#Singer Built Tiny house

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Stephan Jenkins, singer from the band 3rd Eye Blind, is selling his 1880 Victorian in San Francisco, California. The 4bd, 2.5ba home has been completely renovated to combine vintage & modern. He's asking $3.6M. What do you think?

On the front stoop, there's a square of original tiles.

So. The entrance hall is painted shades of gray, including the wood, except for the railing. It looks like the original floor is still there, but it's stained much darker.

The front sitting room is immediately off the hall.

The less formal sitting room is more of a family/TV room and has an original fireplace that was refurbished.

The dining room is an example of mixing old with new. The wall has a faux patina decorated with old prints & mirrors. Classic draperies and a vintage carpet complete the look while a very modern table adds contrast.

The kitchen, however, is ultra modern. There's no standard cabinetry, just a long sink, charcoal gray island, some low shelving and a wood unit that houses the ovens.

There's a seating area in the kitchen with a wall that opens to the deck.

This is what it looks like from outside.

Back in the hallway there's a little sitting nook under the stairs.

The guest powder room is pretty.

A short pass-thru to the primary bedroom has a large built-in closet unit and a floating dresser. The window bump-out has a door to a small terrace.

Love this vintage bath.

Nice sunny room that is kind of a multi-purpose room with a lovely fireplace.

No other bedrooms are being used as such. This one looks like a TV room with a guest day bed. The niche is a nice feature.

This bath is an old/new combo.

The rooms up here aren't very big and this is a very tiny space.

A raised deck takes up most of the small yard.

There's also a sauna and a tub/shower. 2,875 sq. ft. lot.

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/76-Liberty-St_San-Francisco_CA_94110_M18785-06815

[pillowfriendly]

Tagged by @briannysey :3

Last song: aeterna by simone simons, she's the singer from epica and its her first solo project !

Favorite Color: gray blue i love u

Currently watching: padres vs braves game like right meow. atlanta sports is suffering

Last movie: just watched lisa frankenstein with my friends, it was quite silly. i liked it well enuf

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: savoryyyyy. its all about da umami babey

Current obsessions: gonna be real honest with you its kinda ants rn. theres a colony of fire ants building little piles down at the bottom of the steps to my apartment and theyve been going crazy building little volcano-like structures one tiny ball of dirt at a time. one entrance got rid of a whole millipede (or maybe built over it, but i dont want to ruin their hard work to check....) anyway i like to squat and watch em and look up stuff about ants

Last thing googled: pooja. friends are moving into a house soon and theyll be doing a grihapravesha ceremony (boil milk to get rid of evil spirits and bless the place) and i wanted to know whats up with that

[goldtowhite]

solana "solar" flores // character study

basic information:

FULL NAME: solana maria flores

NICKNAME(S): solar, sol

AGE: 27

DATE OF BIRTH: january 1st, 1997

PLACE OF BIRTH: salinas, california

GENDER: cisfemale

PRONOUNS: she/her

ORIENTATION: bisexual

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, spanish

NEIGHBOURHOOD: sierra vista estates

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: she lives by herself!

family ties:

MOTHER: violetta marie reyes flores

FATHER: miguel diego flores

SIBLINGS: a little sister, a full ten years younger than her

SPOUSE / PARTNER: none

CHILDREN: none

PETS: one dog, a great dane named nelvin

occupational information:

OCCUPATION: solo artist

SKILLSET OR SPECIALISATION (IF APPLICABLE): singer, dancer

answer only if your character is a musician:

NAME OF THEIR ACT: she goes by the name solar as a performer

SO THEY PLAY INSTRUMENTS? IF SO WHAT?: she can play piano and is attempting to learn guitar

ARTIST INFLUENCES: ariana grande, hwasa, kehlani

CURRENT MONTHLY SPOTIFY/APPLE MUSIC LISTENS ON AVERAGE: 75M

physical appearance:

FACE CLAIM: becky g

HAIR COLOR: dark brown

EYE COLOR: brown

HEIGHT: 5'1"

BUILD: curvy, toned

TATTOOS: she has two of becky's tattoos, the dragonfly on her side, and the familia on her wrist

PIERCINGS: just a bunch of ear piercings

CLOTHING STYLE: what always matters most to her is that her hair and makeup is done no matter what. very glamorous style, loves a good crop top, loves form fitting clothes.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: she's teeny tiny short.

personality:

MBTI: ESTJ

ELEMENT: earth

WESTERN ZODIAC: capricorn

CHINESE ZODIAC: ox

POSITIVE TRAITS: ambitious, vibrant, expressive

NEGATIVE TRAITS: bossy, materialistic, vain

HOBBIES: travel, cooking, foodie type behaviors in general, swimming

wanted connections:

CONNECTION TYPE: give me a toxic on and off relationship please. i'd love this to be another uber famous person, like they keep writing albums about each other, they've broken up messily in the public eye multiple times, when they come back together half the fanbase cheers and half groans but knows they're gonna get good sad music out of it. down to cook for this.

CONNECTION TYPE: someone who works for solana who kind of picks away at her outer layers and understands her on a personal level.

PART TWO: QUESTIONNAIRE. 

IF YOUR MUSE IS A MUSICIAN:

start at the beginning, who are you and why are you important? i'm solana flores, known as solar to most, and why i'm important isn't really something i can answer. you'd have to ask the people who decided i was.

how long have you been making music? since i was a little girl. my dad plays guitar and he would play around the house, would do it to entertain us when the lights went out because he and mama couldn't make the bills that much, and i just started singing along with it.

how would you describe the kind of music you make? it's a really healthy mix of songs you'd want to have sex to, and songs you'd blast with the windows down going 90 mph on an empty highway.

who are some of your biggest musical influences? oh the list is endless. selena, of course, a legend and an icon. beyonce! lots of lesser known mexican artists i grew up listening to with my parents.

what is the first record you ever bought? it was an n*sync cd, if i'm being honest.

what has working in the music industry meant to you thus far in your career? the life i've built for myself is something i would've never dreamed. my parents never have to lift a finger again, though they do anyway because they worry about my little sister getting too spoiled, and for good reason. they already have one spoiled child, they don't need another.

what are some stand out moments from your career so far? my first sold out show, even though the venues were pretty small. my first stadium tour. my first meet and greet.

how would you describe your style of performance? what makes your shows worth seeing? my style of performance is to make sure that you'd never dare look anywhere but the stage, in case you missed anything. i'm worth seeing because i'm real, and good at what i do, and make it known.

what are you still hoping to achieve in your career? you'd think reaching the top would be where it ends, but there are some awards i haven't won yet that i'd like to. really all that's missing from my shelf at home is a grammy.

what’s next for you? well that's a secret.

[burlveneer-music]

Molly Lewis - On the Lips - don't know if I'm ready for a full-on lounge/exotica (re)revival, but it's the perfect milieu for a whistler

Consider this your invitation to Café Molly, a lounge bar like they don’t make them anymore. The lights are low, the martinis are ice cold, the banquettes are velvet, and the stage is set for the electrifying talent of whistler Molly Lewis. Molly’s soft-focus cocktail music conjures up visions of classic Hollywood jazz clubs, Italian cinema soundtracks and lingering embraces between lovers. After the exotica stylings of The Forgotten Edge EP and the tropicalia-indebted Mirage EP, Molly wanted to encapsulate the sound of Café Molly for her debut album On The Lips, a dreamy tribute to classic mood music. That spellbinding sound, which usually comes to life in Los Angeles, has also popped up in Mexico City dancehalls, graced the runways of Paris and London Fashion Weeks, and made a magical appearance at a children's fairyland. Molly Lewis’s love for this smoky corner of the world doesn’t end with her songwriting. She is a devotee and an archivist, capturing and enlivening the pieces that endure. She was a regular at the legendary shows by Marty and Elayne, the lounge duo who spent almost 40 years playing LA’s Dresden bar. The duo came to global fame after an appearance in 1996’s Swingers and kept going long after that spotlight faded, finally finishing their nightly residency after the death of Marty at the ripe age of 89 last year. “That felt like the end of an era,” says Molly. But there are still flashes of that world to be found, and she finds them. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in New York lately, where there are a lot more of those moody, classic jazz bars,” she explains. Over the past few years Molly has flexed her one-of-a-kind musical skill alongside Mark Ronson on the Barbie soundtrack, as well as with Dr Dre, Karen O, actor John C Reilly, Mac De Marco, fashion houses Chanel, Gucci and Hermes, and folk rock royalty Jackson Browne. After a performance with longtime friend Weyes Blood on Burt Bacharach’s The Look of Love during a Café Molly evening at LA’s Zebulon, Molly supported the singer on a US tour, introducing her sound to a brand new audience. “I forget sometimes that what I do has that factor of surprise and uniqueness – it is something that most people have never seen before,” says Molly. She too might never have entered the idiosyncratic world of whistling had she not as a teenager seen the 2005 documentary Pucker Up, which details the International Whistling Competition. Equally amused and bemused by the eccentric event, in 2012 she competed herself. Spending her early twenties in Berlin she then moved to LA to work in film – and returned to the contest in 2015 to take home first prize. One evening Molly did a turn at an open mic at the Kibitz Room, a tiny late-night bar inside historic LA deli Canter’s. Her display led to appearances at performance art happenings across the city, and she soon caught the ear of independent record label Jagjaguwar. On The Lips was recorded with producer Thomas Brenneck of the Menahan Street Band, Budos Band, Dap-Kings and El Michels Affair, at his newly-built Diamond West Studios in Pasadena. The pair bonded over the work of 1960s soundtrack composers Alessandro Alessandroni and Piero Piccioni, and, with something of an open door policy during the sessions, a stream of acclaimed musicians ended up across the album’s 10 tracks. With her intoxicating compositions, and wry brand of stagecraft (she might not be singing up there, but she can sure tell a joke) Molly Lewis looks set to join her heroes in the storied lore of the Los Angeles lounge scene and beyond. So pull up a chair, order your favorite drink, and prepare to fall for On The Lips.  PERFORMER LINE-UP: On The Lips Molly Lewis - Whistle, guitar, vocals Joe Harrison - Flute, bass Eric Hagstrom - Drums, clave Thomas Brenneck - Organ Written by: Molly Lewis

[higurehige]

hi hello. been 5000 years since I have been tagged in much. uwu thank you @spadefish in return i slaaap uuuuh @duskdragonxiii @etakeh @vampiremasochist annnd @ponyacci (chose 2 of these based on activity feed but still important non-the-less! I hope you guys are all well even if we are but strangers in this wide blue world. Obvs feel free to ignore if you want to)

1. Are you named after anyone? A country singer. Course no one really thinks of her when they hear my name.

2. When was the last time you cried? Hrmmmm. Iunno probably 2 months ago over cirque du freak book series. I cry over books a lot.

