#grace pae

[pro-royalty]

Victoria Monét by Amber Asaly

[sixcostumerefs]

Happy Asian and Pacific Islander Month to our queens!

Here in the US, May is Asian-American and Pacific Islander month. So just like last year, I'll be highlighting the Asian and Pacific Islander queens of Six. This year is especially fun as there's currently an Asian or Pacific Islander queen in every currently-running replica production of Six!

Pictured: Aragon: Grace Mouat (Burmese, 1st UK Tour and West End), Nicole Kyoung-mi Lambert (Korean, pre-Broadway regional tour and Broadway); Jasmine Shen (Chinese/Hong Konger, Breakaway 1.0); Chloé Zuel (Mauritian, 2020 Sydney); Phoenix Jackson Mendoza (Filipino, 2021-23 Aus Tour); Kristina Leopold (Chinese/Thai/Indian, Broadway/Boleyn Tour); 이아름솔/Lee Arum-soul (Korean, South Korea); 손승연/Sonnet (Korean, South Korea) Boleyn: Andrea Macasaet (Filipino, pre-Broadway regional tour and Broadway); Cherelle Jay (West End and 2nd UK Tour); Amanda Lindgren (South Korean, West End); Sunayna Smith (Indian, Breakaway 3.0 and 5.0); 김지우/Kim Ji-woo (Korean, South Korea); 배수정/Pae Su-jeong (Korean, South Korea); Fiorella Bamba (Filipino, Bliss 6.0); Thảo Therése Nguyễn (Vietnamese, West End) Seymour: Jasmine Forsberg (Filipino, Aragon Tour/Broadway); 박혜나/Park Hye-na (Korean, South Korea); 박가람 /Park Ga-ram (Korean, South Korea); Singh Viki (Indian, Hungarian non-replica) Cleves: 김지선/Kim Ji-sun (Korean, South Korea); 최현선/Choi Hyun-sun (Korean, South Korea); Danielle Mendoza (Filipino, Breakaway 3.0/Boleyn Tour); Kardffy Aisha (Persian, Hungarian non-replica) Howard: Jaina Brock-Patel (Desi/Indian, 2nd UK Tour); Zoe Jensen (Filipino, Broadway); 김려원/Kim Ryeo-won (Korean, South Korea); 솔지/Solji (Korean, South Korea); Elysia Cruz (Filipino, Canadian); Hien (Vietnamese, Hungarian non-replica); Sierra Fermin (Filipino, Broadway); Alizé Ke'Aloha Cruz (Filipina, Bliss 3.0/Boleyn Tour) Parr: Shimali de Silva (Hong Konger/Sri Lankan, original student cast); Vidya Makan (Desi/Indian heritage, 2020 and 2021-23 Australian Tours); Shannen Alyce Quan (Eurasian, 2020 and 2021-23 Australian Tours); Karis Oka (2020 and 2021-23 Australian Tours); Megan Leung (Chinese/Hong Konger, Bliss 2.0 and Breakaway 5.0); Roxanne Couch (Maori, West End); Joy N Woods (Southeast Asian and/or Pacific Islander, Broadway); Elena Breschi (Filipino, Breakaway 4.0) 유주혜/Yoo Ju-hye (Korean, South Korea); 홍지희/Hong Ji-hee (Korean, South Korea); Aoife Haakenson (Taiwanese, UK Tour); Lauren Mariaoosay (Indian/Polynesian/Malaysian/Cambodian, Canada) Notes: - All information is from this post. There may be additional info or queens missing, as it's only information I specifically have been able to verify. This list also doesn't encompass the full breadth of many queens' identities; many of them are of mixed race and ethnicity, or of several nationalities. That post provides further information. - I usually don't include actors who haven't debuted. That means that Kimberley Hodgson and Deirdre Khoo (both of the recently-announced Australian Tour) and Fia Houston-Hamilton (cancelled Breakaway 2.0) are not included.

Credits: Aragon: anniekwithacamera; Lloyd Bishop; _jasmine_shen_; jamesmorganphoto; sixthemusicalau, unsure of origin; ymduck_pic; _young_img Boleyn: Sara Crulwich; jonalderson_; Pamela Raith; sunaynasmith; _young_img; _shannon1025_, unsure of origin; fiorellabamba; Pamela Raith Seymour: Joan Marcus; hbiiii._.iin; jjang_beautiful; Szabina Jardek Cleves: hbiiii._.iin; gren_pic; Joan Marcus; Szabina Jardek Howard: Pamela Raith, Joan Marcus, day_star_._, 890110kr; Joan Marcus; Szabina Jardek; sierrafermin; Joan Marcus Parr: sixthemusical, unsure of origin; sixthemusicalau, unsure of origin; daynaransleyphoto; daynaransleyphoto; meganswleung; Pamela Raith; michaelah.jpg; elenabreschi; yoozuyoozu, unsure of origin; jjang_beautiful; Pamela Raith; Joan Marcus

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Reflections in Last Twilight

Alright, I was not really planning on writing analysis on for Last Twilight, at least not this early in the game. But my dearly beloved @dribs-and-drabbles has called to me like Beetlejuice to analyze the use of reflections in this show. Which means i have been summoned, which means, it is time to bust out the meta. 

Now, having just looked back through both Episode 1 and Episode 2, there have not been that many instances of reflections in Last Twilight so far, though the ones we have had already are definitely memorable. So let’s get in to it. 

Episode 1

Intro Sequence

I’m not going to talk about the reflections off the fish tank here because the actual scene they are tied to comes in Episode 2 and I think there will be a whole lot more to say then. But I do want to acknowledge that we will be getting reflections at the beginning of every episode, and that Aof is already establishing the important symbolism of fish and jasmine. 

The first actual reflection we get in Last Twilight comes in the form of Mhok in the side mirror of  his sister Rung’s car.

Rung's car has been sitting in Pae's garage for a year at this point. It would be gathering dust if Pae hadn't spent time over the course of that year meticulously maintaining her vehicle. In fact, that is the very first thing we see happen in this workshop. Pae taking car of Rung's car in her and Mhok's sted. Taking care of this car was not his job, we can assume that he did not anticipate the time commitment that would come with maintaining possession of Rung's car while Mhok was in jail, but he has set himself up to task and gone, in my opinion, above and beyond what was expected of him by continuing to maintain her car.

Pae is surprised when Mhok hands him the spare key and says Pae can sell the car. Mhok at this point is in the anger stage of grief. He blames Rung for her death, and wants to absolve himself of the grief and guilt by maintaining the idea that Rung was to blame and to try to rid himself of any and all reminders of his sister. Mhok, as we know, is incredibly alone. His mother died when they were young, his sister has died, he is no longer associated with his friends/coworkers from his old shop after they all got arrested, and he hides as much as he can from Pae. Mhok has Phorjai and Phorjai only as any sort of support system, and she's his ex-girlfriend, so I don't think we need to go too in depth to acknowledge the complications there.

Mhok wants to forget his grief, his pain, and I appreciate greatly that Pae won't let him do that. That Pae knows Mhok enough to understand that the second that Pae sells that car, Mhok is going to regret letting it go. So he extends another six months grace period to let Mhok actually think it over. Mhok looks over the car, at the bandaid that Rung put on the little scratch she got her first day owning the car, in the glove compartment where all the handouts for her failed budiness are. And Pae allows Mhok a minute alone, in the dark of his sister's car.

At which point we get the reflection. Now, personally I think Jimmy has some work to do as an actor, which means it feels harder for me to accurately read Mhok's face/emotional state. But, for me, here, Mhok looks *tired*, but most importantly, he is trapped in the frame of the side mirror, he is stuck in the dark, and he is alone. In just one small frame, Aof is showing us the aspects of Mhok's character that will help him recognize himself in Day, and tell us why Mhok needs the relationship he has (or will have) to Day.

