Get it? Chicken? Nugget?” The Egyptian boy said making Etienne look displeased at Amir’s bad joke.

“No, I had the idea we could begin from the slowest ones to the fastest one” Etienne mentioned. “Just an idea” “We could actually” Laura answered. “So we can get used to the speeds”

“And the forms” Eveline added.

“In case someone is still feeling full from the lunch…..maybe Adrien” Zeynep added making a few chuckle.

“Why is everyone offended by my eating habit?” Adrien asked before he guided his fork filled with a cut piece of asparagus covered in white sauce.

“We’re not offended. We just want to make sure no one has to puke, mostly you, since you’ve got so much in your stomach”

“Oh…..thanks” Adrien answered embarrassed.

“Hey, we could take the Alp Express in the Austrian part. It’s not that fast and it’s almost a straight rail,”

“Sounds good” Kagami answered. “Afterward we can take a faster rollercoaster”

“Hey I’d like to try out the ones with the two towers, can we try them afterward?” Mohamed asked earning a nod from the Turkish girl.

“Yeah why not” Zeynep answered. “I’ve seen a lot of people there, I don’t know, how long we have to wait”

“I feel like we will have to wait a lot in the evening. Have you seen the number of visitors?” Eveline asked.

“We better stay there for the next hour, until it comes to our turn” Mohamed suggested.

“We lose time anyway with walking around looking for attractions and their waiting time” Kagami added earning a nod from Zeynep and Eveline.

“Alright, so we take the panorama rail, then the alp express and in the end, we take the Euromir, then we check out for a next ride” Zeynep listed down for the others to hear it.

“Don’t forget the ones with the tower” Amir mentioned.

“I’ve mentioned it” Zeynep pointed out.

“Oh...”

“Sounds good to me” Etienne answered with the others nodding.

“Yeah” Adrien approved, then grabbed his cup with juice to take a sip, continuing to lunch along with his fencing pals.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Temporary Ideal (Part 1)

The Beach FanFic (Leonardo DiCaprio) - Written decades ago. (uff!) Can find in entirety on Wattpad. May add additional parts if it ever gets some likes/reblogs.

~~~~~

The shade from the palm made the dampness of the air around me more palpable.  I could feel the condensation on my arms, face and lips.  I shivered in the early dawn, waiting for him.  Waiting and thinking.  This spot, near Bugs’ bridge, was the unofficial entrance to the village. It was where I had laid eyes on him for the first time.  I remembered it clearly, like it was yesterday.  Recalling that moment, surrounded by the soft rays of a new day, it was hard to believe it had been six months since the “Three Musketeers” had backpacked into our community.

~~~~~

It happened right after Vera had thrown me the last of the bed sheets.  I had taken the worn nub of the last remains of Unhygenix’s homemade soap, and rubbed it lazily against the sheet draped over the granite slab.  I hated laundry duty.  Even though Vera moaned and groaned when we had the garden shift, I would gladly trade in my pruned fingers for dirt strewn ones.  There was the quiet that was only disrupted by the buzz of an insect or the occasional tears of dead leaves. The hope experienced planting seeds for the new crop. Picking the ripe fruit and sneaking a taste of one, delicious pear before the rest of the community.  My innate green thumb surprised me.  I wouldn’t have looked twice at a cornfield or row of tomato plants in my “other” life. Here, though, things were different.

“Oh… my… God!”  Vera’s faux valley girl inflection had taken over for a moment.  Alarmed, I froze, staring down at the water flowing past my bare thighs.  The last time Vera had voiced that exclamation while doing the wash had been when she had a spotted eel wrapped around her calf.  We never were sure if the eel was very friendly, very horny or very tired of intruders in that particular spot of the lagoon.  She had grabbed that sucker and smashed it against a rock like a bullwhip.  Poor thing never knew what hit him, or her, or it.  I made a mental note never to sneak up on Vera after that.

“What?”  My focus shifted to Vera’s line of sight, which hadn’t been the water.  My mouth opened slightly, feeling the dryness that had suddenly appeared.  I’m sure everyone in the community had the same feeling at that moment.  There they were, walking over the bridge, entering our territory.  Keaty led the way.  His tour of duty by the waterfall had turned out to be the most eventful one in two years.

“Three.”  Vera waded toward the bridge.  My mind had quickly processed the total.  My attention was all on the person following six steps behind Keaty.  I could tell immediately that he was American.  I’m not sure what gave him away first, but the quick nod of recognition he gave Vera solidified it.

American.  Even though I felt fear and uncertainty at their presence, I still smiled.  There was another one of us.  Four now.  And there was another reason I was smiling.  That flight of butterflies that had remained dormant in my stomach for what now seemed like an eternity, was performing aerials I couldn’t remember ever experiencing.  It may have just boiled down to the fact that there was new meat.  Available meat.  It was obvious, the solitary way he strode ahead of the other man and woman, that he was alone.

He was tan, lean and long.  Everything about him screamed California boy, kissed by the sun from his golden-brown strands to the shine of his skin.  He tightly gripped the end of what looked like a trash bag over his right shoulder, eyes darting this way and that, taking in the entirety of the environment.  He passed over me as quickly as he had everyone else.  I was too far away to make out the color of his eyes, but his stare was intense enough for me to feel he meant business.  They hadn’t just stumbled across our paradise.  This had been a quest.  And I was pretty sure he was the one who had been in charge for most of it.

