#yes this was purely indulgent and absolutely whimsical to write

[starrysamu]

sweet music –

miya atsumu x f!reader.

“be still, my foolish heart.”

atsumu is sure of one thing: his heart does not work. 

he should state that he is not medically diagnosed with anything. he’s able to run and pump blood through his veins just fine. he’s had no reason to get an ECG, but he’s sure that’d turn out normal too.   

yet despite his fully functioning pacemaker, he thinks he’s close to flatlining. this is the absence of whatever little sinoatrial activity he had to begin with. 

and while he questions everything he’s ever known in his life, there’s that familiar, monotonous tone you’d hear on television when someone actually flatlines, playing in the background of this melodrama he calls ‘his life.’ 

it’s a confirmed kill. 

you wave at him. are you the angel, here to send him off to the afterlife, or are you the doctor that has the defibrillator on hand, ready to pump his heart back to life? 

he knows the answer is neither, because you’re the one who’s sent him straight into shock. he wants to believe that while you’re singlehandedly responsible for his demise, you’re also responsible for reviving him. every reaction has an equal and opposite reaction, or whatever einstein said ... right? 

his mouth runs dry when he looks at you. “what?” 

“what’s wrong?” 

he wants to run a thumb over the crease in between your brows when they pinch together. 

“nothing,” he says quickly. “nothing.” 

he wants to press his index fingers at the corners of your lips to pull them right back up when you frown. 

“doesn’t seem like nothing,” you mumble, peering at him. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you zone out like that. i’ve been calling your name for a while now.” 

how could he have missed that sweet melody? 

while he’s mentally punching himself in the face, you say something he doesn’t quite hear ... again. it’s not like he’s thinking about anything else except for you anyways, so how does he keep missing what feels like the grandest concerto of his life?  

the couch dips next to you and you draw your legs up, snuggling your toes under his thighs. he reaches for your nose and pinches it. 

“your toes are cold.” 

you stick your tongue out at him. “keep them warm then.” 

he blinks at you. when he looks at you for a moment too long, your lower lip juts out.  

“what is it?” you murmur, “why’re you so out of it today?” 

you run your thumb against his cheekbone gently. it’s everything warm against his skin and he leans in towards you as your fingers tangle in his hair, your eyes raking him over with worry.   

he opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t find the words. where would he even begin? he’s so head over heels that he’s fallen flat on his face. 

the palm that rests on his cheek draws him in and your lips press against his, as if to ground him. for that, he’s thankful - because it’s enough to bring him back to life even after he thinks his heart has stopped beating. 

he feels your toes wiggle underneath him and he smiles against you. he keeps you close when he pulls away, as if he’s going to miss the words from your mouth for the millionth time that day. 

“what did you say earlier? i missed it.” 

you look away from him and he clasps your chin between two fingers. his eyebrows arch expectantly. in the back of his mind, he thinks he’s heard it right, but it’s meaningless if it doesn’t come from your lips.  

“if you missed it, then you missed it,” you say simply, shrugging your shoulders. you avert your eyes despite the fact that he’s now pressed both of his palms against your cheeks, holding your head in place. 

“if i say i didn’t miss it, will you say it again?” he whispers, his breath ghosting your lips. “for me?” 

“you missed out, babe.” 

“you have to say it,” he says dramatically, shutting his eyes, “otherwise i’ll die.” 

you laugh and it’s the sweetest melody of all. and right before he presses his lips to yours again, he hears the choir leading him to heaven.  

“i love you, miya atsumu.” 

his heart stutters. he’s absolutely, undoubtedly, wholeheartedly, 100% sure it’s going to stop at any moment now – just like he’s absolutely, undoubtedly, wholeheartedly, 100% sure you’ll definitely be the death of him one day. 

[dramione-literary-analysis]

Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

Genre: Rom-com, Action Comedy

Author: @isthisselfcare

Word Count: 199K

OVERVIEW: Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, (hereafter, referred to as BATMOBIL), is a whimsical, amusing delight of a rom-com set against the backdrop of an Auror protection job. Right off the bat, it is worth mentioning that this is a highly indulgent fic, border-lining on crack, I daresay. It’s chock-full of tropes and clichés that rom-com lovers will be familiar with. If a reader swapped out the magical references with their muggle counterparts, the Dramione vibes generally disappear. But if you’re looking for a low-stakes, feel-good summer read—well then, grab your ice cream, coziest blanket, fuzzy socks and dive right in to have your heart tickled and soaring with glee!