This is the only actual reflection we see in Episode 1. 

But I do want to comment on the end of the episode, like everyone else has, about part of the *The Little Prince* reading that Mhok does at the end. Namely the line "what is essential is invisible to the eye". 

I don't think, in a show with going blind as a part of its central theme that we really *need* to look deeper in to the significance/meaning of this line. But because I have been asked to talk about reflections, I want to go a little overboard on the line reading here. Because, day to day we can't see ourselves, right? We wouldn't know exactly what we look like if we couldn't look in to a mirror. Mirrors, reflections, are often a subject of insecurity, providing us the opportunity to pick at every flaw. In mirrors, dancers can watch and correct themselves, their body positions, tweak their choreography based on what they see that they normally would not be able to. Actors can practice facial expressions in the mirror, figure out how they have to hold themselves to make their emotions believable. In horror movies, mirrors show us what lurks in the background, in spy movies it shows us what exists around the corner. And in our deepest moments of guilt or shame, facing ourselves in the mirror becomes a challenge.

I don't want to get too ahead of myself on predictions about this show and what Aof is planning on doing with it, but personally I think the use of mirrors/reflections is a perfect way to show what is essential and invisible to the eye. Mhok is not looking at himself in the mirror here, and if we were standing in the room with him, we would not be able to see his face at all. But the side mirror of Rung's car allows us to see what Mhok is thinking and feeling. But he isn't looking in the mirror himself. He isn't and hasn't started facing or confronting his own grief, isolation, or pain. I don't know that Mhok is as of yet capable of seeing what he needs to change in his own life, because he hasn't reflected on his own life.

Episode 2

The first "reflection" we get in Episode 2 is not really a reflection, at least in the traditional sense, but I do still want to talk about it. I am of course talking about the selfie with Aon. 

Mostly because I wanted to acknowledge that to me, a photo is a kind of reflection in that you can both look back at yourself and also reflect on the memory of the time. To be honest, I don’t know exactly how I feel about Aon taking this picture of Mhok, because he takes it for the Society for the Blind. But how are they using it? Is this evidence that Mhok is here and doing what he said he will, or is this going to be used in marketing of some sort? Either way, it is capturing a moment in time that Mhok could one day look back on to reminisce about the beginning of his relationship with Day. 

And here Mhok is with someone else, a second person to accompany him where before he just had himself. But this is fake, this is quick, this is right after Mhok has just been shut out of all proceedings between Aon and Day. Mhok doesn’t know what’s happening before he is being told to smile for the camera. And if anyone were to see this photo, they would see a very happy Aon and a decently confused Mhok, but they would have no idea how limited a connection to Aon, Mhok would have had at this point. 

The next reflection is a bit difficult to see, but it comes during the conversation Day has with Mhok about the eye drops, where he explains he can see more clearly right after he uses them. In this scene, Day is talking to Mhok while keeping his gaze affixed to the lone goldfish in his increasingly grimier tank. 

Mhok and Day have a brief conversation about whether or not the fish is lonely since it is the only one in the tank, and Day brushes it off by saying that goldfish have short memory and that it couldn’t possibly be lonely. 

But, whenever we see Day on screen here, we see his reflection in the glass of the tank. And there are a few great moments during this conversation where the goldfish sits directly in front of Day’s reflection. To me it feels like a memory, a ghost, or a projection, and we know by the end of Episode 2, (if we haven’t picked up on it already from the title sequence or how heavily goldfish imagery has features in the promotional material for this show) that the goldfish is a stand in for Day himself. 

So I love the fact that we get this wisp of an image of Day’s face in the tank, like he’s trapped inside of it. Because we know that in a way he is. And the other thing I love about this, or rather about the fact that this goldfish is meant to symbolize Day himself, is that watching this goldfish is what brings Day the most joy at the moment. 

I love that because it shows me that there is hope and joy still left in Day, if he can just take the time to look at himself a little differently.

OKAY it’s time for the Big Boys. 

Our first instance of an actual reflection off a mirror in Episode 2 happens when Mhok is trying to check in with Day after Day runs away from Night’s friends. Mhok has said that he understands Day, and Day Does Not Like That™.

Day’s response to Mhok’s monologue is to say that Mhok has no idea what it is like to look in the mirror and not see your old self. And of course, we see Day’s reflection in his full body mirror. Now, again, Aof is being pretty heavy handed with his metaphors here. But that doesn’t mean I don’t absolutely love the double meaning of these words. Day is going blind so he literally can’t see himself in the mirror anymore. 

But also, Day is deep in his grief for the things he has lost. His freedom, his career, his confidence that I think he has morphed in to a completely different person. One who is bitter, and self-conscious, and more comfortable hiding away where he can wallow in misery over his condition and not have to confront the new world he is living in. Day is running from connection, I mean not a minute before this scene Day legitimately ran away from Night’s friends rather than have to explain his blindness. 

The scene continues, and Day shuts himself off even further from the world around him, by putting in his headphones. Now he can drown out Mhok’s attempts to comfort him, but in the long run what is that going to do? As @shortpplfedup said to me earlier “the set dressers did not come to play” when it came to designing Day’s room. When the curtains aren’t drawn there is so much natural light in Day’s room. His walls are bright and colorful, there are photos and awards all over the place. Day’s room has so much personality in it, so much life within it. But the mirror shows nothing. It shows Day alone, surrounded by blank walls in grayscale.

The costume designer made an excellent choice of shirt for this scene, by the way. Because the yellow blends in enough with the wall in Day’s room, that (especially) when coupled with the camera’s focus in this scene. The real Day almost fades in to the background, and your eye is naturally drawn to this spot of yellow in the mirror. 

The mirror highlights his isolation while at the same time showing the audience how much Day can and does stand out. 

AND it parallels the reflection of Mhok in Episode 1 so well, not just in the emotions that we see from Mhok and Day, but in the sense that Mhok’s reflection is in Rung’s car because he is currently trapping himself in the darker, meaner thoughts about his sister, rather than processing his grief. While Day’s reflection is in his room because he is currently trapping himself in the darker, meaner thoughts about himself, rather than giving himself enough compassion to start moving forward.

When Day does not respond to Mhok’s conversation, Mhok is triggered at the thought of his sister’s death and he breaks down the door to make sure Day is okay, and gets fired for it. Mhok does not argue, he does not put up a fight, he does not try to explain, he just honors Day’s request and gets the fuck out. And I love the way that Mhok is already starting to change Day’s outlook. Because we see how mopey Day is after Mhok leaves, and how much hope there is in him when Night tells him there is someone at the door who wants to see him and he so obviously thinks it’s Mhok. 

Mhok gives him the gift of the fish slippers, and Day goes to visit Mhok at the market, only to find out that Mhok has spent time reflecting on what Day told him about not understanding him, and making a fool out of himself in the eyes of the other market patrons by blindfolding himself. 

Mhok is doing what no one else has really done and is making a concerted effort to truly understand where Day is coming from, the fears that he is carrying, and the challenges he faces as a blind man. 

But of course, we know by now that while there are definitely things Mhok is had not or might never understand about the physical realities of Day’s life, he can understand loneliness, and he can understand rage, pain, and anger. There are parts of himself that have grown within him over the past year that recognizes parts of Day that have grown within him over the past year. 

And we have already been seeing the impact of Mhok on Day’s life, in the fact that Day has smiled more, Day has left his room, Day has eaten at the table, and agreed to watch a movie. And that singular day where Day did not wallow in his own misery, but left his room, went out in the sun, etc stuck with him because he is in the living room watching a movie the day Phorjai comes to visit. 

Culminating in the second real reflection of Episode 2, where Mhok, via the side mirror, sees Day smiling on the back of his scooter. And what I love about this moment is that the focus is entirely on Day. I don’t want Last Twilight to strip Day’s healing processes from him and give them to Mhok. I think it is totally fine for Mhok to contribute to Day’s increasing happiness, but ultimately I want Day to have enough autonomy in this narrative that these decisions that lead to him enjoying his life again are primarily comprised of Day’s own choices. And I think that we can get something visually from that by the fact that we don’t see a lot of Mhok in this reflection, only one small portion of his chin. 

