#partly because its nice to hear his voice more than once every two decades

[lady-divine-writes]

12 Days of Blasphemy: Altar (Rated NC17)

Summary: When Crowley gets bored during a dinner party at Madame Tracy's, he starts speaking to his husband telepathically, reminding him of a time way back when in Crete when the two of them put a sacrificial altar to good use ... and suggests they re-create the moment when they get home. (2014 words)

Notes: Written for the '12 Days of Blasphemy' prompt 'altar'. NSFW. Warning for bondage and blow jobs.

Read on AO3.

‘Do you remember the last time you and I were in Crete?’

It’s a whisper.

Just a whisper.

But it breaks through the buzz of the current conversation - Madame Tracy (well, Mrs. Shadwell as of an impromptu elopement around two weeks ago) regaling Anathema with tales of her travels pre-matrimony: touring the spiritual hot spots around Europe, the various full moon festivals she participated in, her visits to shamans and high priestesses and wizards.

Also her stint at a popular burlesque show in Paris, a subject that makes Newt and Mr. Shadwell mildly uncomfortable but for different reasons.

No one hears Crowley’s question to Aziraphale. It slips deftly into Aziraphale’s brain, placed there by his wily demon. Crowley waits for a reaction, staring at him from the opposite side of the table, over the curved rim of his wineglass and behind the cover of dark glasses.

Aziraphale shifts in his seat, wiggles his shoulders, tilts his head left and right.

He does indeed remember the last time they were both in Crete.

But now is hardly the time.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Communicating this way. We’re ignoring our hosts. It’s rude.’

‘They don’t care.’

‘How do you know?’

Crowley rolls his eyes, polishes off his wine. ‘Watch this.’ He clears his throat. “Hey! Hey, Pulsifer!”

The young man’s smile, plastered on for the sake of the conversation, dips as he glances over his shoulder at the demon suddenly vying for his attention after not speaking a word to him all meal. “Yes?”

“Aziraphale and me, we’re going to be talking a bit, brain to brain, so you lot can’t hear. You don’t mind, do you?”

“N-no.” Newt looks at Crowley strangely, as if he doesn’t know whether to believe him or not. Of course he’s a demon and his husband is an angel. They’ve probably been speaking telepathically the entire time he’s known them and he hasn’t had a clue. “Go right ahead.”

Crowley nods in gratitude. “Mighty nice of you.”

“Yeah. N-no … no problem.”

Shadwell’s head pops up, squinting with curiosity, but when Newt returns to the conversation, so does he.

Crowley smiles smugly. ‘See?’

‘He probably doesn’t believe you,’ Aziraphale responds, focusing a bit too hard on a dinner roll he’s been softening in his right hand.

‘Don’t matter. You didn’t answer the question.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why not?’

‘Anathema, for one.’

‘What about her?’

‘She’s going to hear. And possibly Mrs. Shadwell.’

‘Block them off. It’s easy as anything. Don’t even require much magic. Answer the question.’

Aziraphale shifts again, resisting the urge to cross his legs underneath the table to dull his body’s reaction to that question, Crowley’s voice, the intimacy of having it whisper through his brain. ‘It was long ago. Longer ago than I care to own up to. But I may remember … a few key points.’

Crowley leans forward, grin curling, his thumb working along the edge of his empty glass, in need of tactile stimulation. ‘They had all of those false idols, and that giant, gaudy altar. You were there to lead them back to the light. I was there to encourage them to keep going with their blasphemy.’

‘I recall.’

Crowley’s eyebrows lift. ‘Do you recall what I did to you on that altar?’

Another seat shift and more rigid shoulders are Aziraphale’s answer.

So Crowley decides to answer for him.

Refresh his memory.

“Oh … oh, Crowley …”

Aziraphale jerks, his chair leg squeaking against the floorboards of Mrs. Shadwell’s dining room. The sound elicits a few concerned glances, but Aziraphale smiles them away, bringing the roll to his lips as if casually ready to take a bite.

But he doesn’t.

If he opens his mouth at all, he might moan.

His own voice in his brain startles him, definitely, but it also comes with feel.

With touch.

Lips on his neck, a comforting weight pressing down on his torso, hands exploring up the sensitive skin of his thighs.

And his wrists and ankles locked down in metal cuffs.

His gaze snaps in Crowley’s direction, his eyes wide. He’d ask Crowley to stop, but those eyes … those gorgeous eyes …

Crowley doesn’t let his eyes run away from him too often. He does his best to keep them under control, humanlike, so if any mortal did catch a glimpse of them, they’d have to look twice to see any difference.

Which they wouldn’t.

If Crowley’s low, seductive voice didn’t bring this memory back in full force, those venomous yellow eyes, extending now from rim to rim, definitely do.