3. Do you have kids? I am the kid. Do the 9 cats in my house count? On a serious note - no and I don't plan to. I have far too many problems and raising a kid would just wind up with me placing at least HALF of those problems on them. No. This curse ends with me. I don't think I'd even feel comfortable helping raise someone elses kid if we were in a relationship.

4. What sports do you play/have you played? I picked up archery recently! That's cool. I don't go as often as I should bc it's a bit expensive...but...yea! Archerys cool. Working on learning both recurve and compound. recurve for funsies and compound for hunting. (I just want an excuse to go sit out in the woods for hours on end doing fuck all and maybe, possibly bringing home some meat too)

5. Do you use sarcasm? Not often. I'm pretty blunt and no matter how hard I try to control myself I end up sounding like that one guy from guardians of the galaxy "Nothing goes over my head. I would catch it"

6. What is the first thing you notice about people? -shrug- Their face? I guess? Or whatever color they're wearing. Maybe their shoes. Idk...I'm terrible at facial recognition so I go ape trying to compensate for this.

7. What's your eye color? Green

8. Scary movies or happy endings? (both good but probably horror lean)

9. Any talents? Depends what you count as a talent. Born with? Insane observational skills? Uh I can eat actual rotten and moldy food and not get sick? Uuuuuuh. Hmmm....I can dilate my pupils at will? I can bend my legs freaky directions but not freaky enough to look like a contortionist. naturally good with animals I guess? Idk, nothing to write home about.

10. Where were you born? South Haven Michigan

11. What are your hobbies? Reading, drawing, writing (lol to both of these), gardening (i live in an apartment so I cant really do like...vegetable gardening but, I got plants! =3), studying various animals (and bugs), studying plants, photography, I come and go out of other hobbies, honestly. Adhd moments of "wow that looks cool" doing it once and never again....I'm trying, chief.

12. Do you have any pets? Avery (black cat), Diva and squeakers (twin solid gray cats), Baguatte (orange boi), Tiny man (gray stripy fella), Shaggy (not really MY cat, he's just some stray but....-sigh- he is sleeping in my house rn so I GUESS. (brother to Tiny man I think. very similar appearances). then there's weasle and skunk. (also cats) Do the assassin bugs i just bought for my garden count as pets? bc I have assassin bugs in my plants now =3

13. How tall are you? 5'4 ish and built like a brick.

14. Favorite subject in school? Didn't have a good time in school, so I hated all of it. Excelled at English and reading classes.

15. Dream job? Biology field. I want to get paid to study animal/insect behaviors and write papers on them. As it is I am just doing this shit for free lol

[master-john-uk]

You may have seen this on BBC Television news today... Queen Mary's Doll's House is on public display at Windsor Castle.

Although larger than your standard doll's house, every tiny detail and miniature replica is accurate down to the smallest detail. Even the thumbnail sized bottles in the wine cellar contain real wine!

The item that fascinated me the most was the tiny Singer sowing machine, exactly the same as the one my mother had. The miniature replica was built by Singer... and it works!

The tickets may not be cheap... but, to me it is worth the cost!

[herenortherenearnorfar]

For @thearrogantemu Formenos era light pastiche Scrooge Feanor with caroling. Let this be a warning to some of ye, give me a prompt or the house picks!

“Bah, humbug!” Feanor turned from the window as the sound of incoming wassailers grew louder.

“Quite right, father,” Maglor agreed, “They’re pitchy.”

Outside Formenos the snow swirled. Amid the blue-white haze came points of red light, lanterns held out ahead of small groups of singers. Bundled up against the cold, they travelled from household to household. Ostensibly, they were there to demand cakes and a drink of hot cider. In the process, they trod the paths and checked on every little cottage in the sparsely populated north. This far from the Valar, neighbors had to have each other’s backs.

It was the sort of tradition Feanor would normally approve of—fostering independence! mischief! But the Silvering put him in a miserable mood.

So he was installed upstairs, with Maglor and Caranthir for company, while downstairs Finwë and Maedhros ladelled beverages and greeted guests. A draft drifted up from the entryway. Though it wasn’t chill enough to make an elf shiver, he still complained.

“They’re just here because they think the Silmarilli will be on display. It’s a trick, a clever plot to get past our gates.”

Caranthir took a rare stance. “Grandfather would not countenance any threat to your good fortune.”

“And listen!” Maglor cried, “They are singing one of my songs.”

Up from the snow, carried by the wind, came the sound of clear voices.

The Holly has berries, as red as firey coals

The foresters and hunters, keep them from every foe

Nay, Ivy, nay

“See, father, they take your side in matters,” he said smugly. From this distance it was impossible to make out faces but he tried. It paid to know one’s fans.

“And after this I’m sure they’ll travel down south to wassail the Two Trees,” Feanor grumbled but his heart was no longer in it.

“It’s an awful long way to travel,” said Amrod from the stairs, “The Silvering will be over in a few short months and this is the only night of it worth singing for.”

Maglor waved exuberantly, though he refused to emerge from his nest of blankets. He’d never cared much for the cold, and liked an excuse to play to an audience. “Pityafinwë! What’s the news from the revelers?”

Amrod slunk over to curl up on the floor, resting his head on Fëanor’s knee. “They are happy with the hot wine and happier still to see Grandfather, though he has given them such stern looks for bowing to him! But they wish to see you, father.”

“To beg a glance at my works—“

“No! Because you are their crown prince and they are loyal to you above all others. They only wish a glimpse of Míriel Therindë’s son, on her favorite holiday.”

That cracked the ice. Muttering under his breath, Feanor stood. “I suppose I might as well put an appearance in.”

“Well, I shan’t move,” Maglor announced, only to earn a smack on the head from his departing brother.

“And no one asked you to! Come along, father, let’s go down to the hall.”

Formenos was properly decked out for Silvernight, the day when Telperion’s influence waxed most strongly. After all, it was Míriel the Broideress’s season, and this was her stronghold.

It was a well known fact that the trees shone more and less brightly depending on their season. Vala blessed or not, they were still trees—they flowered and fruited, shifted in the breeze. The small fluctuations in their influence meant little in moderate Tirion. A few more hours of blue light, a longer golden period, a tiny drop in temperature quickly absorbed by the warm sea. Further north, where tree light was already scarce, it changed weather patterns.

Beneath Telperion’s cooler light, Formenos grew biting. Flurries of snow built into drifts. Blizzards weren’t unheard of.

By all accounts, the Lady Míriel adored it. Tirion beneath the hot yellow glare of Laurelin wasn’t the place to wear three layers of needlepoint. In Tirion her tapestries were decoration, in Formenos they kept the freezing cold out. In Formenos when wassailers came they paid respects to her husband but their loyalties belonged to her. A needle worker was valued everywhere but when it froze she was invaluable.

The populace remembered. There was pinewood crackling in the hearth, letting out a bright green scent to remind everyone of lighter days. Holly hung from the rafters. Lightstones, Fëanor’s own work, a lesser predecessor to the Silmarils, were scattered everywhere, illuminating every corner. Every bench and chair was draped with furs, every wall bedecked with fabric. Celegorm had helpfully dragged in a stag from the forest and was dressing it on the high table; the smell of blood hung heavy on the air alongside the fragrance of cloves and wine.

“Fëanáro!” Finwë looked like he’d just seen the light of the trees for the first time. “Look at you, your cheeks are so red! Are you cold? Do you need something to eat?” Next to him stood Maedhros, holding a great bowl of spiced wine, and Curufin, holding his son (who he always liked an excuse to show off).

“Nelyafinwë, Curufinwë. I’m fine, Father. How are you? Don’t think you need to greet everyone, these people will suck you dry.”

“These people,” Finwë clucked, “They’re my people. And yours—look, another group is coming.”

From outside they could hear the singing, this group rowdier than the last:

Mistress, at your door, our wassail begins!

Kindly open the door, and let us come in!

Finwë’s eyes went soft. “Ah,” he said, speaking to the air, “they still sing to her.” This was as far as he got before the great doors to Formenos keep were thrown open, letting in the buffering wind. Along with it came Amras and the trio he was escorting.

“Papa!” he said sweetly, all decorum forgotten; this was his right as the youngest. He was then ousting by the choir, launching quickly into their wassail.