TECHNICAL WRITING: Isthisselfcare’s writing voice is one of her greatest strengths, full-stop. It is immaculate, masterful, sharp, idiosyncratic, and clever. I would wager to say that this is a top reason why so many people love this fic, even those who typically don’t prefer rom-coms! If you scroll through the top comments in each chapter, reviewers literally dissect favorite lines that stood out to them—there are a lot). The author expertly plays with puns and double-meanings. The level of banter, quips, and comedic timing is reminiscent of olivieblake’s work, one of the most respected banter-writers in the fandom. I oftentimes found myself re-reading certain lines to fully appreciate the layered jokes that flew over my head the first time. And there are hidden gems in nearly every line.

For the more quiet moments when comedic levity isn’t needed, the author’s use of prose is absolutely beautiful. I would include some lines as examples, but really, the only way to appreciate the power of the writing is by reading it yourself.

SETTING: Tonally, I thought the sets were absolutely gorgeous, immersive, and visceral. Without giving too much away, a large part of the story is set in various places around the world that Draco and Hermione travel to. And those places (which exist in real life) are described beautifully—I felt right like I was there with them; every location felt like a postcard moment. The places that D and H traveled to by far felt the most “alive” to me, and overall, added to the mood of the rom-com. Special nod to the Hogwarts trip, in which the author’s description of the castle through the eyes of two adults was very pragmatic, relatable, and actually made me nostalgic for my very own childhood.

DRACO CHARACTERIZATION: Yes, out-of-character to canon Draco, very much so. However, since everyone’s preferences and tolerances of Draco characterization vastly differ, I won’t interject with my opinion as not to sway others. Here are general observations: In times of levity, Draco is debonair, clever, casual, vain, flippant, and a bit of a scoundrel. In times of gravity, he becomes highly competent, protective, and reliable. Because this is a light-hearted rom-com, we don’t get to see any of the angsty “tortured soul in love; we can’t be together because I’m me and you’re you” characterization that we see in so many fics. Take with that what you will.

HERMIONE CHARACTERIZATION: Not quite in-character, not quite out. There’s truly nothing wrong with her at all. She is, however, rather one-dimensional throughout the whole story—she’s there mainly as Draco’s love interest. I’m personally okay with this, because this fic was obviously written with Draco’s POV transformation so the reader can experience his transformation from a suave bachelor in the prime of his life to being whipped for a dazzling woman far beyond his league.  Personality-wise, Hermione is brilliant, clever, pure, innocent, diligent— bit of a Mary Sue, and nothing quite fresh or new. However, it’s worth mentioning that her character is enhanced by her many accomplishments, accolades, and goals, and I loved that about her. This alone is why many readers consider her to be a BAMF.

SIDE CHARACTERS: Loved them. They definitely were not part of an ensemble cast (mainly there for comedy and to make Draco very uncomfortable), but they were lovely, nevertheless. My absolute favorite was Theo. Honorable mention to Tonks. Hermione didn’t interact with them much at all, if I recall correctly, which indicates that they really weren’t critical to the overall external plot.

EXTERNAL PLOT:

 For a rom-com, I thought the external plot blended quite nicely. The first half was a bit slow for me, as it was setting the foundation for Draco’s feelings, and the action didn’t really exist. But about halfway through, the plot and action really picked up, and continued on at a satisfying pace until the end. As I mentioned earlier, angst is really quite non-existent in this fic, even throughout the action scenes. It reminded me of a fun, summer blockbuster MCU movie (in which despite the highly competent superhero action, there is still levity). I didn’t feel like I was sitting on the edge of my seat with bated breath. Nevertheless, there was a lovely external plot that kept my interest because there were *real stakes to the wizarding world.*

ROMANCE ARC:

I don’t want to spend too much time on this because I don’t want to spoil when the sexual and emotional payoffs occur, but all I can say is: OUTSTANDING. Though really, that should come across as no surprise to anyone, given that the title of the fic literally indicates the entire romantic arc of the story. As mentioned in my earlier post of “what makes a GOAT Dramione”, a well-paced romantic payoff is highly important to me. And in BATMOBIL, this was very well done.