“No … I … we shouldn’t be doing this …”

Aziraphale chuckles lightly in the back of his throat, closes his eyes in embarrassment at how damsel-in-distress-from-a-cheesy-romance-novel that declaration sounds.

Turns out, closing his eyes? Not the wisest decision.

Because now, to go along with the voices, he can clearly see the moment playing behind his lids

‘It was a sacrificial altar,’ Crowley continues. ‘It had thick cuffs at the head and foot.’ He gulps. It upsets his whole throat. ‘All those times I spent breaking you out of chains, and here I was, putting you in them.’

‘Not one of my smarter decisions, I will admit …’ Aziraphale knows he should open his eyes to avoid suspicion from their human companions, but he can’t - too fascinated by the scene and the fact that Crowley seems to have memorized it so completely. Aziraphale smells the dry earth, the pottery by his head, the incense burning. He feels the hard clay underneath his back, its texture against the backs of his legs and his arse. He hears Crowley’s grunts pinging through his brain as he tries to collect them, record them, hide them away in his head for later review when he can replay the whole thing and yell at himself, “What were you thinking!?”

But mostly he feels Crowley – his weight; his heat; his skin; his mouth all over, everywhere at once.

Aziraphale does cross his legs now, his knee brushing the underside of the table, and clamps his thighs together.

‘I bound you to that altar. I couldn’t believe you trusted me. But I was euphoric. You were my offering. My sacrifice. Only mine. And I wanted you … so bad.’

“Crowley,” Aziraphale (in his memory) moans, less concerned than he should be when the demon starts wrapping his wrists in gold, slides the locking pins into place. “What are you … what are you doing?”

“I want you,” Crowley growls into the angel’s mouth. “I want you to surrender to me. I’ve wanted you for so long and now I’m going to have my way.”

“What are you going to do?” Aziraphale asks, knowing that whatever it is, he can miracle his way out.

“I’m going to taste you …” Crowley moves down Aziraphale’s body, down his chest and his soft tummy, hands caressing his curves as he travels down the angel’s legs, heading towards his ankles. He stops at his hips, stares at the simple linen robe covering him. He licks his lips and puts his mouth to the spot, breathing hot over the bulge growing between Aziraphale’s thighs.

Sitting at Tracy Shadwell’s mahogany dining table, the red in Aziraphale’s cheeks hitches up a notch as Crowley, in his head, begins lifting his robe. ‘You wanted to defile an angel, you mean.’

‘True. But I wanted you, Aziraphale. No one else.’

‘Well, you had me, didn’t you?’

“Oh … oh my … oh my G---“ Aziraphale bites the word off with teeth sunk into his lower lip. There’s no way in Hell he’s going to invoke Her name. Not now. Especially when She may actually show up. And he doesn’t want to think of that, of Her finding him here like this. And not even, wickedly, because he’s doing something wrong. Which he is. He’ll admit it. But because he doesn’t want this to end, what this gorgeous demon is doing to him with his mouth – kissing, sucking, devouring like he needs this. He needs to please Aziraphale like the desert needs rain.

To live.

To thrive.

Having Crowley pleasure him this way is incredible, but the need in him? Aziraphale wants that.

He wants it forever.

‘I did. And it ruined me, Aziraphale. I couldn’t tempt a single human with lust for close to a decade. Every time I tried, it made me think of you. But you weren’t there. You were never there and I … I became useless.’

Aziraphale’s eyelids flutter open, the red in his cheeks cooling to a softer pink as the sounds of climax fade in his head.

“Oh, Crowley … Crowley …”

“Aziraphale … angel … my angel …”

Aziraphale blinks. His brow furrows.

Was that … did he really?

“My angel …”

The furrows deepen.

Did Crowley say that? Really say that? Or is Crowley adding it?

If not, how did Aziraphale miss that?

Whether or not that happened then, it’s happening now. Aziraphale is Crowley’s angel.

That’s all that matters.

Aziraphale smiles. ‘Maybe we could try it again?’ He glances up at his husband, who has leaned so far forward he’s practically climbing onto the table, knee in the butter, to get at him.

‘How do you mean?’

‘You have that huge table at your flat,’ Aziraphale explains. ‘You have cuffs. We can re-enact the scene, minus the coarse sand and the smell of camel dung.’

‘Sounds like fun. Or … you can do the same thing to me …’

A new sound slips past Aziraphale’s ears - the sound of Crowley crying out, calling Aziraphale’s name, with a sinful desperation that revives that red flush, brings the dwindling sensations in the angel’s body back to life.

A chant of “Aziraphale! Aziraphale! Please! Don’t stop!” strikes his eardrums over and over as an image so vivid Aziraphale knows it’s partly real flashes before his eyes: his own sinister grin; his lips, slick with saliva, sliding down the throbbing shaft of his husband’s cock; that first glorious taste of pre-come tingling his tongue …

“Mr. Fell?”