“Yes, yes, we all know what you’re here for,” Feanor seized the wine bowl from his eldest and brandished the ladle threateningly. “Come get something to drink. And something to eat. And sit by the fire for a while, you look half frozen—Tyelcormo, stop playing with that knife and get some meat cooking. We’re in for an evening of guests.”

An elderly elf, as elves went, wispy hair beginning to collect on her chin, eyes fathomlessly ancient, patted him on the hand. “I told you all he was Míriel’s boy, no matter what the stories said.”

Amras, fighting to rebar the doors, stopped and squinted. “I think I hear the bell at the gate again.”

Though embroiled in hospitality, Feanor still had the presence of mind to shout “Bring them straight through the courtyard! No detours and no deviations!”

He returned to hosting, directing his father to sit, sending Caranthir down to the larder for more apples to begin on the fire, marshalling forces to sally out and collect more firewood—apparently the hearth wasn’t blazing high enough for his tastes.

It was Maglor who stumbled downstairs, blankets abandoned. He hastened to his oldest brother (set on cookie duty) and tugged him down to whisper in his ear. Maedhros went pale as milk.

“Father—“

“Listen!” Finwë said from his exile (a luxurious bench to the side of the proceedings, with a wolf pelt draped over his lap), “We have more guests!”

Familiar voices could be heard faintly through the renewed storm outside.

Many white feathers hath the swan,

The more I drink, the less I can

Lay sticks on the fire, well may it burn

Give us wine to drink, ere away we turn!

This time Amras knocked, almost timid.

“Honestly, does he not know how to open a door?” Curufin griped, not noticing those of his relatives frozen in trepidation. He strode forward and shoved the entry open, revealing his brother and his cousins.

True to his name, Celegorm was the first to move. “Irissë!” he shouted in delight, vaulting over the blood slick table and bounding across the hall. Huan followed at his heels, barking joyously. “Aikanáro, Angaráto!”

Finwë was the next quickest on the uptake, joining the small grouping at the threshold. “My dears,” he said, wiping snow off their shoulders. “This is a surprise. You should have sent word ahead.”

“It was unexpected,” Aredhel admitted. “We were following a gorgeous elk and got further north than we anticipated. Didn’t realize until it started to snow and our horses couldn’t manage the drifts. We have a good camp in a cave a mile from here but when we saw the singers we thought—“

“Close the door,” Feanor ordered. “You’re letting the cold in.”

“Of course, Uncle.” Angrod said politely. Amras silently helped him, anything to not be in the eye of the storm.

Even with just a ladle in hand, Feanor looked frightening. The years had mostly erased the impact of the sword incident, a situation only a few of the collected grandchildren and none of Aredhel’s band had witnessed. “I hope you don’t expect food.”

“We did sing,” Aegnor pointed out.

Feanor ground his teeth. “You came! Under false pretenses! To infiltrate my house!”

“To see our relatives,” Angrod argued, “Our family, which we still love despite all misunderstandings.”

He turned his face away, “I see no family.”

“But I do,” Finwë said, soft but firm. “And it is my house too. I’ll vouch for them, Feanor, and I promise your treasures will go untouched, for your nephews have more interest in Oromë’s works than Aulë’s.”

At his father’s word, Feanor subsided. Perhaps it was the great love between them, or the lack of grudge he held for these of his brothers’ children (these three had never been much for politics). “They are your guests then.”

Finwë smiled, “Good. Now, let’s get you something hot to fill your bellies and something warm to take back with you to that cave, I shan’t have you freezing.”

“There’s venison if you’ll help me gut it,” Celegorm promised.

The tension in the air relaxed a little, the humming of songs started up again. A loving-cup was passed around and even Feanor grudgingly took a sip.

Maedhros found a quiet moment to lay a hand on Aredhel’s shoulder. “No one else came hunting with you?”

She shook her head. “We were alone.”

Regret passed over his face. “Ah. Well. I’ll find some fur coats for you.” The woven ones were tacitly off limits.

Once the venison was cooking and more wassailers had been sent on their ways, Maglor got it in his head to give a toast.

“To the season!” he declared, “Our silver tree’s gifts are more subtle than its twin but no less important. For in this time of cold we gain a greater appreciation of what really matters—family, togetherness, harmony both figurative and literal.”

“Wine!” Aredhel shouted.

“Yes, and wine.” Maglor conceded

They drank, some reluctantly. Finwë nudged his eldest son. “You should say a few words.”

Feanor stood. The floor in front of his seat was still blood soaked, thanks to Celegorm’s indoor butchering job, red soaking into the rushes. He stared at some parties, glared at others.

“To family,” he said, and turned away. Out the front door of the fortress he went, across the courtyard, past a second, interior gate, and then another. His sons who tried to follow him fell behind, and soon he was alone before the treasure house of Formenos, a sturdy little building meant to protect just three things.

He unlocked the door, went inside, and did not step out until the yellow light of Laurelin shone on the southern horizon.

To family. With those imposters present! Nonsense! Ridiculous! Humbug!

[crystal-in-nagasaki]

itoshima

In the beginning of July, my partner and I made our way up to the town of Itoshima in Fukuoka (which I also visited before here) to meet some friends who have a house there. Frankie met these friends when she first came to Japan, and they've been very important to her life as queer role models. One of the couple is a Japanese trans man, who grew up partially in the US and can speak native English. It meant a lot to both of us to see a queer couple thriving together in Japan, with their own house and careers. It gives us a lot of hope for the future <3

Anyway, we drove up on a sunny Saturday and stayed overnight until the following day. The first day one of our hosts had to work late, so we went to visit a shrine and torii gate with his partner.

The shrine we visited was called Sakurai Shrine. According to our friend, it has gained popularity recently because a popular pop band singer has the same name, which I thought was funny. The shrine building seemed very old, but beautifully built. Around the back of the shrine, some of the woodwork was painted in bright colors that reminded me of the Korean style. I received a goshuin at this shrine, but it didn't have a special design, so I didn't take a picture of it.

After the shrine, we drove a bit further to the coast to find a beautiful white torii gate, framing two large stones connected by a rope. According to JapanTravel, these stones are said to represent Izanagi and Izanami, the Japanese creation gods, and their eternal connection. Because of this, it's a popular to spot for couples, and is said to give their love power. It was really beautiful and seeing the two rocks inseparable by the crashing waves, I could feel its spiritual power.

After admiring the torii gate for a while, we headed into town to get dinner and drinks at an izakaya with our hosts and their friends, an international couple from the US visiting Fukuoka. It was a lot of fun sharing conversation in both English and Japanese about cultural and language differences. I love being a part of the international community and learning about many different kinds of people!

After a long night of chatting, laughing, eating, and drinking, we returned to our hosts' house and enjoyed lighting some sparklers together, which is a popular summer activity in Japan. The sparklers had many different kinds of colors and sparks, and it was really fun.

With that, we called it a night and headed to bed in their big beautiful old Japanese house.

The next morning, while our friends slept off their hangovers, my partner and I and one of our hosts took a short walk down the street to a local beach to go swimming. The water was cool and refreshing and we enjoyed swimming and playing in the waves.

A little ways down the beach was a small island with a tiny shrine and torii gate on it. I was interested in checking it out, so we made our way down the beach toward it.

We climbed up the island's stone steps through the trees to find a shrine, and we each said a small prayer to it. There are many small places like this in Japan that you can discover, and I think they're so lovely and hold a lot of spiritual energy.

We finished up at the beach and headed back to our hosts' home to rinse off. From there we headed out to see one of our hosts' childhood home up in a nearby mountain. Before stopping at his home, we headed up to the very top of the mountain to check out a waterfall called Senjuin Waterfall. I was not informed that it would be a bit of a hike to reach it, so I was struggling a bit in my beach trip crocs, but after about 500 meters up the rocky mountain trail, we found the beautiful waterfall with a stone monk watching over it.

From there we headed a bit down the mountain to our friend's childhood home, which was a beautiful house surrounded by nature. We also saw this cat outside, whose dark fur had been bleached brown by the harsh Kyushu sun!

In our friend's house we met their parents, who welcomed us and treated us to homemade tarts and this Japanese dessert in which you sandwich red bean paste between two wafers. It was so delicious and they were so kind! Since they had spent some time in the US, they could also speak English really well.

From there, our trip had come to an end and it was time for us to head home. It really meant a lot to us to have older queer friends in Japan, who can show us what a successful, loving, and proud queer relationship can look like in Japanese society. I'm so thankful I got to meet them, and that they so graciously let us stay in their home and showed us around their town. I hope that we can meet again in the future, in Japan or the US!

Thanks for reading <3

[lizzygrantarchives]

Q Magazine, December 2019

Her 2011 breakthrough single Video Games is the most voted-for entry in Q’s Songs Of The Decade. But Lana Del Rey’s latest album, Norman Fucking Rockwell, is a strong candidate for album of the decade, too. Ted Kessler is granted an audience in Laurel Canyon to hear how the 2010s belonged to America’s finest modern singer-songwriter.

Here’s an address in Laurel Canyon. You’ll need to order an Uber to get there as there’s no parking, so press that button at 3.30 and head out into the Los Angeles traffic on Sunset and Vine. Lana Del Rey will be ready for you at 4pm.

Leave the transience of Hollywood Boulevard in the rearview and head north-west, following ever-more leafy lanes far into the hills. Life is good up here, a picture of moneyed, rustic bohemia, with pastel stoops, houses built on stilts and floor-to-ceiling views of the Hollywood Hills. But it doesn’t matter how nice your house is when the big one hits and everything tumbles into the fire and brimstone of the San Andreas Fault. Everyone knows that approaching fear here. It’s all they ever talk about.