Vera looked over to me after they had passed.  “Let’s hurry this shit up and get our asses back to the longhouse.  I don’t want to miss Sal’s face when she sees this.”  I nodded in agreement, and then shook my head at the thought of Sal’s expression. I hoped I would be able to get some prime seating.

~~~~~ 

We slipped in after the impromptu “family meeting” had already taken place.

Sophie stood in the darkened corner and motioned quickly to both of us as soon as we came in.  We huddled together for catch up.

“They have a map.”  Sophie nodded her head toward the middle of the longhouse, where the majority now congregated.  Sal was in full mother-hen mode.  I spotted the paper in her hand.

“To the beach?”  Vera asked and Sophie nodded.  My eyes canvassed the area.  I saw the back of blonde boy.  “Who are they?”  Vera questioned again.

“The couple is French.”  I looked over at Sophie in time to see a slight smile.  It would be an addition to the already large French line.  “Etienne and Francoise.  The other one is Richard.  An American.”

Richard.  I let the name dance in my head a few times, unable to hide the vindication that my guess to his nationality had been correct.  I didn’t need to hear any more from Sophie.  I walked around the circle, just outside the radar of being noticed.  Blending into the background had always been my best skill and too much was going on for anyone to pay attention to me anyway.  They were all fixated on the visitors.  I could spot rage on some faces, fear on others.  But Sal would not let these new arrivals leave.  I had known her long enough to realize that fact.

I sat on my bunk thankful Richard was on the exact opposite end.  My legs crossed.  I could hear the buzz of conversation around me.  All of my senses besides sight had dulled, been drowned out, by the activity occupying me.  Taking in every aspect of this man was now top priority.  Boyishness graced his face, but the dominance of the man emerging was putting up a fierce battle with that appearance.  In his 20s definitely, but as to which end of the scale he tipped closer to was still up in the air.  The beauty and symmetry of his face elicited one word into my mind.  Perfect.  The shadows of late afternoon, however, didn’t allow a peek at his eye color.  The somber, stuffy atmosphere of the hut matched the mood of its inhabitants.

My hearing tuned in at the sound of his voice, answering a question from Sal.  I let the pitch and tone of his words flow inside.  Even his words felt right to my ears.  “It was on my hotel door one morning.  I’d had this weird conversation with a guy staying next door to me the night before.  He kept talking about this beach.  So when I found the map, I figured it was from him.  The guy who drew it…”

“Daffy.”  Sal finished his sentence for him.  The name jarred memories and haunting images of the rift that formed right before Daffy had left the island.  The friction between Daffy, Sal and Bugs had become unbearable.  I wanted to ask about Daffy, but the question only screamed inside my mind.  There would be no disruptions while class was in session, at least not from the well-behaved students.

“Yeah, he’s dead.”  My mouth dropped open, hearing that cold, factual sentence from Richard.  That sentence did not come from one who had spent countless nights listening to Daffy’s stories around the fire.  Not one who had ventured back with him to the mainland at least a dozen times for rice runs.  And not one who had seen the love for something pure turn into an obsession to protect it.  I tried to let the realization of Daffy’s death sink in, but I knew it would take forever to finalize it.  I saw the whispers and stunned expressions take over the group.

Someone, I think Dale, exclaimed, “No way!”

Richard continued.  “Yeah, he cut his wrists open in a hotel room on the Ko Sahn Road.”

Gregorio stared in horror at Richard.  “You have seen this?”

“Well, I came afterwards.”  There was no easy way to break this kind of news to a family.  It was like a police officer knocking at a son’s door in the middle of the night to tell him his parents had been killed in a car accident.  Empathy is a hard feeling to fake.  You just don’t know until you have been there.  I guessed Richard had yet to experience a close death. 

“Well, that’s sad news.  He was one of the founders of our community.”  I spotted Vera, still in the corner with Sophie, listening to Sal.  I hoped she had sense enough to hold her tongue.

“Oh.”  Richard nodded his head slightly.

“But he became depressed.”  There had been a clearing of the throat, somewhere from the crowd, after Sal’s addition.  My stomach tensed up.  It was amazing how fast people forgot all the good.  Most of the bad feelings toward Daffy were present because of Sal’s talks and speeches since he had left.  How he had become a liability, an acceptable loss for the protection of our community.   

I saw Richard survey the reaction quickly.  He had felt the bad blood and my eyes narrowed as I watched him try and feed off of it.  “The police didn’t know what to do with the body so I guess they’re going to like incinerate him or something.”  His smile and sudden laugh felt forced, out of place.  He immediately realized his mistake, turning his head to the side to avoid the eyes of the community.  He scratched the back of his head.

Sal took no note of it.  I knew she was concerned with only one thing.  “Do you think he gave a map to anybody else?”

Richard stared at her for a second, shaking his head in doubt.  “Ah, no… I don’t think so.”  I noticed relief on his face, thankful that the attention had been shifted from his foot-in-mouth display.

She looked at Etienne, Francoise and Richard, one by one.  “And you, have you shown this map to anybody?”

They answered one after the other.  “No.”

“Good.”  She handed the open map to Richard.  I felt another example coming on.  She grabbed Bugs’ lighter and smiled, “We value our secrecy.”  She lighted the map at the bottom as Richard held it.  I heard the clapping begin.  With that, our new members had been baptized.

~~~~~  

After dinner, the nightly ritual of bedtime began for all in the longhouse. The newly arrived were given their sleep locations. I quietly prayed to whatever Thai god had whispered in Sal’s ear and placed him an easy glance across the floor from me. It was a beautiful change of scenery.

Keaty was filling him in on how things ran daily in the hut when Sonja stood up. I sighed. It was a language class tonight. She politely requested everyone’s attention and began her translation prompt.

“Listen up, everybody.” Her blonde bob shook a bit as she scanned the room. Linguistic learning was mainly someone reciting a line in English – which everyone on the island spoke – and expecting a translation in the teacher’s native tongue. In Sonja’s case, we’d be regurgitating the phrase in Croation. I always cursed Sal when it was time for this, as it had been her bright idea to begin this ages ago.  I enjoyed poetry night so much more. I didn’t have to worry about getting called on to speak in front of the class.

“OK. Tomorrow I will travel for many miles on a bicycle.” She nodded her head towards the right of the hut. “Um, Vicki.”

Sitting just off to Richard’s side, Vick stopped in mid hit. I was curious if she had spoken to Richard much upon his arrival. She was a California girl. If my assumptions about where he was from were right, they might have a lot to talk about. She took just a second to contain her smoke before beginning. “Uh, sutra cu potovati mnogo milja bicicklom.”

