#I may or may not be watching moulin rouge

[bobafetts-princess]

If I had two nickels for each time an Ewan McGregor character fell in love with a woman named Satine I’d only have two nickels.

Which isn’t a lot.

But it’s weird that it happened twice

[elephantlovemedleys]

thinking about the certain pattern i have with pairings i've been obsessed with over the more recent years

[ibrokeeverything]

Completely unoriginal take, but the moulin rouge soundtrack goes SO HARD

[destiel-wings]

241. satine | MOULIN ROUGE

[formulawolff]

el tango de roxanne - t.w.

pairing: figure skater!reader x toto wolff

word count: 2.8k

warnings: cursing, angst, (slight) age gap relationships, (slight) casual friends to lovers arc, allusions to smut, toto being a jealous fuck, yadayadayada

song inspo: el tango de roxanne by ewan mcgregor, jacek koman, and josé feliciano (if you couldn’t tell by the title hehe)

a/n: if you haven’t watched tessa virtue & scott moir’s iconic moulin rouge routine… where have you been? anyways. this fic was inspired by a request & this routine! i highly recommend watching it hehe. also idc if 2024 is summer olympics… this is my au! let me be!

he couldn’t bear it.

not for one more second.

yet, he couldn’t muster the strength to look away. to avert his gaze from what was unfolding on the ice below, as you glided so beautifully across, your partner in tow.

fuck, you were so breathtaking in this moment.

the way your hair was pulled so neatly into an intricate bun, your features enhanced by makeup. the way your eyes shine as you face your partner, several feet separating the two of you. the way your ensemble sparkled under the intense lighting, the skirt fluttering ever so slightly.

this is where you shone.

like a star in the night, bursting to the brim with nothing but pure, bright light.

while he may excel in the paddock, the rink was your element. where you truly belonged. where you were as cool as the ice, calm and collected as the dramatic flair of the strings amplified your movements, the audience roaring in response.

as you move, it’s magnetizing, the austrian shifting in his seat as your partner wraps you up in his embrace, holding you tightly as the two of you sail across the ice.

his jaw clenches as he notices the way your partner’s hand grasp the exposed skin of your back and shoulders, the routine almost executed perfectly as the music continues.

fuck, how he absolutely despised the way your bodies molded together. the way he held you, lifting you into the air, or onto his thighs, keeping you in close proximity.

of course, he has to remind himself that this is strictly professional. that there is nothing romantic going on between you and your partner, jack probst.

well, not like he could really be upset either.

there was nothing going on between the two of you.

at least, that’s what toto wolff thought.

the two of you met at a cocktail party for the launch of the 2022 formula one season, at the mercedes headquarters in brackley. although you were quite new to the world of racing, you were a plus one, as your best friend invited you to tag along with her. since she was part of the marketing team for mercedes, she had an in.

although you were terrified beyond belief of the idea of mingling with engineers, investors, and well, the drivers, you had reluctantly agreed to come with. as a prominent figure in the realm of ice skating, you were aware that you at least had one thing in common with the racing world.

in order to be successful, every little aspect of the routine had to be executed flawlessly.

just like the engineers and mechanics had to prep the car in order to race, you had to ensure that you had the right skates.

just like how the pit crew had to time their stops perfectly without fail, you had to maintain rhythm with the music, so that the routine would flow.

additionally, you were very similar to the drivers.

you yearned to step foot on that podium, no matter the cost.

at that party, you happened to run into the team principal and ceo of mercedes, mr. torger wolff. the two of you struck up a conversation, the team principal complimenting your career, as well as your dress.

although your best friend thought he was flirting, you had brushed it off, stating that he was just being polite.

however, toto wolff was not being polite.

he wanted you, oh so desperately.

and he was patient. he was going to wait until you were ready.

even if watching your routine with jack absolutely tugged and squeezed at his aching heart.

even if every fiber of his being screamed at him to look away before that jealousy burned through, the flames licking at every part of his being.

there was no denying you had effortless chemistry with jack, as the media speculated the two of you had been an item for years.

however, what toto did not know was that you were in a similar predicament.

after that fateful night in brackley, the team principal reached out to you via email. you wondered how he even got his hands on your email address, but your best friend gave that away with little to almost no interrogation.

allegedly, toto was interested if you, completely allured and entranced by your presence. so, he approached your best friend, inquiring about your contact information. not wanting to give him your number right away, she simply provided him with your email instead, urging him to “slide into those dms.”

so, he did. the two of you hit it off immediately, emailing one another constantly. after a couple of days, he mustered up the courage to ask you politely for your number. with no hesitation, you gave it to him.

from that moment on, a friendship blossomed between the two of you. although he was a bit older, he had this charm that pulled drew you in, wanting to learn more and more about him. also, formula one intrigued you, as you wanted to learn more about the sport.

he showed you the ins and outs of racing, while you educated him on the graces and virtues of skating. a few months into your friendship, he invited you to a grand prix, offering an all-exclusive ticket for the weekend. all you had to do was say the word and it was yours.

however, there was only one thing holding you back.

if you went, you would miss a week or so of practice. which, wouldn’t go over well with jack. especially during the initial stages of the season.

and even more so, with the olympics quickly approaching, you would feel guilty missing so much time.

so, you ended up passing on his offer.

which, hurt his pride just a tad, but not enough to deter him from his end goal.

he was going to have you.

one day.

he just wasn’t sure when.

eventually, you accepted one of his many offers to attend a grand prix. settling on the 2023 monaco grand prix, where dutch driver max verstappen claimed victory.

somehow, someway, the two of you ended up in bed together that night.

you weren’t quite sure how, and neither was he, but you mutually agreed to never speak on it again.

no matter how much it was on your mind.

which, was almost every second of every single day.

on his end, it was nearly detrimental, consuming his every waking thought whole.

to make matters worse, that night in monaco awoke something that you had been trying to keep hidden for months.

you were hopelessly and utterly in love with the team principal.

even if he was twenty-five years older than you. even if his schedule was jam-packed with meetings every minute of every hour of every day. even if he could only call you every so often. even if he was a single father, recently divorced after nearly a decade of marriage. even if there was something unspoken between the two of you, the tension blanketing over like a thick haze.

what toto could never know was that you pictured him right there with you, gliding along the ice, his hands roaming your body. you could almost feel him murmuring in your ear how beautiful you were like this, blissfully lost in the music.

no matter the circumstance. no matter the soreness lingering in your muscles or the sheer terror of falling or missing a beat, that thought alone is what got you though the routine.

it never failed.

and tonight, it was not going to fail you.

despite the stakes at hand, you were a natural at this, showing no signs of fear as the final notes rang in your ears.

this was it.

the end of the routine, jack dipping your body as your head rolls back, dramatically falling.

there’s a beat of silence, before the entire arena explodes.

the sound of thunderous applause fills your ears, jack pulling you in for a tight embrace, clutching you against his chest. sobs rack your body, your shoulders shaking as the realization washes over you.

you guys did it.

you had performed with minimal errors. no major mistakes or noteworthy point deductions.

a flawless routine.

the endless hours put in memorizing the movements, the sleepless nights at the rink, the doubt that you could pull this off, were washed away, slipping from your memory as joy bubbles up within your chest.

“representing their home country, jack probst and ____ _____!”

the boom from the announcer drowns in your ears, jack saying words you can’t quite decipher. you feel his hand in yours, but you’re not here.

you’re somewhere else, somewhere far from the packed arena.

you’re dreaming of his expression right in this moment. how his thick brows are probably furrowed together, his tongue swiping along as his lower lip, knee bouncing ever so slightly. his fluffy brunette locks are probably a ruffled mess, as he probably had ran a hand through it a few times, anxiously awaiting for a glimpse of you before your routine.

jack rips open the foam padding to the rink, where you’re greeted by your coaches. they engulf you in their arms, shouting praises over the hum of the crowd.

meanwhile, toto wolff sits in the stands, hands on his knees as he anticipates the final verdict. his knuckles are nearly white as the denim bunches under his fingertips, his knee bouncing slightly as clips of the routine. replay across the ginormous screens all across the arena.

he's surrounded by you.

your stunning figure as it gracefully flows with the music, every movement absolutely exquisite. your breathtaking smile the moment you're finished, eyes shining like the stars as jack envelops you in his arms.

a pang of envy rises in his chest, yet he swiftly suppresses it.

this moment was not about his jealousy towards your skate partner. he shouldn't be feeling this way.

this moment was about you.

an olympic medal on the line, the future of your skating career at stake.

"the scores please," the announcer booms, blood roaring in toto's ears as he straightens in his seat, leaning forward, eyes scanning the rink.

it does not take him even a second.

you're sitting next to jack, your coaches on either side. although he was a distance away, he could sense your nerves, as your smile was tight-lipped, your hand shaky as it blows a kiss to the camera.

"_____ _____ and jack probst have earned in the free dance 122.60 points, bringing their total to 206.27 points. they are currently in first place!"

the crowd erupts into applause, jeering and screaming throughout the stands. your heart skips a beat as jack springs up, slamming the padding before wrapping you up in his arms against you once more, nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs.

he lifts you, his voice shaky with the promise of tears, "we did it! we fucking did it!"

"i can't believe it," you nuzzle into the crook in his neck, "i can't fucking believe it."

the rest of the night is a blur.

as the two of you stood on that podium, gold medals dangling from your neck as your national anthem played, you couldn't help but shake this aching feeling.

you yearned for him.

you longed to feel his strong arms around you, squeezing you against his chest as his husky voice flooded your ears, brimmed with his accent. to feel his hands glide along your body, their warmth sending shivers down your spine.

there were lengthy interviews, each one nearly draining your remaining energy with each journalist or media outlet. you didn't mind, as you basked in the afterglow of your gold medal win, a grin plastered to your face all evening.

before you knew it, you were in an uber, on your way to a new destination.

toto wolff's hotel room, a luxurious suite in the heart of the city. although every muscle in your body stung, exhausted from the events of the day, your mind is wide awake, buzzing from a torrent of thoughts swirling in your brain.

what would be the first thing that fell from those lips? would he embrace you first? what was he thinking in that moment when you won gold?

as you enter the elevator, punching the correct floor, your heart races, thumping against your rib-cage.

sure, competing in the olympics was nerve-wracking.

but facing the man you were helplessly in love with?

that was enough to make your knees buckle, your body swaying back and forth as the elevator ascended, palms clammy as you wiped them against your sweatpants.

surely he wouldn't mind that you were in sweats.

a shrill ding! rings in your ears, announcing your arrival. sucking in a shaky breath, you turn right, making your way down the hall. his room was not difficult to locate, as it was one of the first ones.

bringing your knuckles to the door, you knock, blood roaring in your ears.

he opens it almost immediately.

"hey," you beam, "i hope i wasn't too-"

lips collide with yours, his hands meeting with your waist, pulling you closer in to him. you melt under his touch, nearly crumpling to the floor as a shiver jolts down your spine. the kiss is fiery yet tender, as if lovers were reuniting after months of separation. it's a kiss of longing and love, bursting with passion.

yet, he pulls away, allowing you to catch your breath. there's a dusty pink hue tinging his cheeks, his chest heaving as he pants slightly.

"i'm sorry. i shouldn't have-"

"don't even," you shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck, "come here."

he doesn't hesitate, his mouth molding with yours once more as he brings you in the room, nearly slamming the door shut. this time, the kiss is brimmed with lust, an insatiable desire burning deep within the austrian as a whine rises in your throat.

his tongue glides along your lower lip, your head tilting back to grant him access. his hold on your is nearly unbreakable, as if he never wanted to let you go ever again.

your hands roam, inching up the base of his neck, tugging on the roots of his messy brunette locks. there's a rumble in his chest as he guides you to the bed, your back meeting the mattress.

however, he breaks away once more, eyes locking with yours.

"do you have any idea how long i've waited to do that?"

"you didn't have to wait until i won a gold medal," a giggle bubbles up in your throat, fingers sweeping a strand of away from his temple, "hell, maybe if you did that sooner, i would have earned more points."

an airy chuckle fills the space, his lips curving into a radiant grin, "congratulations, little star. there's no one who deserved that win more than you."

"toto," you murmur, his eyes softening at the way his name drips from your sweet lips, "can i tell you something?"

"of course schatzi," his hand cups your face, thumb caressing along your cheekbone, "what is it?"

"i sort of have a method to my skating," you can't help but shrink a little as the embarrassment begins to wash over you, "it helps me focus."

"and that is?" his brows knit furrow.

"instead of jack skating with me, i picture you."

at those words, the austrian nearly collapses.

"you do?"

"i do," you nod, "lately, it's been the only way i can follow a routine without mistakes. it helps me get lost in the rhythm, the flow of the music as it guides us. um, well, as it guides me."

"oh my beautiful girl," toto's mind reels, his heart swelling, "you're always on my mind. lately i can't focus in my meetings or at the paddock or in my office. you consume me."

you consume me.

bliss ripples in your heart as you lean in, the tip of your nose brushing against his, "toto wolff, i'm in love with you. i can't hide it anymore. i can't deny it. i love you."

toto blinks, ensuring that this was no dream. that you were really here beneath him, in his bed at his hotel room. surely this wasn't heaven. surely this wasn't some sort of delusion or mirage.

yet, you were here, nothing but pure adoration swimming in the depths of your warm gaze, your lashes fluttering as his mouth ghosts over yours.

"and i'm in love with you, schatzi. what do you say? should we try to make something work?"

"i think we could make something work," the words are merely a whisper, "actually, scratch that. we're going to make something work."

"that's my little olympian. are you ready for sleep or can i show you just how much i love you?"

[angeliicheartt]

🐬 "ᴘᴜʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀᴛ!" — send a dialogue prompt and a character and i'll write a blurb!

actually so down bad for this idea but "it's him or me" WITH TENYAYAYAAAAAAAH might be a bit 🤏🏻 ooc prompt for him but I'm in desperate need of a jealous iida in my life 🙏🏼

"ʜɪᴍ ᴏʀ ᴍᴇ."

includes: tenya iida

fem!reader

a/n: ooc!tenya, monoma is reader's friend from childhood cuz i need an "other man" ermermerm tenya is kind of in the process of courting reader? he insisted. tenya is kinda 😬 in this, pls listen to "el tango de roxanne" from the moulin rouge soundtrack i think it fits! tenya looks so fine in the pic below

it really hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal to you. 

so what if you were close with neito? the two of you had been friends since preschool. although, he proved to be a challenge to the poor boy attempting to court you, tenya.

your chest ached with worry as you stood only a few feet away from the fuming boy, the two of you gathered outside the dormitory building, the gleam from the streetlamps and the moon being the only sources of light. his uncharacteristically dark eyes boring into you, making you uneasy. his arms crossed over his chest as the two of you stood off. you stood clueless as to why tenya was mad. 

“what's got you so upset?” you try, your voice only slightly above a whisper. your feet shuffle around as you stalk closer to tenya, wanting to try and comfort him. His eyebrows furrow at you before relaxing again as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“i suppose it is rather unfair if i do not tell you what’s upset me.” he remarks, his arms unraveling to rest at his sides. you rest your weight on one leg, your hands clasping together behind you as you wait patiently for the navy-haired boy to explain. he pushes up his glasses before running a hand through his dark hair, the sight pleasing if not for the tension that filled the space between you two.

“you’re around monoma from class B a lot, y/n, it makes me feel discomfited.” he states, his eyes locked on you as your eyebrows furrow slightly. your shoulders tense as you hear tenya’s words. you thought he’d understand.

“he’s like a brother to me, tenya.” you say, your voice interlaced with disbelief. “you know that, i’ve told you that numerous times.”

“it doesn’t make me feel any different, y/n. you still fawn over him like he’s your partner,” he chastised, his volume raising the longer he talks. “you don’t do that with me.”

you scoff as your eyebrows furrowed once more, your cheeks getting hot the more worked up you get. your own arms move to rest on your hips, your jaw stiff with tension.

“last i checked, you have yet to formally ask me to be your partner, tenya, so don’t think you have the right to be mad at me for not treating you as such. i thought i would scare you away if i latched onto you so early. you wanted to take things slow, i was only respecting that.” you spat, meaner than you may have meant. you watched as tenya’s shoulders dropped, his posture hunching before straightening again, his eyes dark with vexation.

“we cannot move forward in our relationship if you are always with another man, y/n!” he hissed, his dark eyes locked on you. 

“i say hello to him! i talk to him, tenya. just like every other man i interact with! he’s my friend, nothing more!” you maintained, your voice rising in tandem with tenya’s. your chest heaved with emotion, you thought tenya was different from this.

“you're closer with him than anyone else! what am i supposed to think?” he berates, his anger not dissipating in the slightest. his hand runs through his hair once again, but you don’t even process the motion, your hand reaching up to rub your forehead, an attempt to soothe your growing headache. 

“we’ve known each other since we were five, iida! of course we’re close, i grew up with him!” you worry about your volume but the thought gets pushed to your subconscious. “you can’t just ask me to lose my whole relationship with him!”

you see tenya’s eyebrow twitch at your use of his last name, your heart ringing guilty before you steel yourself again. “i won’t stop being friends with him for anyone.”

“it’s him or me, y/n.” he stated, his words rushing ice through your veins. your lips part as you aim a glare at the boy before you. you close your mouth, your lip curling slightly as you seethe from your spot only a couple feet away from tenya.

tenya already felt the guilt and regret seeping into his stomach, the ultimatum he proposed weighing on his shoulders as you stand in silence, and.. were your eyes glassy?

you steeled yourself not to cry. tenya was who you wanted, you dreamed of ending up with a man like him, he was a gentleman, he never tried in earnest to hurt you in any way, yet he still did.