“Yes!?” Aziraphale yelps and tosses his roll, squeezed nearly to the point of splitting in two, into the air. It bounces off the ceiling and ricochets back down, landing squarely on the tines of his fork, flipping it clear over his plate to somersault twice and land in the soup tureen.

The once lively conversation in the room goes dead.

Aziraphale stares down the length of the table and sees four sets of eyes staring back, blank faces accompanying them.

From across the way, he hears Crowley snicker.

“Are you all right, Aziraphale?” Tracy asks.

“Yeah,” Anathema says. “You look … flushed.”

“What?” Aziraphale squeaks, putting a hand to his cheek. “Yes! I’m … I’m fine! Absolutely. Maybe just … a tad warm. But that’s all.” He laughs nervously. “Probably all the wine,” he says, gesturing to his mostly full glass.

His only glass.

Tracy and Anathema share a look, one that’s a smidge more sly than Aziraphale would expect from those two. But that could just be his own personal paranoia kicking in.

“O-kay,” Tracy says. “We were about to move this party to the sitting room for dessert and coffee. Would you and Mr. Crowley like to join us? Or are you still … talking?”

“Uh …” Aziraphale peeks over at Crowley, but he simply shrugs, grinning unashamedly. “No. Yes! I mean, we’ll join you. Of course. Oh …” He stands a few inches, but immediately sits back down.

“Is there something wrong?” Tracy asks.

“Yeah, Aziraphale. Is there something wrong?” Crowley echoes. More in the know than any of the others, he picks up a green bean and sucks it between his lips into his mouth.

“No.” Aziraphale frowns sourly at his husband, a familiar ache thudding through his lower body when his rear meets the seat as he viciously projects an image into Crowley’s head of the demon spending the night alone on the sofa. “I just need … a few minutes.”

[tillidontneedfantasy]

‘WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?’ - Billie Eilish REVIEW: Making ‘Em Bow One By One

WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?

An interesting question you pose there, Billie. When I fall asleep, I usually dream about being a part of the Harry Potter universe and trying to defeat Voldemort with the golden trio. But unfortunately, I don’t go there every night. I mean, believe me, fighting off The Dark Lord can be scary sometimes. But sometimes I go to even darker places, and it always takes a few moments when waking up to believe I’m really in my bed. Much of Billie Eilish’s debut album invites you into the dark parts of her subconscious, and sometimes her extreme consciousness, to which she goes. Of course, “asleep” could also be interpreted as, well, dead. Which is a nice way to phrase it. Ideal, really. How wonderful would it be if death was just an eternal nap? No one would ever be afraid to die.

Maybe that’s what Billie believes it is, and why she seems so desperate to go there on WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO? (WWAFA,WDWG?) For a then-16-year-old girl, I wish she wasn’t so tired. “ilomilo,” “bury a friend” and most concerning, “listen before I go,” explore her friends who have been taken from her, and her desire to join them. I’m glad she hasn’t.

So is she. In a now traditional Vanity Fair video, Billie answers the same interview questions three years in a row, exactly a year apart. Expect The Fourth Year one October 18th, 2020. It is one of the most fascinating videos I have ever watched. Though the same at the core, there is a different version of Billie in each year. Which is to be expected, as she is a teenager in the limelight. But the video of year 2, which was around 5 months prior to WWAFA,WDWG?’s release, Billie openly admits to being in a very dark place, discussing how her friend had died. Her posture and affect are noticeably different in years 1 and 3. In the third and latest installment, Billie is an upgraded, happier and more comfortable version of the previous two. You can hear the change in her voice, see it in her face. In response to the question, “What’s most important to you right now?” her answer is, “Maintaining my happiness, which I have been experiencing for the first time in many years….I wanna stay happy. That’s a big goal for me.”

Billie Eilish is one of the biggest breakout stars of the past few years. Her following is enormous, and though fans vary in age, many of them fall in her cohort. Generation Z is special in many ways: morbidly funny, proudly outspoken, self-aware, and unafraid to be different. Billie Eilish is all of these things incarnate, the perfect spearhead for this generation and what they represent. She dresses how she wants to dress and makes the kind of music that she wants to make, refusing to follow the molded expectations of young up and coming female stars before her. In that music, she also does what very few artists, young or old, have ever done: candidly explores mental illness and suicidal ideation.

These issues have become more and more prevalent in today’s society, yet they are still extremely stigmatized. Like many teenagers, I experienced the sadness and darkness Billie is singing about. I’m almost 25 now, but I can imagine how 15-year-old Cass would feel hearing this album and seeing Billie as she is in the third year of that Vanity Fair interview. Understood. Not alone. And hopeful, hopeful that things get better. At that age you feel like everything is the end of the world, because it is developmentally and socially some of the most difficult years in the human experience. And to hear someone you look up to say, “I feel this way, too,” and then see them continue fighting, and happy that they did...that can change someone’s life.