I watched Richard listen intently before looking to Sonja to see how well Vicki had done. “Great, very good.” Sonja went on to her next victim. Though I should have been paying attention in case I was called, I was spending more time studying Richard.

After Helene, it was Keaty’s turn. In typical fashion, he stood up proudly. “All right. It’s far too easy, though.” With little effort, the words flowed freely out of his mouth. Cockily, he continued the rant. From what I could tell, his bicycle ride was going to be in the park after he ate a big breakfast. I shook my head, laughing at his pompous behavior as the rest of the group jeered. They eventually drowned him out. “There’s more, you know.” Before he sat down he took over Sonja’s duty and called out the next name. “Richard!”

There was an immediate hush. The newbie looked around and cleared his throat. To all listening, he choked out the words in a broken fashion; but, still surprisingly correct. Keaty yelled out in admiration, “Richard, you’re represented, man!” As was customary, the rest of the community applauded in sign language with their hands shaking while raised above their heads. I joined in on the compliment.

Richard grinned from ear to ear as he looked around the room. I felt that hiccup in my chest again as his eyes fell on me for a brief second. His eyes sparkled in the lantern lights. It was time to curse myself for being such a sucker for blue eyes.

~~~~~  

Six months later, he was still only someone I studied from afar.  There was the occasional friendly or duty-related chit-chat.  But he had assimilated quickly, making a name for himself in the process.  He still had a while to go, still only the second-string quarterback of the island.  I, on the other hand, was hardly in the running for head cheerleader or homecoming queen. 

He had become chummy with Keaty.  I had gotten most of my information on Richard through him.  The one thing I didn’t need explained to me was the crush he had on Francoise, the French girl that had accompanied him on the journey.  I wondered if Etienne’s ignorance to his friend’s feelings about his girlfriend was simply a show.  The looks Richard gave Francoise were just a bit too long.  I hoped my crush was not as obvious to everyone else.

“Beth!”  Keaty strode up beside me on the way back from a day of tilling in the garden.

“What’s up?”

“Have a question for you, love.”  I always grinned when he said that.

“Shoot.”

Always the gentleman, he took my shovel, and leaned it against his right shoulder as we walked.

“Triple A’s.  In short supply.  Got any I can borrow?”

“God, Keaty, what have you been doing with them lately?”

“Not me only, Richard’s been hogging my GameBoy as well.  We’re thinking of starting our own group.  VGAA.”  I stared at him curiously.  He smiled explaining, “Video Game Addicts Anonymous.” 

I laughed, shaking my head.  “Well, I don’t know if I should be a facilitator then, supplying you with the means to continue this addiction.”

“Ah, but the first step on the road to recovery is admission, which I’ve already done.  Can’t stop cold turkey, right?”

“I’ll have some for you after dinner.”

“Thanks, Beth.  You are a life saver, have I told you that?”

I nodded.

“Well, you are.  I’m not the only one that knows it, love.”

“Enough sucking up, I already said I would give them to you.”

“Right.  How about trying a game of cricket with me tomorrow then?”

“That’s OK, I prefer watching.”

“I’ve noticed.”  I slapped his arm after that comment.

“Don’t hit me over the truth.”  We both laughed, approaching the clearing to the beach.  I didn’t spot Richard until Keaty had called over to him.  “Richard, my man, we are back in business!”

Richard turned upon hearing his name.  He sat on the beach with Christo and his fishing spear in hand.  He nodded, smiling.  “What Keaty!?”

“Got our dealer right here!”  He placed his free hand over my shoulder.  “Kong competition tonight!” 

I felt myself blush with his attention on me. “Cool!  Thanks Beth!” He waved over to the both of us.

I nodded and freed myself from Keaty’s grasp and grabbed the shovel back. “Gotta wash up, Keaty.”

~~~~~

I’d settled down in my bunk after a satisfying meal of rice and catfish, accompanied by an unexpected salad.  I thought about the crop we would be working on the next day and couldn’t wait for the tomatoes to ripen.  They’d be a great addition to Unhygenix’s menu. 

I searched in my satchel for the book of poetry by Thoreau.

“Beth?”

My eyes looked up to find Richard towering above me.

“Yeah?”  I smiled despite myself.

He bent at the knees, lowering himself to my eye level.  “Don’t mean to be a pain, but Keaty and I,” I stared into his blue eyes a bit longer than I should have.

“Oh!”  I mentally slapped my forehead.  “The batteries.”  He smiled, nodding.  “Sorry, I forgot all about it.”

“No problem, just didn’t know how much longer Keaty and I could last before we experience withdrawal symptoms.”  He chuckled, leaning his forearms against his knees.

I laughed, reaching over to my cigar box, my little treasure chest.  “What are some of the symptoms?” 

I turned back to see him hunched over, eyes wide, with his thumbs rapidly pressing invisible buttons.  “Nothing too severe.”  He started twitching his head.  He continued the act.  “Jump…  Right… Punch”.  I waved four batteries in front of his face, grinning.  He relaxed immediately, opening a palm for the alkaline gems to drop inside of.  “Whew, thanks.”  He winked, and then smiled, as his hand clutched them tightly.  “Could have gotten ugly.”

“Glad I could fix you up.”

“I owe you.”

I smiled, thinking of a few ways he could pay me back.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Night.”

“Good Night, Richard.”

I watched him stand up and turn, ready to make his way over to Keaty’s corner.  I was about to resume the search for my book when I saw him turn back out of the corner of my eye.  “Beth?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I was wondering… well,” he knelt down once again, “if you could help me with something?”

I nodded.

He looked around, I guessed to make sure no one was paying close attention.  I noticed him lingering his gaze in Sal’s direction before continuing, slightly above a whisper this time.  “It’s about Daffy.” 

It had been months since I had heard anyone utter his name.  “Daffy?”

He nodded.  “It’s just that… ever since we came here, I’ve had a lot of questions about him.  I mean he’s the reason we’re here.  But, no one talks about him.  I’ve asked Sal once, and Keaty a few times, but they just clam up or change the subject.  The only thing I got out of Keaty was that you were close to him.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Could you tell me something about him then?  Tomorrow maybe?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll meet up with you after fishing duty.”