“you cannot ask me to pick,” your voice trembled but your words rang clear. “i will not pick.”

“then you’ve chosen him.” he noted, his voice a fraction of the volume it was only a few moments ago, his hand coming up to adjust his glasses once again. your breath catches in your lungs as you take in what he said.

“are you serious right now? really tenya?!” you find your voice again, continuing to spout words at this raised volume, “you’re ending what we had before we could even experience it?!”

“i suppose i am, y/n.” he says calmly as he turns, walking into the dormitory building.

he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend tonight.. how’d it go so wrong?

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @miyamoratsumuu

[kentopedia]

ᡣ𐭩 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈 . . . yours are the sweetest eyes i've ever seen

there's a new hope for the moulin rouge, but your budding romance may prove to be a problem.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. ft. sanji ! f!reader, moulin rouge au, prostitution, references to past sexual trauma, 18+ content. i think that’s it for this part but check the masterlist for all warnings. 10.9k words.

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, i’ve been working on this for a while so i hope you all like it ‪‪❤︎‬ let me post this before i chicken out again. i have agonized over this for too long lol.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈 .˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊

Once everyone had left, the energy in your room died quickly, leaving you alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. Your mind still whirled, body buzzing, but you did your best to calm your shaking nerves, staring lifelessly at yourself in the vanity mirror. 

Darkness never truly shrouded the Elephant Room; the sparkling lights of the Parisian skyline were always slipping through the cracks in your walls, filtering past the sheer curtains, penetrating the shadows. It reminded you of the evening that was still carrying on outside, for Montmartre was never dead, even after the sun went down. 

Still, you refused to glance back out the window, where you knew the apartments across the street would be blissfully alight with laughter. Even a mere glimpse would be dangerous, would lead your mind down a path you were intent on ignoring. 

A brush of soft lips, a palm tucked against your own —

You exhaled, standing quickly from the vanity and grabbing the novel that rested on the side table. Surely, bathed in candlelight and lulled by the soothing instrument of an accordion player down the road, you would be able to coax yourself into rest. 

But even then, in the hollow emptiness of your room, you felt as if eyes were still watching you, blue as the sea and just as extraordinary, fixated on every inch of your being. The sheets became too warm, the air in the room stifling, and you hastily threw them off, heading to the open window, one that stretched out into a balcony. 

While the Moulin Rouge flaunted years of excessive spending, outside your gilded walls, Paris was not so glamorous, only just hiding the poverty that ran rampant in the city. The streets still held their charm and a sprit that would remain, so long as it was inside the people that lived there. But, like anywhere, Paris wasn’t perfect—you’d figured that out more quickly than anyone. 

You took a deep breath, swallowing the damp smell of the streets, somehow grateful for the putrid scents, a mixture of absinthe, sweat, and everything else human. It was a reminder of where you’d be if you hadn’t sold yourself to this life, clawed yourself up into a position where your dreams seemed possible. A reminder of where you’d be if anything were to get in the way of those ambitions, if you were to lose sight of what you wanted most. 

Your heart beat steadily in your chest, and you felt it, not a single fluctuation in its relentless pattern. It was even, without a spike, safe from the tender touch of another, thieving hand. 

You’d always figured there was a reason creation had placed your heart inside a cage, carved by the bones of your ribs. It was safe there, resting somewhere you could control it, without letting another control you. 

But. Despite your doubts on love, it was hard not to yearn for it. You’d never felt anything close to it before; a feeling that was so beautiful, so moving, that it had been waxed by poets for centuries, sang about since humans could spin a fantastical tale. 

Even the ancients had known love and romance, so many of their myths circling around that very topic. How engrained it was in the human existence, and yet, not everyone got a taste of it, not everyone died knowing the keen sting of adoration, of desperation. 

You leaned against the balcony, slumping forward, suddenly weak with want. 

Lust was different completely, and you knew it well. It was deep-rooted, an itch to scratch, perhaps instilled biologically from the very beginning of time. There were plenty of other animals that entangled themselves together, even without that deep, sickening feeling of affection. A night driven by lust didn’t have to mean anything — but a night driven by love? 

Well, that was something you’d never had to deal with.

You sighed, staring at the blinking, neon light across the street. L’amour — as if mocking your very existence at the Moulin Rouge. Taunting you with every glittering red bulb against the starry night sky, promising you something you could never have. 

There was a reason you’d closed yourself off in the first place, and that wouldn’t change just because a writer had stumbled into your life with grandiose ideas about romance. 

And yet, when you’d heard the way Sanji had spoken about it, with a touch of gentleness to each of his words, your heart had ached, to feel just one moment of that passion he’d spoken about. It was such a foreign concept, a dream even, a fantasy that you thought only some were destined to achieve.

Even though many men had loved you, would’ve given you their hearts easily, they’d never captured your interest. No one had ever made your chest burn with such incredible yearning, taking over your mind, body and soul until it hurt.  Not until… until… 

You curled your fingers into your palms, and scoffed at the brief moment of vulnerability, shaking that horrific affection off every open cavity of your heart. Twisting away from the balcony, you turned to go back into your room, before nearly slamming into a figure that was most certainly not supposed to be there. 

You jumped, screaming in surprise and flying ten feet away, every inch of your body lit up with fear. Then, as you recognized the shape of the man who wouldn’t seem to leave your thoughts, you exhaled, a hand to your hammering heart as Sanji apologized profusely.

“Sorry!” he said, hands raised as you took a step back, your eyes narrowed. “Sorry, I saw your light and—”

“What are you doing here? Are you crazy?” you asked, quickly hushing him as you dragged him back into the room, hopeful that no one had seen. It would not serve you well if the Duke caught wind of your late-night rendezvous. “How did you even get up here?”

Sanji blinked, a small laugh escaping him as he followed you. “Doesn’t matter.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, waiting for an explanation. 

There was another pause, before he admitted, “I just had to see you again.” 

You inhaled, hating that your chest squeezed at the gentle brush of his words. “Why?” 

Sanji looked past you, then refocused his attention, the intensity of his gaze far too much for you to think under. “I wanted to thank you. For helping me get the job. I’ve been writing for a while, but it’s all seemed for naught. Until now, that is.”

His fingers tapped against his slacks like he was itching for a cigarette, the brief suspension between the two of you enough to pull uncertainty onto his features. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, his posture forcefully relaxed as he studied you. 

Still, he had spoken with such gratitude that you paused, collected yourself, and blew out a breath of air. “Oh,” you nodded, not sure why you’d been expecting any other grand statement. “Of course. I’m happy it all worked out. Luffy was right… You’re very talented.” You smiled softly. “It’s going to be a wonderful show.” 

At that, Sanji relaxed, a cloud of air leaving his chest as he brightened. Which made sense, considering your earlier feedback had been lackluster, and not any indication of his real, incredible talent. “You think so?”

You hummed. “It’s sure to be a hit.” Then, feeling flustered under his watchful gaze, unsure how to politely expel the conversation, you rubbed your arm, and said quietly, “You know, we should probably both get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow—”

“Wait!” Sanji grabbed your wrist, halting you before you could take a step towards the door. 

You paused, glancing down at his fingers curled so softly around your arm, almost like he was afraid he’d break the delicate bones under your flesh. Quickly, his grip released, and he straightened, blinking away. 

“That’s not the only reason I came back…” Sanji admitted, chest rising and falling with the weight of his sharp breaths. “I did want to ask your opinion, your real opinion on the writing. But also because…” He hesitated, and though it was only the briefest of moments, you could tell he was nervous. “I think… I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, you hadn’t realized he was serious. You laughed, just once, before something shifted in his gaze, almost sad. Then, you straightened, eyes wide with panic, and your jaw tightened as you twisted away from him. 

“What? No, that’s…” you laughed again, but this time it was from your nerves, nothing more, as you backed away from him, towards the window. Anything to get away from the stifling feeling that spread throughout the room. “You’re not in love with me. How can you be? You hardly knowme.” 

“I know enough,” he defended, chasing after you, so horribly earnest. “Please, wait.” 

“No,” you repeated, shaking your head, as you finally reached the balcony, huffing air like it was intoxicating. “No, Sanji. I know you’re notin love with me. You’re a romantic… A writer. You fall in love with everything you see, and I’m no different.” You gripped the railing tightly, pinning your eyes on the streets, hands growing raw from the iron. “It’s an infatuation. It will pass.” 

A tense pause spread as he gathered his words, and you closed your eyes, hoping you could will him away with just your thoughts. But Sanji didn’t leave, and you began to ache all over, your nails pressed so hard into the railing that you were sure they’d crack.

“It feels different,” he finally said. “When I kissed you. It felt real.” 

“Sanji. I’m a courtesan. I’m paid to make men believe what they want to believe.” You shook your head, turning around to face him once again, his face unreadable in the starlight. In that moment, you pitied him, even if you were equally in denial of the melancholic twinge of your heart, endlessly faltering. “You’re a beautiful writer, but that’s all this is. A story. The courtesan would never leave the warlord for an impoverished cook. It’s all a fairytale.” 

A hushed silence fell between you, and though there were still people on the streets, the night never-ending, you felt terribly cold. You felt as if a pin could’ve dropped and you would’ve heard it, and maybe a piece of your heart still did work, because it was awful to be breaking his. 

Even worse was when he broke into a soft smile, disappointed, but kind all the same. “Of course,” he said, and though you had no right to be saddened by his acknowledgment of defeat, your chest ached all the same. “Silly of me, to think you could fall in love with someone like me.” 

“No. No, That’s not—” you pinched your eyebrows together, wrapping your arms around yourself, if only to keep from reaching out to him. “It has nothing to do with you. I just can’t fall in love with anyone. I’ve never been in love. I never will be.” You shook your head. “Can’t you understand?”

For some reason, you’d thought that would be enough, that it would dispel him, make him realize that you were fundamentally flawed, and it would be a fool’s errand, more trouble than it was worth, to even try to love you.

But he had already latched onto the first part of your admission, eyes wide with alarm. “What? Can’t fall in love?” He asked, and in a twist of events, he seemed horribly saddened for you. “But a life without love, that’s terrible.”

You scoffed, fixing him with skepticism. “No, being on the streets, that’s terrible. Do you know what would happen to me if I fell in love? I’d be out of a job. I’d have no money, nowhere to live—”

“But you wouldn’t be alone,” Sanji interrupted, and though it wasn’t untrue, you paused, souring, feeling seared open with vulnerability. “Wouldn’t it be worth it?”

“Of course not. Who would ever think that? It’d be awful.” You spat, turning away from him. “The only thing that would make me happy is achieving my dreams of being an actress. Nothing else.” An exhale escaped you, one that sounded weak, even to your own ears. You remembered the way his lips had brushed against your own, how intense his gaze had been as he’d spoken about the love in his story. 

Something inside you twisted up in agony. Your eyes fell shut, and you sighed.

Sanji softened, then, as if he were coaxing a small child. “Well, how would you know?” he asked, and though you frowned, your throat closing from the judgement, he was nothing more than curious. “If you’ve never been in love, how would you know it wouldn’t make you happy? It’s like oxygen. Once you have it, you’ll never stop needing it.”

You had no answer that would suffice.

Sanji came closer, those bright blue eyes pinning you where you stood. Instead of stopping him, you let him come up beside you, lean against the balcony with you. Your elbows brushed, and that small touch alone felt like you been seared by electricity, harsh shocks dancing along your skin. 

“Love is just a game,” you answered, letting your admission drift away into the night. “I don’t even know if it’s real.”

Sanji considered your words, and then smiled, his eyes wrinkling gently at the corners. And though you thought there was nothing about your statement that warranted that reaction, he was thoroughly charmed. 

“I see,” he said, humming. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. How can you know if it’s real, if you’ve never felt it before?” Sanji took a cautious step closer to you, experimental, testing your reaction once more. 

You sucked in a breath, drawing back on instinct — but there was nowhere to go. “Right,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I suppose that’s true.” The balcony pressed into you. You felt trapped, heart squeezing in your chest so tightly you thought you’d stop breathing. 

Sanji didn’t move any closer, noticing your discomfort. Still, he longed to reach to you — you weren’t blind to it. But he held back, his hands tucked into his sides, as his eyes roamed across your features, down to your lips. “Well, then, perhaps we should practice,” he said, his smile becoming boyish. “For the play. Make it believable. If you’ve never been in love, you won’t know how to properly play a love-sick courtesan, will you?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. There was an unreadable blend of mischief and sincerity in his eyes that caused laughter to bubble up out of your chest. 

He was careless to the world around him, eyes honed only in on you. 

“Sanji,” you said, face heating as you buried it in your hands, shaking your head. “I was being serious, and you’re being ridiculous. It will be believable enough. Do you not have faith in my acting?”

“Of course I do.” A small movement, and his knees were brushing against your own. You froze once more — there was so much space still between you, and yet, you felt as if he was plastered against you, your souls merging in the oxygen encompassing you. It was suffocating and lovely in a frightening sort of way — intimacy had never been a problem for you, but it had never been like this. 

Sanji took your cheek in his hand, and you choked on air, eyes wide with the tenderness of his touch. “It was merely a suggestion. For your benefit, really. What’s another kiss if we’ll have to share more in front of an audience soon? Besides, It should be easy, if you don’t care for me as you say.”

His thumb grazed your cheekbone tenderly, eyes soft as he waited for your response. Sanji didn’t make any other movements, and the moment felt infinitely suspended as you held your breath and his gaze, your body stiff with anticipation. 

But you let your conviction get the best of you, and you exhaled, pushing his face away before you could do anything stupid. “It’s easier in front of an audience.” 

“Well, you’ve got the whole of Paris, don’t you?” Sanji said, gesturing towards the streets, the passersby that still lingered at this hour. His grin was full of amusement, and you felt nothing but fondness, as you forced down your laughter, rolling your eyes instead. 

“Perhaps,” you admitted, counting the people that still lingered out at this hour. “But the show’s not free, you know. And neither am I.” 

He hummed. “Is that the problem, then? The money?” Sanji spent a moment considering, before making a dramatic show of dropping to his knees, his hands outstretched to take your own. “Une nuit, ma chérie. Just one night, and I’ll never bother you again.” 

And, unsure if his pleading was genuine, or all a part of the unending performance, you smiled. “A night will cost you more than you have in your wallet, you know. I’m not cheap.” 

“I would never have expected you to be.” His hands were warm around your own, edges of his fingertips callused from writing. “But, perhaps, I could pay it off with time.” There was still a teasing lilt to his words, but the amusement was draining from his irises, replaced with desperation.

You withdrew your hand, the touch still tingling along your skin. Suddenly, the moment between you felt far too serious, and the thudding in your chest became too much to bear. “You’d never be able to afford an evening with me.” 

It came out choked at the end, and he stood back to his feet, trying to pull you close as you drifted away again. A lump lodged in your throat, and that tight feeling of being trapped spread upon you again, as quickly as the warmth rose in your chest. Your face fell.

He swallowed, tracing each of your features with the delicateness of a paintbrush, a touch barely there. “I’d pay it, you know,” Sanji said. “I’d pay anything, for just another kiss from you.” 

“Sanji,” you said softly, shaking your head. “You’re such a fool, wanting to spend your hard-earned money on someone like me. I’d never let you do that.” Turning away, you finally made your way back inside, feeling a cavern open up inside of you. “That’s what love does — it makes us out to be fools.” 

His footsteps were silent as he followed you back in, so still, in fact, you’d believed he’d left. Then, his palm came to rest upon your own, each of his long, slender fingers lacing within yours. 

You stopped, paused dramatically where you stood, hardly breathing at all. 

“Maybe, you’re right,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I feel I’d do anything for you. I mean that.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“Why not?” 

“Because… because you can’t.” Finally, you turned to look at him, tearing your hand out of his. And though you’d expected some hint of frustration in his expression, there was none, just patience, as you withdrew into yourself. “I’ve been on my own for so long that… I don’t know that I can care for you like you desire. Like you deserve,” you amended, eyes downcast. “I’ll make mistakes. I’ll shout at you when I’m angry. You won’t like me once you get to know me. Then you’ll want someone else, someone better.” 

You didn’t think you could bear it. 

Sanji reached to you, his words quiet. “No. I won’t.”

You said nothing, letting him tug you closer, palms resting on your elbows, your arms still wound tightly around your waist. Then, when you thought he would pull you into him completely, he stopped, inches separating the two of you. 

“Please, amour, Tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. Not a single thing, and I’ll leave. I’ll pretend like none of this ever happened.” His fingertips traced a small patten across your arms, goosebumps rising along your flesh. “Tell me that much, at least.” 

The pause between his words and your own was more tense than any you’d experienced before, and you swallowed, wondering why your eyes felt damp with tears. 

“Sanji.” you swallowed, so quiet that you weren’t sure you’d even mustered up the courage to speak. “You know I can’t. It would be a lie.” 

Finally, you looked back at him, exhaling, and like two magnets drawn together, you fell into each other’s arms. 

Sanji surged forward, kissing you, still so soft, but with a passion that had not been shared in your previous kiss. His hands cradled your cheeks, thumbs grazing your cheekbones as he held you, the oxygen from your lungs breathing life into his own. 

You’d had far too many lips on yours to count, far too many that had been about as exciting as brushing your mouth against a wall. But, now you understood what Sanji had meant earlier about it being different, about it being real. If love felt like this, you could understand why people grieved for it; killed for it. 

You threaded your fingers in his hair, breaking away with the tiniest exhale, not quite ready to shatter the moment. 

But Sanji smiled against your skin, his eyes still closed as he pressed his forehead against your own. “How much will that cost me?” He breathed, his face alight with even more adoration than before. 