FINAL THOUGHTS: I put this fic down with a big, silly grin on my face, grateful to have experienced a truly euphoric and fun tale. However, it didn’t leave me with the “empty satisfaction” feel that I love in heavier fics, in which it ended perfectly but I’m desperate for more because I’m not ready to part with this world. I’d love to read one-shots or drabbles about these two idiots in this universe, although I wouldn’t want them to focus on the romantic development (as that is a closed chapter for them). But perhaps ones about future wacky shenanigans they get themselves in. And Theo. More Theo!

If you enjoyed this fic, you may also enjoy:

Love and Other Historical Accidents, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Universal Truths

[taltos-seidmadr]

Okay so I just happened to be working on two playlists that had nothing to do with each other but coincidentally their common aesthetic was “unhinged“. And then suddenly, at a moment’s notice, a god more ancient than pagan beamed an understanding into my brain in a matter of something like 10 seconds and my third eye just opened so wide that it fell right out of my skull. NONE of you are ready for the forbidden knowledge that I’m about to unleash

I would like to point out that a). what one’s definition of “unhinged“ is, is a personal metric that is not only very subjective but doesn’t need to be made objective, and b). the names are just meant to be taken as examples, they are obviously limited to music that I could think of off the top of my head, and c). regardless of a) and b) the spectrum itself in essence is still factually accurate and transcends musical genres or personal tastes

Why yes, thank you for asking, I actually DO have a playlist with examples to illustrate my point, MOREOVER even working on an extended edition of the playlist where I welcome your recommendations of music that you consider to be unhinged.

A little bit more wordy explanation of my playlist under the cut.

First, the purest forms:

St. Anger by Metallica (I meant the whole album, but the titular song is as good as any) a good example of Vaporwave that I could find Elddansurin by Heilung (pretty much anything from Heilung, but this particular song is both short enough to prove the point succinctly and fucks)

I don’t have a lot to say about these, listen into them for a few seconds and you will get a good idea what each tip of the triangle really means.

The 50/50 forms:

Sexy + angry: Engin Miskunn [No Mercy] by Hatari Their perfectly balanced nature is heightened by the complementary duality of their vocals - Hatari is like a two-headed monster whose one head is trying to seduce you and the other is very, very angry. Though, that can also be seductive in it’s own way, if that’s your thing, I’m not judging. Hatari would certainly agree from what I would know. Their entire oeuvre is kinda like this, so here’s a fresh and sexy sexy song by them that, indeed, mercilessly slaps.

Angry + c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀,: Good God by KoRn KoRn has always been famous for doing their extremely unhinged own thing, especially in their early days. This is not even their most unhinged song from the album that this song comes from, but i felt like this is a good intersection between accessible + illustrating the point.

Sexy + c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀,: Грустная Сука [Sad Bitch] by IC3PEAK If you don’t know them already, allow me to introduce you to absolute embodiment of Feral Big Dick Energy music of IC3PEAK. This is their most famous banger but literally everything that they make sounds like this.

Perfectly balanced, master of the three elements, the avatar themselves:

Blue Mark by Altan Urag Exactly what it says on the tin tbh. I want to add that technically any combination of modern music genre + leaning into a folk music aspect in a feral way + strange vocalizations/instruments could fit this bill, but there is something specifically about Mongolian metal that makes me instantly regress into the genetic memory of an 1200 year old ancestor who was still backwards-riding a horse on the Eurasian steppes as a nomad warrior. So here’s a little Altan Urag. If you think Apocalyptica is cool, you will like this A LOT.

Mixed forms:

Crucify Me feat. Lights by Bring Me The Horizon 60% angry, 40% sexy I had to ask for the expertise of my sister on this, who literally grew up on screamo. Based on my limited experience, I think the cursed aesthetic is missing from this genre entirely by definition, though there might be some variation to that.

Holidays In The Sun by Sex Pistols 85% angry, 15% sexy The spiritual great-uncle of screamo, this genre is an almost pure manifestation of angry unhinged, but as opposed to early Slipknot, with more of a slight sexy streak.

Human Behaviour by Björk 90% sexy, 10% c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀ For me personally, Björk plucks the blurred line between “normal“ and “unhinged“ like the string of a harp, just being a tiny little bit off-kilter enough to be categorized as such, which in itself ads an uncanny aura to her otherwise whimsical music.