Thankfully, Billie still injects some levity into the album. The musical hook in “bad guy” feels like a defining moment for Gen Z the way the musical hook in “Toxic” was for us Millennials. “all the good girls go to hell” unflinchingly decrees that God Is A Woman™, and “my strange addiction” has cuts from The Office, Eilish’s favorite show, interspersed throughout the song. Gen Z is taking over, and Billie’s one hell of a ringleader.

STRONGEST TRACK(S): “i love you,” “xanny”

The phrase “I love you” has never felt so intimate as it does coming from Billie’s mouth in the penultimate track on WWAFA,WDWG? Sandwiched between two tracks where all together they form a sentence (listen before I go, I love you, goodbye) "i love you" is the most mesmerizing and most vulnerable, not just of the three but of the whole album. As a listener, you are dying to know what's hidden between the lines. Why doesn't she want to love this person even though she clearly does? What did she do to make him cry? Why are you, the listener, crying right now? With the smallest breath, the quietest whisper, the emotion Eilish emits is enormous. Every once in a while you hear a song that you feel will never leave you, and “i love you” has all the makings to be everlasting.

As does the message in “xanny,” a dynamic song that mostly sounds like an old-time jazz track, although infuses a blaring noise over the chorus, as if you are standing right next to the booming stereo at the party setting in which she speaks. The layering of hums in the background and at the end of the song provides a necessary subtle softness, making it all the more beautiful. The track is a statement from Eilish that she has no interest in the lifestyle that so many kids her age- famous or not- lead, partly because she does not understand the appeal of its effects, and partly because she does not want to invest herself in someone willingly bringing harm upon themself, as she previously has. “I can’t afford to love someone who isn’t dying by mistake,” she asserts. Of course, most things in moderation are good and fine, but there is an ever-persistent pressure for young people to use substances, for easier social interactions or easier claim to desirable social status. There is a plethora of music out there promoting the party lifestyle, but very few saying, “hey, it’s okay if you’re not about this, you’re still cool,” and so a celebrity as big as Billie abstaining from it, and providing a reasonable explanation, gives a figure of understanding and solidarity to all the outliers.

WEAKEST TRACK: “8”

Not a bad song by any means, “8” is just the least memorable on an album filled with extremely intriguing and standout tracks. There is an interesting choice of vocal styles that alternate throughout, one of which it sounds as if Eilish is emulating the voice of a little girl. She is asking the subject to just give her some common courtesy and hear her out. "Who am I to be in love / when your love never is for me?" she asks, in the most compelling moment of the song. It is a difficult line to walk, knowing someone doesn't owe you anything but wanting them to anyway. Although the song is effective, its replay value doesn't quite match with the other contenders.

THE IN-BETWEENS

Although Eilish is authentic in her own right, you can see the draw of inspiration from unique artists before her. Lorde's imprint is all over "you should see me in a crown," a catchy song about ruling the world and making everyone bow down to her with the sound of a knife sharpening at the top, and “listen before i go” is reminiscent of Lana Del Rey’s morose romances. “when the party’s over,” written solely by Billie’s brother, collaborator, and best friend, Finneas O’Connell, is a beautifully quiet moment in the middle of the album, with absolutely gorgeous high notes from Billie. The song is succinct and poignant, noting the inner conflict between wanting a friend to be more than just that and yet feeling the need to keep up boundaries to protect your heart; but when has that done anyone any good?

BEST PROSPECTIVE SINGLE: “my strange addiction”

In the age of Netflix, The Office continues to grow in popularity with younger viewers who missed it on air. Who better to bolster the movement than Verified The Office super fan, Billie Eilish? In “my strange addiction,” Eilish and O’Connell draw inspiration from the classic episode, “Threat Level Midnight,” where Michael Scott (Steve Carrell) has finally finished his movie and is ready to premiere it to the office. In his movie, Scott’s character, Michael Scarn, teaches the entire bar how to do his signature dance, “The Scarn.” “No, Billie, I haven’t done that dance since my wife died!” the song begins, which is a real line from the episode. “my strange addiction” borrows from the track for “The Scarn,” which is simply genius. Everyone is doing “The Scarn,” fictional or nonfictional, even NFL player Trey Quinn, who did the famed routine for his touchdown dance. Not only will “my strange addiction” convert The Office fans to Billie Eilish fans, but just imagine the amount of TikToks there could be of people doing “The Scarn” to this song…think about the meme potential, Billie! *Ed Helms voice* There’s a whole crowd of people out there who need to learn how to do the “my strange addiction.”