And, though the fragility of that beautiful second had dissipated, you felt happier than you ever had before. Your laughter was loud, smile breaking across your face, as you kissed him again and again and again. 

Whatever shimmer of joy had flickered in your chest was easily snuffed out the following evening, as the warmth carried by your blooming romance shifted into a dying flame. 

The morning had been a blur, slipping through your fingers while your thoughts lingered on recollections of stolen moments in the moonlight. Even as you busied yourself with other tasks, hidden smiles still snuck onto your face, paired with a heat in your cheeks that you barely subdued. 

You hadn’t decided upon a name for the blossoming feeling in your heart, but if it was love, you were beginning to understand why so many romances ended so tragically. It was a desperate, unending feeling that would be painful to dissipate. Even Romeo and Juliet, with their childish naivety, had a sense about dying for love, so wholly incapable of living without it. 

And Sanji, as senseless as he’d been, was right in his fantastical idea about practicing for the play. It suddenly became far too easy to act as a lovesick courtesan, careless to leave a life of luxury for the heart of her beloved. 

Because of your own heart, you spent the day lost to the world, preoccupied both with your daydreams and the preparations for the upcoming production. Already, the Moulin Rouge was shifting into the perfect theater for a serious performance, rehearsals to begin in the next week. The changes would all take place under the watchful eye of your patron, Crocodile, who had more input than you’d expected.

Still, with his dime funding your future, you had no room to complain about any of his objections. 

But to your dismay, the chaos of yesterday had done little to quell his infatuation with you. Across rooms, you could feel his gaze on you, peeling you apart with his irises throughout every meeting. There was little you could do but smile back at him, eyes promising another evening with him in privacy. 

In reality, his very presence felt like a splinter digging deep into your slow-growing happiness — a joy that only shattered further as the darkness of the evening fell. 

In the moonlight, you found yourself back in the Elephant Room, once more startled by a presence you hadn’t been expecting. 

A sense of deja-vu washed over you, and this time, you’d fallen into a timeline where things had gone differently yesterday. Where you walked into your room and found yourself with the real Duke, his confidence an aura felt even from the hallway. 

Like Sanji had done yesterday, Crocodile perused your room. Opposed to Sanji’s intrigue, the Duke seemed to be picking it apart, scrutinizing the cheap perfumes and fake jewels that had been strewn across the space. 

“Bonsoir, monsieur,” you said, hoping your words didn’t sound as tense as you felt. The day had been long, the night even longer, and though you had never arranged a formal meeting, you had hoped the business would be enough to diminish his desire for you. “I see you couldn’t stay away.” 

You spared him a cheeky smile, finding that he’d already come towards you, your space invaded by his overwhelming presence. 

“From you?” he asked, voice deep as he ran a thumb across your cheek, pinching your jaw between his fingers. “Never.” Crocodile studied you, his eyes lustful, but still cold, as he tilted your cheeks from side to side, smile approving. 

Boldly, you took his hand in your own, dragging it away from your face, back down to his side. Although he stood inches above you, you straightened, hopeful that he wouldn’t see you as something weak, but as robust and determined as the shine of a diamond, it’s value never diminishing. 

“What brings you back so soon, then? Already here to cash in your night with me?” 

You meant it lightly, smile brazen as you trailed fingertips across his strong chest, eyes blinking lazily. But he didn’t return the gesture, his hand stilling your own, as he pulled you nearer to him. There were only inches between you, the air thick as you felt his own breath ghosting the bridge of your nose. 

“You misunderstand, my dear,” he said, tilting his head, amusement flicking into his irises. Perhaps he could sense the uncertainty that overwhelmed you when you were alone with him. 

Although this was nothing different, a normal routine for your line of work, there was something dangerous about the Duke, something that you were afraid of. Your breath stuttered.

“I’m not here to throw money at you, steal you away for an evening and then watch you go back to the others that beg for you attention,” he continued, releasing his hold on you and stepping away. “I want all of you.” 

You blinked, the lack of proximity allowing you the chance to think clear again, gather your thoughts. A small, disbelieving laugh escaped you, despite his solemn expression. “You’re asking for a lot,” you said resolutely, crossing your arms over your chest. “This is my livelihood.” 

“It doesn’t have to be.” 

You narrowed your eyes, jaw working as he walked to the drink cart, fixing himself a glass. The sharp lines of his back and arms were visible, even under the thick material of his coat. 

“Are you going to offer me something better?” 

Crocodile took his time responding, letting the alcohol slide down his throat as he stole a smooth sip from the glass. “I’ll offer you a chance to become a real actress, to have people know your name,” he said, turning to face you once again. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” 

Stiffly, you nodded, watching the grim smile widen on his face. 

“I thought as much.” Crocodile finished off the drink, setting his empty glass back on the cart. His rings clicked against it, the sound sharply satisfying.

Despite his vague promises, you weren’t naive to what he was saying between it all. He wanted you, all of you — forever. It wasn’t the romantic proposal you may have wanted, but it was the sort of proposition you would have expected from someone like him. 

You quieted your thoughts, swallowing down the surge of panic as you draped yourself across the chaise lounge. “You want me to marry you?” you said, the question leaving more as a statement than anything.

“I do,” he said in return, the words haunting. “I find we can both give each other what the other desires. You want to the save the Moulin Rouge, find yourself on a real stage, keep yourself off the streets. And I want you.” 

Whether he meant that as a possession or as a lover, you weren’t sure. You didn’t have the courage to ask. 

“There’s no need to accept now, but I thought it best you were aware of my intentions. You may be a courtesan, but I’d like to do this properly. If you are to be of the nobility, I want to court you as such.” Crocodile scanned your face for any hints of a reaction, but his own features remained as unreadable as ever. You hoped the smallest twitch of your lips wouldn’t give your thoughts away. “At least until the opening night of your production. I will expect your answer by then.” 

You hesitated, but Crocodile was patient, eyes only flicking down to your thighs for a moment, when your rubbed off the sweat from your palms. “You’ll continue to fund the Moulin Rouge, won’t you? It won’t go out of business.” 

“Of course. Should you have any other requests, I’m sure we could come to an agreement.” 

Nodding to yourself, you glanced away, thinking, your mind whirring with the possibility of the life you’ve always dreamed of. Riches beyond your imagination, a life on a stage, reciting lines from the most notable plays in a beautiful theatre. It was all right there at your fingertips, everything you’d ever wanted. 

And yet. 

Yet, the vision was soured by loneliness, from longing for something you’d never known you could miss. Blue eyes haunting you from across the sea, an ache for Paris, somewhere you’d once cursed. 

Crocodile was a handsome man, yes, but you doubted his hands could ever be so gentle, his lips whispering praise against you like a prayer. You doubted he could string together words and make them sound like poetry graced by the Olympians, each syllable knitted with ambrosia. 

You hated that you’d ever gotten the chance to compare him to anyone at all. If all this had gone according to plan, you would have never been inclined to turn down his offer. 

But you knew that if you did so, he would pull his funding from the Moulin Rouge immediately. You would be back where you started, watching all the people you cared about slowly be forced back on the streets. Whatever arrangements had been made between him and Buggy had surely mentioned you, and there was, really, nothing you could do but accept his offer. 

You smiled, leaned your head on your hand, and sighed wistfully. “I suppose that means we’ll have to wait until another evening to share our first moment of passion, then? If we are to do this properly.” That was, perhaps, the only blessing to come out of this.

Unsurprisingly, that garnered a laugh from Crocodile, one that didn’t expand across his features like fireworks, but was amused all the same. “There will be plenty of time for that in the future. I’m aware you still have… others to attend to, and I’ve no desire to share you with anyone else.”

“Of course,” you smiled, bowing your head. “I’ll break the news of my upcoming marriage to them. Some will be quite disappointed.”

That was a certainty. Many of them were quite infatuated with you. 

But, that meant for the first time in five years, you would be completely free of any sexual obligations, even if it was for a short time. That in and of itself was liberating. 

“I’m sure it will be quite heartbreaking,” he said, full of self-satisfaction. Then, he made his way across the room, passing you with a squeeze to your shoulder, something in between affection and ownership. “I’ve more business to attend to before the night is over. I will see you tomorrow then, my sweet?” 

You glanced back, just over your shoulder, with a stiff smile. “I’ll be counting down the moments.” 

Crocodile laughed, but said nothing more. To your surprise, he didn’t seem to care that there was an edge to your words, that sarcasm lie just beneath the surface. Instead, there was unbidden amusement plastered across his features as he made his exit. 

And it should’ve have been relieving, to know that a slip of a tongue would not cause him to strike you, yet it only added to your discomfort. For you knew it was not love that drew him to the passionate fire within you, but the fact that he had subdued it so easily, stifled your spirit in his palm without burning. If he could capture a women that shone so brightly, what in the world could he not keep for himself? 

The conversation with Crocodile had put a damper on the rest of your week, and your excitement for rehearsal began to fade as the days passed. There was now a limit to the time you would get to spend with Sanji. Once the show was a success that no longer needed you as a headliner, you would be married to another man, your life lived far away from the streets of Montmartre. 

Already, you were mourning a life you’d never known. 

In the past few days, you’d hardly seen the beautiful poet — Sanji had locked himself away in the apartment, claiming to be too distracted by your alluring eyes to focus on his writing. For a while, your only interaction with him was through Luffy, who brought you updates of the script, until it was complete.

And finally, when you were starting to consider if everything that had transpired between the two of you was a dream, Luffy came to invite you over to read the final script. 

Of course, it was more of a demand than an invitation, followed by a, “oh, we’ll have a dinner, by the way!” Typical Luffy fashion, despite the fact that it was not his script, nor his apartment, nor was he anything but a ring-leader. 

But even with the flippant invitation and pretense of work, you felt nervous. 

It had only been a week, but a week was far too long for you to be alone with your thoughts, near to spiraling. Sure, you’d stolen glances with Sanji, small smiles when no one else was looking, but could that not be chalked up to friendliness? One night, high on passion and elation, could’ve meant nothing, now that things had calmed and enough time had passed for Sanji to get his wits about him. He could’ve realized it was a mistake, that you weren’t what he wanted at all, that there was something in the air that had twisted your sinful image into one deserving of reverence. 

Insecurity held tightly onto you — not for the first time in your life, but for a different reason entirely. You thought of Sanji constantly, your chest gaping wide open, heart bleeding into your ribcage every moment you were apart. 

It scared you, sickened you, to even consider that perhaps he had changed his mind, that the intensity of your feelings would be met with indifference once you reunited.

You inhaled, approaching the room number Luffy had given you. It was down the hall from the three other men, a studio apartment overlooking the bustling street and the Moulin Rouge.

Hesitantly, you knocked on the door, your knuckles soft. You waited, wringing your hands together as a shout came from the other side (Luffy, probably), then a crash (Luffy, definitely), then a gruff reprimand (Zoro), before the door swung open. 

The moment suspended, your heart racing, as you met his gaze. 

Sanji stood, his hand still on the doorknob, exhaling gently, like he’d run to you. He was bathed in candlelight and the dark hues of the evening, shadows creating an even more alluring figure of him. “You came,” Sanji said, close to awe, his eyes alight with wonder. 

Maybe he was stupidly obsessed with you — but you were certain you felt the same, as you blinked back at him, wondering if the evening painted him so beautifully, or if you’d already forgotten the gracefulness of his features in the short absence. He seemed far more angelic, long limbs relaxed in his own space, his hair combed softly, a flush on his face from alcohol. A few buttons of his top had been undone, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

Sanji released the door, slowly taking your hand, waiting for any sign that you’d changed your mind. You went to him easily, craving his touch as desperately as you’d craved anything before. His hands were warm, fingers even more callused from endless writing. 

You swallowed, the tension slowly easing out of you. Every concern you had washed away once his hand was in your own. There were no worries, no Duke out to marry you, no bankruptcy. Just an apartment full of people you called friends, and a warmth in your chest that you were learning to welcome. 

“Hard to rehearse without your star, isn’t it?” you teased softly, squeezing his palm. 

Another breath passed.

Sanji brightened, and though you began to cross into the apartment to greet the other three men, he pulled you back, turning to kiss you softly. 

Instantly, you melted, your knees jelly as his fingers caressed your cheeks, the touch barely there, his lips warm, tasting of wine. His nose brushed your own as he went away, and while there were still remnants of uncertainty in his words, he kissed you as if he’d been doing it for years. 

You fell back into him, exhaling onto his lips, before you remembered you had an audience and bashfully pulled away, cheeks burning. “I—” you began, putting a space in between you and Sanji that felt almost painful. “We—”

“Don’t bother,” Zoro scoffed, his eyes fixated on a flickering candle, pointedly trying not to look at the two of you. “We already know. He won’t stop talking about you.” 

You blinked, realizing that both Luffy and Usopp hadn’t batted an eye, still arguing about something in the kitchen. Props that were halfway built had been scattered across the floor — likely the source of the argument and Zoro’s obvious annoyance.  

Sanji made a face, something in between irritation and embarrassment, as he stiffened beside you.

But the shared secret from Zoro had brought out a bright warmth in you, a soft smile spreading across your lips as you turned to Sanji. “Really?” you asked, the joy in your chest overwhelming, far too big to even tease him for the infatuation.

Sanji’s face twisted quickly, the annoyance melting away as he smiled, defeated. “Oui. Tu es dans toutes mes pensées. It’s hard not to speak of you always, mon ange.” He kissed your temple, and the gentleness, the sheer affection in his words, brought a prick of tears to the back of your eyes. 

“The food’s burning, you know.”

Sanji narrowed his gaze back at Zoro, who merely rolled his eyes at the displays of affection, but was otherwise unbothered. 

“The food is fine,” Sanji scoffed. “Casse-toi.”

“We’re all hungry.”

“Yeah, Sanji, I’m hungry,” Luffy cut in.

Sanji’s face screwed up in stark irritation, but his anger subsided as he exhaled, his fingers dancing at the base of your spine. “Fine,” he snapped, resting his hand on the small of your back to guide you to the kitchen. “It’s almost done anyway. Putains d’idiots.” 

You suppressed your laughter, humming softly to yourself as he dragged you along. 

Although you’d expected to see a small, humble meal whipped together by an unskilled hand, there was an expertly crafted stew, simmering deliciously over the pan. You blinked at it, mouth watering as the smell wafted from the pot. 

Sanji threw a few more spices and ingredients into it, tasting until he was satisfied. You watched with curiosity, noticing that he held not the uncertain air of an amateur, but rather the practiced inventiveness of an expert. 

“You are a cook,” you said stupidly, as Sanji blew hair away from his face, at last removing the pot from the heat. “You wrote the play about me. About…” You trailed off, swallowing. Although it was rather obvious, you’d let yourself believe that it was just easier that way, to write a story about you, the star, the diamond. That it meant nothing.

In reality, he hadn’t even bothered to hide his instant fixation on you.

Sanji turned, facing you, before he broke out into laughter. “Well, it was the best I could do on the fly.” He smiled shyly then, gathering the five bowls beside him. “With such a lovely muse before me, it came quite naturally. I suppose I inserted my own character out of wishful thinking.” 

“Wishful thinking?” 

“Well, I had been hoping that our kiss would not be the last.” He tugged you towards him, kissing your knuckles.

“Were you trying to seduceme through your writing, Sanji?” 

“Hmm. Is it working?” Sanji asked, the hint of a grin pulling onto his features, as he leaned in for another kiss.

You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully before pushing his face away from your own. The food would burn if you let his lips fall onto yours again. “So you’re a cook, then?” 

“No,” he smiled, pouring a few spoonfuls of soup into each of the bowls. “I’m a writer. This is merely a hobby I dabble in. Perhaps, in another life, I’d have chosen the other path but,” Sanji shrugged. “I’m glad I didn’t in this one. I’d never have found you.” 

Your cheeks warmed, heart swelling and flipping over and over again. He said things like that so easily, bared his heart on his sleeve like it was nothing. How simply he could confess his affections, without caring if it was twisted into something ugly. 

It was a beautiful thing, something you envied; something you cherished. 

You ached. Someday, you’d take that away from him. The touches that lingered, the gazes that held steadfast… They could be nothing more than a passing fancy. It was cruel to lead him on any more than that, to let him care for you more than you’d ever be able to care for him.

You blinked away, swallowing back the sharp spike of regret. “Sanji. You can’t just say things like that,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll never know how to respond.” 

Although it was true, you hoped you conveyed enough playfulness to appear as if you were teasing. His kindness was overwhelming, his patience and gentleness hard to let swathe you. You were used to hands aimed to use you, nothing more — not ones that bathed you in affections like a gentle creature. 

Sanji grinned, not sensing your distress, as he kissed your forehead, then the space between your eyebrows. “Hm. Maybe that’s the goal.” He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “The food needs to cool,ma chérie.There’s a copy of the script on the table. You’re welcome to read through it in the meantime.” 

Right. The show. You’d almost forgotten that that was the reason you were here, and not to find yourself lost in his eyes and the low cadence of his voice. 

You swallowed, smiled, and squeezed his hands tight.

A strong person would’ve ended this dalliance then and there, with the Duke looming over your shoulder and a marriage all but on the horizon. A kind person would’ve been honest, saved him from the pain of falling in love with someone he could never have. 

But, you were neither of those things. 

You sat down on the couch next to Zoro.

He hardly said a word as you did so, and you were grateful for it, allowing yourself to get lost in the storytelling of Sanji’s script. In a word, it was good. So good, in fact, you were certain it could compete with the finest shows being performed in Paris. For all his humility, Sanji had a gift. 

The ending of the script went unread, as the weight of Zoro’s eyes on you became too much to ignore. You set the parchment down and sighed, twisting to face him. “Alright. Spit it out. I know you’ve got something to say.” 