Day made the choice to have Phorjai take him to see Mhok, Day made the choice to rehire Mhok, and Day is the one having a moment on the back of this scooter just reveling in the feeling of the wind on his face. I love that this reflection shows just enough of Mhok to show that Day is not alone, while still putting all of the attention in the reflection on to Day and the joy he is feeling. 

The idea that Day is no longer alone is reinforced after Mhok makes a pit stop to purchase a companion for the goldfish in Day’s room. And again we get in to some of my favorite instances of reflection in Last Twilight, where we place the boys’ reflections in the fish tank. 

And this is where the images from the intro sequence come from. Day looking at Day Noi and Big Mhok interacting with each other in the tank. Here we still have Day alone in the reflection, with the goldfish tying him to this symbolism. But Day’s reflection is so much clearer now that the tank has been cleaned. Now Day’s reflection in the water tank is far more obvious, and hey, since it’s me, I’ll overanalyze this moment to say that as Day has gotten to know Mhok a bit and has started venturing outside of his room more, that Day is getting a clearer vision of himself as a person. Regardless, we as the audience can see Day’s reflection in the tank all the more clearly and that reflection is vibrant and bright, because Day is becoming more vibrant and bright. 

“No More Loneliness Little Day” Mhok says and we get MY FAVORITE SHOT OF THE SHOW THUS FAR

The split screen. It’s not even a reflection, but I am talking about it here, because I think the absence of reflection is just as important as its presence, and I love that we have this moment where half of Day’s face is crystal clear and the other half is completely obscured. There is no trace of it. Considering how much Aof has been turning the camera on Day’s vision, we aren’t that far off of what Day sees in this shot. I like that this image has Day straddling these two worlds. 

And we get the final reflection of Episode 2, Mhok’s face in the fish tank. 

Again, I don’t even know that this is really intentional or it is just the way the reflection happened to have occurred, but I love the fact that not all of Mhok’s face is present within the fish tank. I like that Mhok is slowly encroaching on Day’s space, that Mhok is slowly starting to appear in the parts of Day’s life that Day actually cares about. Mhok is lonely and Day is lonely, and they have finally found someone they might be able to connect to. Big Mhok is there for Day Noi and Mhok is there for Day. 

I love that while the fish themselves are able to cross those barriers and that we get to see the fish swimming up and next to each other, that we have yet to see Mhok and Day’s reflections fully together. Even here, Mhok’s reflection in the fish tank is alone, just like Day’s reflection in the fish tank was alone. But they are in the same place, they are in the same room, they are in the same tank, they are in the same stage of their grief (anger) and there is no way in hell we don’t get one or more reflections in the mirror or in the fish tank by the end of this show where Mhok and Day are both fully present.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Tall and tan and young and lovely The girl from Ipanema goes walking and When she passes, each one she passes goes, ‘ah'”

The Girl from Ipanema

The girl from Ipanema is dead. Or rather the one who gave her voice to it died, Astrud Gilberto.

The Girl From Ipanema was originally titled ‘Menina que Passa’ (‘The Girl Who Passes By’) and set to be featured in a musical comedy entitled Dirigivel.It was written in 1962 by Antônio Carlos Jobim with Portuguese lyrics by Vinícius de Moraes. The inspiration for the song came from a young woman, Heloísa Eneida Menezes Paes Pinto who lived in Montenegro Street in Ipanema. The 17 year old Heloísa would be noticed walking past the Veloso bar-café as part of her daily routine, and one day going about her normal business she caught the attention of the composers. Leaving an impression of youth and grace, to Moraes and Jobim she became the girl from Ipanema. The popularity of the song would elevate the teenager to celebrity status, and in the years that followed would be known as Helô Pinheiro a model and successful businesswoman. 

Under the spell of bossa nova, the great Stan Getz teamed up with Brazilian guitarist João Gilberto to record, primarily, the songs of Antônio Carlos Jobim. The resulting album, Getz/Gilberto was released in 1964 became a million seller and one of the most famous jazz albums of all time. The success of the album was arguably down to the track ‘The Girl From Ipanema’ which came out as a 45rpm single. It was sung by Astrud Gilberto, it went on to sell more than five million copies worldwide.

During the recording session for the album that took place on 18 and 19 March, 1963 it was decided that a version with lyrics in English would be a good idea. Norman Gimbel was on hand to write the English lyrics, and ‘Garota de Ipanema’ quickly became ‘The Girl From Ipanema’.  There was just one problem: no one available with a good enough command of the language to sing the song in English. That was, apart from João’s wife Astrud who had come along to the studio.

Although she had never recorded professionally before, she was an experienced vocalist having sung on stage with her husband and what followed catapulted the 22 year-old singer to worldwide fame. She laid down vocals for the track, as well as another song – ‘Corcovado (Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars)’. Getz, Gilberto and producer Creed Taylor quickly realised they had something special, with her gentle voice, almost a quiet whisper, a perfect fit for the song and for Getz’s warm yet light toned tenor playing.

The astronomical success of the single ensured good sales for the full album too, and Stan Getz is said to have been remuneration handsomely for his work. However, whilst the success of the song may have helped launch Astrud’s career, she did not benefit financially. She was reportedly paid just $120 which was the standard rate for her contribution - although the saxophonist was apparently insistent that she should be paid nothing.

In her own words, she was manipulated by “wolves posing as sheep”. Both Getz and Creed Taylor claimed credit for the discovery, with the singer later commenting: “in fact, nothing is further from the truth. I guess it made them look important to have been the one that had the ‘wisdom’ to recognise potential in my singing… I can’t help but feel annoyed that they resorted to lying.”

As a result of the way the song was credited for royalties, Astrud Gilberto received indeed received no additional financial remuneration for her contribution. The injustice continues when it transpires that her husband at the time (they divorced a short time afterwards in 1964) received a 5-figure amount via royalties while Getz, securing the largest amount, is rumoured to have bought a mansion with his share that amounted to nearly $1 million. The injustice and inequality of the music business may have reared its ugly head – unfortunately just one of many such instances - but the music that came from the session has left us with a timeless gem. Today it is reportedly the second most recorded pop song of all time after the Beatles’ ‘Yesterday’.

The Girl from Ipanema would be her only major hit - though it crept back into the UK chart in 1984 as bossa nova flourished again, popularised by Everything But the Girl, Sade and others - but she retained a fandom for a series of subsequent solo albums on the jazz label Verve, beginning with 1965’s The Astrud Gilberto Album. She also recorded with Chet Baker, and continued to tour until 2002. In 2008 she was given a lifetime achievement award by the Latin Grammys.

Video: is Astrud Gilberto performing "The Girl from Ipanema" in 1964 with Stan Getz on tenor sax, Gary Burton on vibraphone, Gene Cherico on bass, and Joe Hunt on drums.

RIP Astrud Gilberto (1940 - 2023)

[homicidalfantrolls]

Come Back to Me

The months old question is finally answered. (Though it’s not what you think.)

collab with @trollcafe that’s been forever in the making. please enjoy!!!

Part 1

Part 2

doc

It doesn’t take long for Paenit to find Jodiah on the dance floor. Even in a room as crowded as this, overflowing with more trolls than the pilot had seen in sweeps, his limeblooded siren stood out like a signal flare. Spinning in his iridescent dress, his new mask, his boots that didn’t match his outfit in a truly Jodiah manner; it all made Paenit’s heart throb painfully in his chest. He had seen a lifetime of stars, of swirling galaxies, experienced supernovas up close and personal, saw every wonderful and fascinating thing the universe had to offer- but none of that shone as bright as Dia did that night.