“OK.”  I smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Good night.  Again.”  He smiled, walked off.  I lay back, placing my hand under my pillow.  That’s where Thoreau turned out to be hiding.  I pulled the worn book out, inspecting it.  Thoughts of curling up with a few of his verses were now long gone.  I had someone else to dream about.

[thesinglesjukebox]

DUA LIPA - PHYSICAL

[7.50]

It's okay! Move that boogie body!

Leah Isobel: It is a dark and stormy night. In a sinister science lab located somewhere in Carmen Sandiego's plush pomo lair, a pop singer plugs in a neon light, shrugs into a next-season Gaultier lab coat and gets to work. In the reflection of her gold-tinted goggles we see her add one (1) part Extract of "Into You," one (1) part Juice of Newton-John, and four (4) drops of Synthesizer Spice into a contoured beaker. She turns on the flame of a Bunsen burner; stream gushes from her concoction like a geyser, emitting a high, keening refrain. She whispers a few luscious words into the steam -- "diamond," "sssimulation," "adrenaline" -- but her experiment still lacks a certain something. Then -- BOOM! -- in a thundercrash of lightning, it hits her. Eureka! She turns and sees her reflection illuminated in the glass of an emergency axe container, kept onsite in case of fire. "Well," she chuckles to herself as she breaks the glass with a four-inch stiletto heel, "I am creating something... hot." Axe in hand, she chops the neon light into pieces and stuffs the shards, now glittering like a million sequined dancefloors, into the beaker. With the addition of this Decoction of Disco, her potion bubbles... it burbles... then KABOOM: it explodes the entire building and half of the surrounding city! She stands in the wreckage as thunder splits the sky above and sirens wail in the distance. We see Dua's eyes glow green before she throws her head back to the sky and screams: "GAY RIIIIIGHTS!" [9]

William John: Probably the best example of what parts of the Internet's stan culture would facetiously refer to as "gay rights" from a mainstream musical artist since... the last Dua Lipa single, or, failing that, "Into You." Like those precedents, "Physical" is camp but magisterial; playful but extremely melodramatic; sweeping, dance floor ready, and dripping with an exultant swagger. Her reminder to "hold on, just a little tighter" at the bridge is, truthfully, a hollow gesture; at that stage, the listener is so deeply embroiled in her glorious disco caprice as to not really be capable of gripping anything at all. [10]

Jackie Powell: It couldn't be clearer that Dua Lipa had something to prove not only to herself, but to the pop music intelligentsia on her sophomore offering. What has struck me most about the Future Nostalgia cycle is how Dua is executing every facet of it with confidence. On this track, she's not afraid of hitting notes that eclipse the breadth of her previous singles, especially on the bridge. "Physical" is a representative offering of exactly what she's aiming to prove. Each track we've heard so far reflects a different decade accompanied with a modern polish. I don't think I'm the only one who believes Olivia Newton-John's '80s exercise sexual metaphor smash "Physical" deserves the tribute it's getting here. There's a clear homage paid to her and to Patti LaBelle on Lipa's own "Physical." I'm going to interpret her lyric "We created something phenomenal" as a bit of a double-entendre. Not only is it about sex in the narrative of the track, but it's a comment on Lipa's approach to this era and her confidence on every single part of it. The sexual symbolism isn't just in the lyrics, but also in the track's composition and the narrative communicated in the visual treatment. The vocal highs that she hits on the bridge represent a climax musically and sexually. She has so much confidence in the visual treatment, she spends most of it braless. That takes guts. [9]

Tobi Tella: Dua Lipa's perceived lack of personality has turned out to actually be lack of a schtick preventing her from artistically evolving, something many of her peers are plagued with. Also, I've died and gone to gay heaven. [9]

Alfred Soto: The way Dua Lipa's unexpected bon mots and smoky sultriness ride the beat and compete with the strings compensate for a production too dressed up in leg warmers and headbands for my taste -- I mean, her exhortations are more fearsome than erotic. [7]

Julian Axelrod: Pop's '80s revival arms race has escalated to its natural endpoint: the accidental exhumation of Olivia Newton-John. I wish Dua Lipa had used "let's get physical" in a more literal iteration; singing it over hyperdrive synths guarantees it'll be never played in its intended setting, especially when she has half the energy of ONJ. But she hit the mark where it counts: This is going to rule spin classes for the rest of the year. [6]

Brad Shoup: A throwback training-montage track that suggests sex but is really about dancing and Olivia Newton-John erasure. This is Stranger Things pop. [5]

Thomas Inskeep: Sex is natural, sex is fun, sex is best when soundtracked by throbbing '80s synths. [6]

Ashley Bardhan: Okay, fine, I enjoy horny music. Sue me! This song is what would happen if ABBA was brought back to life as a bunch of hot 20-year-olds in little shirts from Fashion Nova. The "let's get physical" chorus feels a little lazy since it's a direct lift from Olivia Newton-John's 1981 hit, but this is a great song to listen to while thinking about that video of Charli XCX holding poppers. No complaints here. [7]

Alex Clifton: I've underestimated Dua Lipa. Her first album had some hits and misses, but Future Nostalgia is shaping up to be one of the best pop releases of 2020 based on the strength of its singles. "Physical" is a cascade of rainbow lights in a roller rink and makes me long to go out to a club, one where I can get down in a huge crowd of people and dance my white-girl ass off poorly. I'm an extreme introvert, so anything that makes me want to leave the house and be around strangers is powerful stuff indeed. It's a little cheesy, but who cares? It's a love letter to the '80s with all the campiness a song citing Olivia Newton-John should have. I'm desperately in love with Dua Lipa after hearing this, and I have a feeling "Physical" will be one of my favourite songs of the year. [9]

Stephen Eisermann: Dua Lipa has quietly become the pop superstar that so many of us wanted Carly Rae to be. Both women make incredible music, but it is Dua who has found commercial success; after hearing "Physical," it seems pretty obvious why. It's a retro-laden, power-pop track that is extraordinary only in the way Dua delivers it. What should be pedestrian instead is hypnotic, infectious, and oh so delicious. [8]