He smiled, leaning back on the sofa. “You know this is a horrible idea, right? You’re ridiculously stupid, and you have shitty taste in men. You’re going to get yourself into trouble. What about the Duke?”

“What about the Duke?” you countered, narrowing your eyes.

“I know you think I’m stupid, but I heard about the arrangement. Are you going to tell Sanji, or—”

“Zoro,” you hushed him, glancing back over your shoulder to see if the other man had overheard. To your relief, he was still across the room, moderating the conversation between Luffy and Usopp with an unamused expression. “Please.” 

Zoro frowned, looked over your shoulder, and sighed. “I don’t want to be in the middle of this, but I overhead Buggy and Crocodile talking. It’s not going to be a secret for long. If I found out that easily…” 

Your lips drew together. “It’s just for tonight. Can’t I have one night?” You swallowed down the words, remembering how Sanji had said the same to you, not too long ago. Things had soured so quickly. “Let me figure it out, okay?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes, then sighed, tipping his head back to the ceiling. “Do what you want. I’m not going to stop you.”

You exhaled, not why sure you’d been nervous in the first place. Zoro wouldn’t have said a word, and you’d known that. He was your closest friend outside of the Moulin Rouge, even if neither of you had ever said it out loud. 

You’d found each other the same year you’d moved to Paris, both new to the city, both searching for something better. Zoro was like the light of the moon to you, in those early days. Maybe he still was. Not enough to cast the rays of heavens over you, but enough to warm you, to give you comfort, save you from the darkness eating you alive. You trusted him. And you didn’t trust many people. 

“Thank you, Zoro.” 

“But—”

“But?” You made a face. “No, there’s no but—”

“Would you just listen? I’m being serious. I do think this is a bad idea, but you look—” He shook his head. “You look happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen you, and while I think this is going to end badly…” Zoro sighed. “I’d be a pretty awful friend if I didn’t tell you I’m glad it’s happening. You deserve a life better than that shit hole. Maybe you can find it without the Duke. That’s your decision.” 

Your mouth faltered, then shut. It was rare to see Zoro bare his feelings in such a way. Though he was a good man, he’d never been a very open one. You, suddenly, felt gutted raw, naked and exposed, in a way you’d never been before. You were’t sure you liked everyone seeing you on display. 

“Mon Dieu. Since when did you become so sentimental?” you said, instead of thanking him, the swell of your emotions becoming near unbearable. “You’ll make me nauseous. Worry about your own problems. We don’t need two worrying about mine.”

Zoro’s expression turned sour, like he’d expected some heartfelt response, akin to the dopey smile you’d given to the blonde man across the room. But Zoro was Zoro, and your friendship wouldn’t change just because you had developed sentiments about love. 

“You were supposed to accept that more kindly.” He mumbled, crossing his arms as he glared across the room. “Forget I said anything. It’s that fucking play, spending too much time around Sanji. It’s all too romantic. I’m getting wrapped up in it.” 

You laughed then, shaking your head. “Really? I think you’re having fun. I mean, you must have been bored — Luffy can never stay focused on one thing long enough to properly execute his vision.” 

For all his feigned annoyance, Zoro rolled his eyes and laughed. “You’re right about that. It’s a miracle we even got this far.”

You hummed, turning back to the manuscript, tenderly brushing the pages. The words were pieced together so beautifully; realistic enough to be a true conversation, but flowery enough to be the work of an artist. 

Pride swelled in your chest, before it twisted into some other emotion, one laced with dissonant woe. How was it that you could inspire such bewitching prose, could be the muse for a kind of romance that most never tasted? 

You didn’t deserve that. 

Your nose burned with unshed tears, mouth pinning into a frown. 

“Do you like it?” Sanji asked, as he came up beside you, passing a still-steaming, but much cooler bowl of stew over to you. You felt his curiosity and hope as heavily as you felt his eyes on you, receptive to your feedback, even if it was to be cruel. 

You swallowed, met his gaze. “Sanji,” you said, hardly a whisper. “Is this really how you see me? Even from the first time we met?”

He blinked, like the question perplexed him, fingers brushing against your thigh, before darting away. “What do you mean?” 

You noticed, as his hand snuck out once more, before curling in on itself, that he had a desire to touch you in any way possible, at all times. And though it had only been a short while, you found, to your surprise, that you didn’t mind it so much. 

With anyone else, anyone before, it had bothered you. Your boundaries had rarely been respected, men far too handsy, thinking they owned you. Of course, you’d bitten your tongue and expected their touch, knowing that they’d paid a fine stack of notes to get you for that evening. 

Still, that didn’t mean you liked hands sneaking under your skirts at dinner, dancing across your breasts in front of others, without an ounce of shame. 

Sanji’s affection was more hesitant, only until you softened, fell into it easily. Despite your caution, it soothed you; a tender caress of your elbow, nose brushing against your forehead. 

You exhaled, grabbing his hand with both of your own. His fingers straightened tight, before relaxing in your palms. The emotion souring in your chest must have expanded into your face, because Sanji frowned, scooting closer. 

“Have I upset you, chère?” he asked. “I can change some of the details, if—”

“No,” you said quickly, leaning into kiss him, just a peck of the lips, before you kissed his cheeks, his forehead. “No. It’s perfect. It’s lovely. You’re so talented.” 

It was entirely too perfect to be about you, but your words distracted Sanji from any previous melancholy, the despair melting into excitement. He preened under your praise, capturing your lips once more before mouthing his own gratitude against yours. 

Your chest exploded into million red flares, shimmering like diamonds before sinking again. You weren’t sure when Zoro had removed himself from the scene, but you were grateful for it, if only to hide the embarrassing softness that stole your breath away.

For an initial run-through, everything went well. 

It had started off a bit awkward — the lines were read stiffly, and without the breadth of emotion, they fell flat. 

Zoro had unenthusiastically read for the warlord, who was to be played by Buggy. But instead of providing you with even an ounce of lust to reflect the feelings of his character, all he gave you to work with was a scowl. 

You were certain there was more chemistry between you and a brick wall. “Zoro, you’re not even trying,” you’d said, and rolled your eyes. 

Zoro had only glared, and threatened to hand the script over to Luffy, who’d spent more time asking questions to be any better at the role. You’d sealed your lips, held back your laughter, and tried to imagine how the words would sound without the deadpan tone of your friend.

But, once Usopp and Luffy had entered the scene, things shifted easily. Their energy was far too lighthearted for the rest of you to be reading lines at that stilted, slow beat. 

Opposed to Zoro, who made it difficult to muster up any sort of reaction, it was far too easy to recite your lines to Sanji. Your character’s quick, instant affection for the cook flowered out of you, every word carved with real emotion. You couldn’t tell where the script began and the truth ended, which was spoken from your heart and which were the words of your fictional counterpart. 

You weren’t sure it mattered. If you could put every ounce of yourself into the play, then weren’t you guaranteed to be a star?

And then, you approached the end of the script. 

The desperation between the courtesan and her lover would have filled you with endless grief, had it not been for the dramatic flair that the Sanji read with. He skipped over sections, editing his own work as he spoke, pen scratching out the weaker lines, eyebrows pinched with focus.

You smiled, falling back in the chair with a laugh as Sanji recited the last part of the play. And he followed you, speaking the lines into your skin, fingers curling around your cheek as the grin on your face grew so wide it hurt.

“Those are my lines, idiot,” Zoro interjected, scoffing at his antics. But Sanji ignored him, and you laughed again, let him breath the end of the play into your mouth before he kissed you once more.

The run-through concluded. Everyone made notes on what to change, edits where things felt stilted and awkward. 

Then, the rest of them left — and only you and Sanji remained. 

Sanji guided you to the door, fingers tracing the notches between your shoulder blades, before falling down to the middle of your spine. Luffy was the last to leave, talking animatedly about the play, elation more than evident in every syllable he spoke. Though his dreams were much bigger than the realistic, already talking about how your show would make it worldwide in a matter of months.

You hummed, pretending to care, his words in one ear and out the other. There was little on your mind but the feeling of Sanji’s hand on your back, the proximity of him radiating heat onto you. “That’s a great idea, Luffy,” you said, nodding, probably more than you needed to.

“Oui, tres bién.” Sanji said dismissively, nearly shoving Luffy, who didn’t seem to notice or care, out the door. “Keep that in mind for next time. Merci beaucoup, Luffy. Bonne nuit.” 

The door shut behind him. You listened to Luffy speak to you both through the door for a few more moments, before he paced down the hall, turning the corner to his own apartment.

As soon as the building went quiet, you were upon Sanji.

Your hands curled into the lapels of his shirt, pulling him into you, his head bowing to your height. As soon as your lips connected, Sanji moaned into your mouth, the sound twirling your stomach. You took two steps forward, greedily, nails dragging from his chest to the blonde strands against his neck. 

Sanji’s back hit the wall, and he exhaled, pulling you into him. His palms ran down your back, caressing your sides, before, finally, they rested on your hips. Even as you drew back to kiss across his cheeks, his jaw, Sanji’s mouth chased your own, his eyes half-lidded. Red lipstick stained the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind, his head against the wall, cheeks flushed.

Your hands drifted lower, fingers curling around the buckle of his belt, before you fell to your knees. 

That caught his attention, your body slipping away from his grasp as he tilted his head lazily. “What are you doing?” Sanji breathed, as you worked at tugging the belt off.

His hands brushed your cheeks, the bone of your jaw, reverent in this touch. A small, awed smile graced his lips, pupils dilated inside his sapphire irises. 

And although there was nothing hostile in the tone of his voice, you blinked up at him, confused. Your lips were flushed, cheeks warm. Despite the desire that churned deep in your chest, you swallowed down a spike of nerves. 

“I’m thanking you,” you said simply, on edge, searching for any signs of anger. You, of course, found none, but you still jerked away, unsure if you’d done something wrong, feeling wrong. “For… the dinner. And the play. You’ve written me so beautifully, and—”

Sanji’s eyes went wide, and he pushed your hands away, still so gentle as he swallowed thickly. “Oh,” he said, and there was sadness there, his smile fading. The evidence of lust was still apparent, but he swallowed it down, his breathing heavy. “No, no, chérie, you don’t—”

You withdrew then, not needing to hear the rest of the words to know that it was a rejection, that you’d upset him. Your skin burned, and your head spun from how quickly you’d stood. 

“Right,” you said, and curled in on yourself, making yourself as small as possible. Maybe that’s what he’d expected instead. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d misread a situation, tried to give a client what you’d thought they’d wanted, only to turn their desire into scorn. Some didn’t like it when you took too much. “I—I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Sanji said, a frown spreading on his lips. He pushed away from the wall, trying to reach for you, before you pulled back.  

You turned around, facing away from him, and ran the situation through your mind, wondering where you’d gone wrong. “But I am sorry,” you said, pinching your eyebrows together. “I just thought that’s what you wanted, that’s all. I mean, before, you seemed… Like you wanted to.” You grew hot, flustered, the edges of panic creeping up on you. You swallowed that back down. “Did you change your mind?”

“No,” he said, adamantly. “That’s not it. That’s not it at all, I—” 

You glared over your shoulder. “What’s wrong, then, Sanji? I don’t understand. You do something nice for me, I do something for you. Isn’t that how this works?”

His features pinched, and his chest fell, a million responses seemingly running through his head before he spoke. “You don’t owe me anything. This isn’t supposed to feel like a chore.”

“It’s not. I didn’t mean it like that. But you don’t have to treat me like some fragile thing because I trade sex for money. I’m not…” You tipped your head back, more frustrated with yourself than you were with him. “I wish I could express my gratitude in such beautiful words like you can, but I can’t, Sanji. I can’t, I don’t know how to—”

“Hey,” he said softly, frowning. “I understand. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Sanji reached out, and you accepted his touch, let him guide you back into him. His hands were so hesitant on your cheeks, not awkwardly unsure like before, but uncertain that you would break. Like you were fine china. 

You regretted saying anything at all, almost repulsed by how gently he was treating you. It wasn’t right, you didn’t deserve that, and you certainly didn’t need him feeling sorry for you. 

Sanji said your name so softly, a prayer. Even still, his gaze darted around your face, not lingering on one place for long. “I just…” he trailed off, words stuck on his tongue, guilt taking over. “I mean, this is different… Isn’t it? I’m not…”

Not a client. Not someone who paid you for your time with them.

“Sanji,” You exhaled, curling in on yourself. “Of course not.” You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing your jumbled mind and twisted heart. 

It was all so easy, in your head, to love Sanji. There were words in there for what you were feeling, visions of actions you could take to show him you cared. Dreams that had lingered since you met him, causing you to wake up warm and flustered.

But making those ideas real had become far too daunting — they weren’t feelings of some character you were playing, but choices that bound you to another. Ones you’d have to live with.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing your elbow. “I’m trying. I’m sorry.” 

“Please don’t apologize.” 

“But—” 

“Please. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m doing this all wrong,” you said, voice breaking as you threw your hands up in the air. You were surprised by how quickly the outburst had bubbled up from you, how fast the emotions flipped. “I don’t know what you want from me. No one’s ever—” you huffed, taking a breath, calming yourself. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do. Please.”

You couldn’t bear to look at his face, not when you could sense the dejection under the surface. Even still, your tone remained sour with him, though it was from no one’s fault but your own. It’d been your choice to become a courtesan, your choice to deny yourself any right to love. 

How simple things would’ve been, had you never come to Paris at all.

Sanji didn’t say anything. He pulled the box of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit one and took a long drag. Smoke left his lungs, a cloud forming. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

You watched, feeling so small and uncertain. Your bout of anger had hardly been vindictive, but it had come from you, all the same. 

“You’re not supposed to do anything,” he said through his exhale, a cloud of smoke floating above him. “Don’t give me anything you don’t want to give. That isn’t what love is.” 

“I told you I don’t know what love is.” You plucked the cigarette from his lips, placing in your own. “Maybe you should listen.”

His eyes held yours, a stormy mix of sadness and longing, and though you wished for the opposite, nothing spiteful was there. Not a hint of disgust to match what you felt for yourself, even as you tried to get him to see what a wretched creature you truly were.

 “It’s not going to work, you know,” Sanji finally said, staring once again at the place where your lips pulled from the cigarette, curled around it. “You pushing me away. If you want me gone, I’ll go. But—”

“I don’t want you gone, Sanji,” you said quietly, dropping your gaze, the cigarette still burning between your fingers. “That’s the problem. That’s the last thing I want.” You closed your eyes, assuming the same position that he had — back pressed against the wall, your heads lolling against it. “Can’t you understand why I’m so hesitant?”

“Of course I can,” he said, and though you still couldn’t meet his gaze, you could feel the tenderness of the smile there. Sanji took your hand, kissed the back of your palm. “But can’t we figure it out together?”

You paused, before nodding once. A vision of Crocodile loomed over your shoulder, and though you knew he was to be your future husband soon, it felt like a threat from the distant future. You couldn’t bear to tell Sanji anything about that now, even though you knew you should. But it would sour the already delicate moment more, perhaps in a way that would become irreparable.

Maybe that would be for the best.

Still, you kept your mouth shut.

“You’re right,” you said instead, shaking your head. You repeated an apologize — how many had it been now? “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined the evening.” 

“I told you, you have nothing to apologize for.” Sanji curled his hands around your cheeks, tilting your gaze up to his. “You haven’t ruined anything. I’m the one that stopped you.” He kissed you again, and though you were still full of uncertainty, you opened back up to him easily. He wore a starry expression as he pulled away, lips gaping softly. “As much as I wished I hadn’t.”

The admission lightened your spirits marginally, 

Your gaze drifted down to the undone belt, a small grin pulling across your face. You took another inhale of the cigarette before your placed it back between Sanji’s lips, wrapping your hands around his own, ones that still rested on his cheeks. 

“Is that so?” you asked, the suggestive lilt to your voice slipping back in easily. “You want me to keep going?”

Sanji blinked, his brain short-circuiting before you laughed, the tension between you easing. Your heart still raced, but you felt better, calmer, now that some of your uncertainties had been laid bare, as endless as they were.

“Well…” you amended, humming, not bothering to give him a chance to respond. “Maybe tomorrow. It’s late. I should be going back before people start to wonder.” You turned to face the window, the deep sky of the late evening the only witness your rendezvous.

“Of course,” Sanji said, swallowing, a flash of disappointment in his irises. He released you, let you pull away, but it was relunctantly. “Will you come back tomorrow?” 

Your smile, this time, was more genuine than an act of seduction, your chest melting into a lovesick puddle. You kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling so soft and full of something you were certain was love — even if you were hesitant to admit it. 

“Perhaps,” you said, squeezing his hand. “If you’re lucky.”

thank u so much for reading and for all the sweet feedback on the previous chapter!! ᡣ𐭩 reblogs + comments are much appreciated !!!

i've tagged anyone who expressed interest before, but please lmk if you do not want a tag :) or if you want to be added!!

@tetzoro @stunie @msheds0519 @akuma-coffee @iridescana

@aquadenks @luckiestangel @mncxbe @keeper-of-my-heart

@ofoceansandtombsanew @kit-ken @leafyturtle

[slashingdisneypasta]

Erik Destler x Fem!StageActress!Reader || Would Include...

Erik Destler always learning your on-stage romantic interests part totally and then 'dispatching' of the poor guy just before he's meant to go on so he then can always taking his place would include...

Warnings: Contemporary musical references, I don't care, shoot me. Also just basic Erik creepiness; murder and not-super-consensual kissing/touches (dub con at most).

Tagging: @marinerainbow and @masqueradeball .

🥀 Erik falling for you almost the moment you entered the Palais Garnier for the first time. He has no chill, we know this. He's like a Disney Princess. One song and he's fallen hopelessly in love.