Paenit’s eyes follow as Dia spins with his kismesis. Seeing how Mondes was dressed made him feel slightly better about what he had originally intended to come in. At least he wasn’t the only one who was without much of a fashion sense. Though it was difficult to look good when standing next to someone as radiant as Dia.

It took every ounce of courage the cusp’s body contained not to turn tail and run. The beauty of the scene and how completely out of his league he was made everything overwhelming. Commander Almiss didn’t exactly consider himself cowardly—his track record of military operations would prove such. But this was no battlefield. He had traded the safety of gunfire for the hostility of social cues and the danger of a dancefloor. His leather gloves grew uncomfortable as his palms grew sweaty. For the second time that night, he was thankful for the cape draped over his shoulders, successfully hiding how bad he thought he was shaking. With one deep breath, he finally made his way over to Mondes and Dia.

The smaller of the two seemed to stiffen as the highblood approached, but across the floor Dia pulled him aside to mumble something into his ear. This seems to ease the olive’s anxiety ever so slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on Pae the entire time, even as he finally steps up to the kismesises.

Paenit turned to look at Mondes. The latter’s gaze scans the fleet troll up and down like he was searching for some sort of red flag only he could see. The two locked eyes under their masks, passing some unspoken understanding between them. Regardless of whether Mondes found a red flag or not, he steps aside and motions for his kismesis to get on with it. Be it the demonstration of respect, his kismet’s words, or the audacity of interrupting, something convinced Mondes to allow a strange highblood to sweep his kismesis away.

Paenit offers his hand to Jodiah.

Wordlessly, the limeblood takes it.

As gracefully as a man who had never really danced before the week began, Paenit swept him into a dance he couldn’t recall the name of. A waltz? A swing? He wracked his brain for the name, anything to avoid acknowledging just how out of his depth he was. Nostalgia plucked at his pusherstrings. Fondly recalling the time in basic training one of his drill sergeants made the recruits learn the basics of ballroom dancing. To help with grace and fluidity in a fight, that had been the reasoning at the time. If only he had known how he’d use those skills.

Jodiah speaks suddenly and interrupts his nostalgic train of thought.

“You took your time,” the lime scoffs, letting the masked stranger lead him. Despite Dia’s love of dancing he could hardly chastise the other’s skills in it. Or lack thereof. It wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He pondered over the stranger’s strong hand in the small of his back, the other one holding his in a feather light touch. A gentle hand like that was hard to find. Not a possessive grip, but a confident one. Dia could flop over entirely limp and he was confident this stranger would catch him. It wasn’t every day he met a highblood who treated him so daintily. Dia bit back the initial annoyance that follows—he didn’t let just anyone get away with treating him so tenderly, especially not a purpleblood. But because he was playing nice, repaying the kind stranger for the drinks he swindled from him, he was content allowing such tenderness. For now.

The stranger’s mask prevented Dia from seeing where he was looking, but so did his own. The lime was studying every inch of him that could be seen, drinking in the details like he had the champagne had earlier that Mondes was currently keeping warm for Dia’s return. Sure, he had a decent look at the bar, but he had more time now. His dance partner was tall, but not too tall. Well built, standard for a purpleblood, but worth mentioning. Broad shoulders—oh, how Dia loved a man with broad shoulders—but he wasn’t imposing with his size. His posture was remarkably passive for a highblood dancing with a neon lime.

Their bodies swayed to the music, close enough to share heat, moving in perfect sync. To an outsider, it’d be easy to think they had done this plenty of times prior. Being so close, Dia recognized the cologne now—it was popular amongst highbloods in the Fleet, notably seadwellers. A musky, powerful, oceanic scent—he ever remembered the name of it. Megamare, a stupid name if you asked him. Just about any seadwelling commander had it somewhere in their quarters. Expensive enough to be high end, but not too advanced of a scent to be hoity-toity. It had been applied just right. It was a strong scent, one that could easily choke a person out. The stranger wore it lightly. Just enough to entice, enough to draw Dia in closer. His curiosity only increased at the unique choices.

Seadweller cologne on a purpleblood. A mute, overwhelmingly gentle purpleblood, who picked the masked anon out of a sea of possible dance partners.

“Usually I’m not the patient type. But what can I say, I like dogs,” Jodiah purrs, playfully hooking a finger in the shirt collar of his dance partner. His playful tone did a wonderful job of disguising his curious intentions.

The sudden claw against Paenit’s neck almost makes him trip. It’s a miracle he doesn't—perhaps that drill sergeant’s hard work paid off. He has to bite his tongue to keep from squeaking like the mouse he felt like. For not the first time this evening, Paenit was grateful for the face covering he wore. Though it still hid the identity of its wearer, it had the secondary purpose of hiding his flushed blue-purple face. Paenit was quite confident that even without the heavy cloak he had on, he would still feel unbearably warm. His heart was doing its best to break out of the constraining rib cage; the pilot’s throat seemingly experiencing anaphylaxis for the first time. He wondered if he had somehow been allergic to the whiskey Khirti had bought him. Or if, perhaps, she poisoned it. It wasn’t the thought of the impossibility of her getting the chance to do so that comforted him, but the unlikeliness of Khirti not just stabbing him then and there if she truly desired his end.

While Paenit’s mind raced with paranoid thoughts and panic, Jodiah yearned for knowledge. He studied the silent mask closely, looking for any hint of recognition, any sign or emotion. Some strange piece of him was daydreaming of a Hallmark movie moment. The realistic part of him knew this wasn’t the case.

“Still not much of a talker, hm?” Dia dropped the flirty tone. It clearly wasn’t getting him anywhere. His curiosity had yet to be sated, which only served to annoy him. While flirting got him nowhere, the change in his tone did have an effect of some kind: his dance partner tensing the smallest bit. Dia’s head tilted ever so slightly as he studied the mask once more. Finally, he relaxes, letting the troll take his hand once more, “That’s fine. We can just dance.”

His mind explored grandeurs of romance as they swayed to the beat. Specifically, Dia was thinking about Paenit. He hadn’t the slightest clue who he was dancing with—only that they hadn’t said a word, they wore Fleet cologne, and that a foolish, childish part of him wanted so badly for it to be Paenit. He wanted to tear that mask off and see who truly lies beneath it. He wanted to be twirled around in some grand romantic gesture, to be held lovingly and safely in the arms he missed so badly it hurt. However—Paenit hadn’t spoken to him since the day he left with Mondes. That same childish part of Dia’s pusher ached with hurt at the same time. Hurt and betrayal.

Dia knew his previous commanding officer well enough to know he never showcased himself as a purple blood, and never in his wildest dreams would Paenit Almiss show up to the Yule Ball wearing an outfit this grand.

But he had to know.

God, he just had to know.

Yanking off a strange purpleblood’s mask was a surefire way to get executed the second he left this safe zone. The masked stranger had yet to say a word to him, who’s to say he would respond to a name? Dia had to be smart about this. After what felt like an eternity of swaying in a thick silence, Jodiah sighed softly, wistfully, and rested his cheek on the stranger’s shoulder.

Angled in just the right spot to see the stranger’s chin. To see the scar that decorated his skin.

Not unlike a scar he knew. One he stroked with his thumb as he held his CO’s face. One he kissed often, one he asked about several times and received a different origin story each time, all jovial and light spirited and none likely the real cause. A scar perfectly placed, perfectly colored, going under his chin and stopping right at his neck. He had spent a handful of days wondering how a scar like that must’ve hurt, how the scar’s owner was lucky it didn’t go further.

Now it was Dia’s turn to swallow his pusher back down into his chest. He looked down quickly, deciding it simply didn’t exist if he didn’t look at it. His own heart was racing so fast it was easy to ignore the stranger’s heartbeat. His chest ached with need and overexertion. The rush made him dizzy. The level-headed facade he put on for his kismesis quickly cracked. He wanted the scar to be more than a coincidence. He wanted the scar to mean nothing. He wanted his everyday mask, yearning for the way it drew out excess electricity from his body to reduce the strain of intense emotions on his heart.