Székely keserves [Transylvanian Lament] by Kodály Zoltán 80% sexy, 20% c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀ Kodály is a Hungarian neoclassical composer. Not everything he wrote is like this, but he can lean into the cursedness surprisingly hard if the topic/emotion demands. Please enjoy his unhinged interpretation of a miserable folk song.

Very different genre, but same sexy to cursed ratio: Too late, all gone by How To Destroy Angels

I admit that I have zero idea who the big names are in contemporary jazz but I added the first thing that sounded similar enough to what I imagined in my head. Since fluidity and going off the rails is a big staple of jazz, I think the whole genre deserves the honor. Depending on song and performance I would rate it on average about 50+% sexy, ~30-40% cursed and up to ~15% angry.

What You Believe by Jonathan Davis  20% angry, 40% sexy, 40% c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀ This is such an interesting example because the chorus is completely unironically normal but the verses inbetween are just so cursed in a peculiar way, making the song overall both extremely strange and SUPER catchy at the same time. To the point you’re almost feeling like you’re being somehow subliminally manipulated. Just don’t worry about it mate. Everything’s fine. It slaps.

Closer (Deviation) by Nine Inch Nails Not everything that they make would I consider unhinged, but Trent Reznor has a great flare to inject music with electronic effects that sound kinda bizarre, putting his work somewhere in the direction of ~30% angry, ~50% sexy and up to 20% cursed on average. I added the most unhinged song that I could think of, and possibly one of the most unhinged songs ever made. 50% sexy, 50% cursed and 120% gnawing on the walls levels of sexually frustrated. Very NSFW.

Bitches by Mindless Self Indulgence 30% angry, 30% sexy, 40% c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀ MSI, within this spectrum at least, is almost exactly the same as Nine Inch Nails except that they are way more cursed leaning. They are also a pretty good illustration for the point that sexual topics and “sexy” unhinged as an aesthetic are two completely different things. NSFW.

Apex Predator by Otep 60% angry, 30% sexy, 10% c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀ I don’t have a lot to add about this, but if you wanna hear a truly unhinged woman lead a band, then you’re going to have a field day with Otep. Enjoy to your heart’s content. 

My Plague by Slipknot 85% angry, 15% c̵͓̗̿͘u̶͈̾̍R̸̪̔͠s̸̖͙̀e̶̺͖̓d̴̦͂̎?̶̥͂͋ͅ,̷̟̀ When Slipknot first entered the scene, I heard a lot of metalheads turn their noses up at their work for not being “heavy enough(?)“ whatever that even means, but I think that their earliest stuff is bravely unhinged in a way that seems entirely unique to them. Kinda like the sloppiest, dirtiest of punk, but in an intentionally unappealing, even disgusting manner. Early Slipknot shamelessly embraces the filth and that earns my respect, in a way (their later stuff unfortunately lost this quality but they still write good songs, I think?) You could listen to literally anything from their first album Iowa to get my point but to be seasonaI, I added a #quarantine mood to the playlist.

So that would conclude my introductory 101 tedward talk about unhinged music that literally nobody asked for but hopefully got you acquainted with some new music and/or ideas that you have never heard before!

[wings-of-a-storm]

SKAMITA DIVE NO.2

Okay guys, I’m just going to dive right into this one. I’ve finally been able to indulge the feels and write up a little not actually little essay on one of the clips that still takes the breath from me whenever I watch it. Yes, if you couldn’t already tell from the lame references, that clip is: Halloween (4.4) - aka Martino’s and Niccolò’s first kiss.

I have been so desperate to talk about this clip -- or more specifically the pool scene -- because it is one of those moments where there are a thousand things happening in such a short space. I can still remember how stunned I was the first time I saw it. Their chemistry was jaw-dropping. And as an adherent to the Nicotino movement, I obviously have to take this time to pay my respects to this great scene.

I’ve left the Halloween drinks and famous St Peter's Basilica scene to the myriad other awesome discourses out there because I don’t have much to add. In this essay though, I will look at:

What the hell Martino was supposed to be dressed as

The peak of Martino’s and Niccolò’s UST

The Kiss That Changed Everything (and made Renato realise he needed to go to the gym more)

MARTINO, WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU?

I feel like before I get into the pool scene, a bit of dirty laundry needs to be taken care of first. Or at least laundry. (Okay, that was supposed to be a reference to whatever the hell Martino is dressed as for Halloween. I tried.)