🥀 Erik always keeping an eye on the cast lists when they come out- checking who you are and if you have a romantic interest. If you do, that person is now his main target. He may not kill them immediately, he'll wait until the final show on the final night, but there is a big red bullseye on their back now.

🥀 Erik practising 'his' lines (The lines of your on-stage romance) in his sewer room, reciting them to a dummy wearing some... familiar clothing. What? No, he didn't sneak into your chambers in the middle of the night and steal them from you! No, no! Absolutely not!... though you are missing a dress exactly like the one the doll is wearing. *cough*

🥀 Erik treating that doll of you with the utmost care. Almost as much as he'd treat you, the real you, with (Or, how he'd like to treat you. Only the lord knows if Erik could actually be gentle if given the chance to hold you). Its really creepy. Imagine his fingertips only grazing the dolls cheek very gently, but his eyes drift downwards (even though, again, its JUST A DOLL- ITS JUST STUFFING, ERIK!- Y O U ' R E T H E O N E W H O S T U F F E D I T- ) with very desire-filled eyes. Imagine him on one knee before the doll, holding its hand in his, its dead-eyes staring off into space while he professes deep speeches about love that are supposed to be romantic but just come out wrong and infatuated off Erik's tongue. Imagine Erik's hand wandering in the middle of a particularly heated scene; completely lost to his imagination.

🥀 Erik n e v e r, ever stealing the part of a villain. Even if that villain gets much more heated, or charged scenes with you then your actual love interest (Duke Monroth, Professor Callahan, Judge Turpin, Scar, etc). He wants to be your hero. Your prince, your true love.

🥀 Erik watching your every show, in his special box 5, studying you with eyes so hot you swear you can feel them on your skin every night. Paying so close attention, so he knows exactly how to compliment you on stage; how to be your perfect stage partner. This is why your scenes in every last show at the Palais Garnier are so impossibly electrifying to the audience- and, to you.

🥀 Erik allowing your casted partner to appear in the first few scenes with you during that last performance on that last night, so you never really know when its going to stop being the one guy and start being Erik- you're on your toes. Waiting the whole performance for the hand you grab onto to be Erik's. (He's waiting for the perfect moment to step in. The moment when you're really, really in character; lost to your art.)

🥀 Erik being the Christian to your Satine during 'El Tango De Roxanne' (His eyes upon your face. His hand upon your hand. His lips caress your skin. It's more than I can stand), 'Crazy Rolling' (See how I leave with every piece of you. Don't underestimate the things I will do), and 'Your Song Reprise' (Look at me... Satine... Why else live, if not for love?) in Moulin Rouge.

🥀 Erik being the Fiyero to your Elphaba during that super fucking charged 'As Long As You're Mine' scene in Wicked. You know? With you both on your knees on the stage surrounded by dramatic mist and you cant keep your hands off eachother?? *cough cough* I mean, with you both on your knees on the stage surrounded by dramatic mist and Fiyero and Elphaba cant keep their hands off eachother??? XD (Kiss me too fiercely, Hold me too tight; I need help believing, You're with me tonight, My wildest dreamings, Could not foresee, Lying beside you, With you wanting me // Every moment, As long as you're mine, I'll wake up my body, And make up for lost time.)

🥀 Erik being the Prince to your Sleeping Beauty, Snow White during the True Love's Kiss Scene. Oh yes, he definitely goes there. Did you doubt it?

🥀 Erik AS THE BEAST IN 'EVERMORE' TO YOUR BELLE IN BEAUTY AND THE BEAST!!!?

🥀 Erik never appearing at the end of the production to bow- he cant. You know that. So he makes his last moments on stage with you last, because honestly- who knows when the next time will be?? Its not like he can come call on you like a normal person... 🙄he's a dramatic freak. He holds your hand a few moments longer then necessary, or a little tighter. He kisses you one more time even though its not scripted.

🥀 Erik leaving you a bouquet of flowers in your dressing room after that last show on that last night. Signed simply, ceaselessly yours.

~

🥀 You tell yourself every time that the show must go on. You tell yourself, that thats why you don't stop it; Don't do anything.

🥀 You are lying to yourself. You cant deny the electricity crackling all over your skin every time you see Erik on stage with you, every time Erik touches you under fake pretences. You've never felt quite the same on stage then when he's there with you; you feel like you're really the characters... and there is nothing on earth like that feeling. No one else can give you this. No one but him.

🥀 You expect it now and anxiously await the moment when your practise partner (Just Erik's understudy. Thats what you're thinking of them now; the men who are actually cast) dematerialises from the stage and its Erik.

🥀 You always leave the flowers from Erik at the grave of the man who died. Its sick, the game (?? habit?? r e l a t i o n s h i p??) you're in, but you cant stop. And you cant apologise, so you can only do this.

🥀 You working extra hard to get lead roles at the Palais Garnier. As soon as one show is over, you have a hunger to do it again. Get another part, get Erik back on that stage with you.

Its like an addiction.

[writeroutoftime]

the greatest thing you'll ever learn

pairing: jamie tartt x reader (requested by: anon)

summary: based on the prompt: “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” -Moulin Rouge

words: 0.6k

a/n: ahhh, I'm in my I love jamie tartt era so this was wonderful to write! though I wasn't completely sure how to incorporate this quote in the story, I hope you enjoy!

oOoOo

The whole day Jamie had you stuck in his head. On the drive to the stadium, during practice, and even now as aimlessly wondered the halls of AFC Richmond. It's not like it was completely out of the norm, you were his best friend after all. In the past, his thoughts revolved around you when he needed to ask you something or when the two of you made plans to spend time together. Nowadays, however, you were all he could think about, just wanting to be near you.

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” Jamie heard walking by the staff room, and the words stopped him in his tracks.

“Uh, whatcha say just then, Coach?” he asked, poking his head in the office, head tilted to the side.

Ted looked surprised to see Jamie, but smiled at him nonetheless. “Oh, hi, Jamie. I was just sharing a quote I like from cinematic masterpiece Moulin Rouge with our trusty Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman. The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”  he explained happily, while the other coaches in the office nodded solemnly.

Jamie's eyes widened in realization, but he tried to play it cool and mask his expression. "'Suppose that's pretty profound or what not. 'Ya know, if it applied to you." he remarked.

Roy gave Jamie a knowing look before rolling his eyes. No one else spoke a word, so Jamie nodded his head and backed out of the office with a small wave, leaving the coaches to themselves.

"Oooo, do I feel me a good ol' fashion rom-com confession coming from Jamie real soon." Ted laughed, rubbing his hands together, happy the young footballer was finally gaining some sense when it came to you.

"Come what may." Beard quipped, rewarding with a thumbs up from Ted while Roy just grunted and turned back to his computer.

oOoOo

Later that evening, you and Jamie snuggled up on your couch as you watched whatever tv show you landed on - strictly platonic, of course. But the whole night, Jamie had been rather jumpy and seemed to be lost off in space. You finally nudged him and gave him a questioning look, opening the floor for discussion.

"Did you know that, uh, loving is the greatest gift."

"What?" you giggled, unsure as to what Jamie was trying to say.

He flushed at this mistake and tried again, getting closer to what he was trying to say. "No, uh learning to love and all that. It's great innit?"

This time, you bit back your smile and turned your whole body to face Jamie, gently playing with his hands. "What is it that you are trying to say, Jamie?"

Sighing, Jamie took a deep breath and finally spoke in his own words. "I'm trying to tell you that I like you, y/n. No, more than that. I love you." he confessed, sneaking a glance at you. "And I finally realized that being with you all this time as taught me what it's like to love someone. To put someone first and want to be with them all the time." he finished, fighting the urge to pull away from you and run from his feelings.

Before he could do that though, he felt your lips press against his own in a soft, sweet kiss. It was over before it really started, but Jamie had the dopiest grin on his face as he pulled back. You bit your lip playful and leaned into him even more. "I love you too, Jamie. I can't imagine being with anyone else." you promised, intertwining your fingers and sighing in content.

---

The pieces finally came together a few days later when you came with Jamie to practice holding hands, and Ted couldn't help himself but humming 'Come What May' from Moulin Rouge. You chuckled, finally realizing what Jamie meant, and pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. Loving Jamie really was the greatest thing.

[kaleidodreams]

Updated 100 Memorable Skating Programs

Back in 2018, I created the original version of this list. (You can find the master post here.) Since 2024 marks my 30th year as an official fan of figure skating and there have been some more great programs created since the last time, I thought it was about time to update the list in honor of World Ice Skating Day. Same rules apply as last time:

Only senior competitive programs starting from the 1993-1994 season are eligible, since that's the first season I really started watching figure skating.

Each skater may only be listed once, unless a partner/discipline switch is involved.

Choice of music may also not be repeated. (Yes, there are two James Bond programs on the list, but Yuna and Wakaba use different music for the most part, so I'm letting it slide.)

I debated long and hard about whether or not I should still include programs from skaters who have proven themselves to be not so great people. I'm someone who has little difficulty separating the art from the artist, so in the end, I decided to keep them listed (although most of them got knocked down a few pegs). This list is more about the choreography than the skater anyway, although there are certainly some problematic choreographers out there, too. (Looking at you especially, Morozov!) So, just because a skater is listed doesn't mean that I'm a fan of them or that I condone their actions! I just think certain programs are still great regardless of the skaters' terrible behavior off the ice.

Choreographers are noted if known. If you know who choreographed the programs without a choreographer named, please let me know!

I've also created a handy playlist on YouTube if you don't want to click on all these links.

Ashley Wagner - Moulin Rouge (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2016 Worlds

Jason Brown - Melancholy (Rohene Ward) 2023 Nationals

Patrick Chan - Phantom of the Opera (Lori Nichol) 2011 Canadian Nationals

Kaitlyn Weaver/Andrew Poje -Je suis malade (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2012 Worlds

Meryl Davis/Charlie White - Kajra Re/Silsila Ye Chahat Ka/Dola Re Dola (Marina Zueva, Igor Shpilband, and Anuja Rajendra) 2010 Olympics

Mao Asada - Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2 (Tatiana Tarasova) 2014 Olympics

Sui/Han - Rain, In Your Black Eyes (Lori Nichol) 2019 Worlds

Marina Anissina/Gwendal Peizerat - Romeo & Juliet 1998 Olympics

Cain/LeDuc - W.E. (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2022 US Nationals

Daisuke Takahashi - Blues for Klook (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2012 Worlds

Kurt Browning - Casablanca (Sandra Bezic) 1994 Olympics

Michelle Kwan - Salome (Lori Nichol) 1996 Worlds

Alexei Yagudin - Winter (Tatiana Tarasova and Nikolai Morosov) 2002 Olympics

Jamie Sale/David Pelletier - Love Story (Lori Nichol) 2002 Olympics

Jeremy Abbott - Exogenesis (Jeremy Abbott and Yuka Sato) Nationals 2012

Oksana Grishuk/Evgeni Platov - The Feeling Begins 1997 Worlds

Yuzuru Hanyu - Seimei (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2015 Grand Prix Final

Chock/Bates - Egyptian Snake Dance (Marie-France Dubreuil, Ginette Cournoyer, and Sam Chouinard) 2019 Grand Prix Final

Javier Fernandez - Guys and Dolls (David Wilson) 2016 Worlds

Vanessa James/Morgan Cipres - Sound of Silence (John Kerr and Silvia Fontana) 2017 Euros

Evgenia Medvedeva - Anna Karenina (Daniil Gleichengauz) 2018 Olympics

Nathan Chen - Philip Glass medley (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2021 Worlds

Gabriella Papadakis/Guilliame Cizeron - Elegie (Saxon Fraser and Marie-France Dubreuil) 2022 Olympics

Aljona Savchenko/Bruno Massot - La terre vue du ciel (Christopher Dean) 2018 Olympics

Kevin Aymoz - Bolero (Brice Mousset and Kevin Aymoz) 2023 Skate America

Julia Lipnitskaya - Schindler’s List (Ilia Averbukh) 2014 Olympics

Elena Berezhnaya/Anton Sikharulidze - Lady Caliph 2002 Olympics

Yu-na Kim - James Bond medley (David Wilson) 2010 Olympics

Shoma Uno - Buenos Aires Hora Cero (Mihoko Higuchi) 2016 Grand Prix Final

Michal Brezina - The Way You Look Tonight (Jeffrey Buttle) 2016 Skate Canada

Shae-Lynn Bourne/Victor Kraatz - Riverdance 1998 Olympics

Adam Rippon - O/Fly On (Benji Schwimmer) 2016 Trophee de France

Jeffrey Buttle - Bells of Moscow (David Wilson) 2005 Worlds

Piper Gilles/Paul Poirier - Vincent (Carol Lane and Juris Razgulajevs) 2019 Canadian Nationals

Rudy Galindo - Swan Lake (Sharlene Franke) 1996 US Nationals

Sasha Cohen - Malaguena (Tatiana Tarasova) 2004 Worlds

Aljona Savchenko/Robin Szolkowy - Pina (Ingo Steur) 2011 Grand Prix Final

Samantha Cesario - Carmen (Inese Budevica) 2013 Trophee Eric Bompard

Tatsuki Machida - East of Eden (Phillip Mills) 2014 Worlds

Xue Shen/Hongbo Zhao - Turandot (Lea Ann Miller, Renee Roca, and Gorsha Sur) 2003 Worlds

Kaitlin Hawayek/Jean-Luc Baker - Liebestraume (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2018 Nationals

Olga Mikutina - My Nocturnal Serenade (Rostislav Sinicyn) 2023 Europeans

Lu Chen - The Last Emperor (Toller Cranston) 1995 Worlds

Giada Russo - Red Violin (Edoardo de Bernardis) 2016 Europeans

Junhwan Cha - Fate of the Clockmaker/Cloak and Dagger (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2022 Olympics

Han Yan - La La Land (Yuka Sato and Kurt Browning) 2019 Chinese Interclub League

Wakaba Higuchi - Skyfall (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2018 Worlds

Kazuki Tomono - Die Fledermaus (Misha Ge) 2022 Japanese Nationals

Yuma Kagiyama - Believer (Shae-Lynn Bourne) 2024 Worlds

Karen Chen - On Golden Pond (Karen Chen) 2017 Nationals

Maia Shibutani/Alex Shibutani - Coppelia (Marina Zueva and Cheryl Yeager) 2016 Nationals

Yuko Kavaguti/Alexander Smirov - Manfred Symphony (Peter Tchernyshev) 2014 Skate America

Philippe Candeloro - The Three Musketeers (Natacha Dabadie) 1998 Olympics

Alexander Abt - Songs from the Victorious City 1998 Nations Cup

Tessa Virtue/Scott Moir - Prince medley 2017 Worlds

Ekaterina Gordeeva/Sergei Grinkov - Moonlight Sonata (Marina Zueva) 1994 Olympics

Satoko Miyahara - Madama Butterfly (Tom Dickson) 2017 Japanese Nationals

Marjorie Lajoie/Zachary Lagha - The White Crow (Romain Haguenauer and Ginette Cournoyer) 2023 Four Continents

Anjelika Krylova/Oleg Ovsiannikov - Masquerade Waltz 1997 Worlds

Alena Kostornaia - The Departure, November (Daniil Gleikhengauz) 2019 Grand Prix Final

Nelli Zhiganshina/Alexander Gazsi - Two from the Grave (Ilia Averbukh) 2013 Worlds

Ksenia Stolbova/Fedor Klimov - The Man and The Shadow (Nikolai Morozov) 2015 Grand Prix Final

Stephanie Rosenthal - Rockit (Stewart and Christi Sturgeon) 2006 Nationals

Madison Hubbell/Zachary Donohue - Across the Sky, Caught Out In The Rain (Marie-France Dubreuil) 2018 Nationals

Mikhail Kolyada - The Nutcracker (Ilia Averbukh) 2021 Gran Premio d'Italia

Sinead Kerr/John Kerr - The Landing/Turn Around/Gravity of Love (Evgeni Platov) 2008 Worlds

Kaetlyn Osmond - Sous le ciel de Paris, Milord (Lance Vipond) 2016 Grand Prix Final

Carolina Kostner - Ave Maria (Lori Nichol) 2014 Olympics

Karina Manta/Joe Johnson - Sweet Dreams (Christopher Dean) 2019 Nationals

Gracie Gold - Firebird (Lori Nichol) 2016 Nationals

Charlene Guignard/Marco Fabbri - Atonement/Song For A Little Sparrow (Barbara Fusar-Poli and Corrado Giordani) 2022 Europeans

Keegan Messing - Singing in the Rain (Lance Vipond) 2018 Worlds

Elizabeth Punsalan/Jerod Swallow - Astor Piazolla medley (Igor Shpilband) 1998 Olympics

Rika Kihira - A Beautiful Storm (Tom Dickson) 2018 NHK Trophy

Mariah Bell - Chicago (Rohene Ward) 2016 Skate America

Brian Joubert - Rise (Evgeni Platov) 2009 Europeans

Stephane Lambiel - Poeta (Antonio Najarro) 2007 Worlds

Kaori Sakamoto - The Matrix (Benoit Richaud) 2020 NHK Trophy

Akiko Suzuki - O (Pasquale Camerlengo) 2012 NHK Trophy

Qing Pang/Jian Tong - The Impossible Dream (Shae-Lynn Bourne and David Wilson) 2010 Olympics

Takahito Kozuka - Io ci saro (Lori Nichol) 2014 Japanese National

Smart/Diaz - Mask of Zorro 2022 Europeans

Matt Savoie - Ennio Morricone medley (Tom Dickson) 2006 Nationals

Deniss Vasiljevs - Puttin’ On The Ritz (Benoit Richaud) 2016 Worlds

Caroline Green/Michael Parsons - Violin Concerto No.1 Eso Concerto, Clouds, The Mind on the Wind (Elena Novak and Alexei Kiliakov) 2022 Four Continents

Tara Lipinski - The Rainbow (Sandra Bezic) 1998 Olympics

Denis Ten - SOS d'un terrien en détresse (David Wilson) 2017 Shanghai Trophy

Valentina Marchei/Ondrej Hotarek - Tu Vuo Fa L'Americano (Massimo Scali) 2018 Europeans

Krisztina Czako - The Addams Family (Igor Bobrin) 1997 Europeans

Cheng Peng/Yang Jin - My Drag (Lori Nichol) 2016 GPF

Bradie Tennell - Mechanisms, Chronos (Benoit Richaud) 2020 4CC

Evgeny Plushenko - Tribute to Nijinsky 2004 Russian Nationals

Vanessa Gusmeroli - Rats D'Hotel 1999 Worlds

Julianne Seguin/Charlie Bilodeau - Monde Inverse (Shae-Lynn Bourne and Shae Zukiwsky) 2015 Skate America

Isabeau Levito - Dulcea Și Tandra Mea Fiară (Yulia Kuznetsova) 2022 MK John Wilson Trophy

Elizaveta Tuktamysheva - Batwannis Beek/Sandstorm (Tatiana Prokofieva) 2015 Europeans

Kana Muramoto/Daisuke Takahashi - Soran Bushi (Marina Zoueva, Ilia Tkachenko, and Koyo Yanai) 2021 NHK Trophy

Amber Glenn - This Time (Kaitlyn Weaver and Randi Strong) 2024 Lombardia Trophy

Ivan Righini - You Raise Me Up (Ivan Righini) 2016 Europeans

Anna Cappellini/Luca Lanotte - Life is Beautiful (Liudmila Vlasova) 2017 NHK Trophy

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Crimson Tango: A Dance of Diamonds and Revenge Part 1: Welcome to the Moulin Rouge✨

A/N: SO excited for me and @mountainsandmayhem to bring you a Moulin Rouge Joel Miller series ❤️ We are both so excited to be writing this and hope you love it as much as we do! Hang on tight for the ride of your life between these two on their angsty, beautiful love story 🥰 Comments and reblogs mean the world to us! Chapters are in both reader’s and Joel’s POV. No explicit smut in first chapter.