They swayed in silence for a few moments yet. He would’ve been content to let that moment play out forever if the burden of knowledge didn’t weigh so heavily on him. Without another word, Dia lifted his head, and slipped the leather glove off the hand he was holding. His stranger missteps—probably from confusion—but in the end it doesn’t matter. Dia stopped the dance altogether. Almost obediently, the stranger stops as well.

There they stood, in the middle of the dance floor. Dia pulled away from the purpleblood to study his hand. The troll didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed to relax slightly as Dia followed the trail of scars. Scars he knew all too well. Scars like a map to the troll he missed most.

He took the other hand in his, and removed that glove too. He turned his hand over.

There it was. In the space between his thumb and forefinger, was a small heart-shaped oil scar. Followed by a straight line scar crossing each knuckle, and the telltale scars of someone’s fist busting on teeth. The world seemed to close in on the two of them, music fading into the background. Bodies of blur swirled around them as if they didn’t exist. Dia traced over the scars silently, his fingertips dancing over the ragged and calloused skin with a feather-light touch.

Finally, he looked back up, eyes boring through the not-so stranger’s mask, “…You came back.”

Paenit froze. Even if the two of them had long stopped dancing at this point. It was amazing how his blood could run so hot while he was frozen stiff in his boots. Slowly, he curled his hand around Dia’s. They began to move again, stepping across the dance floor. Whether it was an attempt to rid himself of the nervous energy building or to resume a facade of normalcy wasn’t clear. Dia was content to let Paenit take the lead once more, allowing the highblood to guide him as they swayed.

“I had to answer your question, right?” While there had been hope for a suave, confident tone to his voice, Paenit’s response came out as rough and as full of cracks as old runway pavement. Yet another thing that did not line up with his plan. Truly, laying things out in advance was far from his strong suit.

Dia’s demeanor flipped

“So…is it a no?” Dia asked, frowning ever so slightly beneath his mask. Even with his face hidden, Paenit could sense the disappointment. He could perfectly picture the way the lime’s brow furrowed, how his eyes would darken when he didn’t get his way. Just imagining it made him dizzy with yearning.

“I-what? Wh-why would you think it’s a no?” Paenit stammered, almost tripping over himself and sending the both of them toppling over. Quick reflexes once again saved the dance from ending in catastrophe. This time, it’s Dia who encourages them to keep moving.

“Well, you showed up here.”

“I-I know it’s weird but—“

“And I don’t see her with you.”

Paenit sighed. Then he chuckled.

“This…isn’t really her scene.”

—

As Dia folded and put away clothes (not all of which were strictly his) into a surprisingly ragged suitcase, he was as stone faced as ever. No words were shared as he made sure to gather up all the things he had moved into his commanding officer’s block, knowing that nothing of his was left in the one off of his medbay. Paenit had helped Jodiah move things bit by bit until the medbay looked like it had before he moved in. Empty. Sterilized. Cold. Part of Paenit hoped that Dia would want to check, return there just to make sure that he hadn’t forgotten anything.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

“I want Ship Cat.”

For a second, he was sure that Dia had scratched one of the records in the corner of the block. When his eyes shifted up from a pair of pants he was folding and he saw Dia in the exact spot he had been, eyes locked right back on him, he knew he was mistaken.

Paenit can’t help but laugh. Not a laugh he was used to, not one he had done since the days of Dia stepping on his sunglasses and rigging his coffee maker to explode. Sheepish. Unsure.

“You—You want Ship Cat?”

“I want to take her back to Alternia. She deserves to retire too. There’s plenty of kittens that could take her place.”

Paenit’s pusher sinks. He had never been good at saying no to Dia. Never skilled at looking into the flawless green gems that were his eyes and telling him that he couldn’t do what he wanted. He knew in his chest it was not a skill that he would ever develop.

“Dia—“

“Not now,” he interjects, placing the last pair of stolen pants in his suitcase and closing it. “You can bring her to me as your answer when you retire, and become my matesprit.”

Warmth encompasses Paenit’s body so immediately, so intensely, he wonders if the ship was on fire. If smoke and ash were creeping into the ventilation systems, slowly suffocating him and showing him all the dreams of a future he could never have. A future where he could fly planes again, help people instead of hurt them. A future of happiness, green grass and trees and the eyes of his matesprit, Jodiah Monark. A future where he could be happy, where he didn’t have to worry about being taken away to hurt people for a military whose only goal was causing more and more despair. Where they could be together, happy.

It was impossible to say when Dia took his mask off or when he began to approach Paenit. Like a dog drooling for his food at the sound of a bell, the clicking of Dia taking off his mask forced Pae’s eyes to close in anticipation of his kiss.

As their lips connect and Paenit’s arms wrap around Jodiah to hold him close, he could feel an ache wrap itself tightly around his chest like a constrictor killing its prey. It spreads into the admiral’s fingertips, his legs, up to the base of his skull. It screams to him.

Don’t let go.

Don’t let go.

Paenit lets him go.

Dia steps back, the sound of his mask clicking letting Paenit’s eyes know it was okay to open, okay to see him once more. To see him with the shroud returned over him, blocking out his light from view.

“Don’t take too long.”

Dia rested his hand on Paenit’s face one last time. Then, he was gone.

————

“Where is she, then? Don’t tell me you left her on your ship all by herself.”

“She’s not by herself—“

"So she's still up there? On that damn ship?" Jodiah’s tone is sharp, tinged with annoyance, but hardly as hostile as it could be. As hostile as it would've been had he been dancing with anyone other than Paenit. "You came all the way here, dressed to the goddamned nines, and you didn't even bring me my fucking cat?"

Anxiety prickled at Paenit’s chest, his ears laying flat against his head. Had he a tail, it would be tucked firmly between his legs in a sign of submission. Dia was still dancing, though his footfalls seemed heavier with his annoyance.

“I-I couldn’t take her just for leave—I didn’t—“ Paenit swallowed, avoiding the intimidating eyes of his dance partner. “Didn’t know if you would still…be around.”

"Still be around?" the lime parrots in a voice positively dripping with annoyance, though hushed in tone to keep the other dancers from being concerned about the fight. "Where else would I be? All you had to do was call me, send a text, video message, fuck—email works in space, too! Then you wouldn't have to wonder if I was ‘around’ or not."

“I-I didn’t—I tried!“ Paenit sputtered, tone desperate, “Calls and texts wouldn’t go through and the fleet reads all my emails—I’m not allowed to have a personal account, you know that—I didn’t want them to try to bring you back after—“ he frowns, voice quieting before resuming, ”—after you went through all that to get out.”

He elected not to mention Annihilation’s recent bout of trouble and how it could have possibly affected Dia staying away from fleet custody. It wouldn’t help.

Under his mask, Jodiah’s expression softens. Knowing Paenit made an effort was enough to make him feel like crying. He shakes that feeling off without a word. He wasn’t a crier— he’d had enough of that emotional nonsense to last him a lifetime. Even his dance partner could tell he was still unsettled, though silence fell between them. He wasn’t yet satisfied with the answer he had been given.

When Dia finally spoke, his voice felt small and soft in his chest. Raw and uncertain, showing the hurt and distress his mask usually hid well, "...Well, you should've tried harder." He pulled his hand from Paenit’s to lightly hit his chest, taking out his frustration for something neither of them could control.

Guilt fell over the highblood like a shroud, his ears falling ever further down in his body’s subconscious effort to make him look smaller. The vulnerability in Dia’s voice felt like salt in a fresh wound, making his already aching heart pang miserably.