Lauren Gilbert: I promised a friend I'd blurb this song, and now that I've sat down to write it, I have nothing to say. It is a perfect pop song -- Dua knocks it out of the park on this record. I keep getting distracted from writing jamming to the track. I'm dancing while lying down on my couch. She created something phenomenal; we are left with no choice but to stan. [10]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: I've justified Dua Lipa's dearth of personality in years past, but this is where things don't add up: her dead-eyed singing makes no sense during the chorus, whose synths lack the fervor to make up for clinical vocal melodies. Around this time last year, we had Lizzo's "Juice"; now we have "Physical" as an example of '80s pastiche that only feels like it exudes energy and passion and charm. [2]

Will Adams: It's neat to have a single that's its own Initial Talk remix, but the synthpop revivalism is a bit too literal, to the point of putting all its chips on an Olivia Newton-John quote. It's not until the bridge -- "keep on DANCING!" -- where the drama locks in and starts, but only starts, to feel real. [6]

Kylo Nocom: Dua Lipa, determined more than ever to win the Popjustice £20 Music Prize, accidentally transforms into Alice Chater in the process. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: If "Physical" being by Dua Lipa wasn't hypertargeted enough to the Popjustice set, is that the synth progression from Saint Etienne's "No Cure for the Common Christmas" in the intro and beneath the chorus? It's certainly the same height of drama. The track attached isn't quite so charged: a little too Lady Gaga circa "Applause" and a little too Peloton instructor quoting Olivia Newton-John for absolutely no reason besides the culture deciding at some point to make the phrase a permanent, meaningless meme. (The song doesn't even sound particularly '80s; the disco strings are the decade prior, and the vocal squiggles on the verse are so specifically 2016 a time traveler's on their way to erase them.) Dua Lipa only betrays a personality on the spoken-word bridge; ironic how that and the vaporous intro, the least physical things on this track, are the most thrilling. [7]

Vikram Joseph: The intro feels like a prickling at the back of your neck, the one-line pre-chorus feels like plummeting six floors in a broken elevator, and the chorus is such a headrush you can practically smell the poppers: "Physical"'s thrills might be straightforward, but they're visceral as fuck. There are vintage Lady Gaga vibes, the "come on!"s are surely a nod to "We Are Your Friends," and the whole thing reminds me, inexplicably, of Bon Jovi's "It's My Life." But Dua Lipa is starting to make this all seem effortless, and the panache with which she delivers "Physical" easily pulls it clear of the gravitational field of its forebears. [9]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: "Physical" dares us to be the boldest versions of ourselves. It finds itself at the perfect intersection of confidence and lust. Dua Lipa is flirting with you with a playfulness she can only possess because she already knows you're going home together -- and she won't let you leave until the dancing is done. Dancing here is instinct, it's synths that sound as sweet as they do sinister, it's salty like the sweat that rolls down your forehead after you've been, well, physical. Dua Lipa is crushing the Confessions on a Dance Floor album that I've long been waiting for Lady Gaga to make. Dance floor music has long been my site of refuge and catharsis, so it's refreshing to be reminded that it can still sound so immediately, eminently thrilling. [9]

Kayla Beardslee: This doesn't quite reach the heights of "Don't Start Now," but damn it comes close. "Physical" should, in theory, be a cookie-cutter pop girl release, but Dua proves once again that she is the most important element in her music. The producers are doing everything right too, but who else could pull off her endearing smirk in "common love isn't for us" or that wonderful growl in "follow the noise"? And Dua takes us through a transcendental bridge that highlights the best qualities of her voice: singing simple lyrics that say everything they need to, she's breathless yet confident, desperate for touch yet satisfied with the musical world she's helped to create. Something phenomenal, indeed: this rollout has been a joy to follow. [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: "Physical" takes the opposite approach to "Don't Start Now" -- while that song's studio version swallows up its singer in a beautifully constructed, sterile disco pastiche (the live versions and remixes are much better), turning her into just one more retro cog, "Physical" makes her the center of attention. The production around her is good enough (the synth preset change right before the chorus starts is especially nice), but not particularly coherent or hooky on its own. In the vacuum left, Dua gets to have more fun, charismatically switching between vocal styles and walking around like she owns the place. [8]

Jibril Yassin: A powerhouse vocal colliding headfirst with production that's neither plodding nor limp. It's a song that's meant to feel like a blockbuster and after a few failed tries, it's thrilling to hear Dua Lipa finally nail the landing and sound like the superstar she wants to be. [7]

Michael Hong: "Physical" is magnetic. Its pulse is unrelenting, its atmosphere is shadowy and captivating, and Dua Lipa gives possibly her best vocal performance. There's no sense of the up-and-coming performer who delivered everything with stolid execution, instead, "Physical" is a sly wink of a pre-chorus leading to a forceful command: "baby, keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice." Dua Lipa is at the helm, all thoughts and any other desires are out the window, and the night is neverending. [7]

Joshua Lu: Several of Dua Lipa's past hit songs have relied on a marketable veneer of cool: "New Rules" works because she's the straight-talker friend giving advice, "Don't Start Now" necessitates a stoic character who can't be bothered to fret about her ex, and even on collaborations like "One Kiss" does Dua employ a rather unemotional voice, like she's a blank canvas for Calvin Harris' more playful and engaging production. "Physical" feels like such a departure for Dua not just because of its obvious throwback sound, but because this veneer of cool is completely torn down when the song reaches its rushing chorus. She sounds more and more desperate as her voice climbs and the synths soar above her, and her cries of "come on" ring as desperate instead of dominant. The song is indebted to pop titans of yesteryears (Olivia Newton-John obviously inspired the title, but the theatrics of the song feel more indebted to Bonnie Tyler or Patti Labelle) to the point of it not really feeling like a Dua song, but she sells it all so convincingly that it feels like a natural fit. It's part pop song, part epic showdown, and I look forward to Dua continuing to push herself to the forefront of mainstream pop music greatness. [9]