Word Count: 6.2k

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem! reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

Tags: Angst, unprotected p in v, oral, fingering, forbidden love, murder, fluff and smut, jealousy, moulin rouge au, soulmates being in love, protective Joel, no outbreak, reader is 20 and Joel is 29, tags will be updated each chapter

Summary: Joel Miller doesn’t know what awaits him as he takes on a maintenance job at the Moulin Rouge. He doesn’t know he’ll meet the absolute love of his life, the Sparkling Diamond, as his world comes crashing down around him fast. Will he be able to stay away when he’s warned not to touch the dancers? Will he listen or will he challenge that pull that draws him to the one thing that sets his soul on fire?

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Welcome to the Moulin Rouge

Your whole childhood centered around death, but you never thought about the possibility of yourself dying, never thought about how you’d like to go. As your vision blurs and the world begins to silence, you realise that this is the ultimate way to go. For her. Saving her is all that matters, saving the person you love the most in the entire world, even if you’ve never met her.

Sarah, please Joel. Name her Sarah.

At times, your childhood may have seemed sad or tragic to the outside eye, but to you it has been nothing short of amazing. You don’t remember the incident that took both your parents, you were too young, so young that you can’t even picture their faces. You were brought to stay with the only family you had left - your mom’s much older brother.

Your uncle Edward was a quiet and kind man, he was also the owner of Moulin Rouge. A bright and colorful dance hall, filled with sparkling costumes and lively music. For the longest time you weren’t allowed outside of the living quarters, but you remember laughter and cheering filtering through the thin walls. This place was magic to you in your childhood naivety.

You remember begging the dancers to teach you the steps to the songs you overheard in the night. Occasionally, one of them would show you a kick or a twirl that you’d practice alone in your room until the muscles in your legs were stretched and sore, no longer able to support your tiny frame.

During the day, a tutor came in for a few hours to teach you and the few other children that lived there, meals were brought to your living quarters by an older woman who rarely spoke to you. Uncle Edward was alway home for those meals, but often had stacks of papers to go through. Most of the time it was just you and the broken guitar and pottery wheel your uncle had given you. But overall you were alone, far away music and laughter to keep you company.

For your thirteenth birthday your uncle surprised you with dance lessons. He knew how much you wanted to learn, and could practically feel the energy buzzing off you every time your eyes darted to the performing dancers. So he gave in, gifting you with something that might bring you a little joy in the isolated burlesque. A silent way of telling you he was sorry for not being around much and leaving you to delve in your loneliness inside your vacant room.

“Well, little petal,” your uncle says as you blow out the singular candle sitting on top of the small cake to celebrate you turning sixteen. “I think you’re old enough now to come up and watch my diamonds perform. What do you say? Would you like to come see the show?”

You practically jumped from your seat, mouthful of chocolate cake, “Yes, Uncle! Please. Nothing could make me happier.”

“Tomorrow night I will bring you up to see it. Perhaps when you turn eighteen you can join them.”

You’d seen the costumes and the women in their makeup before, you’ve even been out to the dance hall and on the stage. But that was only during the day, when the tables were only occupied by up-turned chairs, the overhead lights were off, and the band was nothing more than an empty pit in front of the stage.

The next night, your uncle brought you a new sparkly pink dress, and had the hair and make-up ladies get you all dolled up to watch. You looked at yourself in the mirror and had never felt more beautiful, seeing yourself as one of the famous diamonds of the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps when you turn eighteen you can join them.

The show was like nothing you’d ever seen before. You didn’t know so many varieties of reds and blues and purples existed. The women kicked their legs in unison, men cheering and clapping as they swooshed their large billowing skirts. The music filled your ears with joy and wonder, the sounds crisper than they were through the walls. Laughter and happiness held you like a tight hug. Perhaps when you turn eighteen you can join them.

As the show wound down, your Uncle leaned to you and said it was time to head to bed, “You’ve seen the show, little petal. Now the adults will indulge in wine and talk about things not for your ears.”

You didn’t argue, simply kissing your uncle on the cheek and saying, “Thank you, Uncle. I am going to practice harder so I can become a real diamond one day!”

You floated down the hallway. With your eyes still swarming with the bright colors of the show and your future dreams you hadn’t realised that you opened the door before the one to take you home, and this door led to something both sinister and unspeakable - it led to darkness. The room was only lit by candles sprawled across the wall, casting looming shadows of the acts happening before your very eyes.

You stood in the doorway taking in men and women completely naked, rubbing up against one another incessantly. Your tutor taught you that these areas of your body are not to be shared, they are only for you. Yet here they are, almost unashamed as they grind. The men all appear to be having a good time, but the women - they’re crying out.

Are they in pain? What are these men doing to them? Why are some men just watching? They should be helping. Your uncle, does he know that this is happening? Is this what his diamonds do?

Perhaps when you turn eighteen you can join them.

You nervously approached your Uncle about it a few days later. “Oh, my sweet little petal. I’m sorry that you had to witness that. I promise you, none of those women were in pain. Not all my diamonds dance like that, and you never will. I meant it when I offered you a spot to dance, fully clothed and on the stage only. I only hope that you do not think less of me now that you know what goes on behind closed doors of the Moulin Rouge.”

Four Years Later

Joel stumbles into the doors of the Moulin Rouge after seeing the maintenance worker needed sign displayed in bold letters outside the burlesque. This was the last place he wanted to end up, the last place he’d be caught dead in; but he needed something, and anything was better than the minimal income of selling his woodwork. He couldn’t get by anymore by only getting one or two customers every couple of weeks, if he was lucky. It wasn’t enough to pay the rent of his small, cramped apartment. Wasn’t enough to feed himself day and night. He needed more, and this was his shot.

He pushes the heavy black doors open, quickly tucking his red flannel button-up into his pressed pants, needing to look his best if he wants to get this job. He has to get it, has to impress whoever is the owner of this club.

He finds the first person he can spot, quickly getting the attention of a bartender as he washes crystal glasses with a thin rag behind the sleek bar top.

“Sorry to bother you, but I saw the sign out front that said you need some help with maintenance around here?” he asks briskly as he stares at the bartender with eyes that say he’s desperate. His hands come to rest on the bar top and he fights the urge to nervously drum his fingers along it.

The bartender looks him over as he sets down a glass, nodding his head. “Oh, yes. Let me go grab the owner real quick. Be right back, wait here,” he says as he runs in the opposite direction, disappearing behind a long hallway. Joel nervously pushes back his outgrown curls, silently cursing to himself for buying that loaf of bread instead of getting a haircut. His big brown eyes dart curiously around the club, trying to take it all in.

It’s light outside as the sun glistens in through the drawn crimson curtains, some dancers sauntering on stage as they practice their moves, swaying their hips to a nonexistent beat. Joel averts his eyes and takes in the rest of the large room - it’s filled with tables that are meant for the men to smoke cigars and drink their alcohol as they drool over the women of the burlesque. All lust and no love, the way the burlesque was set up to be. Joel was never into this scene, never fit in with any of those types of men, but he was desperate, he needed work and this may very well be the only way he can get any.

A tall, thin man walks into the room with slicked back sandy hair and green eyes that are as sharp as a snake’s. He eyes Joel carefully, one hand resting in his pocket, the other stretching to shake Joel’s. Joel wastes no time and reaches a hand out, feeling a firm grasp as the owner shakes his hand.

“The name’s Edward. And you are?” he asks with a gentle smile.

“I’m Joel. Joel Miller,” he says with nerves running through his body, the back of his neck slick with sweat. He’s nervous he won’t get it, nervous he’ll leave empty handed with no job. He’ll fight for it though because he’s a fighter, and he doesn’t give up easily.

“So, I hear you’re interested in the maintenance job. You got any experience?” Edward asks as he leans against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest as he examines Joel again, taking in his flannel and tan pants, his worn work boots.

“Yes, sir. Got years of experience with fixin’ things. Anything from sinks to building homes. Even have a little woodworking shop on the side,” he says proudly as he tries not to fidget with the buttons on his flannel.

“Hmmm,” Edward hums as he looks him over again carefully, those bright green eyes staring at Joel’s clothes like he’s judging him. Joel swallows down that dry lump of self doubt creeping in. “You seem capable. How old are you? Think you can handle working at nights, too? Gets pretty rowdy around here when the moon comes up, but that’s when we need someone the most,” he presses, eyes shifting over him as his brow raises in question again, waiting for Joel to respond.

“Just about to turn thirty and ‘course. Nights don’t bother me one bit. I can even start today, if I can,” Joel says with a determined smile as he shoves his left hand deep into his pocket, praying he’ll get the job.

“I see. Well then, looks like you got yourself a new gig. See you tonight at let’s say 7:00 pm,” he says, reaching a hand out to Joel. For most men that would be a question, but Edward is a very rich and powerful man, he doesn’t ask for things, he demands them. Joel doesn’t hesitate for a second and puts his grip in Edward’s, shaking in agreement.

“Thank you, thank you! You don’t know how much I appreciate this,” he says with tears almost filling his eyes. A job, he finally has a job that’ll get him by just fine. No more nights of going hungry. He can finally breathe a second, if not more.

Before he turns to leave, Edward puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him back around carefully. “Oh, forgot to mention something. There’s only one condition I ask of you. Don’t touch my dancers. They’re strictly for the guests that pay,” he says with furrowed brows, his eyes burning into him, as if to see if Joel will flinch at all.

“That’ll be no problem on my part. Promise,” Joel confirms with a nod of his head, his tousled curls moving with the motion.

“Good, good…” Edward hums out. “Alright, Joel. I’ll see you tonight,” he says with a wave as he turns around and heads back behind crimson curtains, disappearing into a dark hallway.

Joel can’t help but smile as he heads out the doors of the Moulin Rouge, stepping into the warm sunshine as it bathes across his tanned skin. He takes a breath of fresh air as it smells of autumn leaves and new hope.

Things start to feel like they’re looking up, like something nirvanic was right on the cusp. What Joel doesn’t know is just what waits around that heavy crimson curtain for him. He doesn’t know the beautiful disaster he’s about to step into. A Sparkling Diamond that will take over his life forever. Someone so precious, so special, so indescribably unique. Someone so very - you.

Joel makes sure to get to the Moulin Rouge fifteen minutes early, wanting nothing more than to give off a good impression. The burlesque is filling up quickly as the sun fades away, the bright full moon taking its place in the sky, stars scattering around it.

When he walks inside the double doors, he sees that the dance hall is filling up quickly with men who smoke expensive cigars and drink bottles of whiskey that he can only dream of affording. He makes his way further into the entrance, his eyes taking in his surroundings, noticing that the large room looks nothing like earlier when it was closed.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings as red curtains drape across the crimson wallpaper. The dance floor is littered with burlesque dancers that lift their skirts high and tease the men as they surround them, hoping to entice the wealthiest one. Money is what they’re after and selling themselves is their only shot at making any extra tips for the night.

Joel clenches his jaw at the sight and turns his head, waiting at the front until he finally spots Edward in a black pressed suit. His blonde hair slicked back tight, looking around to make sure his guests are happy and taken care of. When he sees Joel, he walks toward him and puts a hand on his shoulder in greeting.

“Ahh, there you are. Come along now. I’ll show you around,” he says gladly.

After that, he shows Joel the burlesque. He takes him to the maintenance closet and gives him a key to access it - metal tools and large shelves cover the entirety of the inside. Next he takes him down long, dark corridors, past rooms that are locked shut. Just when Joel thinks he's seen it all, they head up to the second story. Sweeping down wooden laden hallways, passed the balcony that overlooks the large city, and through winding rooms that seem to have no end. He had no idea it was so large and spacious here; didn’t even realise people lived here. Joel starts to think more softly towards Edward, sure these women put themselves in vulnerable positions night after night, but they have safe housing and a sense of family and community back here.

Edward takes Joel back down toward the main ballroom where the entertainment is held every night. Just as he latches on to the spiral staircase, he sees a man dragging a dancer with barely anything on into a dark room at the end of the luminescent hallway with red carpet sprawled across the floor. He shoves her in as he starts working his hands up her body, and Joel can see the mass of bodies already in the room as he closes the door, concealing moans and lust on the other side of the tarnished doorway.

Joel gulps and looks back toward the ground, keeping his eyes off the pleasure room. He knows what goes on in these walls, knows what filth lies in every corner. The stench of money and sex encompass the room, he can almost taste it on the tip of his rough tongue. He finds it revolting, men using these women's bodies. No love to be seen in these walls. Only perversions and sexual desire. He turns away sharply and descends the stairs, almost running into the back of Edward.

“I believe one of the wooden tables over by the stage needs some maintenance. The legs are collapsing, think you can do something about that?” he asks with a raised brow as he points at a dark wooden table with the legs barely hanging on.

“Sure. Probably just needs some tightening up. Easy fix,” Joel nods.

“Excellent. I have guests to greet, so fix that and then come find me,” just as he turns on his heel, he stops and looks back at Joel. Green eyes narrowing, a finger pointing in Joel’s direction. “Remember,” he says with venom in his voice, “Do not touch my dancers. They’re only for paying customers, and you cannot afford them.”

Joel only nods, letting Edward know he understands. With that, Edward turns and heads for the main doors, greeting more men as they pack in like sardines. Joel sighs and heads for the maintenance closest, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that shoots through his gut at the backhanded warning Edward gave.

Don’t touch the dancers…you cannot afford them.

Even if Joel could afford it, he would never do what these men are doing. The soft, beautiful women of this place deserve to be treasured, not pawed at and used. He wasn’t a rabid dog. He could control himself unlike all the other men that crowded the Moulin Rouge.

He grabs up a metal wrench and shoves some nuts and bolts deep into his pocket. When he makes his way back to the table he starts to assess the damage. This would be much easier to fix in his well lit workshop, but there’s no carrying this table away from the stage and through the crowd of hungry men.

Now that he’s thrust in the middle of the wooden dance floor, he can see the burlesque dancers seeking out the richest looking men, sitting on their laps and letting them put their dirty paws all over their bodies. The men laugh, carrying on conversations as they fondle their breasts, leaning down to trail kisses up their necks. Some get up and lead the women down the long, dark corridor. Back to the pleasure room. Back to their impending doom.

The three men at the table next to him have one girl propped up in front of them, all of their hands grabbing different areas of her body, asking her if she wants all three of them; the men are easily twenty years older than the petite and innocent looking blonde in front of them. Joel feels for the dancers, but there isn’t anything he can do. It’s business. It’s all about the fucking money and pleasure. Pleasure sells, and this is what most men desire. Sex.

The room grows louder as men cheer from the crowded tables. Some swarming the end of the lit up stage to get a peek at the next performer. Some start chanting, yelling in demand for the next poor soul to dance across that stage, right into the pit of vipers that are ready to spit venom at whatever girl walks out next.

The cigar smoke lingers in the air as crystal glasses clink in cheers, alcohol spilling over on the tabletops. Joel knows that’ll leave a huge mess for him and the other staff to clean up after closing. He tightens the bolts under the table, winding the wrench as he tries to turn his focus away from the lust filled crowd. They’re just a bunch of sick fucks who get off on ripping away the innocence and dignity of women. Nothing more than their play things. Theirs to possess and own for a few hours. It’s cruel and vile, disgusting in itself.

Joel was never the type of guy to use a woman. He’d never dream of hurting anyone. He was thoughtful and charming, a man who minds his manners and works hard for everything he has.