“…I’m sorry,” Paenit apologizes, even if the both of them knew there was nothing more he could have done. Still, he can’t help chuckle as Dia’s fist lands on his chest, much lighter than expected. He supposed the lime wasn’t as mad as he wanted Paenit to believe.

“I’ll steal a shuttle next time,” Paenit joked sheepishly in an attempt to add some levity.

"You don't even have to steal it- you're a fucking commander. You—Y-You can just—take it,” Jodiah countered, clearly not appreciating the humor. His words are broken up by a soft, sad laughter, as he continued his attempts to bite back tears. "A-A letter would've worked—or j-just, ask my dad to pass on a message? I..." He swallowed hard, throat aching with the threat of closing up entirely, "...I-It's been months, Paenit."

A knife to the chest would have been less painful than hearing Jodiah so broken up. Having experienced at least one knife in the chest before, that was something Paenit could attest to with confidence. His hands traveled to hold the lime’s face, his thumbs pushing under Dia’s mask to rub over his cheeks. Whether or not the other would electrocute him wasn’t the concern at the forefront of his mind. The sudden warmth of calloused hands passing the barrier of his mask forced Jodiah to freeze like a deer in the headlights. Once again, the pair had stopped moving.

“I couldn’t, Dia,” Paenit started softly, “I’m an admiral with no second in command. I can’t leave my ship even when I want to. The only…the only reason they let me come here is because they think I’m recruiting. They think I’m here in a fancy uniform telling everyone how great the Fleet is. I’ve been trying. I never stopped trying to reach you but…I couldn’t.”

He didn’t dare mention to Dia that it was most likely by design. Punishment for letting him go on leave, for letting him stay away so long when his sister went missing. For not finding a way to force him to stay under Pae’s employment. Nor does he—no, can he—mention why talking to Annihilation wasn’t an option. For so many different reasons. Reasons he was not confident Dia could understand, reasons Paenit couldn’t share, reasons Dia may not even care about.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” the admiral murmurs at last, resting his masked forehead to the limeblood’s. Dia relaxed slightly, having accepted that explanation. The certainty of his dance partner’s words, knowing the lengths he went to, knowing he at the very least made an effort- that was enough to make tears well back up. Words caught in his throat before they could be free. Forgiveness, hurt that remained, anger at the fucked situation, expressions of relief and love and sorrow, none of which could escape lest he stutter through his words like a stalled engine in front of his matesprit.

Matesprit.

Now, that was a lovely thought.

He was at the Yule Ball, and he was going to dance with his fucking matesprit.

Dia pulled away suddenly, grasping Paenit’s hand once more. He pulls the purple so suddenly, he nearly trips them both. He grasps Pae’s hand once more, pulling him back into the dance. The motion catches Paenit so off guard, he nearly stumbles and trips them both.

"You can get back to recruiting later—I deserve a dance with my matesprit first."

“Your…matesprit?” Paenit’s voice is barely audible from under his mask. His lungs fail to work and ache with need, his heart seems to have stopped pumping altogether, caught in the momentary excitement as Dia swings them both slowly.

Dia cocks his head expectantly, "Yes?" Paenit could picture his partner’s quirked brow and peeved expression perfectly, annoyed that his thought process needed to be explained at all. It was so easy to bury all those negative feelings, all the hurt and upset that still lingered, far under the surface with the promise of dancing. "You didn't bring my cat. But...you showed up. So I'm taking that as a confirmation."

“Y-Yeah…I-I did show up,” Paenit all but squeaked, as if reassuring himself he did such things. Confidence grew with his grin, wide and vibrant, under his mask. Pae springs to life with a giddy laugh, arms snaking around the smaller troll. He lifts Jodiah into the air to spin him around. Surprisingly, the lime lets him, going so far as to hug him back. His matesprit’s excitement proved contagious: Dia’s laughter joined Paenit’s in a bubbly harmony, holding onto the purpleblood for dear life while being swung around.

Matesprit. That was his matesprit.

Dia’s laugh was more beautiful than any song the band had played that night. Melodic and bright, it erased the weight Paenit had been carrying on his shoulders since he’d stepped inside the massive hall of the ballroom. The anxiety of how the evening would go, how Dia would respond to seeing him again, how absolutely fucked he would be.

Instead, the two were dancing in what felt like perfect sync. Perhaps not skilled, perhaps not enough to win awards or even gain the attention of any of the other couples scattered about the floor. Not that either of them noticed. No, they had stepped into a different world entirely. Where everyone else had faded into the scenery, turning into nothing more distinct than the dozens of windows looking over the sea. The only music was the sound of each other’s breaths, the beat of their hearts drowning out anything else.

Paenit’s hand drifted down Jodiah’s back, resting in the curve of his spine. Dia’s hand pushed into the slicked back hair of Paenit’s. If anyone had remained on the dance floor, they wouldn’t have noticed. They were too busy getting lost in each other.

Panting softly from all the excitement, foreheads pressed together, they stared into each other's eyes from under their masks. Until finally the edge became too hard to balance on.

Paenit’s hand brushed past the beads of Dia’s mask, cupping the lime’s face gently. His thumb danced over Dia’s soft and scruffy skin.

Dia knew what was wanted—hell, he wanted the same. For as much as he wanted to, he simply couldn’t in the middle of the dance floor, so publicly visible. Desire gnawed at his bones desperately. He could practically see his matesprit’s confidence waning.

With a sudden burst of energy, the limeblood took hold of Paenit’s cape and pulled him off the dancefloor. They spun as they went, putting up the illusion of dancing. For all his confusion, Paenit just went along with it, however clumsily. Dia pulled Paenit into him as they turned a corner. Pae’s hands went to the wall to prevent him from crushing the limeblood. The two stood there a moment longer, the heat of the previous moment returning tenfold.

Paenit’s size and cape proved to be the perfect shield. Dia felt safe under him, confident that Paenit wouldn’t let anyone see what lay under his mask. Without a word, Dia’s hands went under the wolfish face blocking his matesprit’s own, slowly removing it. Unveiling the truth he yearned for. His own mask follows suit. Both fall to the ground unceremoniously.

For the briefest moment, they could look at each other’s faces for the first time in months. Bare. Real. Full of flesh and life. Scars, freckles, mismatched blue eyes and blinding lime ones. More than just words and promises, more than a phone call or a text message or even a letter. Flushed cheeks and parted lips and eyes burning with desire. It was easy to forget Dia had a reason to keep his face hidden.

They closed the space between them at the same time. Dia’s hands tangled in Paenit’s hair, Paenit’s kept one hand firmly planted on the wall to shield the two despite his desire to hold his matesprit with both, the other pulling Dia’s small frame against his own. For the first time in months, the couple kissed. They kissed, and they kissed, and they kissed, until they were out of breath and dizzy. They kissed to make up for lost time, to apologize for things unsaid, to prepare for the time they’d lose until they could kiss again.

Eventually, Jodiah would leave. For as much as he loved Paenit, he made a promise and wouldn’t break it. He would return to his kismesis and get a proper scolding for running off and leaving Mondes alone. Paenit would have to return to his ship, to his crew, to his empty block. Painful memories didn’t sting as much, but the loneliness still ached deep within his bones.

They would leave each other once again, with a newly rekindled yearning. It may be weeks, months, sweeps before they saw each other again. But they were both confident. He would come always back.

In the end, the distance wouldn’t matter. As long as they could be together.

[inkstheticbkwrm]

The Moon Herself

A Powerless Fanfiction between Reckless and Fearless.

She is the Moon.

She has been the moon for quite some time now, an orb too close yet too far away for me to grasp. She is beauty itself as she lies there.

Perhaps the only divide between her and that light is that while the Moon borrows its light from the Sun, Paedyn owns hers. She emanates it from the fiery spirit within.

Or perhaps she accompanies her lost friend in the sky, the Sun to her Moon.

Whatever it may be, I'm not quite sure that the effervescent light framing her face is beaming from the moon and not her.