Scott Mildenhall: Little wonder that Lipa's so keen to get physical, given that she's "dreaming in a simulation" -- her focus seems to be on the former, since the latter exemplifies the aimlessness of the verses in comparison to the locked-and-loaded chorus. That has its thrills, yet never feels as loose as seems intended. "Physical" comes across too in love with the idea of being a kind of Perfect Pop to actually be it; an anthem for kinetics developed via science textbook. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[ottofinch]

      so so thrilled to be here with the figurehead, n i know it was a really tough decision for the admins so i just hope i can do him justice ! please find below everything i have thus far on otto ballantyne, the younger brother of nate, and a theatre and classics student who was arranged to be married to daisey. i’ve honestly been itching to play a character like otto for months, so i can’t wait to get my teeth stuck into him. please bombard me with discord messages for plots.

part one: ooc information 

nora, 23, she/her, gmt.

part two: the muse !

skeleton: the figurehead.

faceclaim: froy gutierrez  

otto horatio ballantyne. 

cisgender male.

twenty-one

theatre arts major, minoring in classics.

clubs: student government, mock trial, theatre.

apartment 004. 

part three: the skeleton !

      heavy is the head that wears the crown, though yours is the size of a tennis ball when you are born three weeks premature, barely formed enough to open your eyes. for those first few weeks all your parents knew were fear and love --- fear that you would leave them, love that you had made it through so much, hooked up to wires like a fish in a cryogenic tank. to them your heart that learned one day to beat of its own accord was a miracle. perhaps that’s why you became their golden boy.

      being born as a boy on the brink of death makes you invulnerable. you were achilles and the world couldn’t touch you for you were shielded from harm by a mother’s protective spell. should nathaniel lay so much as a finger on your skin, a voice would raise like the sound of a god from the veranda where she sat sipping her wine, play nice, boys! the sound of it thick with merlot. in every fight they took your side ; angel-headed creatures never lied. you soon learned that adults would believe anything if they liked you, that flattery will get you anywhere and to the well-trained mind, conversation was little more than a parlour game.

      you harboured your mother’s beauty, the softness of her voice, the firmness of her skin and light in the corners of her smile. of your father, they’d say you inherited his wit, though that was your own --- as was the golden hair that tousled your head, taken not from ambrose ballantyne but rather the bout of his three-week business trip to germany when your mother had bedded the gardener. if he knew, he never mentioned it. to believe such a fate would imply that he was not enough for her. though you noticed one day when you were nearing five and the sun was ripe on your freckle-flecked skin that the gardener had stopped coming at all. the grass, once shaven to its scalp, now grew to your knees.

      at school, you learned with porridge still clinging to your mouth that the way to win over your teachers was through your smile. yours was the kind of school where the christmas play was not the nativity but rather the story of the gods, and stardom came to you in the role of apollo, sun shining from your beaming face, a bright halo of hair around your head. this was the first time you noticed a coldness in nathaniel’s eyes as your father threw you over his shoulder and your mother drenched you in praise. a bout of food-poisoning on your brother’s part rendered the italian restaurant, visited in your honour, abandoned. you never did find out if he was faking.

      the room to his door remained shut after that and you learned to wile away your hours in the company of nannies and children from neighbouring castles, played at knights and rescued princesses from nearby dungeons, a tin-foil crown lopsided on your head. you learned to seek influence in the faces of those around you, how their eyes would widen as they hung like stalactites to your words. storyteller. prophet. riddler. prince. you cut your tongue into a well-kept sword and sparred with it thrice a day.

      by nine you had read all of dickens novels. by eleven, all of shakespeare’s comedies --- though you understood them as much as a cricket knows the meaning of the cosmos. still, it sounded rich and impressive when asked by aunties at dinner parties, what are you reading in school, otto? he finds the curriculum tiring, your mother would say, stroking a hand through your thick head of hair. otto’s just finished the merchant of venice. soon you grew to ignore your brother’s glowers at your back. your mother’s was the only smile you needed.

      in cap and blazer your mother would drop you off at school, gated and turreted, the kind that was the envy of poorer neighborhood wives. when you were young, you were sure the gifts that came your way were yours alone, though as you grew older, you learned to expect them in the same way the school expected cheques from your parents. they named them benefactors, you noticed one day, on the wooden plaques fixed to the common room walls. the same plaques you would one day notice their names engraved upon in the arching hallways of st. ettienne’s. acclaim was bought, not earned, and your success was littered with blood money.

      what’s a king without a kingdom? your father surely wanted you to inherit his, though it was not in law and corporal finance that you found yourself a castle, but rather upon the stage. when red curtains split, you found you could become anything with the power of your will --- boy, man, lion, snake, each of them wrung out by wordsmiths dead in their graves, a certain romance in the dusky smell of stage lights. when every eye in the room was focused on you --- that was when you felt most powerful. like a piece of art, you were something to be looked at and admired --- and perhaps in the absence of self-earned merit your vanity blossomed, for even if the trophies that lined your cabinets and the a-grades in columns on a sheet came from heavy pockets, your parents could never buy the sound of applause.

      actors are by nature volatile. though your facade was swifter than an arrow, backstage they would call you tempestuous, bigoted, vain. still, it never left the wings of the theatre. there was a kind of reverence surrounding you that words could not taper, godliness following you from school to college, a peer admired in the practice rooms of st. etienne where you poured over chekhov and ibsen but yearned to read sophocles and euripides. 

      you learned to pride yourself on your looks --- a sharpened jawline and a sharper tongue --- and found that people would do almost anything for a beautiful face. in the beginning, daisey was one so much. first colleagues, then friends, then a frequentor to the table in your families house. with arrogance carried in the curve of your brow, you only ever saw her as an accessory. that changed when let yourself stumble, brogues in a size that differed from your own kicked beneath your bed, a shirt with a larger neck size, pulled sheets, the smell of a foreign cologne.

       talk travelled. it wouldn’t do to have word of your deviance spread further than the ballantyne house. while your parents would claim they were forward-thinking, more lenient than their parents had been, there was a conservative priggishness to the way they’d brush such matters under the rug, your father scarcely able to meet your eye over the dinner table. soon after, the arrangement was set with you all but exalted from the plans until daisey had been informed. too late to back out, neither of you all that eager to be wed, though your families would coo when you fixed your hair or she, in keeping with the role, adjusted your tie. at first it amused you to play house with one such as daisey, but soon you grew listless. like a caged beast you felt suffocated by the falseness of it all. you’d leave the dinners held by your joint households and return bedraggled, smelling of whiskey and sex. you’re not sure daisey ever knew the reason why you couldn’t love her, though perhaps she suspected. at night, the names that would fall from your lips would never be hers. oliver. daniel. mason. rupert. charles.

 part four: the secret !