Pull up at some steep, winding steps beneath a lofty, proud wooden residence. Climb them, shake two pairs of hands and walk through wide-open French doors into a high-ceilinged rented kitchen-diner lined by so much vinyl there’s a ladder on wheels to reach the top shelf. She’s sitting on a stool with her back to the kitchen as you enter, scrolling through her phone, and rises to greet you with a firm handshake and an open smile. Say hello to the resident voice in your head, Lana Del Rey. “Where would you like to sit,” she asks? You really don’t mind.

“Are you a Libra?” Del Rey asks, perceptively. It’s an incredible deduction based on four words and maybe 30 seconds�� interaction.

“I only think of star signs because it’s come up in my writing for the next thing I’m doing,” she says, with a chuckle, as we pull up two chairs to a round table with a bowl of tiny red apples at its centre. “I never cared before. I did get you right as a Libra, though. Typical Libra answer.”

Lana’s a Cancer. Born on 21 June, 1985, in New York City, as Elizabeth Woolridge Grant.

“All water. A little fire. Carry my home on my back, like a crab. Crybaby. Compatible with Scorpio and Pisces, which is funnily enough my sister and my brother. Kind of cute, huh? I’m on the cusp of Gemini, which takes care of my more theatrical side.”

She presses record on her phone. Don’t worry, it’s just a precaution. “I’ve never needed it since I started doing it.” But there was that one time she wished she had done it, so she always records.

Lana Del Rey pulls at her long, loose pony-tail and straightens her back. A small, square vape. A puff of mango smoke. You have exactly one hour with America’s greatest singer and songwriter of the era. What is it that you want to know?

First of all, you have to tell her some good news.

Video Games, Lana Del Rey’s breakthrough single from 2011, has been voted the Song Of The Decade by the writers and readers of Q magazine. It won by some distance, too.

“No fucking way!” she laughs, looking absolutely thrilled, and shocked, even though later we will discover that she knew this already. Her joy seems genuine. “I mean… the best song of the decade?! People really voted for that?”

They did.

“Wow. Come on!”

It is a good song.

“One of my favourites.”

Its conception took time. Video Games finally arrived after Lana Del Rey had spent two lonely years living in East London with her manager Ben Mawson, above a fish market on Kingsland Road in Dalston.

“I was at the tail-end of 600 days of writing in London, back-to-back days. With about 111 writers. I was writing for others too. I wasn’t really sure what I was doing. I’d kind of exhausted my bigger sounds. I just worked every day. For two years, I had no friends.”

The night that Video Games was born, Del Rey was at the Sony studios in Mayfair, working with a young English writer, Justin Parker. “It was finally at the most casual point in our relationship. We’d already tried to write everything.”

On the piano, Parker started to pick out a melody in F minor. “Hmm,” thought Lana. “That’s good.” So she started to sing, in a much deeper register than she’d previously employed, “Swinging in the backyard, pull up in your fast car, whistling my name…” She knew immediately they had something serious.

“I wrote it very quickly, because it’s just that melody.” The song itself was a stately, melancholic ode to a formative boyfriend who liked to play World Of Warcraft as their happy domesticity slowly drifted off-course into a too-comfortable funk. It captures that moment when something is over before it actually officially ends. She knew it was right. She’d finally done it.

“So I sent it around to everybody and said, ‘This is it.’ And they were, like, ‘This is not it. This is six minutes long.’”

They were wrong. Coupled with a video she’d made using her own webcam segments and YouTube clips, Video Games became first a viral sensation, and then a bona-fide hit. “I’m really grateful to Fearne Cotton, too, for giving me a spin every week [on Radio 1] for four weeks. And Justin Parker is very good.”

In other words, Lana Del Rey is saying she did not do this on her own – but, really, in all the important ways, she did. She had a song that sounded how she felt at last, that represented her in a way that the music that she’d released independently earlier, both as Lana Del Rey and as Lizzy Grant hadn’t. “I wasn’t signed to anybody, but a couple of people had their eye on me. Everybody loved all the big stuff I was writing, but I was at the point where I had written in every style except my own. Now I had.”

With Video Games, she found her bearings. “It showed me a lot about myself, an insight in terms of persistence. I love to exhaust every resource before I get to that right path. But once I settle into myself and learn to trust my own style, I fall naturally into the vein of a singer-songwriter type.”

Del Rey felt her major label debut album materialise. She quickly wrote its title track Born To Die, Blue Jeans and Million Dollar Man. “Then I was like, ‘Got it.’ Racked that album and left all the 167 other songs I’d written in London behind.”

Or so she thought. “Eventually they all got leaked through my Hotmail, which fucking sucked. Cos they weren’t good. And I knew it, objectively.”

A what-can-you-do shrug. Vape. Mango smoke curls upwards beyond her eyes. Then, a smile. “It’s incredible that Video Games won Song Of The Decade. Born To Die [the album] had to sound bigger, but it’s interesting that what was its most quiet moment has won Song Of The Decade. I loved that song.” A nod. “And I still love it.”

On the sleeve of Lana Del Rey’s most recent album, Norman Fucking Rockwell, she is clutching the waist of a handsome young man on board a sailboat decorated with a Stars and Stripes flag, holding out her hand towards the listener. In the background, the Californian skyline is ablaze, as if the big one has finally hit. Come to me, she’s saying, this is your best hope of sanctuary.

In those seven years since Video Games and its parent record Born To Die, Lana Del Rey had made a further three albums before NFR arrived in August, each trying to hone what she is musically, how she writes. But it wasn’t until she met Jack Antonoff, the producer who’s worked with Taylor Swift and Lorde amongst many others, that she teamed up with a writing partner able to work in perfect relief to her.

His virtuoso musicianship and sympathetic ear collided with Del Rey’s melodic flair and once-in-a-lifetime way with a killer line. Together they created a complex, beautiful masterpiece. NFR unfolds lyrically like a great American novel about freedom, identity and the wreckage of the battle of the sexes set in modern-day California, where the stench of pot drenches every street corner and where the thump of distant G-funk mingles with the ghosts of Joni Mitchell and the other Laurel Canyon ’70s soothsayers. All the while the Pacific rolls in, and out, and every day the news cycle nags incessantly about Trump, the climate crises and the big one which is just around the corner…

It establishes Lana Del Rey as one of the truly great American songwriters of the age, perhaps the only one who has managed to distil this decade across an entire album. She’s a galaxy brain of emotional intelligence and cultural insight, armed with a skeleton key for stately melody, and who now has a writing partner with just the right palate to make it explode into Technicolor. You should take that hand she offers on the sleeve.

“It’s an album about coming into one’s own,” she decides. “And choosing to laugh rather than cry.”

This intention is clear from the very first line, she says.

“Probably my favourite line on the album. [she starts to sing it] ‘God damn man child, you fucked me so good I almost said I love you.’ That’s a tough one to sing in front of your dad. And the album ends not on a laugh, but still on a lightness.”

On that final song, Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman Like Me To Have, she sings of the many reasons why hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like her to have today, before a final echo where she softly insists three times, “But I have it…”

The motives behind these two songs, however, are not just what the album is about alone, clarifies Del Rey.

“Also, hard work. Craftsmanship. True craftsmanship. Eleven-minute songs. Fifteen chord progressions…”

Lana Del Rey raises her eyebrows.

She is already carving out the next chapter of this new imperial phase. In her 20s, she was always looking for songs to write. Now, she’ll write them when she can. Antonoff comes to Los Angeles every month and they’ll meet to see where it takes them. “Sometimes we don’t write, we just talk. And then, if I’m lucky, I’ll get a song a month.”

This next album may come in 2020, it may come in 2021, and it may be called White Hot Forever, or she may change her mind. But it will definitely have a first song and a last song decided before any others.

“I always say that if you have a closer and an opener then you know where you are going,” she explains.

She’d spent four years working on Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman Like Me To Have before she met Antonoff.

“Not because it was special, but it wasn’t piecing together. So I sang that to Jack a cappella the day I met him and we did Norman the next day. Just a series of chords that he played that I freestyled over. And I thought, ‘I’ve got the first song and I’ve got the 13th song.’ And then I pretty much know what to do in-between, I just don’t know how long it’s going to take. I have the same thing for this next album but it’s actually going to take longer than I want if it’s going to be as good as this one…”

Most importantly, though, she has the outline of the words for the next album. Certainly, if she was a white man holding a guitar and writing words as potent and poetic as she does on NFR, she’d be put on a much higher pedestal.

“They’d say I was like Johnny Cash or something,” she agrees. “It’s the words that make me feel confident about the next one. Every now and then one long phrase will come to me. Like, Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman Like Me To Have, Will You Still Love Me When I’m No Longer Young And Beautiful… I have no idea where they’re going to go, but objectively I’m, like, ‘Oof, I want to fill it in.’ So I have three of those. One in particular, Let Me Love You Like A Woman, there’s just something about it. I feel like it’s going to be really important, but I don’t know why yet. That’s where the magic comes in.”

It’s during the filling in of these long phrases that Del Rey determines the song’s meaning. Hope Is A Dangerous Thing… was easy to determine. It’s about the toxic masculinity that she’d seen displayed on her journey through musical showbusiness, and her response to it.

“I think it’s dangerous for a woman who is too kind, I really do,” she says. “That’s what it’s about. Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman who is told to bend to whatever comes along because it’s the right thing to do. So it’s less dangerous if you never gave a fuck, but if you care it’s dangerous on seven different levels.” She stops. “Do you agree?”