He digs harder into the leg of the table, trying to mute the hooting and hollering that is getting louder by the second. The sounds of the men start to overlap until it’s muffled and pressing on his eardrums, running along the nerves that wire his brain. He concentrates on the task at hand, shutting out the noise as he tries to fix the table.

“The Sparkling Diamond!”

“She’s coming on stage now!”

“Look, look!”

The men nearest him yell to each other, babbling about the Sparkling Diamond as the lights turn crimson and dark around the room, crystal chandeliers send glistening reflections across the expensive tailored suits that fill the crowded room.

“Here she comes, boys!”

Just then, the lights go out completely and a spotlight shines on the wide stage. Crimson curtains splay over the sides, exposing the long walkway where dancers show off for the men. The crowd goes quiet, a few whistles shrouding the silence as a slow, sensual song covers the room. The men pound on the stage, yelling for the Sparkling Diamond to come out. Joel thinks she must be something special if she has the entire room practically panting with anticipation. The wild men crawl towards the stage, pushing each other to get to the front so they can get the best view. Joel doesn’t know anything about a Sparkling Diamond, but he’s intrigued. Just what were they getting all worked up about?

Before he can comprehend what's happening, he hears the click of heels travel across the stage. He rises slowly, seeing the pretty figure that dances under the bright spotlight, the men now screaming and throwing their hands out, begging to get a touch of the enchantress that graces their presence. When she’s fully in view he freezes, dropping the wrench to the floor as it crashes with a loud thud against the spotless wood. It suddenly feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. Joel braces himself against the table, the sight before him nearly knocking him back down to his knees.

It’s you.

The most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his entire life. Long, soft curls cascade past your shoulders and bounce around with every move you make on the lit up stage. Your short pink dress barely grazes the curve of your thighs as your arms raise overhead and you spin slowly. As you bring your arms back down, your red painted fingernails caress your curls, then tease the jawline of your flawless face. Your cheeks flush from the attention before you gently bite the tip of your finger, red lipstick sitting matted to your delicate lips.

Joel thinks they look soft to the touch, delicate even. Your lips call to him, almost scream his name. Joel, Joel, Joel. And he wants to answer it. God, does he want to answer that call.

He watches the way you twirl, fluttering your eyelashes as you look down at the men, seducing them effortlessly. Performing is what you were meant to do. When you finally look at Joel he falls completely apart, all his threads coming untied in a heap, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

He stands there frozen, sinking his nails into the hardwood table as he sucks in a shaky breath, almost unable to fully take in the vision that stands mere inches before him. He can’t hear the carnal men anymore, can’t smell the cigar smoke that encases the air, can’t focus on anything that even remotely takes his attention from the beauty that lights up the room. He can only focus on you. He feels a pull from his chest, like an invisible string, forcing him to look at nothing else but you. The Sparkling Diamond that draws men to the Moulin Rouge, and the one thing he knows will get him fired.

Your eyes sparkle and shine like a rare gemstone, pulling Joel in like a siren’s forbidden song, a lull that drags him under the dark depths of the sea. The smile you wear doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a sadness there that he can’t quite place. The men claw and reach for you like starving pigs, acting like you’re just a piece of meat to pass around to all the others to get a quick taste of.

It makes him sick the way they objectify your body, only caring about what’s underneath the short shimmery dress you wear. Joel doesn’t stare at your curves, doesn’t get sucked into whatever fantasy the rest of the men are in. He just stares at your eyes. Beautiful, sparkling. He’d cross oceans just to have a chance to memorize each fleck and color that maps out those starry eyes. Like roadmaps to his soul, leading him home to the deep depths of those glistening irises. And that’s when something snaps, he can’t - no, he won’t let any of these men put one grimy finger on you. Whatever it takes he’ll do it. He makes a silent vow to keep you safe, protect you at all cost.

There’s only one condition, don’t touch the dancers.

Edward’s voice plays through Joel’s mind on repeat, warning him to not tempt fate. But fate had already been tempted when he saw you up on that stage. He’d quit, starve, be homeless on the street if it meant he could have a chance to be with you. He’d give it all just to be able to touch you, to know you, to have you. He’d leave it all for you. His sweet, Sparkling Diamond.

You spin and turn, kicking your feet up to show off your smooth, long legs that all the men drool over. You turn to the right, drifting your eyes in the direction of a man you’ve never seen before. You almost freeze as he stares right back at you, big beautiful brown eyes gazing into yours as he gawks at you reverently. But his eyes don’t travel down your body like the other men’s do. His eyes stay fixed on your face alone, staring up into the pits of your soul as you suck in a breath and try to focus on the beat of the song.

His long tousled curls drape over his forehead, almost falling into his brown doe eyes that seem to suck you in. He’s tall, broad shouldered with thick biceps that cling to his rolled up button-up flannel. Spidery veins cascade down his arms and end in massive hands that stay clenched by his sides. His tanned skin seems to glow as he stares at you with brown eyes that melt into your own like a candle stick, wax flowing down slowly, sticky and new. It’s captivating. He is captivating.

It's like you’re stuck in a haze, thick clouds that cover you and wrap their fog around so you can’t see, can’t hear anything anymore. You try to focus on the men that praise your body, try to avert your eyes from the handsome stranger, but that organ in your chest you force yourself to ignore is almost screaming at you to run to him. Two souls colliding into each other that were destined to meet. Just like twin flames.

Soulmates.

You blink once, twice, peeling your gaze away from him, turning the other direction, forcing yourself to stay bright eyed, hoping your smile doesn’t lower. You come face to face with a gentleman with a large top hat that screams your name and reaches his arms out, desperate to get just a single touch from you that he hopes will become more.

You turn back around and find that heated gaze again with the dark brown eyes, your own eyes going wide as they draw you to him. He looks a lot like your saving grace. Someone that wants to come in and sweep you off your feet.

Again, he just watches you silently, eyes searching yours as he seems to clock into your mind, reading your thoughts like a book from front to back. He won’t find anything there except a longing for something more. An escape. Happiness. And maybe he could be that for you. Maybe, just maybe he was destined to find you. You can feel it in your chest, that ache and pull that draws you to him.

Your uncle won’t like this. Not one bit…

Joel watches your entire routine, never once letting his eyes drop from you. He watches as you disappear into the crowd of men, narrowing his eyes when he sees the way they grab at you and beg to have a dance with the Sparkling Diamond. It makes him want to strangle every single one of them slowly.

Please, just one dance?

Sparkling Diamond! Care to have a drink with me?

How about a little fun in the red room?

You politely decline each offer and just smile as you pass the men by, trying your best to not meet the stranger with the pretty brown eyes’ gaze. He’s so handsome, so very easy on the eyes. You try your best to look at the men with money, knowing this is what you’re here for, to give them a show so they’ll pay to come back. Try as you might, that thin string snapped the second you saw his brown flecked honey eyes. You don’t want to do this anymore.

You turn where you stand and look back towards the stage. You search as men cram around you and over the top of an older man’s shoulder you can see him, clear as day, still staring at you with a trance-like expression on his face. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, curling your lips into a shy smile and you swear you see his pretty caramel eyes light up like fireflies in the night.

Just when you’re about to walk over to him, you feel your uncle pull you away in the opposite direction. “Come on, little petal, got some nice men that’d like to meet you.”

You follow him helplessly past some drawn crimson curtains, already over the drunk men that will press their chapped lips to your face and place their grimy hands all over you. You’re finished though, over all the fake smiles and laughter you are forced to sell these men night after night. When you look back over your shoulder you can’t see him anymore. No more pretty brown eyes that make you feel somehow safe. You don’t know him, his backstory, his name, or even his age, but you’ll find out. You have to, you just have to.

After finishing fixing the two broken tables and putting them back into order, Joel gets another visit from Edward as he saunters over with a big smile and a glass of scotch in his hand.

“Everything going alright?” Edward asks as he pulls on his black tie and straightens out his long tailed coat.

“Yes, sir. Finished fixin’ those tables for you. They should be good to go now,” Joel answers as he stands up straight with his hands deep in his pockets.

“Excellent!” Edward goes over to the wooden tables and knocks on the top, inspecting Joel’s work as he looks them over carefully. Once he’s satisfied he gives Joel a strong pat on the back and nods. “Did good work, boy. Think we’ll keep you around.”

Joel smiles at the compliment, thanking him for the opportunity. “Oh, there’s actually something else that needs to be done. You remember that room we passed on the second floor? The very back room by the balcony? The one that says Sparkling Diamond?”

Joel’s eyes go wide as he recalls passing a big red door with the letters spelled out in fake diamonds. That has to be your room. He should’ve noticed it sooner, maybe asked about it. But he didn’t know that room would belong to the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He didn’t know it until now.

“Uh-yeah. What about it?” he asks cautiously, eyebrow slightly raised in anticipation of what Edward would say next.

“The sink in her kitchen is dripping and some of the lightbulbs are burnt out. There should be some in the supply closet. Think you can handle taking care of that now?”

He doesn’t hesitate a second. “Absolutely. I’ll get right on it,” Joel says urgently.

As he turns to leave, Edward calls his name. “Oh, Joel. Before you leave tonight, go ahead and have a beer. It’s on me.”

Joel doesn’t know what to say. He’s never been offered a free one before, always had to pay money that he didn’t have to get one. “Oh, thank you. I… I appreciate it.”

“You earned it, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow night?” Edward asks with his eyebrows knitted together and gaze heavy on Joel.

“I’ll be here,” he promises.

“Alright, take care now. I’ve got some business to attend to so see you tomorrow.” Edward turns and walks back into a sea of rich men.

Joel pushes his way past men in black suits and black ties, cigars hanging from their open mouths and drinks spilling over their glass cups as they talk about money, sex, stocks, and women. He tunes them out and keeps walking, ignoring the nasty stares he gets from not being in a suit himself.

As soon as he grabs the bag of lightbulbs and a few plumbing tools, he heads up the grand staircase with red carpet sprawled across each step. He makes his way up the stairs, down the narrow dark hallway and stops before he turns the corner. He stands just a few feet from the pleasure room. The red room as they call it here.

He can hear the moans and cries coming from the room, can smell the stench of sex that whisks through the air. He wonders if you go into that room night after night, letting the men with dirty claws sink their nails into you, feasting on you like blood sucking vampires.

His jaw clenches up as his nails sink into the meat of his palm, his face becoming hot with heat as he imagines you splayed out on an open bed while the men take and take from you until you have nothing left to give. Until you’re just a used up rag doll for them to toy with. He snarls and turns the corner sharply, putting those dark thoughts out of his mind. If he had his way he’d make damn sure you’d never set foot in that room again. He’d slaughter a whole fucking mass of men if he had to. No one should lay their filthy hands on you as far as he’s concerned.

He walks through the long corridor, passing door after door until he finally gets to yours. He takes a deep breath and turns the golden doorknob slowly entering the dimly lit room with pale pink wallpaper. He gently shuts the door and when he turns around he stops in his tracks, hand sliding off the doorknob as he sees you standing in the middle of the room. Naked.

Your skin is soft, probably as soft as the back of a rose petal. Your legs are long, smooth, and enticing. He wonders what it’d feel like to run his long fingers over your creamy thighs. You’re bent over, ass in the air, as you unbuckle the straps of the high heels you wore on stage. Your hips are curvy, shaping your round ass into mere perfection. Your full breasts peek out from the corner as your long waves spill over your shoulders. You’re absolutely perfect, stunning, a work of pure art.

Joel knows he’s fucked now. He knows. After seeing how beautiful you are, he can’t turn away. He shouldn’t be standing here gawking at you while you change, but he can’t move. He’s stuck like glue, an immovable object that can’t be pushed. He’s in trouble, so much trouble.

He loses his balance when you bend over again, exposing a different view of you that nearly takes him to his knees. The bag of bulbs falls to the ground with a large crash, and you turn with a quaint gasp as you take in the man that stands before you. It’s him, the man with the dark eyes.

Your eyes go wide, quickly reaching for a thin, sheer robe as you wrap it around you and cover the parts of you that are completely exposed. You breathe hard, your breath coming out rushed and fast. He does the same as he just stands there staring, no air left in his lungs as he stands in front of the beauty that takes his breath away. And then it’s silence, only rushed breaths and pining eyes.

The longer he stares into your captivating eyes, the more he knows he’s fucked. There was no way he was getting out of this now, no way to back down. He was going to make you his one way or another. You would be his. Period.

[elephantlovemedleys]

a sweet nothing.

She splurges herself with laughter into his chest, her arms locked around his neck while he wraps her in his embrace. Christian’s cracking up a joke or rather telling her how he’d incorporate it into the show. It’s a bit corny, and pretty cheesy even, Satine thinks and yet somehow, it still manages to bring out a reaction in her, a reaction so warm and light that brings out the smile in her face that he just loves so much. 

How the long and lingering hours of a bright and whimsical night with him felt too fast was something she wondered, time goes by as slow as the hours she’d count just to be with him again, and at the same time as fast as the wind that blows away the candle light into smoke whenever she was around him. She had practiced her lines, share a few stories about themselves here and there that made them feel at home with one another, they’d sung a few songs together, with their harmonies and words intertwined that their voices seemed to have made love to each other, and entangled their bodies as if there was little to no space at all in his bed, and yet everything just fell seamlessly into place and fit perfectly, like she was born to feel the fire consumed by his kiss and he with the electricity of her touch. 

This is what love feels like, and it’s in the way he’d tuck in her curls inside her ear, the way she held onto him as she’d be waking up first while he was still wandering in slumber, the way her cheeks would turn red at the sight of his eyes locking into hers, and the way his voice sounds with great affection as he greets her good morning with a kiss so light—yet enough to make her melt away for him over and over again.

[matan4il]

Man Suang review

Spoilers! (obviously. Also, this was written after watching the movie just once, to give my opinion as "raw" as possible)

This may seem like a weird spot to start, but I feel like I really can't review this movie properly, without pointing out that it's Moulin Rouge, except set in another country AND another genre. The latter gives it a very different feel (to a great degree, due to tone as well, MS is a serious movie, while MR, even while it does want you to care, doesn't take itself too seriously), but the basic structure of the two movies is too similar, so I have to start there.

In both cases, the movie revolves around (and gets its title from) an entertainment center, which is beautiful and alluring, but also serves as a stage for some of the uglier sides of human urges. This entertainment institution houses performers of low social status, who often also must prostitute themselves to the rich and powerful people who frequent the place. And while the whoring is pretty much built in, and no one bats an eye at it, this setting also allows for some murderous intents to surface. The plot is centered around an exceptionally beautiful and talented, lowborn entertainer, who must sell their body to get by, having aspirations to get a better life through this, and the seemingly simple guy, who is a part of their social circle at this entertainment place, who has his own aspirations, and is not as lowly, which is why he doesn't have to stoop as low as prostitution, and can offer something different. Despite the connection between them, they're both trapped in plots bigger than them, set into motion before they even met, and they have to struggle to find their way amidst all this intrigue, which moves them almost like they were pawns. By the end of the movie, there will be betrayal between the two, but also repentance, and an act of choosing each other over their initial ideal, allowing them to make decisions that are "righter" than they would have, had they not met, and ones that give them more freedom than had they simply served the initial goal they were supposed to. Through that, they gain more freedom and agency. Yet despite that, they don't end the movie being together.

Now, why do I bring this comparison up? Because while MR doesn't take itself seriously, like I said, it does want the viewer to care, and it achieves this by recognizing that they can make a mess of genres, of reality vs hallucination (hello Kylie Minogue as the Green Fairy), of time periods (soundtrack and props that have nothing to do with the year 1900), be as camp and over the top as they wanna be, but if the characters and love story are compelling, we'll all still be riveted.

And that's generally true for every movie. At the end of the day, whatever the genre, we watch first and foremost because someone made us care in some way about at least one of the characters or relationships featured in the film. My fave action movie ever works so well, not because its climax scene is so full of fists (in the middle of a lake at night in total darkness, with the very real threat of the good guy being drowned by the bad one), it hits home because this fight will actually be decided by whether the cold-blooded CIA handler, who had to train the good guy, has come to care enough about him, to be able to tell the two men apart even under these circumstances, and shoot the right person (meaning, the bad guy), saving the protagonist and countless others along the way. It's this test of their (BTW, fully platonic) relationship, that makes up the film's real climax.

So, probably my biggest issue with MS is that it seems to lose sight of that too often. It's so focused on telling us this political mystery, that it forgets at the end of the day, we're here for people and how they feel about and react to each other. The heart of the movie is the relationship between Khem (played by Apo), the entertainer forced to whore himself out, and Chat, the one guy who sees him dancing, but doesn't want just Khem's body. The parts that let their relationship breathe and develop are the best in the movie, they're the ones that feel the most authentic, interesting and impactful. They're the emotional anchor of the whole thing, and even though the movie too often neglects them, and doesn't give them enough time, they just work thanks to Mile and Apo's excellent acting, and their outstanding chemistry. Truly, it's once again a testament of how well these two fit as a team, that they're able to achieve so much, when they're giving too little breathing space for the relationship that is, at the end of the day, the very heart of the film.

The cinematography is great, though I'll admit that I was not that into the colors, I usually like vivid colors, but here they were oversaturated in a way that added a certain sense of heaviness and suffocation to my viewing experience. In a sense, it fits. Man Suang is both beautiful and ugly, alluring and repulsive. Still, I think it would have been a better choice to add the unnatural oversaturation as the ugliness unfolds. First let the viewers be seduced by the beautiful imagery and colors, only then hit them with the ugliness that all of the glitter hides. But then, the movie actually hits us with the ugly bits, with prostitution and murder, in the exposition already. Which makes me think the whole movie could have benefited from a more gradual unfolding of those parts of the entertainment world we're introduced to. Still, I will say that the parts where Khem and Chat get to know each other better, in the market, flying a kite in the field and chatting while climbed up on a tree, they don't have that oversaturation, they get to enjoy more natural lighting, and it gives these scenes a lighter feeling, which does fit. They do seem less burdened in those moments than throughout most of the film. And then the issue with this goes back to... there's just not enough of these scenes, to really give this contrast its own gravitas.