REDACTED. 

part five: the investigation !

         otto’s an extremely materialistic character who obtains pleasure through the things you can buy in life rather than that which comes to you by way of humble experience. he likes rolex watches, armani suits, louis vuitton travel bags, silk scarves imported from india. he likes to drink wine from decades gone by, where he can almost taste the funk of a victorian farmer hand pressing the grapes into a pulp, or to read a manuscript from the special collections section of the library that he knows has passed through hands which have gone on to achieve greatness. to otto, daisey was always an extension of this hedonistic, pleasure-seeking attitude --- she was something to be paraded like the equestrian trophies on his bookshelf, or his name on the honour roll. it’s not that he didn’t see her as a person --- he’s hardly a chauvinist, although it could easily be inferred from the disdain with which he talks to some women --- but rather that he saw her as someone ethereal and admirable and of high social standing who would elevate his social standing, by extension, were he to spend time with her. (this was such a convoluted sentence omg sorry)

         obviously, the engagement was not his choice. even the idea of it had never crossed his mind. he had never thought to marry -- marriage to otto was a tool used for financial gain --- and being already wealthy, he was content to live out his days as a bachelor. he would take lovers, of course, but it would be on his own terms without the involvement of the law. daisey was chosen as a match for otto because she was from a wealthy, well-liked family and the two had been friends since childhood. it seemed to their parents inevitable that they would marry, and so all that was left was the agreed arrangement between the families and the exchanging of rings. strictly speaking, if the marriage between otto and daisey had gone ahead, then daisey would have been nothing more than a trophy wife to otto. it would have been a miserable marriage for her, and he would have grown to resent her for it --- not resent her for the fact that he could never truly be free to love someone he wanted (for he still would) but resent her, and by extension his family, for taking the option to do that openly and publicly away from him. she would always be seen as the beard, the scorned lover, the cuckold, and it would dampen any future relationships he held with the stain of that upset. 

part six: optional !

pinterest

wanted plots !

a secret society that exists vaguely timelessly where everyone communicates with pretentious quotes 

people who grew up in ashmont and have known otto since childhood, and know of his family. he’s always been fairly popular and well-liked, because he’s got this way of winning people over that he worked out quite quickly.

people who he was friends with as a child but grew apart from when he was sent to private school / they view him as entitled now and the two no longer have much in common

someone who he regularly meets up with to practise his french, maybe they go for coffee or for lunch and they just spend the whole hour speaking french.

fellow thespians ! they could really admire n respect him or ??? actually think he’s overrated as an actor and type cast ??

someone who auditioned for the same role as him, but otto got it, and they’ve resented him for it ever since

sOmEoNe WhO hELpEd hIM BuRy ThE bODy hAha no but seriously anyone who could incriminate him or has something against him, for example, knowing he’s low-key closeted gay and wasn’t into daisey, and therefore has a motive

on the topic of that, [blink 182 vc] all the. gay things. otto’s pretty hedonistic, when he goes out he goes all out, it isn’t rare for him to wake up with a stranger in his bed, he’s thought by most of the student population to be charming and beautiful. i feel like while he’s not out, and almost keeps it a secret, he’s pretty secure in his sexuality??? like he’s always known he was gay, but he’s never felt the need to Come Out bcos its no one’s business what he’s into. 

hasn’t really dated anyone? at college, he tends to hook up with people in a vapid sort of way? so he wouldn’t rEALly have past relationships with boys unless it was..... incredibly quiet and on the DL, literally meeting up in the woods after school to read plato and play with each others hair. suddenly realised i want this. 

alternatively someone who he had a vapid, senseless hook up with and grew attached to :/ rude

literally anyone to go on expensive shopping sprees with him where he spends his monthly allowance on ridiculously priced cufflinks and pocket squares

unlikely friendships ?? with people he wouldn’t usually be drawn to ?? like, he very much sticks to his people, birds of a feather flock together, but ?? maybe he is friend with someone from a vastly different lifestyle??

people he knows on a very superficial and base level in the fact that their only interactions together involve doing coke off someone’s sink 

ples plot w me

[oldearthcartography]

1, 10 & 20 for the identity asks pls :)

1. if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

Oh man… I mean if you really wanted to understand me as a person probably just play tabletop RPGs with me XD.

But no seriously… I apologise because this is going to be an extensive list… because here’s part of understanding me - I can never choose between things and also can never manage to be brief:

Books (nowhere near an exhaustive list but I tried to pick series that I re-read regularly to this day and represented a representative slice of my tastes and life outlooks):

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles, Patricia C. Wrede –> Absolutely formative for me and started my lifelong love of fantasy. Cimorene, Morwen (and cats), Kazul *heart eyes*

The Broken Earth Trilogy, N. K. Jemisin –> Stunning worldbuilding, unforgettable characters, Messages about justice and injustice, Science-fantasy, geology and tectonics as an intrinsic base of the worldbuilding and magic and science of the world? PLEASE

Terry Pratchett’s Discworld –> Just yes. GNU Pratchett, comedy, puns, deep humanitarian messages, absolutely fun at the same time, say no more

Gail Carriger’s Parasol Protectorate and associated books –> Complete and utter friviloity and self-indulgence… I just finished Romancing the Inventor and I just grinned and made pleased sounds through the whole thing 

Or for a slice of fannish writings rather pretty much literally anything by @dirgewithoutmusicmz-blog (AO3 link)

_______________

TV/Movies

Matilda - unlike Matilda my home life was great… but as someone who always had their nose in a book and was bullied really heavily in elementary school man did I relate

Ever After - If I need a comfort movie this is where I turn, every time.