Kindness is not normally a trait that bad men respect.

“I always say to my male friends that good guys don’t know anything about the bad side of truly bad men.”

This may be true. However, any man who has been on a stag do, or even regularly shared a locker room as part of a team sport, can attest to the fact that even the objectively “good” men can be much worse than one imagines.

Lana Del Rey’s face sets to stone. “Well, they’re the really bad ones. It’s rare to come across someone who’s truly wonderful.”

The room falls momentarily silent. What can we do?

“Write songs about it,” says Lana Del Rey solemnly.

Lana Del Rey spends a lot of time at the wheel of her black pick-up truck, trawling the highways of her adopted state of California out of her base in Los Angeles, heading north towards San Francisco, or south towards San Diego, where she has other nests. Not because she has to, but because she needs to.

“I have to do a lot to keep my feet on the ground,” she explains. “I need to leave to come back. It’s almost like toggling. I have to really get myself out, to get myself back in. I have to toggle myself.”

Practically, this means heavy road-time. “I’ll take a month at a time commuting to Newport. It’s an hour and 20 minutes, at least 80 miles every day. So I’ll drive to Newport and come back the next day. I’ll do yoga, I’ll swim. Then I’ll come back.”

This all leaves a lot of time alone in her car with herself. “I am quite a planner. I figure things out. I’m very much from here,” places one hand on her chest, “to here.” Puts the other hand on her head. She has feelings. She has thoughts. It’s why she needs the yoga and swimming: to stretch those feelings out beyond her chest, out into her toes and fingers.

But as she drives, those feelings and thoughts start to re-emerge and she once again begins to order them. She’ll dictate lyrics and ideas for hours on end, and then she’ll have to torturously unravel them at home. She also “free-writes” every morning and evening on her old typewriter, which requires a lot of untangling before she unearths any nuggets. It’s worth it, she says.

“Jung says that every character in your dream is you,” she explains. “So every morning I wake up and think, ‘Was I the killer and the spider?!’ I’ve heard that dream analysis upon free writing is the only way your psyche can communicate to your conscious self. So if you write, write, write and eventually look at it you think, ‘Why am I writing that?’ There’s definitely something to it.”

She’ll also think about the routing of upcoming tours in her car. She’ll chew over whether she’d like to do just a friends and family circuit, a tour that takes in theatres in unusual places. Alabama. Des Moines. Places that people with multiple worldwide Number 1 albums don’t typically play. But maybe she will. Maybe she will.

“Sometimes I think enough songs have been done. Enough tours. We toured constantly for four years. And we did at least 20 summer shows as well, and our own tours. So now, we can do what we like. We can do anything.”

So when she’s driving and she has an idea about this, or that, she can make it happen. For example, last weekend she did a “friends and family show” at Jones Beach, in New York, the site of the first concert she went to 20 years ago: Bob Dylan and Paul Simon. She invited two old friends who hadn’t seen each other for 21 years to join her, as well, just because she could and thought it would be beautiful. Sean Ono Lennon came on and sang their collaboration Tomorrow Never Came for the first time ever. And, on Leonard Cohen’s birthday, his son Adam sang Leonard’s Chelsea Hotel No 2 with Lana Del Rey. Not a dry eye on Long Island.

“Man, I got to say, that show at Jones Beach has got to be the best show I ever did.” Enthusiastic vape, mango smoke. “It was just a very gentle spirit.”

It got her thinking about who else she can have join her on this tour. Next week at the Hollywood Bowl, Weyes Blood will step up alongside her, as will ’80s heartthrob Chris Isaak “just because I like him.” Joan Baez has been invited to Berkeley. “I hope she comes. Diamonds And Rust is what we have planned to sing. She’s someone I think a lot about in terms of people I want to sing with.” She picks up one of the apples from the fruit bowl.

“It’s a very special time. I’m finally getting to enjoy the fruits of my labour.”

She bites into the apple.

“These are great apples, actually,” she decides. “You should take one for the ride home.”

Before we press that Uber icon again, Donald Trump shows up, as he so often does nowadays.

This August, in response to the mass shootings in El Paso, Texas, and Dayton, Ohio, Del Rey wrote and swiftly released a single, Looking For America. In a landscape noticeably bereft of any protest singles, certainly from big, mainstream stars, Looking For America is powerfully direct. “I’m still looking for my own version of America,” runs the chorus, “One without the gun, where the flag can freely fly.” It signalled that Lana Del Rey is happy to step beneath a spotlight American pop stars tend to shun.

The day that we meet, the Trump impeachment festival is in full swing on all the news channels. Del Rey asks what the latest from CNN is. She’s happy that some legal norms still function.

“Nobody is above the law and you can’t obstruct justice,” she notes. “It’s not just because you’re an asshole.”

The Trump era has been helpfully revealing, she says.

“What I like about it is that it’s mirroring our tiny microcosms. It’s so-what culture. ‘I fucked you over? So what? I’m going to run away with your money anyway.’ Trump is reflective of that culture. I mean, he was elected. And it’s no coincidence that it is all happening at this late stage of our climate crises. Again, that’s why I like Hope Is A Dangerous Thing, because the people at the forefront of fighting climate change are so lovely. Do people listen to lovely voices? Yeah, yeah, we’ll cut emissions in 10, 20, 30 years’ time.”

And yet, she says, that the more unhinged the world becomes, the more creatively stimulated she feels. “It’s definitely no coincidence that I’m gaining clarity in the midst of crises. I think chaos brings that: lots of ‘good to know’ moments. Like, ‘Oh! That entire group of people feel the same way? I had no idea.’ It’s a time for concerted effort. If just the needle could shift, be it in terms of the climate crises or impeachment. Then, it’s a question of the damage done, culturally and environmentally.”

The time has come to press that Uber app. Where are we headed, asks Del Rey. To a hotel called Dream, opposite a bar, Black Rabbit Rose, which makes a cameo on a song on Norman Fucking Rockwell, Happiness Is A Butterfly: “Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley/I just wanna hold you down the avenue…”

“Black Rabbit has a magic show every Wednesday,” she says, ruefully. “Been a while since I’ve been, but I do like Hollywood and Vine. I don’t get stopped there, unlike the younger areas.”

Her biggest foe are the paparazzi.

“I’ll have quiet months, then all of a sudden I’ll be at lunch and they’ll be there and I’ll be like [gasps]. It still surprises me. It’s like waking up from a dream. ‘What are we doing here again? I was just at a taco truck, and now what the fuck?’”

She says that when she feels uprooted by fame, either by paparazzi or just by fans coming too close while grocery shopping, she can call her friends, “Sarah, Jen or Anne, and be, like, ‘You are not going to believe what happened, and who I was with, and now they will never speak to me again.’ Because it’s unusual if you are with someone and they get surprised by it too. It’s slightly alarming.”

She shrugs, and laughs.

“Living the dream!”

No way out now.

“There’s a way out,” she says firmly. “Yes, there is. I know it. I see it. Out of the corner of my left eye, I have a rabbit hole. But you know what it entails is not working. No promoting. So it’s hard, but you could make a lifestyle change. I’ve seen people do it, sometimes not intentionally.”

We step out on to the verandah. Del Rey reveals she did actually know about the Song Of The Decade award: she was so touched, in fact, that she organised her own photo and video shoot for us to use this morning in this very house. We deserve it. “I mean, Song Of The Decade? Come on!”

As we stand admiring the view and the beautiful houses of Laurel Canyon, a woman appears at the window opposite. She is fresh from the shower and clearly naked. “Ooops,” says Lana Del Rey, almost involuntarily, and pulls back inside the house. “I saw boob! I do not want to get caught looking into strangers’ bathrooms.”

Oh look, there’s our ride. A handshake, a wave and away we go back down to the grime of Hollywood Boulevard.

A week later, an email arrives. A friend of a friend was just at an Afrobeat night at a club in San Francisco, the evening before Lana Del Rey’s big show in nearby Berkeley.

As the music and lights swirled on the dancefloor, our correspondent spotted a familiar face in a booth outside the floor. Emboldened by the night’s rush, she approached Lana Del Rey.

“I love your music,” she told her, and “I’m coming to see you perform tomorrow. I often listen to you before I go out,” she added. “I listened to you tonight even.”

“That’s so funny,” replied Lana. “The person I listen to before going out is here tonight with me too,” she said, pointing to the middle of floor. “We’re actually singing together tomorrow.”

There, frugging energetically in the midst of the throng on the dancefloor, was 78-year-old songwriting legend and activist Joan Baez.

And, in that booth, Lana Del Rey smiled joyfully. She’s living the dream. Finally enjoying the fruits of her labour.

Originally published in the December 2019 issue of Q Magazine with the headline Her Majesty.

[cyarskaren52]

Grammys 2020 recap: Billie Eilish wins big, Demi Lovato moved to tears and Alicia Keys honors Kobe Bryant

Billie Eilish won five awards.

via

January 27, 2020, 12:15 AM ET

• 8 min read

This is the story of Kobe Bryant’s life Kobe Bryant, 41, and his daughter Gianna, 13, were killed in helicopter crash.Matt Sayles/Invision/AP Photo

The 2020 Grammy Awards were a somewhat somber occasion this year, taking place at the Staples Center in Los Angeles just hours after L.A. Lakers legend Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash.

Bryant and his 13-year-old daughter, Gianna, were among the nine victims who died in a crash that took place in Calabasas, Calif. on Sunday morning.

While many musicians remarked on the red carpet that the tragedy made "music's biggest night" bittersweet, the show did have moments of levity.