I'm content to watch her lying there with stray sliver locks snaking over her serene face, but there is no doubt that Kitt would give me hell if he found me ogling his betrothed in her sleep like a damn pervert.

It would be a lie to say I'm not nervous over shaking her awake during these midnight hours. But she has become more of a need than a want--and I cannot be Kai without Pae.

Not anymore.

But it will all come to naught. Tomorrow, she marries my brother. Tomorrow, I will have proof that the beast doesn't get the beauty. Tomorrow, I will lose her, leaving me with nothing but the haunted trace of her laugh and her features and the ghost of what could have been.

Before that, I want to be Kai with Pae one last time. Be myself before I lose myself along with her. 

My heart quickens with every thump of my feet towards her--though that may be because I'm strangely excited by the idea of being close to her.

There.

There she is.

She's even more breathtaking in front of me. I don't want to disturb her calm, her moments of rest, but I'm not selfless enough to do so.

Selfish.

That is what I am being, wasn't I? What am I giving her hope for?

A moment of happiness for myself? A stolen moment of serenity?

Whatever I am doing--I want it.

And that sickens me to realize.

A soft moan stirs me from my stupor. My hand is on her shoulder, jostling her awake prematurely. From experience I know how invested she gets in sleep but waking her all over again is a thrill in itself. She pulls her pillow over her head, calling me a string of colorful names.

I shake her again. "Gray." I flinch at the fact that my tongue let her surname slip, resigning itself to the fact that it will never feel the intonations of her name again.

"Azer, I-" For a moment she freezes, realizing where she is and who it is she is talking to. She sits bolt upright, her expression sharp with a scowl. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I want to show you something."

She stares at me as if she is not sure if I'll disappear in the next second, nothing more than a dream.

Then the back of her hand flies towards my face.

I duck just in time, catching her wrist and rubbing my thumbs over it like a good luck charm. "Careful, darling. You're more likely to wake someone up than I am."

"I don't care!" She swings her arm toward my face and I deflect again. "You have no right to-"

"After this night," I interrupt, "we will likely never see each other again except with professional distance.”

My eyes find hers. I take her hand and lower my lips to it.

“So,” I breathe, feeling her pulse quicken through the pad of my thumb, “may I have this dance?”

Her eyelid twitches, dissipating her remaining anger. “What did we say about the flirting, Azer?”

“I can’t help it. Not when it comes to you.”

She offers no resistance as I pull her into my arms for the last time, spinning her around her chamber. Given her new status as queen-to-be, it’s an improvement from both her old quarters. Yet Paedyn still moves stiffly, as if unaccustomed to her new habitat—certainly not as if she were at home. Her feet slide across the floor in a pattern that echoes in my heart. She has her own daring, defying grace to her, something that is impossible to ignore.

“What are you doing here?” The sound of her voice—hurt and bewilderment and a touch of giddiness—finds its way to me and I clear my throat. 

“I thought we could be us for one last time.” Pae and Kai, Kai and Pae.

“And what do you hope to achieve?” Her eyes, brilliant and blue and every bit as I remember them even in moonlight, find mine. “You know better than anyone how irreversible this is. How inevitable this is.”

I swallow the unexpected lump in my throat as a chorus of last time swallows my brain. “I may not be able to live with you anymore,” I finally whisper, gathering what little courage I had left. “But please let me keep living for you, because I cannot imagine a life devoid of that.”

She tenses in my arms.

I should’ve expected her discomfort, her guilt. And I’m disgusted at myself.

None of this is her fault. None of it ever will be. And I’m still pushing my weight onto her, the burden of forbidden dreams she has no reason to carry.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, Kai.” I feel a start at the sound of my name from her lips. She pushes back to face me. “We all have a reason to live in life. My first was my father.”

Another thing I’d taken from her. 

“And then it was Adena. But now, even though this will plague me forever, it is you. I don’t know if it is reasonable, or wantable, but I will always live for you.” She pauses. “And you will live for me.”

It’s not a request. It’s a command.

I can’t help thinking of the cruelty of fate as I spin her some more. The fate that gave her away to my brother like a prize. The fate that has taken everything from me.

But Fate, though it can stop me from living with her, it cannot stop me from living for her. If she is the Moon, then I am content to be the Earth admiring her from afar, writing letters I will never send her. It is our orbit, our secret.

And this is just another game of Pretend in the boundless universe.

[riddlemaster]

BEFORE THE FINAL ZODIAC CHALLENGE, LET US TALLY THE SCORES

GRACE @harpylady: 1 POINT

SAMMIE @betadunsparce: 1 POINT

CHLOE @walcutt: 1 POINT

AND TIED FOR FIRST PLACE,

PAE @paeinovis AND VERONIKA @recuperationdisliker BOTH WITH 2 POINTS!

WITH ONLY ONE PERSONA BEAST, THE NEW PISCES, LEFT FOR US TO DISCOVER, WHO WILL BE OUR VICTOR?

[tombeane-blog]

On Her Way To The Sea

September, 2023

I'm going to my high school reunion next week so I thought it was time to practice re-living my youth....

Two young ladies from Brazil are forever intertwined, although as far as I know they never met.  

Overnight, one became globally famous and her name is known to this day.

The other also became famous overnight and is still talked about today but outside of her home country, almost no one knows her name.

Rio de Janeiro, 1962 - A 17 year old girl walks to the beach each morning.  

36 year old Antonio Carlos Jobim and 49 year old Vinicius de Moraes,  two Brazilian Bossa Nova composers sit in the Veloso bar sipping Brahma beer and musing about their latest song collaboration. 

The duo favor the place for the good brew and the even better girl-watching opportunities. 

And these two older married guys are totally enchanted by a 17 year old girl young enough to be their daughter and granddaughter.

Vinicius de Moraes describing her later...

“She is a golden girl, a mixture of flowers and mermaids, full of light and full of grace, but whose character is also sad with the feeling that youth passes and that beauty isn’t ours to keep.  She is the gift of life with its beautiful and melancholic constant ebb and flow.”

After watching her day after day, they collaborate and compose a Portuguese song about this 17 year old titled, 'Menina que Passa’'.

"Tall and tan and young and lovely..."

In March of 1963, Stan Getz, a renowned jazz saxophonist, teamed up with Brazilian guitarist João Gilberto in New York to record the songs of Antônio Carlos Jobim.

They wanted "Menina que Passa’' to please the American audience so it was re-written on the spot in English.  

"...and when she passes, each one she passes goes...ahhhhhh"

The only problem was that there was no one available with a good enough command to sing the song in English except for João’s Giberto's wife Astrud, who had come along to the studio just to sit and watch.

Although she had never recorded professionally, she was an experienced vocalist having sung on stage with her husband.  

What followed catapulted the 22 year-old singer to worldwide fame.

The song was described as: "Astrud’s child-like vocal, devoid of vibrato and singerly mannerisms, was the perfect foil for her husband’s soft bumblebee voice. Jobim tinkled piano. Getz blew a creamy smooth tenor. Four minutes of magic went to tape."

"The Girl From Ipanema" became the second most recorded song in history, just behind "Yesterday" by the Beatles.

Astrud Gilberto was reportedly paid just $120 which was the standard rate for her contribution – although Stan Getz was apparently insistent that she should be paid nothing.

He made a fortune.

This became the pattern of her entire life.  She became globally famous for a while and was semi-famous for decades to come.  She performed and recorded for the rest of her life but never benefited financially in a major way and was taken advantage of by pretty much everyone she performed with or was managed by.  

She later lived a quiet life in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and passed away this past June.

And the girl from Ipanema?  Heloísa Eneida Paes Pinto Mendes Pinheiro better known as Helô Pinheiro lives to this day.  

Although little known outside of Brazil, Helo has had a successful life as a Model, TV personality, Brazilian Playboy Playmate, Olympic Torch Bearer, Business Owner and Entrepreneur.