                                                                   *****

Billie Eilish, and her debut album, WWAFA,WDWG? is impressive in a multitude of ways: she is raw, candid, silly, wildly intelligent, and most importantly, full of a lot of love, no matter how much she claims she does not want to be. Perhaps most impressive is that the only writers and producers credited on this album are Eilish and O’Connell, ages 18 and 22, respectively, at the time of this review, yet 17 and 21 at the time of its release, which means they were 16 and 20 at the time of writing and production. For two young people to create such an impactful album on such a massive scale on their own is a rarity, and has not been seen since the beginning of Taylor Swift’s career, and look at where she is now. Billie’s music might be different, but her trajectory seems quite similar. At Billboard’s Women in Music ceremony in December of 2019, Swift was honored with Woman of the Decade while Eilish was honored with Woman of the Year. Both artists paid homage to the other in their speeches, harkening back to Swift’s 2014 Woman of the Year speech where she alludes to a future Woman of the Year recipient learning piano and singing in choir; Swift had said back then that we need to take care of her, and Eilish tearfully thanked the room for doing just that. As Swift continues to fight against the system to pave the way for female artists, the clearing is all Billie’s. If Billie continues to maintain ownership of her voice, as I’m sure she will, it looks like the woman of the next decade is a lock. The crown looks great on Billie, and I cannot wait to see where she takes us while we’re all awake. Grade: 4.5/5

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: The first time I listened to WWAFA,WDWG? the only tracks that really captured my attention were “bad guy” and “my strange addiction.” I wanted to like it so bad, but I felt like I was missing something. Maybe that’s because I listened to the album at work and did not take it in properly. But I also felt like she was whispering too much, which made it difficult for me to stay interested. So I did not revisit it. However, over this past year, despite not listening to her music, I started to form a big-sister-type love for Billie, feeling as if I must protect her at all costs (any man over the age of like, 20, reading this: stay the fuck away from her you sickos!!!). I loved how she embraced her individuality and did whatever she wanted. I watched many interviews of her on YouTube (one being the Vanity Fair one, where she talks about how the criticism that she whispers a lot is hurtful yet true- Billie, I’m sorry!!) and found her to be so intelligent. To me, her and Taylor Swift (my number one love) are two sides of the same coin, or two paths to the same destination. What I mean by that is that as a lover of music and as a girl going through a difficult time, sometimes you need positivity to counteract the negative feelings, other times you need to lean into the sadness to release it all; though they both possess a bit of both, Taylor is more of the positive route, Billie more of the sad route. The thing is, you need both options. Billie reminds me of Taylor so much; she writes all of her own music (with her brother as her only co-writer), she has blown up at such a young and vulnerable age (if WWAFA,WDWG? wins AOTY at the Grammys, Billie will be the youngest ever recipient since Taylor won for Fearless at the age of 20), and she is committed to saying and doing what she wants to do the way she wants to do it. After listening to the album a few more times leading up to the Grammys to write this review, I get it. I truly get it. I’m sorry it took so long. And although her super soft vocals are definitely effective, I still want her to project more. The girl has a gorgeous voice; she should use it! But also she doesn’t need my advice, she’s doing fine. Keep whispering, baby girl. I feel very nervous for Billie, because when a woman reaches the top this quickly, everyone gets ready to push her off just as fast, and the fall can be fatal. But I believe in her ability to stand her ground. Please protect Billie at all costs!!!!

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Throwback albums

Have you ever listened to an artist and not only became a fan of their music but also interested in their lives. The story of The Watercolors is an interesting - and sad one - that leaves people wondering what if. While that resulted in keeping their music alive, when most people think about The Watercolors, the story of Lessi Teng comes to mind. Once in a while I think about it and can’t but wonder how different things would be if she were still alive today. 

The Watercolors were formed by college students Crystal Love, Veronica “Ronette” Chiffon, Tamara “Tammi” Haza, and Alessandra “Lessi” Teng. They started out as a folk-pop group and then ventured into world music - particularly traditional Yemenite Jewish music and Cambodian rock - known for mixing ethnic and modern pop into a genre of its own. They were also controversial in some circles as they weren’t afraid to call out injustice - particularly Tammi and Lessi. Not surprisingly their music was banned in some parts of the world and they made some enemies. Still, that didn’t stop them and even if they weren’t as commercially successful, people sell bought their records. 

Out of all of the members, Lessi remains the most elusive and yet most talked about. She was known to be very private about her personal life - most of what’s known now came out after her sudden death from complications of AIDS. She was the mastermind of the band’s sound. Out of the four, she had the least musical training aside from orchestra in elementary and middle school and voice training when she began singing more leads for the band. But she was a self taught musician and later started writing her own songs. She was also the youngest member - the rest were in their late twenties or early thirties while she was twenty when the band formed. 