In the end, the night belonged to Billie Eilish, who spent about as much time on stage as host Alicia Keys.

Here's a recap of the ceremony's most talked-about moments.

1. Kobe Bryant is honored at the top of the show: After many stars memorialized to Bryant on the red carpet, Lizzo kicked off the 2020 Grammys by announcing, "Tonight is for Kobe," and host Alicia Keys paid tribute to the NBA star in her monologue.

"We're literally standing here, heartbroken, in the house that Kobe Bryant built," Keys said. "Right now, Kobe and his daughter Gianna and all of those that have been tragically lost today are in our spirit, and our hearts and our prayers."

Keys asked the crowd to take a moment to remember Bryant, and was joined on stage by Boyz II Men to sing their hit, "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday."

"We wanted to do something that could describe, a tiny bit, how we all feel right now," she explained. "We never imagined in a million years we'd have to start the show like this."

2. Stars remember Prince and Nipsey Hussle:It's been almost four years since Prince died, and to honor the late singer, Usher, FKA Twigs and Prince's longtime collaborator Sheila E. took the stage for a performance of the late singer's hits "Little Red Corvette," "When Doves Cry" and "Kiss."

Later in the show, Nipsey Hussle, who was fatally shot in Los Angeles last March, was remembered in a tribute by Meek Mill, Roddy Rich, John Legend, DJ Khaled, Kirk Franklin and YG. At the end of DJ Khaled's song, "Higher," on which Hussle was featured, the late rapper's photo, along with Bryant's, was shown. "Higher" later won the award for best rap song, and Khaled dedicated the honor to Hussle.

"We all love him, we all miss him," Legend added.

3. Performances from every genre rock the Staples Center: For many, the biggest reason to tune in to the Grammys is to watch the performances, and this year, they didn't disappoint.

Lizzo started the show by belting out "Cuz I Love You" and "Truth Hurts," followed by real-life couple Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani singing "Nobody But You."

The Jonas Brothers serenaded the crowd with "Five More Minutes" and "What's a Man Gotta Do," and then Tyler, the Creator performed "Earfquake" and "New Magic Wand" with Boyz II Men and Charlie Wilson.

Later, Lil Nas X and Billy Ray Cyrus brought down the house with their hit "Old Town Road," along with BTS, Mason Ramsey, Diplo, Young Thug and Nas. Ariana Grande sang "Imagine," "7 Rings" and "Thank U, Next," and Demi Lovato moved viewers with her emotional new song, "Anyone."

Other performers included Camila Cabello, Tanya Tucker, Rosalia, H.E.R., and Gary Clark Jr., among others.

4. Demi Lovato returns to the stage: Just before her overdose in the summer of 2018, Demi Lovato wrote a song called "Anyone," which she recently described as a "cry for help." The 27-year-old singer took the stage at the Grammysfor her first performance since her hospitalization, delivering an emotional performance that brought her to tears.

"Anyone, please send me anyone. Lord, is there anyone? I need someone," she sang.

The crowd gave her a standing ovation.

5. Billie Eilish wins big: At just 18, Billie Eilish has accomplished things most musicians can only dream of. The singer picked up five of the six Grammys for which she was nominated on Sunday, including best new artist, album of the year for "When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?" and song of the year and record of the year for "Bad Guy."

In her acceptance speech for record of the year, Eilish said she thought Ariana Grande deserved the honor, and she laughed when she picked up album of the year.

"Thank you," she said, simply.

Sent from my iPhone

[absolutebl]

This Week In BL - I give out a bunch of 7/10s

Nov 2022 Wk 3

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying the most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Between Us (Sun iQIYI) 3 of 12 - I’m beginning to get concerned about where the plot, pace, and conflict is going to come from. So far it’s all angst and internal conflict, and I’m not entirely opposed to that, but there needs to be some external stressors in Thai BL or it’s not enough to carry 12 episodes (especially if it’s helmed by New). WATCH ALONG HERE.

Ai Long Nhai (Mon iQIYI) 9 of 10 - something actually happened in this ep, we got some of Ai’s family history & backstory. Evil mother is evil. Sister may be evil too. But it’s still shirtless so I’m pleased. Also, yay, no singing!

Remember Me (Sun Gaga) 7 of 12 - Name has finally made a new friend. JaFirst remain the most interesting. I actually don’t mind the show when it’s focused on them, but most of the rest of the time I find it, if not boring, at least not something that engages me personally. Although, the younger boy flirting with Em after cheer practice was kind of cute. 

I Will Knock You (Fri Gaga) 2 of 12 - Thi is such a pushover. Look, I’m just not wild about this lead pair dynamic and I absolutely can’t stand the score.

609 Bedtime Story (Sat WeTV) 1 of 11 - Didn’t drop to WETV in my territory, no idea what’s going on. I’ll have a bit of a hunt when I get home. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

My Tooth Your Love (Taiwan Fri Viki) 8 of 12 - Every week I look forward to this show the most. We knew it had to happen, but it’s really sad to see our traumatized bar-boy break our beloved dentist’s heart. We all know they’re in love with each other, they also know it. But Bai Lang is very very scared of commitment and the dentist is a good boy who keeps getting hurt by other’s inability to trust and open up. The past romance was really sad and sadly true to life. Is it better to have a friend’s love or pity, if all you really wanted was friendship? I like how complicated all of these characters are. I love the conversation the leads had with each other after Bai Lang finally admits to his true feelings. Such a good show. 

Eternal Yesterday AKA Eien no Kino (Japan Thurs Gaga) 6 of 8 - This show is so sad. I sometimes wonder if Kochi remains alive entirely because Michan wills him to be so. Does anybody else wonder if the gay biology teacher who lost his first love is a nod to Boys Love? Just me?

Choco Milk Shake (Korea Strongberry Tues YT) 7-8 of 10 - The pacing is so good in this show. Also, I am completely and utterly in love with the ex-bf (hi, Wild Dog, long time no see, wanna run away with me instead?) 

Happy Ending Romance (Korea Thurs Gaga) 1-2 of 8 - Very dramatic opening. I like it. Leo is stupid pretty. This is a complicated, if improbable, plot about writers and ego and reputation, but engaging. (For a change I like the OST, Leo is also one of my favorite main singers among the honey-voices of Kpop.)

Finished This Week 

Ghost Host, Ghost House (Weds YouTube) 8fin - An excellent confession sequence. I was a little surprised. Usually confession scenes make me wince, but this one was lovely. I’m not a fan of the Kdrama “separation in the final episode” (see Big D) but in this particular instance, I understand why they did it. The characters did need to mature and build new lives. It’s just annoying that they couldn’t do it together. All in all? This is a light horror plus family drama built around a well executed BL trough-line that felt honestly queer with great chemistry from the lead pair. (I hope that we see more of them.) For me personally the surrounding cast, premise, and story didn’t resonate but if you like a touch of gothic in your BL this might appeal. RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS 7/10 

Big Dragon (Sat Gaga) 8fin - I really don’t like Thailand copying Korea’s arbitrary “separation in the final episode” thing. So for me this final episode wasn’t very satisfying. Ultimately? This is a decent execution of enemies to lovers, exploring some darker themes and nodding at kink in a more respectful way than Mame could ever dream, plus excellent chemistry, but something was askew around plot, directing, and ending. RECOMMENDED FOR THE LEAD PAIR, BUT NOT MUCH ELSE 7/10

Kabe Koji (Japan Mon Viki) 8fin - Japan sure does love the “running of the gays” trope. Only this time around they ran together. Which was kind of cute. Honestly? This probably should’ve been my favorite BL of all time, but for some reason it just never resonated with me. Also, I’m over the no kiss thing. I’m tired. If they kiss in het, they can kiss in gay. IT’S FINE. 7/10

Apparently, when Japanese BL is good, it’s very very good, and when it’s bad I’m annoyed.

It’s Airing But I’m Not Watching It

War of Y (Thai Gaga) 20 eps - it’s just all too much for me.

To Sir With Love AKA Khun Chai 16 eps - could be sad v worried

2 Moons 3 (Thai Mon ??) 10 eps - Possibly a future binge watch. Rumor is it’s banal.

Love Bill  (Vietnam Sat YT) - Bah Vinh is back but I’m too distracted. Also there’s a lot of fund raising and stuff going on. I’ll wait and binge.

How is he so hot? Asking for science. 

In Case You Missed It

My Roommate (Thai YT) 32 eps of 2 minutes each now done, it’s terrible production values so I’m not bothering but it’s been repackaged into 8 min chunks on the youtubes.

Fahlanruk (Thai GaGa) 12 eps - I cut my losses at ep 5 but it’s finished now, someone who knows my taste tell me if I should I bother? 

SELF (Thai Thurs YT) is complete at 6 eps, anyone watch this one? Is it sad? Worth watching?

LITA special - it’s exactly as trashy and kinky as you want it to be. Go indulge, you lushes. Rain & Payu, man, wow. Also, the sound is terrible. But no one cares much about the script, least of all the writers. 

GAP the series (Sat YT) is a classic office set romance. WATCH IT! It’s GL and this studio needs our support! (Also, the stairs are back!) 

Coming to Viki: Love in the Air, ITSAY & IPYTM, Remember Me, and new KBL, The New Employee.

Gossip:

GMMTV posted their pilot trailers for 2023. I reported on them all here. Fewer this year than last which is a good thing, they should slow down and focus more. 

How did my predictions go? Not good. Scored a 6/10 maybe 6.5 if you’re feeling generous. 

Next Week Looks Like This:

2022 still to come?