"When she walks, she's like a samba ,

That swings so cool and sways so gentle ,

That when she passes, each one she passes goes - ahhhhhh"

"But each day that she walks to the sea,

she looks straight ahead, not at he."

During the Opening Ceremonies of the 2016 Summer Olympics in Rio de Janeiro a gorgeous Brazilian Super Model in a sparkling dress strutted down the catwalk accompanied by a Bossa Nova classic, paying homage to, "The Girl From Ipanema".

The Super Model?  Gisele Bündchen.

There are songs that take you back to a certain place - like slow dancing in a darkened gym with the smell of fast-dance-induced sweat mixed with the aroma of sweet perfume.

And there are some songs that generate those same feelings but are created by something that never, ever happened.  

This one did 60 years ago and still does.

[chowtrolls]

Do you think Pae wouldn’t have gotten tattoos if you hadn’t made him?

“Maybe he would’ve. That wasn’t the issue, though. The issue was I never got to choose my own- I was forced to accept whatever design Deepbite picked out for me. Rather than allowing Paenit more grace than I was given, I opted instead to force him as well.”

[itxnlyrains]

》 IREUN ‘RAIN’ PAE; (e • dewn • pay)                ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ • ᴊᴀɴɪᴛᴏʀ ᴀᴛ ʜʏᴅʀᴀ                                                                                                                          penned by oli. 

                 →  basic stats.   more headcannons.  connections. pinterest. ←

tw: child abuse, near death experience & mention of mild legal drug usage. 

first and foremost, rain hates to be called her legal and surname. she’d get it changed if she wasn’t so avoidant. to stay in her good graces, calling her rain is- for the most part- the key.  

at first glance, she’s pretty introverted, uninterested and typically evasive to conversations she doesn’t want to have. her manager probably see’s this side of her the most. the authority they have over her paycheck is crippling since money is a critical survival tool for her. 

a famous line would probably be; “sorry, i’ll do it again.” 

has a weird sense of survivals guilt? her and her mother were in a bad accident coming back from a ballet recital when she was younger, and her mother died while she survived. this was the route of her families worsening dysfunction since her father grieved with aggression and alcohol. ireun was definitely your resident older sister that served as a mother, father and provider as a teenager- that stress ate at her mental health more than she’d thought it did.

her father trying to choke her to death seemed to be the final straw. something snapped and life suddenly was about surviving. she left her younger siblings and father with that overwhelming emotion the same night. she was about 16. 

had been living off the street since then, always feeling guilty for not taking her siblings with her.

probably should go to therapy, doesn’t because it isn’t free and requires participation. instead, she smokes when the stress gets too heavy. but for the most part- she quit. dancing sometime helps, but sometimes- it makes things worse. 

if she’s too quiet, she probably has lots to say or rather, she’d trapped in her mind with the demons her trauma left her with. she doesn’t like hand outs though, so she won’t ever physically hint at it. 

“i’m fine. it’s fine. i’m okay.” are common habits she’s grown into.

is kind of still a child at heart. her tiny apartment is completely thrifted, but with unconventional things that have conventional uses. for example; a bowl- but in the shape of a shark. an ashtray, but its in a dinky shape of a pair of lungs. a keyholder but, it’s an old mannequin hand sticking out of the wall by the front door.

FOR MORE, I’LL ADD MORE DEVLEOPED THINGS HERE.  just so i don’t make this into unnecessarily long. 

[pro-royalty]

Victoria Monét x Galore Magazine

[sixcostumerefs]

Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Month to our queens!

In the US May is Asian-American and Pacific Islander month, so this month I'm spotlighting all the global Asian and Pacific Islander queens!

Pictured: Aragon: Nicole Kyoung-mi Lambert (Korean, pre-Broadway tour and Broadway), Jasmine Shen (Chinese/Hong Konger, Breakaway 1.0), Chloe Zuel (Mauritian, 2020 Sydney), Phoenix Jackson Mendoza (Filipino, 2021-23 Aus Tour), 이아름솔/Lee Arum-soul (Korean, South Korea), 손승연/Sonnet (Korean, South Korea) Boleyn: Andrea Macasaet (Filipino, pre-Broadway tour and Broadway), Amanda Lindgren (South Korean, West End), Danielle Mendoza (Filipino, Breakaway 3.0), Sunayna Smith (Indian, Breakaway 3.0 and 5.0), 김지우/Kim Ji-woo (Korean, South Korea), 배수정/Pae Su-jeong (Korean, South Korea) Seymour: Jasmine Forsberg (Filipino, Aragon Tour), Kristina Leopold (Chinese/Thai/Indian, Broadway), 박가람 /Park Ga-ram (Korean, South Korea), 박혜나/Park Hye-na (Korean, South Korea) Cleves: 김지선/Kim Ji-sun (Korean, South Korea), 최현선/Choi Hyun-sun (Korean, South Korea) Howard: Jaina Brock-Patel (Desi/Indian, 2nd UK Tour), Zoe Jensen (Filipino, Broadway), 김려원/Kim Ryeo-won (Korean, South Korea), 솔지/Solji (Korean, South Korea) Parr: Shimali de Silva (Hong Konger/Sri Lankan, original student cast), Vidya Makan (Desi/Indian heritage, 2020 and 2021-23 Australian Tours), Megan Leung (Chinese/Hong Konger, Bliss 2.0 and Breakaway 5.0), Joy N Woods (Southeast Asian and/or Pacific Islander, Broadway), Elena Breschi (Filipino, Breakaway 4.0), Roxanne Couch (Maori/New Zealander, West End), 홍지희/Hong Ji-hee (Korean, South Korea), 유주혜/Yoo Ju-hye (Korean, South Korea), Aoife Haakenson (Taiwanese and also lived in Jakarta and Hong Kong, UK Tour) Alts: Grace Mouat (Burmese, 1st UK Tour and West End), Cherelle Jay (West End and 2nd UK Tour), Karis Oka (2020 and 2021-23 Australian Tours), Shannen Alyce Quan (Eurasian, 2020 and 2021-23 Australian Tours), Alizé Ke'Aloha Cruz (Filipina, Bliss 3.0) Notes: All information is from this post. There may be additional info or queens missing, as it's only information I specifically have been able to verify. This list also doesn't encompass the full breadth of many queens' identities; many of them are of mixed race and ethnicity, or of several nationalities. For more information on any given queen, check that same post. Also note that Izi Maxwell (alt, 2nd UK Tour) was born in Hong Kong. However, she lists herself as British and white on her Spotlight. Additionally, Fia Houston-Hamilton (Cleves, original Breakaway 2.0) is Indian but was never officially announced. Credits below.

-------------------- Aragon: Lloyd Bishop; _jasmine_shen_; jamesmorganphoto; sixthemusicalau, unsure of origin; ymduck_pic; _young_img Boleyn: Sara Crulwich; Pamela Raith; raisaroni10; sunaynasmith; _young_img; _shannon1025_, unsure of origin Seymour: Joan Marcus; Joan Marcus; hbiiii._.iin; jjang_beautiful Cleves: hbiiii._.iin; gren_pic Howard: Pamela Raith, Joan Marcus, day_star_._, 890110kr Parr: sixthemusical, unsure of origin; sixthemusicalau, unsure of origin; meganswleung; michaelah.jpg; elenabreschi; Pamela Raith; jjang_beautiful; yoozuyoozu, unsure of origin; emilyshows Alts: anniekwithacamera; jonalderson_; daynaransleyphoto; daynaransleyphoto; alize.kealoha

[mani-moves]

By the looks of Normani’s team, she is currently headed to London!!

[baelanikehlani]

love is life is love 👯‍♀️👩‍👧

[thefifthpower]

@blaircaldwell: the memories we made on the sweetener tour are unforgettable, I’m still hyped and honored that iheartradio has recognized me for my work on the sweetener tour !