Lessi’s home life is a bit conflicting. She grew up in a traditional Chinese-Cambodian household with her mother and younger brother and sister. While she was close with her mother, she was kind of sheltered but also supposedly the favorite. Her siblings Mike and Emily were the opposite of her - extroverted, confident, ambitious, always taking the spotlight. Lessi was quiet, introverted, and lacked the same drive her siblings had, which made her sort of like the black sheep in her family.   

The Watercolors was intended to be a side thing so not surprisingly there was some resentment when they became big. It was expected that Lessi would quit the band after college when she found a “real” job. But things didn’t work out on her end so she stuck to music and then the band became a main part of her life. People like Mike and Emily would flip between being proud of their sister and putting her down - usually the latter, especially when Lessi started getting more political. 

Although The Watercolors weren’t winning awards or topping the charts, they still received quite a bit of airplay. Censorship was partly to blame as some radio stations refused to play certain songs like Lessi’s Bring on the Storm (one of my favorites), which was about the Cambodian genocide or Ronette’s Children in Exile, a song written in response to the lynching of a young girl in a nearby town, and Operation Magic Carpet by Tammi about the Jewish exodus from Yemen. Aside from their unique sound, another thing that appealed to me about The Watercolors is that they had the guts to release songs like this - many of which remain relevant today. 

Their success continued for about a decade. Then the band decided to take a break and Lessi withdrew from the public for a while aside from occasional performances. The main reason was that she had to move back home to take care of her mother, who later passed away. Then she got married to a businessman, who she was introduced to through her siblings. For years her family was pressuring her into getting married. Lessi was outspoken about being bisexual but  her family wanted her to keep that quiet and marrying a man was one way to do it. Not much is known about her marriage other than it wasn’t out of love but convenience. 

As of last year my friend Carole was assigned to help with a documentary on Lessi’s life which is currently in the works. She’s been working extensively with Ronette, Tammi, and Crystal, and it’s a lot to unpack. Since Lessi moved back home and got married, the three have been out of the loop with her because of her husband and siblings. 

About a year into their marriage, Lessi became ill. What started out as the flu progressed and she was completely bedridden. At the time Lessi and Crystal were writing songs for an album that never came to fruition. When Crystal called her home, her husband would often tell her that Lessi was sick but would be better in a few days. Then Crystal became suspicious and the others started calling to see what was going on when it became apparent that Lessi wasn’t getting better.   

No one aside from Lessi’s husband and siblings knew how sick she was. It was known that Lessi had adult onset asthma which sometimes interfered with recording and touring as she got older so that was a concern. Apparently her siblings never took her asthma seriously and often denied that she had any health conditions.   

Finally Crystal, Ronette, and Tammi had to sneak around to see Lessi. By then she was emaciated and struggling to breathe. After that they confronted her husband and siblings, who kept insisting that she was fine even though she clearly wasn’t. The six of them fought for a while but her husband still refused to take Lessi to the hospital. The next day Crystal, Ronette, and Tammi, along with other friends, worked to come up with a plan to get Lessi medical treatment. But the day after, Lessi died in her sleep. 

Since then, her death has remained a mystery. Despite her husband’s objections, an autopsy was performed and the cause of death was pneumonia related to AIDS, which led to more questions. At first Mike and Emily were saying things like how Lessi was a good person who died too young and that she was a dedicated wife and friend. But when it became public that she was HIV positive, they said that she was secretive and lived a double life. Two years later her husband died from an apparent drug overdose and it was revealed that he was HIV positive and knew long before marrying Lessi. Whether she knew or not remains up to debate but according to her friends and relatives, it was likely she didn’t as his family was also unaware of his HIV status.   

So there’s a lot of sketchy things about her husband. The general consensus is that he knowingly infected her with HIV - a claim that’s also supported by the husband’s family. There were a lot of people who were opposed to the marriage, which was supposedly a whirlwind romance. Some believe that Lessi married him so she could make her mother happy before she died. Her husband wasn’t close with his parents so they were unaware of the marriage for a while. Lessi never really commented on her marriage publicly and the other band members never really knew him. In the few times Crystal, Ronette, and Tammi interacted with him, they never really connected and he often ignored them. 

And then there’s Mike and Emily, Lessi’s siblings. Their relationship is questionable with the younger often taking advantage of the oldest. It wasn’t surprising that there was some resentment between them and that they would compliment and insult their sister at the same time. There was no denying that they knew how ill Lessi was and for whatever reason deny getting treatment. What they were trying to do, I have no idea, and neither does anyone else. To this day, they’ve tried to erase Lessi and The Watercolors from the public, often by downplaying her accomplishments and treating her legacy like a fad. If they had control of Lessi’s music (which they don’t) they would have destroyed all the masters and pretty much wipe her and The Watercolors away. 