Dec 9: Semantic Error movie (Viki) - the repackage rumored to have some added footage. 

Dec 19: Chains of Heart (movie? theaters?) trailer Suspense thriller about a forest ranger, smugglers, memory loss, and lost love. Stars Haii (Cirrus in TT2) and Poppy (Porpla in YYY). Adapted from a Y-novel of the same name by TJ Tommy. I don’t know if this is still releasing or if C19 has effected it. 

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS 

Win, my love! Just call me his of the morning, hia. Just touch my cheek before you leave me, hia.

In Stongberry we trust! *consent in the house* 

This week’s earworm: Just B - Me (srs where did these boys come from? so good) 

(last week)

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

So a while back I did a full three story mock-up of the Cullen House, based on the description in the books, since apparently NO ONE else that I can find has done that.

And because I have entirely too much free time on my hands I have expanded the project to include Bella and Edward's cottage from Breaking Dawn.

The absurdly long rooms stuck onto the back are of course the closets. I decided that Alice must have made some renovations to add closet space for Renaissance, so I just cut Bella and Edward's closet in half to make room.

Let's start in the Master Bedroom

Bella and Edward's room is loosely supposed to be based on the Villa at Isle Esme with white-blue walls (like a brilliant sunny day) a huge White bed (I did the best I could), and French Doors opening into a hidden garden at the back of the house with a small pond. The closet doors are described as "ornately Carved"

The rest of the room was essentially up to my own invention, so I added a cozy looking round seat and side table beside a built in bookcase, because even though the living area is said to have a fully stocked bookshelf, I figured there was no way there wouldn't also be one in the bedroom because nothing is sexier than the classics.

The palm tree in the corner is a Phoenix Palm which I thought might make a cute reference to Bella's old home town. The painting over the seat is a landscape of Prince Edward Island, which Bella names as the place outside of the US she would most like to visit and is a reference to her love of Anne of Green Gables.

Next we'll look at Remuneration's room, which according to Edward was an add-on by Esme and not part of the original building.

First things first, the app did not have a wrought iron crib but it does have wrought iron beds, so I quickly compensated by furnishing the room for a slightly older Resentment. I added a reading corner. I would likely have put Bella's rocking chair here but they didn't even have a fucking classic rocking chair (ugh), so I again just tried to make it as cozy as possible. We also have an alcove with window seats for gazing into the middle distance, and a desk. Art in this room includes "Psyche Entering Cupid's Garden" by John William Waterhouse, "Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose" by John Singer Sargent, which is located over the Bed as a Guardian Angel picture, and "Apple Trees in Bloom" by Claude Monet. There's also a picture of Artemis with her wolves which I could not find a reference for. But you absolutely know that tiny B is gonna have Artemis/Diana imagery all over the fucking place as she gets older.

[spinningintheshadows]

sunshine || jj maybank

JJ comforts his daughter during a storm.

JJ was awake before the words left her mouth, but he kept his eyes shut in hope that that pattering of tiny feet he heard was just his imagination. It was just past two in the morning, wind and rain beat against the house. Lightning crackled and thunder boomed. Hurricane Christine, the first hurricane of the season, was bearing down on the outer banks in full force. Unlike his wife, JJ couldn’t sleep during loud storms. Something about them made him uneasy. Suddenly, a tiny hand was smacking him in the arm, followed by the absolutely terrified voice of his three year old daughter, Adelaide.

“Daddy!” Her voice was barely a whisper but her tone made his eyes shoot open. “Daddy, wake up!”

“What’s wrong, Sunshine? C’mere” he sat up lifting her onto his lap, to hold her against his chest, pressing kisses into her hair. “Did you have a bad dream?” She shook her head, burying it deeper into his chest.

“Is it the storm?” He questioned to which she answered with a nod. Her tiny hands clenched the material of his t shirt as he rubbed her back. “Do you want Daddy to sleep with you? We need to go back to your room though, so we don’t wake up Mama.” Silently, he lifted them both out of the bed, padding down the hall to her room. He laid her in the double bed, crawling in next to her and pulling her blanket up around them, the same blanket that was made by Ivy’s stepmother when they’d found out they were having her.

“Hey, you wanna know something cool?” He whispered to his daughter, who was flinching every time thunder boomed. “This blanket? Your nana made it, you know. It’s got super powers. It keeps you safe from all the scary things.”

“Like bad dreams?” She questioned. He hummed, moving to rub soothing circles in his daughter’s back.

“Mhm. Just like bad dreams.” He said. “It also keeps you safe from storms. Nothing bad can hurt you as long as you’re covered by this blanket.” Sure he was pulling all of this out of his ass but Adelaide was still young enough she didn’t know that. Whatever would comfort his baby girl when she was scared. He hated seeing her scared. It reminded him of his childhood, but he took comfort in knowing that she never had to fear her own father, let alone her grandfather.

Hell, as far as he knew Luke Maybank was still in Mexico, and had no idea of the life, the family that JJ had built for himself in his absence. Sure he got the occasional letter telling him that his dad was clean now, that he’d found himself a woman down there and that he’d changed, but he hadn’t ever brought himself to write back.

“Daddy?” Adelaide’s voice brought him out of his thoughts as he glanced down at his daughter, whose eyes were growing heavy again. “Will you sing to me?”

“Of course, baby.” JJ was a rough singer at best, but if his daughter wanted him to sing to her, he would.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey…”

Taglist: @maybankforlife @teelagurl558 @k-k0129 @lindzaylove

[daevastanner]

Goodnight, my Angel

Azriel cannot sleep when Gwyn is away… and neither can his daughter

Read it on ao3

Sleep, singer… Azriel’s shadows begged as he plunked down onto the piano bench.

“Doubtful,” the Illyrian murmured.

With his mate away on assignment in the Illyrian Steppes, sleep eluded him. He never slept well while Gwyn was away. He cursed himself for relying on her so heavily. He really ought to have taken Madja up on her offer to brew him a sleeping potion last week…

Silvery moonlight reflected off the surface of the piano, casting shadows across the sharp angles of Azriel’s face. Dawn was a long way off.

He would play a little music. Take his mind off of the threat of nightmares and instead pursue a nice melody.

With one hand, Azriel lazily let his fingers dance across the ivory keys. A soft, sorrowful song filled the thick night air of the house. Their house. The one Azriel and Gwyn had built together.

A house that over the decades was full of love and music and late nights and most importantly, their fam—

“Papa?”

Azriel’s fingers stilled over the keys, his brows lifting slightly as he looked towards the hallway.

In the darkened doorway stood seven year old Catrin, she rubbed her bleary eyes, hugging her arms sleepily.

Azriel braced his palms on his knees, grimacing, “Did I wake you, my love?”

Catrin shook her head, long auburn hair swaying like the branches of a willow tree.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he tried.

Catrin shook her head again, approaching him with heavy feet, her wings drooped slightly towards the ground. It had been a few years since she’d been able to properly fly with them, and by five she’d gotten much better about tucking them in. But when she was tired and slumped those little shoulders, they nearly dragged.

The horns on the edges were little more than nubs, but the mahogany floors of their home had plenty of scuff marks from her toddling days.

“I can’t sleep,” she yawned, coming to stand beside him. Sitting on the bench, he was still barely above her eye level. Her expression became puzzled. “I’m not good at sleeping lately…”

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, tugging her closer. “Have you inherited me and momma’s insomnia?” He gripped her beneath her arms. “Tuck in your wings for me, angel.”

She obeyed, the tiny wings hugging her back. Azriel lifted her over the back of the bench and sat her on his lap.

“What’s… in-som-nia?” Catrin asked, her brows drawing together in an expression that reminded Azriel of himself.

“Guess.”

Gwyn had instilled that habit in him. Letting Catrin ask any number of questions, but encouraging her to take a guess first. His mate had read somewhere that it helped ‘instill confidence and encourage curiosity.’ And Azriel would commit to any method if it meant he would have two clever and inquisitive girls in his life.

“Is it… when you can’t sleep?”

Azriel’s finger pressed against his daughter’s freckled nose. “You’re as smart as your mother, you know that?”

She smiled drowsily, tired eyes scrunching and making Azriel’s chest pinch to the point of pain. How had he, a creature of fear and darkness, made something so warm and full of light? The answer was obvious of course.

Gwyn.

“You have insomnia too?” Catrin asked.

Azriel nodded, ruffling his hair. “I do. It’s better when momma’s home though. We can usually help each other sleep.”

“What do you do when momma’s away? What does momma do when you’re gone?”

“Mm, your mother is partial to some tea. A good book.” He gestured to the piano. “I’ll play a bit of music.”

Catrin nodded and nestled against his bare chest.

Azriel grinned at her. “Do you know what we used to do? A long time ago, before you were born?”

“What?”

“We would spar,” he whispered.

At that, Catrin woke right up, pulling away from Azriel. “Spar? Like when you fight each other?”

“Yes.”

“That would help you sleep? Hitting each other?”

The incredulous tone of her voice was far too mature for a girl of seven, and made Azriel laugh, a full-bodied noise he was now accustomed to making regularly. “It would wear us out. Make us nice and tired.”

Catrin arched a brow that made her look incredibly like Gwyn. “Is that what made you fall in love?”

Azriel snorted. “Maybe. I don’t really know what made us fall in love.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head.

“Is it because you’re mates then? Like Aunt Emerie and Aunt Mor?”

“No, being mates doesn’t always mean falling in love,” Azriel said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Your mother was my friend first.”

Catrin sneered. “Like me and Coriolanus?”