A Knight’s Tale - slightly anachronistic story of a poor kid becoming a knight, with plenty of humour and an excellent ensemble cast. Yeah this is right up my alley

Ladyhawke - Etienne Navarre (Rutger Hauer) and Isabeau de Anjou ( Michelle Pfeiffer) are literally probably the earliest intense crushes I actually remember having (my poor bi-romantic heart didn’t have a chance). I have this movie memorised.

Leverage - Give me heists and capers in an ongoing TV-show with found family where they are going up against corrupt people in power…. ummm did you make this tailored exactly for me?

Good Omens - Was one of my favourite books as a teen. Is my favourite piece of new media to come out recently. Perfection.

BBC’s Voyage to the Planets

John Acorn’s The Nature Nut (Kid’s educational series that was hosted by an entomologist who is a family friend)… I don’t expect anyone to actually find this but it gives a pretty darn good window into people who influenced me from infancy (especially because I’ve always felt John and my dad share a lot of personality traits)

Extended Edition Lord of the Rings Trilogy watched in a marathon - I read and re-read these books as a teen (and shipped Eowyn and Faramir, and Legolas and Gimli hard). And then these movies came out every year of my high school. I still have a strong affection for Tolkein’s world, but less time and patience for his prose than I used to.

Podcasts and Podcast Adjacent

Adventure Zone, Critical Role, She’s a Super Geeok… do I need to explain these?

Alice isn’t Dead

Can I Pet Your Dog?

Misdirected Mark

Music

My musical tastes are many and varied… I mostly just like music… but if you want to know more about me from my music… I think just looking at the playlists I have created on Spotify and seeing how many are character and RPG related speaks volumes, 

the Amoeba People’s entire discography

Or I guess my playlist of songs that I have just titled “Me” might also be revealing… I would have said that at first if it didn’t take going to grab a link to remind me I had that XD

10. do you have a creed?

Not really a formal one… but I guess if you asked me… which you did, I’d say:

Never stop learning and questioning

Always try to be kind, understand where other people are coming from, assume good/neutral intentions until you have a reason not to

Never be ashamed to enjoy things

If you want to remember something, write it down

20. would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else?

Ooooh…. hmmmmm…. Between the three I think I’d have to go Middle Earth just because that’s one of my longest-held fandoms…. And not gonna lie I probably would immediately want to throw myself into doing some good good geological mapping there because I am nothing if not a nerd.

Outside of that, but limiting myself to the worlds in media I’ve already listed above… if you could plop me right in Enchanted Forest territory (my longest existing fandom)… that would be a fun and lively place to live XD

[actualkomodo]

Character Study/Senses

𝑺𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻.   small  towns.   big  cities.   six  thirty  curfews.   lights  that  take  the  place  of  stars.   blanket  nests.   light  through  blinds  as  a  wake  up  call.  found  family.   finding  a  single  star  in  the  middle  of  the  city.   window  shopping.   watching something  terrible   &    enjoying  it.   growing  numb  to  the  sight  of  injustice.   wilted  flowers.   faded  caricatures. bright,  bold  colors.

𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮.   crickets    &    lightning  bugs.   car  engines   &   ac  units.   a  phone  call  to  mom  or  dad.   laughing  with  friends.   jokes  that  are  so  bad  you  have  to  laugh.   the  clicking  of computer  keys.   noise  cancelling  headphones.   the  sound  of  silence. muffled  music  from  another  room.   drumming  fingertips  on  a  table.  clicking  of  pens. listening  to  a  clock   &   swearing  the  ticks  get  slower. ringing  in  the  ears.   the  voice  of  someone  you  love.   pitch  shifted  songs.

𝑻𝑶𝑼𝑪𝑯.   being  held  close  during  a  long  night.   fleeting  reassurances.  holding  hands  when  you’re  scared.   brushing  fingers  through  strands  of  hair.  freshly  dried  clothes.  bruises  on  your  knuckles. silk   &   satin.   your  favorite  pet’s  fur  or  feathers.  wringing  your  hands  anxiously.     snuggles.   comforters  in  the  dead  of  winter.   nails  against  skin.    cold  metal.   leather  in  summer.

𝑻𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬.   coffee  in  the  morning.   tea  in  the  evening. bubblegum  that  lost  its  flavor.  alcohol  burning  the  back  of  your  throat.   homemade  cooking,   no  matter  what’s  made.   blood  in  your  mouth.   stale  air.   menthol.   fresh  vegetables.   the  first  meal  you  cook  by  yourself  that  tastes  good. foreign  sweets.    fast  food.    bittersweet.  sour.   spicy.  sweet. bitter.   too  much  salt  on  fries.

𝑺𝑴𝑬𝑳𝑳.   morning  glories    &    honeysuckles.   freshly  cut  grass.  hot  chocolate  in  the  middle  of  winter.   nail  polish.   acetone.  hospital  rooms.   smoke.   hairspray.   your  favorite  shampoo  or  conditioner. the  scent  of  home.  perfume.   cologne.   something  burning.   wet  dogs.   copper.   metal.  unemptied  ash  trays.   something  familiar  yet  different.

Tagged by @therealmtraversed thank you!! I really enjoyed the aesthetics in this meme, and I love the overall feel of the ones that apply (in how they’re arranged and in their frequency) to Cuinn. It’s like a general story of him, peppered with things that don’t seem to belong. Small touches, hints, like a disjointed footprint in the snow and no others around it...

Tagging: @pearlescent-scales @grumpy-limsan-customs-cat @niomemizune @fracturedfantasia @eggplant-xaela @daintycure @elegant-etienne @veils-and-hearts @ahumblewoodcarver @refulgents @zuraoftheblack @foxlike-ffxiv @heathenfrolic @kotone-shimayasu tags peeps and runs away I’msorryaboutyournotifications...!