Another thing is Lessi’s will, which has gone missing. That is another story and one that I don’t know much about, but it will be explained in the upcoming documentary. Basically all of Lessi’s royalties and finances went to her husband, who apparently spent it away. After he died, her siblings went to court in hopes of getting her money, only for it to go to Crystal, Ronette, and Tammi. Apparently Lessi intended for her siblings to get nothing from her, instead most of her finances were left to her mother and the band. Even after she married, she never revised her will to include her husband. But he did convince her to make a joint account, which is how he had access to her money. 

Whenever I listen to their music, especially You and I, their final album, I can’t help but wonder how different things would have gone if Lessi was alive today. I like to think that they would’ve definitely get the credit they deserved as they are highly underrated. Aside from a few solo work, Crystal, Ronette, and Tammi stepped away from the music industry after Lessi’s death, stating that it won’t be The Watercolors without her.   

Every once in a while or so a greatest hits compilation is released and interest in The Watercolors is renewed. It’s always nice to hear that people are discovering their records and with a documentary in the works, there’s no doubt that the band will eventually get the attention it deserves.

[chocobutt-trash]

Sugar and Spice and All Things Nice

aka A VERY BELATED VALENTINES DRABBLE for the fifth and final winner of the valentines lucky draw! @chocobro-hijinks​, this one’s for you. So terribly sorry it was so delayed, but I hope the fact I got somewhat carried away makes up for it :D

Warnings: not a lot, really. Some language. Strange, I know.

Read on Archive of Our Own:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13910430

Or read below the cut:

The air glistened with the fallout of a thousand golden sparks. Remnant strips of metal and machinery lay about in disarray, and in the cracks and the corners, small fires burned themselves out into smoulders. The fighting had lasted hours, and now the Prince and the Advisor sat at a makeshift campsite, trying to regain their strength before the turmoil started once again. Prince, yes, Ignis thought, but the man beside him was not Ignis’s prince. It was decidedly aggravating, too, when the man was hell-bent on peppering their sparse conversation with little digs.

           ‘Don’t call me “boy” when we’re more or less the same age,’ Ignis said softly.

           ‘I’m six years your senior,’ Ravus replied stiffly.

           Ignis propped his glasses further up on his nose and watched the white-haired man who was — heavens forbid — six years his senior, didn’t he know, crouch on the dry carbon earth and brush dust off his pearl-shaded overcoat.

           ‘Six years means little in an age where the Empire casts its shadow over decades. As well you know.’

           ‘You know nothing of the Empire. And I’ll call you boy if I so wish. Being hand to an incompetent princeling is not enough to impress me.’

           ‘As if I’m trying to.’

           The sparks came to settle. Ravus glowered. Ignis simmered away as quietly as the soup he was stirring.

           He picked up the spices. Ravus was still glowering. Another moment’s consideration, and Ignis threw an extra dash of chilli into the soup. Well, extra was putting it rather lightly. It was an unholy amount of chilli powder. His years of training under a diplomatic school had rendered his stomach like iron and his palate strong enough to withstand even the most pungent of spices — for how could one be a Royal Advisor with any degree of efficacy if one could not handle foreign cuisine with utter aplomb? — and he doubted Ravus had received the same level of training under the fist of the Empire.

           Perhaps an extra hot chilli soup would still the dear Tenebraean prince’s tongue. At least, for a little while.

           He barely spoke at all as he finished up the food preparations, and as he dished out the meal, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sound of Ravus’s stomach growling uncomfortably.

           ‘So you do have human parts, still,’ Ignis murmured, and his snide joke was not lost on the man, who accepted the soup with his Magitek prosthetic extended.

           ‘Shut up.’

           ‘I mean no disrespect.’

           ‘Of course you don’t.’

           Something about the ridiculousness of their current situation made Ignis start to laugh, and then, to his surprise, Ravus laughed too. They stopped after only a few seconds, both a little embarrassed, a little caught out by their rare moment of weakness.

           Then, the soup. The attack happened with a whimper and not a bang, a slow increase in spice level that hit at full force only after numerous spoonfuls had already been taken. First, a sniff. Then a watering of the eyes. A look of confusion, a twitch of the facial muscles, and then the rapid, ferocious breathing that meant the heat had increased.

           ‘Astrals, what the — what the hell’d you put in this?’ Ravus swallowed far too fast, clapping a hand to his mouth and smacking his lips in distress.

           Ignis merely smiled serenely, swallowing his own mouthful without breaking face. Ravus flustered around for some water, and Ignis let him find it on his own. It was quite entertaining to watch.

           ‘It’s a Leiden speciality,’ he said. ‘Prairie style soup. With no dearth of chilli peppers.’

           Ravus swore.

           ‘It’s… a bit hot for my taste.’

           Ignis did not say learn how to handle it. Like me. He didn’t need to. Everything he wanted to say was spoken in the stare he reserved for the pale man sitting before him, skin now flushed pink with the spice overload.