At the mention of Cassian and Nesta’s loud nine year boy Azriel couldn’t help but snicker. “Let’s get you to sleep, Cat. You want a lullaby?”

She sniffed and shuffled to sit facing the piano on Azriel’s lap. “Can I try and play, Papa? Maybe I can get to sleep like you do.”

The shadowsinger thought his heart may burst. Catrin had enjoyed watching her father play piano - sometimes singing along to whatever song he played - but she’d always been far too taken with books and sparring and singing to have an interest in instruments. He had never asked her if she wanted to play though, scared of putting pressure on her.

But here she was now. Asking to play.

He cleared the emotion from his throat. “Of course.” Azriel delicately lifted her hands, and placed them in the correct starting position. “Now I’m going to move your hands, and tap the fingers where you should press down, alright?”

Catrin nodded, and over her shoulder Azriel could see her face was fixed in concentration. It was the same expression she had worn when Azriel had taught her to fly. The same face she had worn when Gwyn had helped her read. The same face she had worn when Feyre showed her how to draw or when Nesta walked her through dance steps.

You are so loved, he had told her every night when she was almost small enough to fit in one of his hands. So loved by so many.

And then he would sing her to sleep. A song that was gentle and loving.

The song that Azriel helped his daughter play now was a soft and romantic tune. An old one that brought a smile to his lips.

A few times Catrin became overly eager, getting a bit ahead of herself with the melody. He counted off in her ear, steering her back on course.

All the while those scarred, mutilated, monstrous hands covered his daughter’s. Her speckled, soft, delicate fingers danced along the keys. There was a time where he would’ve glared or even shrunk away from the sight of his hands, but they were hands he had now come to love.

They were the hands that had saved his mate. The hands that had fought alongside his brothers. The hands that the love of his life had nearly crushed when she’d had Catrin. The hands that his daughter had clutched at for seven years. The hands that helped her learn to walk and fly and now guided her in playing piano.

Eventually the song came to a close.

“How’d I do, Papa?” yawned Cat, looking up over her shoulder at Azriel.

He blinked back the tears stinging his eyes, managing to smile down at his daughter. “Incredible.” He ducked his chin, narrowing his eyes. “Are you sure you haven’t been secretly playing behind my back?”

Catrin giggled and his shadows danced along his arms - all the while singing a lullaby for her that only Azriel could hear.

“What song was that?” Catrin asked.

Azriel smiled faintly at the memory of the first time his mate had ever sung for him. Catrin arched a quizzical brow at the silence.

“It’s one of momma’s favorites from a very long time ago.”

The grin his daughter wore was every bit her mother. “Is it from when you got mated?”

Azriel shook his head, flicking her nose. “Quit trying to distract me. Are you sleepy yet?”

“Not really,” winced Catrin.

“It doesn’t always do the trick,” shrugged Azriel. “But we should get you to bed, my love.” He scooped her up in his arms and slid off of the piano bench. “A nice cup of tea?”

“A cup of tea,” his daughter nodded, shutting her eyes. “And a story.”

His shadows nuzzled Catrin’s cheek, and she leaned into their embrace. She’d always been fond of his shadows and them of her.

There was a time when he’d feared that his shadows may frighten her, a time where Gwyn needed to reassure him that no one that knew him, no one that mattered feared his shadows.

But from the day he first held his daughter in his arms, she and the shadows had been nearly inseparable. As in love with his daughter as they were with his mate.

Chuckling and pressing a kiss to the top of Catrin’s head, Azriel admitted to himself for the millionth time that his girls had him positively wrapped around their fingers.

And that his hands - his scarred, ugly, dirty hands - they weren’t so ugly or dirty after all. Not anymore. Never again.

[gemsofgreece]

10 places to see in Mount Pelion, Greece in autumn

Pelion is a very beautiful lush green mountain in a privileged location in the heart of Greece. It lies on the east of Thessaly, in the prefecture of Magnesia. The mountain forms a curved peninsula into the sea, which creates a gulf, and consequently is surrounded by water; the Pagasetic Gulf on one side and the open Aegean Sea on the other, together blessing it with beautiful and diverse coastline. Another of its charms is its famed architecture, as Mount Pelion has been relatively densely inhabited for centuries. During the Ottoman Occupation, Pelion managed to maintain a local aristocratic society, thanks to its proximity to Volos city. All these elements combined create an idyllic scenery - lush mountain vistas, breathtaking beaches and elaborate traditional architecture. Here are 10 beautiful places in Mount Pelion to visit in autumn.

1. Makrinitsa

One of the most accessible villages of Pelion, Makrinitsa is only a few minutes from the port city of Volos. Like several villages nearby, Makrinitsa offers tremendous views to the city and its harbour, the gulf and even the Sporades islands in the distance. Makrinitsa has maintained its architecture in perfect conditions and has not been affected by the many tourists. When there, do try the local spoon sweets and the herbs. It is recommended to stay in one of the many traditional mansions that have been turned into boutique hotels. Nearby villages just as attractive are Portariá and Vyzitsa.

Photo by dimitrisvetsikas1969/15962 from Pixabay.

2. Miliés

It is one of the most quaint villages of Pelion and the final destination of the century old train ¨Moutzouris¨. Milies has one of the oldest public libraries of Greece and a very unusual church built in 1741. You should go there by taking the small beautiful train from Volos city, have a dessert in singer Tania Tsanaklidou´s coffee shop "Ἀννα να ένα μήλο" and do a 14 km hike that will take you to the villages Pinakates and Vyzitsa and then back.

Photo by Konstantinos Lagos on 500px. 

3. Tsagarada

Tsagarada is possibly the most popular mountainous village of Pelion. It is a large village built in lush scenery and close to stunning beaches like Mylopótamos, Damoúhari and Fakistra, which you should absolutely visit if the weather is mild. You should also see the gigantic 1000 year old plane tree in the square and eat in its restaurants, especially the sophisticated "Dipnosofistis". Tsagarada is also ideal for horse riding and hiking.

Photo by George Girnas GR on 500px.

4. Stayates

Close to Volos yet still mostly unknown to tourists, Stayates offers beautiful architecture and authentic village lifestyle. Stayates has been well known for the quality of its livestock produce, exporting meat inland and abroad. Stayates also has so great springs that people from Volos used to go to this village to fill their pitchers with crystal clear water.

Photo by symeon gaitanidis on 500px.

5. Lafkos

Lafkos is ideal for peaceful vacation. You should enjoy the views to the Pagasetic Gulf under the plane trees of its square, visit the Radio Museum (one of only two in the country) and take your coffee in Forlida´s coffee shop which dates back to 1785. Lafkos is full of centuries old and well preserved two-storey mansions.

Photo by Myrtw Kaiopoulou on 500px. 

6. Tríkeri

Trikeri offers something different. Located on the far edge of the peninsula, it is essentially the cape of Mount Pelion and enjoys a 360 degree view. It is a village with vibrant local character. Few minutes off the cape there is the tiny island of Paleó (old) Tríkeri, with only 20 inhabitants in winter!

Photo by Cosa2244 from Wikimedia Commons.

7. Ágios Lavrentios

Agios Lavrentios is known both as the medieval village (because it was built in the 11th century) and the music village (due to the music festivities taking place there). There you will enjoy a maze-like system of alleys, perfectly preserved humble houses and three-storey mansions alike, the monastery of Saint Laurence dating to 1378 and the absolute absence of cars. Cars are parked outside the village and are forbidden inside. 

Photo by Giannis Rpk on 500px 

8. Kissós

Kissos is built in one of the most verdant and lush regions of Pelion, to which it most likely owes its name [κισσός (kissós) = ivy]. With the village as your starting point, you can explore the beautiful nature of the mountain. The village is also loved for its hearty food and one of the most beautiful churches in the mountain, and a cafe that is often chosen by distinguished artists for small gigs. Rigas Feraios (1757 - 1798), one of the most influential visionaries of the Greek Revolution against the Ottoman Empire, served in this village as a teacher, hence his monument in the stone-made square. 

Photo by Christos Santakas on 500px. 

9. Pinakates

Pinakates is probably the best preserved settlement of Mount Pelion in terms of architecture. The village is so well preserved because until recently it was only accessible via one road which ends in the center of the village. All other roads could only be used on foot or by mule. In 1979 it became a category 1-protected landmark. 

Photo by John Syrigos on 500px. 

10. Chánia

Hánia or Chánia (not to be confused with Chaniá city in Crete) is ideally a winter destination but it is wonderful in autumn as well. It is built in a higher altitude (1200 m)  than any other settlement in the mountain and it is the closest to the ski resort. The village took its name from the many inns operating in the location for centuries. True to its name, there are still many hostels and taverns with traditional hearty food to try. 

Photo by Sonia Tsantila from 500px.   

*For some reason, Wikipedia and other sources list 24 villages for Mount Pelion. I am no authority but I believe this to be false, because I have vacationed in places there that were not included in this list and are pretty touristy even. I don’t know what’s up with that (unless some are considered...suburbs of the villages idk)  but anyway Mount Pelion has 24 and / or more villages, each of them being at its prettiest in a different season. Some more honorable mentions for autumn are: Portaria, Vyzitsa, Zagora, Anakasia, Keramidi, Agios Georgios Nilias, Horto, Ano Lehonia. 

This guide was inspired by these two articles in Greek: 

https://www.news247.gr/sunday-edition/10-mageytikes-staseis-sto-fthinoporino-pilio.9382272.html

https://magnesianews.gr/slider/ola-osa-kanoyn-to-pilio-yperocho-kai-to-fthinoporo.html