There are scenes which are redundant, they should have been cut out, like when we learn how Tubtim prefers being a whore at Man Suang than outside it. Not that her short monologue isn't touching, but let's be honest, she's not an actual character. She's a plot device, this short scene is only included to set up her change of heart, when she decides to tell Khem the truth, instead of lying. But since this doesn't give her enough depth or her own agency to become a character in her own right, and since she explains her decision to Khem anyway, it's just a waste of time, and it comes at the expense of developing the more emotionally crucial parts of the movie.

And it's not like the movie doesn't know where its emotional weight is. For example, the film's emotional climax, the moment where tensions run highest, is without a doubt the confrontation between Khem and Chat, when they accuse each other of choosing themselves and being willing to sacrifice the other one to do it. It's an effective moment, but I think it would have been so much more powerful, if we got to spend more time seeing Chat and Khem becoming increasingly more important to each other.

For that matter, the real resolution in the movie isn't to the supposed mystery of who has the secret documents and how to get them. It's the resolution of what to do with them, which is where Chat and Khem had clashed. Chat needs the documents destroyed so he and his family won't be punished (possibly killed) for his father's crime. Khem needs the documents delivered to the authorities so that he and his friend won't be punished (possibly killed) for a murder they were framed for. The real resolution of the story is when Khem chooses to burn the documents, so Chat and his family will be safe, and after he leaves, Chat saves them from the flames, and has them delivered, securing Khem's life and reward.

I really liked this part, and again, it felt lighter than the rest of the movie, giving a real sense of relief (visually as well, as there's less oversaturation, and both guys change into nicer outfits, with brighter patches of color). I also enjoyed the more complex POV they offer by the end. They both didn't want the life they were born into. Khem didn't like being of a low socio-economic status, being dependent on the good will of others. Chat didn't want to be a civil servant like his dad. As the movie ends, Khem chooses to stay at Man Suang, turning down the social mobility reward Chat was able to secure for him, while Chatra accepts a position serving his country. Seemingly, they both had to accept their predestined fate. But the fact that they get to choose it now, makes a difference. They see the good they can do, and they're not deprived of humanizing agency. The delivery of this in their dialogues is also quite lovely, with Khem talking about how each type of boat is made for very specific conditions that it must sail, while Chat brings up the fact that now, there are new types of ship, which can defy expectations, and sail in any conditions. They're both right, and they complete each other in describing the place that they ended up in. And the mutual parting, as they both "entrust" something to the care of the other, does reflect their bond.

Still, all of this would have been even more poignant, if this relationship had been given more space. As is, I feel like I even have to guess to a degree why they do care about each other, and why they do end up choosing the other's best interest over their own.

It's a bit clearer with Khem. We see him being exploited for sex, because of his beauty and grace, instead of being seen and appreciated for his talent and hard work. Chat is different. He helps Khem more than once without asking for anything in return, and Chatra also compliments him on his performance. Other than him, there's only one person who seems not to want anything from Khem, his long time friend Wan, but even he ends up betraying and being willing to kill Khem, when Wan doesn't get what he wants from his friend (revenge against all Chinese people). Once more, Chat is different. Yes, he points his revolver at Khem, but he doesn't pull the trigger, he doesn't use the leverage he has in order to force Khem to do what benefits Chat. Instead, he puts down the revolver, and tries to explain himself and his attempt to save his family.

What makes Chat like Khem? I find that a bit harder to answer, though there's a clear and real interest there, which goes beyond Chat's secret mission with the documents. He saves Khem from being discovered during their first meeting, and doesn't ask for anything in return. Chat pays attention to Khem at rehearsals, to his dancing, to his tendency of getting into trouble when not backing down at the face of bullying or injustice... So we can assume Chatra likes all of that. And then he does explicitly express his interest, when he admits to Khem he wanted them to spend that time together at the market.

Which I guess brings me to the question of... okay, so is this a love story? Their relationship is obviously vital to the story, but is it a romantic one? The movie seems to wanna leave it open to interpretation. Maybe it's my hopeless romantic streak, I do wanna see it as a love story. I think there are some hints for that. The mutual interest and liking, even at the stage when they've barely spoken to each other, the way they end up choosing each other even at the possible cost of their own life, the explicit admission from Chat that he was looking to spend time with Khem at the market even when it didn't appear to have anything to do with his secret mission, the way Chat's admission seems to not only make Khem happy, he looks shaken up, there's the kite flying scene, which is played for laughs (flying a kite is apparently Thai slang for jerking off), but still, it's a choice that the movie made, to add a layer of sexual tension there. And then there's the scene where they're trying to figure out who's the woman in red if no one was wearing red on the night they're investigating. Chat steps into the spot where the woman had been, his shirt white, and red light is projected over him. Khem stands in front of him, and they stare at each other for a moment. To me, it serves a double purpose. One is that Khem realizes Chat just handed him the solution to that part of the mystery. The other is that films often illuminate characters in red to show lust and even love. So this might also be a moment when it hits Khem that his feelings for Chat, who's been helping him, who he trusts, run deeper than he realized.

I do think Man Suang would have been braver and better if it had openly gone with the romantic interpretation. It's not just me being an incurable romantic. I also think that, much like in MR, the relationship that changes the course of the two main characters has to be a really strong one, enough for one to decide to give up his life for the other. I'm not sure that friendship quite cuts it, especially when this relationship didn't have that much time to develop (def not enough screen time, but also not enough in-story time). Was love between two men back then a simple thing to admit to? Of course not. But men did fall in love, and even acted on it. I'm not talking here full blown sex. But enough that the audience would know for sure what they feel for each other. On a local TV show, I was reminded that when the small fingers of two people, who are forbidden from any physical connect, do touch, even briefly... something that small and fleeting can still be a confession of deep love and yearning.

Another thing I wish they'd done is make more use of the unspoken tension created by one man dancing to the beat struck by another one. This was so present and delicious in the first teaser released for Mileapo's movie (before it even had a name and a script), I wish they had retained that. It's somewhat present (Khem says he danced so well, thanks to the beat Chat set for him, and then in the scene exposing Tiang, it's Chat's change in drumming that sets the stage for Khem revealing the treason through dance and song), but could have been used so much more. The play between real life and art, the connectedness or contrast between the two men when they're on the same page versus when they're not... There's so much potential for non-verbal drama, and they captured it beautifully in that teaser, so why is it almost non-existent in the film?

I also... I know that the movie is set in the 19th century, and I don't expect 21st century tolerance to be projected back onto it, but I find it hard to ignore that we have one character spew homophobic shit, Khem denying having had sex with another man, basically agreeing it's wrong, and at the same time, men exploiting other men sexually is not looked away from, it's very explicit and built into Khem's story. Each one of these things can be true in its way (there was homophobia, people did have to go with it, there was male on male exploitation alongside this homophobia), but when every explicit thing in this context is negative, while the one positive (the possible love story between Chat and Khem) remains implicit and optional at best, it feels like it unintentionally leans into the homophobic narrative. Take Brokeback Mountain for example. The environment in that movie is highly homophobic, prejudiced, rude and even violent about it. And while Jack and Ennis had a lifelong love story, they couldn't actually live it out in the open because of said homophobia. Ennis in particular would rather punch a guy, than admit Jack was the love of his life. And still, we got to see their love, we got to see that even with all of the societal hardships, it brought them warmth and comfort, and was a reason to risk a lot, even for Ennis, who was so acutely aware of the threat to their lives. I like that BBM was honest in depicting Ennis and Jack having sex, but at the end of it, even without those scenes, the love between them was enough of a counterweight, that it never felt like the movie unintentionally reinforced a negative view of what two men can have together. With MS, I feel like a homophobic casual viewer, who won't get that Chat and Khem saved each other through something that might be more than just friendship, could easily have their negative view reaffirmed.

All in all, I enjoyed MS. I loved seeing Mile and Apo acting together again, I missed that, and their chemistry is just as superb as ever. I'm not sure the movie, getting as distracted from the main relationship as it did, would have worked without their unique addition of beautiful acting and chemistry. So, I would recommend it to friends, but I guess I would also really love to see a better paced, edited and re-focused version of it. Shine, Mileapo's show that will follow in the footsteps of MS, might deliver that. I can't wait to see! ^u^

(if you're curious about any of my other Mileapo/Kinnporsche posts, you can find them here)

[comebackali]

top five figure skating routines of all time? not necessarily the best executed or scored but the ones that hit you the hardest <3

oh lmao this is gonna out me as a fake fs fan who's really only been following the sport for the last like... 8 years. there is not gonna be anything on this list before the 2010s, and these are all gonna be the most basic takes. we don't care. we like what we like. i don't know sports, but i think there must be smth about the first athletes you really follow that just makes them a cut above the rest and makes them stay with you forever. so here's that, for me.

allie's top five comfort figure skating routines:

1) tessa and scott's "moulin rouge" at the 2018 pyeongchang olympics:

nothing will ever be this, no one will ever be them. truly the greatest moment in Sport History. the greatest in choreography, in presence, in chemistry. the greatest warhorse, the greatest team of all time. and the best they've ever been!! being able to watch this routine get better and better and then have them preform it the best they ever had when the stakes could not have been higher. the music starts and i get chills over my whole body. also the hugs and kisses after, the moment they find out they win. nothing will ever top this moment for me. you truly had to have Been There Gandalf, that season, their comeback, to understand the euphoria of that moment. literally bottle it and sell it as crack tbh. (also scott mouthing along to "come what may" always makes me fucking EMO lol)

2) evgenia medvedeva's "anna karenina" also at the 2018 pyeongchang olympics:

imma be real with you bestie, this is not even close to the greatest ladies fs routine of all time, and yet it is the routine i end up rewatching the most. something about it. i think to myself, "it's time to rewatch evgenia medvedeva's anna karenina again" a few times a month. and like, it is beautiful. no matter how many times i watch it i am entertained and engaged the entire time by the weird ass swirly swirls. but the emotion, the stakes, the drama. it just makes everything better and more poignant. i watch the whole thing with my heart in my throat. the way she's full sobbing by the end of it, and knowing how it all turns out, just gets me man. 2018 was such a blessed, cursed time.

3) tessa and scott's 2008 world championship "umbrellas of cherbourg"

oh hey look, something from before 2010. in all seriousness all this list is telling you is that i am an ice dance fan first and foremost, and a tessa and scott fan before that. as far as comfort programs go this is probably my number 1. i've watched it so many times. i used to tell people it was my favorite figure skating routine, and watching it again now i'm like, based?? there is something so intoxicating about this routine. they are just little babies!! and the near kiss at the end always sends me into a tizzy. this routine has cast it's spell on me. i am it's humble servant.

4) piper and paul's "hitchcock" routine from 2014 world's:

i can't believe i almost forgot this one. THE CUNT!! THE CUNT!! who the fuck else doing it like these PSYCHOS??! paul's face at the end. literally no one has ever served more face. face card carding or whatever the kids say.

5) yuzuru hanyu's prince routine from 2017 world's:

i can't believe i'm picking (1) yuzu routine and it's this one. i oscillated so much between this one and "hope and legacy" which is obviously gorgeous and iconic, yet here we are. it was my first instinct so i'm going with it. but i have no explanation. he fucks up his quad sal and very nearly falls, adding a double on the end and still managing to serve absolute cunt. at some points you can barely hear the music over the sound of the screams. truly, performance of all time!! the stupid lil vest/pants combo. his cunty lil dance moves. he is truly in his element here. i love him sm.

honorable mentions: elizaveta tuktamysheva's "toxic":

many lesbians were created here

the shib's "that's life" from the 2016 grand prix final:

1000/10 for being hot and turning me bisexual

[jgroffdaily]

JONATHAN GROFF SETS 2025 BROADWAY RETURN WITH ‘JUST IN TIME’

by Philip Boroff

EXCLUSIVE: Newly minted Tony Award winner Jonathan Groff will play the 1950s and ’60s crooner Bobby Darin in a staged reading next month, ahead of a planned Broadway opening in spring 2025, people familiar with the musical said.

The reading of Just in Time will be directed by Alex Timbers (Moulin Rouge!). On Broadway, Tom Kirdahy and Robert Ahrens are set to produce the show, which tells the story of the short but eventful life of the popular performer, whose hits included “Mack the Knife,” “Dream Lover” and “Just in Time.”

Born Walden Robert Cassotto in East Harlem, Darin had rheumatic fever as a child that damaged his heart. He lived, he acknowledged, as if on borrowed time before his death at 37.

He led a new generation of swinging singers into the rock revolution of the 1960s. He also acted in movies, composed music, married the actress Sandra Dee and as an adult discovered that the woman he thought was his older sister was his mother.

“I went on YouTube,” Groff told reporter Elysa Gardner before a rehearsal of an early version of the show, presented as part of the 92nd Street Y ‘s “Lyrics and Lyricist” series in 2018. “I watched all these TV performances, from the beginning to the end of his career, and I was blown away by his versatility. The rock & roll and the standards, the dancing, the folk songs. The duets with George Burns and Judy Garland. His life was insane.”

Darin spawned many imitators, including Kevin Spacey, who played him in the biofilm Beyond the Sea. The ballad “Just in Time” was composed by Jule Styne with lyrics by Adolph Green and Betty Comden for the musical Bells are Ringing. It became a hit for Dean Martin, among others, who was in the 1960 movie adaptation directed by Vincente Minnelli.

Besides Groff, casting wasn’t available. The reading isn’t affected by the monthlong Actors’ Equity strike intended to pressure the Broadway League to improve its Development Agreement with the union. Actors will be working under a contract negotiated with the League of Resident Theatres (LORT), an association of nonprofit theater companies.

Although the reading will be in New York, it’s under the aegis of Signature Theatre in Arlington, Virginia, which is a LORT member.

In a charmed career, the 39-year-old Groff has performed in the Frozen films, the TV series Glee and three acclaimed Broadway blockbusters — Spring Awakening, Hamilton and most recently Merrily We Roll Along — each of which earned him a Tony nomination. (He won for Merrily.)

Groff was also the first Seymour in the hit off-Broadway revival of Little Shop of Horrors, produced by Ahrens, Kirdahy and Hunter Arnold. Andrew Barth Feldman is currently playing the role.

In his moving acceptance speech at the Tony awards in June, Groff spoke about his love of the Broadway community and how “musical theater is still saving my soul.” Just in Time will aim for multigenerational appeal, as the young Broadway star sings 65-year-old standards.

Since the pandemic, older audiences have been slow to return to Broadway. If Just in Time is well received, Groff may be just the man to help bring them back.

**

Source: Philip Boroff in Broadway Journal.

Jonathan led a reading of the show on 15 March 2024 after rehearsing for a couple of weeks with the cast. Details below:

[bibluebutterfly]

(New) Cannon/ Mostly Cannon Facts About Ozzie.

JMI's new livestream was today, and you can guess who watched it lol. Anyway, here's Part One if y'all want to check it out.

DISCLAIMER: Take all of this with a pinch of salt because most of this is just what JMI thinks. Also I came in 12 minutes late so I may have missed something. Now let's get to it.

Ozzie and bee get along relatively well. In JMI's words, "they have their moments" and "they know how the hierarchy SHOULD work." Interesting...

If Oz could play a role in a broadway musical he would probably be the Moulin Rouge ringleader. Though JMI thinks it funny if he played George Washington from Hamilton and he wish's Ozzie could've played Phantom, but he's too sexy. (Ozzie as Phantom? TAKE MY MONEY AND TAKE IT NOW.)

Oz could squish mammon in full form just because he is way taller. (but that's likely WITHOUT them using magic.)

Fizz and Oz wedding? JMI has no clue but if there was it would be fire.

The song Oz would listen to and repeat would be (and he sings this part so I don't know if it a song or lyric) "can't get enough of your love, baby" because in his words, Ozzie "can't get enough of his love". The SWEETNESS AAGGGHHH.

Ozzie and Lucifer PROBABLY get along well. As long as Oz does his job and they don't mess with each other, they really don't have a reason to hate.

Ozzie probably likes Xmas carols cuz they're catchy.

Fizz is an awful cook. In JMI's words (in the Ozzie voice), he's "so cute, so sexy, but can't cook worth a damn." I mean we knew that but the way I bust out laughing XD.

Ozzie's fav food is may be barbecue ribs and wings (cannibalism??) But that may be (and most likely is) JMI projecting.

If Oz were to give Fizz Flowers, they would be white and blue roses (JMI admits that is cheesy. Which yes, but it's oh so in character for the both of them XD).

JMI SAID IT'S CANNON THAT OZ DOES NOT HOW TO USE ELECTRONICS THAT IS SO FUNNY.

(NOT RELATED IN ANY WAY BUT HE SAID HI TO MEEEE AAAGGHHHHH.)

Oz probably likes cheese (though JMI DOESN'T.)

Not a fact but a fan said Ozzie brand cereal would be called Ozzie-O's and I love that.

If the Ozzie liking barbecue wings is NOT cannon, then he may be horrified to see his workers eating Chicken.

Oz still not big on valentines.

He and Fizz WOULD sing "Baby It's Cold Outside" but Fizz would likely change it to (and I once again quote) "nasty, nasty lyrics".

And that's it folks. Once again, JMI is awesome, we love him, and Ozzie still remains one of my favorite characters.