           Now the moment of weakness returned as they both began to laugh again. Perhaps it was the oddity of the entire situation, getting to them. The whole escapade was ridiculous, and they had been thrust together with little ceremony and little say in the matter.

           It would be a lie to say Ignis wasn’t growing quite fond of the ill-mannered prince. They both found themselves in similar situations, serving different nations with the same level of determination, in order to protect the ones they loved. He was actually finding he had … quite a bit of respect for Ravus.

           Funny, how things worked out.

           And now he felt a little guilty about the soup.

           Ravus stopped sniggering and finished the rest of the water. ‘If you want more, you’ll have to head back to the stockpile yourself,’ he muttered.

           Now Ignis’s smile was softer. ‘If that’s the case, so be it.’

           They settled into something akin to a comfortable silence after that. Ignis took the time to clean his shoes, and Ravus removed his overcoat to rub at his shoulders.

           It was only when Ravus removed the Magitek prosthetic from his shoulder fitting that Ignis realised just how much the battle had affected him. The tendons around the joint were pulled taut as bowstrings, while the muscles seemed all bunched up and solid as rock. It looked painful. It looked uncomfortable, and must be in no small part due to the extra effort of maintaining the prosthetic. If that stayed the way it was, Ravus would be at a disadvantage when the troops returned.

           ‘Perhaps you should allow me to relieve some of that tension. I have been trained in massage, you know.’

           Ravus’s reply was acid sharp. ‘I think not.’

           ‘Come now—’

           ‘Ugh, don’t talk like that, you sound like Ardyn.’

           Ignis doubted he could draw his mouth into any worse of a grimace. But, more telling was the look of distaste Ravus was currently shooting him. It seemed that, between them, there was no love lost for the dear old Chancellor.

           ‘It seems we’ve found something we can both agree on, then.’

           ‘And what is that?’

           ‘That the Imperial Chancellor is a complete and utter prick.’

           No sooner had the curse left his mouth than Ravus choked out a laugh.

           ‘It’s … strange, hearing you swear.’

           ‘I can say more. Did you miss all the times I shouted bloody hell out on the battlefield, there?’

           ‘I think I was a bit too preoccupied with the task at hand,’ Ravus shot back, and the sharpness was back in his voice, but there, below the surface, was still the wry camaraderie. It was … actually quite cute. ‘And yes. Seems we agree.’

           The idea Ignis was getting was partly in response to the growing heat in his groin, and partly in response to the increasing feeling he had that the two of them had a … well, a spark of sorts, going.

           ‘I really do think we should work out that tension, though. I am rather talented.’ Ignis gave him a pointed look, one that indicated without a shadow of a doubt the kind of tension he was thinking of. And it caught Ravus off-guard, that much was clear by the sudden parting of his lips, the innocent look that crossed his face that seemed so out of place there. Then those white-as-snow eyebrows furrowed. It seemed fury was an acceptable fallback when he felt out of control, and that only made Ignis wonder — if he felt out of control, did that mean he was… keen on the idea?

           ‘Is this the sort of thing you engage in with you dear Chosen King, now?’

           A flash of anger crossed Ignis’s face. He was all heated and riled up, yes, but that didn’t mean Ravus could trash talk Noctis like that. ‘Don’t you dare insult the Crown Prince!’

           ‘I shall insult him all I like.’

           ‘You know, you really are insufferable—’

           Ravus silenced him with a sudden kiss. It was rushed enough that their lips were smashed together with an urgency that made Ignis wonder if another Magitek mech wasn’t on its way in the distance. Another second and Ignis would not have been able to look to check, because Ravus’s fervent, angry movements knocked his glasses clean off his face. The frustration, the stress from the fighting, all of it reached a peak and Ignis kissed back just as hard. It was almost enough to make him laugh once again, because it felt a little like a contest. One would push and the other would push back. Ever evenly matched.

           Then the heat in his veins grew too strong and his hands joined in the action, spreading their way over Ravus’s half-undressed upper body, feeling every knot of muscle and sinew and pressing, stroking, as if appraising the man’s strength. As for Ravus, he had his one hand at the side of Ignis’s face, holding him like a prize while his mouth stayed claiming, claiming and possessing every inch of flesh it could find.

           The hardness in Ignis’s pants only increased when Ravus let his hand slip down to Ignis’s throat. A subtle threat, and a tantalising one. Ignis smirked into the next kiss, and dared him to grip harder. Then, hands spread across Ravus shoulder blades, he pulled the taller man in, falling back against the floor.

           Well, Ignis had learned one thing. Ravus could handle the heat after all.

[sleepless-rants]

When dainsleif was narrating chiori's collected miscellany and he said:

"Every kingdom runs on its own rules, and those who enter its territory must make sure to respect the law of the land, whatever their private beliefs may be. What am I insinuating? Nothing. I'm merely musing about fashion in general."

That was so silly of him. It made me have such normal thoughts.