What is Martino wearing for Halloween? I feel like he is a walking ink-blot -- you can interpret whatever you will from his garment. Some see fashion nightmares, some see sheets, some see invisibility, some see boring gay. I see some sort of fantastical sci-fi guardian monk, but that’s giving Martino too much credit, I’m sure.

In all seriousness though, I don’t know what Martino is supposed to be dressed as (in his text he said he’d find something at his house? That house just got sadder). Once the mask is off though, it starts to give off priestly robe vibes for me with all the white flowing folds and layers. One of the top layers hangs around most of his torso too, which evokes a sense of some restriction, unlike the free-flowing cape Niccolò has on. Symbolism at its finest, perhaps. But, brilliantly, the way they are filmed from the back, Martino’s and Niccolò’s costumes resemble a set, like they are partners in crime no matter what.

So… If Martino gives off that chaste, restricted, pure, priest vibe with his costume, then Niccolò’s evokes the opposite with his vampire get-up. Vampires of course are associated with seduction and decadence -- even if this one rides a bicycle. The vibe is carried off brilliantly by Nico, who glides ahead of Marti a lot, lures him into unsavory places, and asks him to disrobe at the end of it all. In other words, I imagine Niccolò’s choice of costume is supposed to prime us to all the temptations and seduction that we hope will be taking place soon.

We need to give Nico credit where credit is due though: can you believe he rode a bike all through the city -- transporting double the weight -- with fake fangs hanging out of his mouth? The chances of dislodgement were so high, but that didn’t stop him.

And the best part? Although he had taken the fangs out at some point prior to arriving at the pool compound, he… (guys I can’t handle this) puts them back in when he tries to scare Marti. Like a proud little kid completing his look for the full impact, as if Marti will be scared by muffled enunciation and slobbering. I love this soft vampire so much!

THE UST WAVE STARTS TO BUILD

Niccolò’s about to get softer, guys -- I know it was just a random impulse to take Marti to the pool, but it is so cute how Nico wants to share this special place with him. It clearly has a lot of nice memories for him and he wants Marti to be a part of that and for Marti to know all the little things about him (the parts that he chooses to share). It’s such a sweetly understated connection he’s building with Marti.

And then: RennAAATooOO. (I have nothing to say, I just wanted to pay homage to the masterpiece.)

It takes Martino a bit of time to start loosening up, but that nervousness makes his transition to pure delight all the more sweeter when he believes they really are alone together. What is also great about Marti’s worried-about-being-caught mood is that it set things up for Marti to already be in a heightened mood. His pulse would be rising, his brain would be taking everything in with a sharper focus, and all this biochemical stuff would be tripling as he looks at Nico. How ALIVE would he be feeling right now to be doing this with Nico? And the longer they are standing there undisturbed, the more possibilities of what they could do together would be running through his mind. That would be such a heady feeling, like an extension of the wild freedom he felt on that bike.

So they are finally alone. And there is that gorgeous moment when both are just standing there smiling at each other, taking each other in. Like they can’t believe they’ve finally found this moment together. Particularly Nico -- he looks so enraptured to have Marti standing before him.

And then Nico’s eyes drop, and he’s taking Marti’s body in. And he tells Marti to take his clothes off -- but somehow in the cutest voice! Like how does Nico manage to say “Undress!” so affectionately?! His voice is poetry! He sounds so in love, like they are actually on their honeymoon and not doing illegal shit in the middle of the night in costumes.

And I love that Marti was so distracted by his concern of getting caught, that he didn’t seem to properly register or appreciate that the guy he likes is starting to take his clothes off. He really is a priest. (I’m obviously guessing with that but the symbolism is quite strong when he is standing in front of his vampiric seducer.)

Anyway, back to the UST…

Nico tells Marti to take his clothes off, and there is this slight pause as if Nico seems to realise he actually needs a reason for making such a suggestion. So he offers up the vaguest thing: “So you’ll have a chance” but doesn’t elaborate any further. Probably because he is making shit up on the fly to keep up with all the subconscious urges he is feeling -- the need to get undressed and be physically close to the boy he likes. This urge-dictating-whimsical-idea cycle is happening so fast he probably doesn’t even realise that his subconscious is driving him now. It’s all rather like his revered giraffe story: the heart knowing things before the head realises and the head having to catch up.

Marti goes along with this vague suggestion without question, presumably because A) he is so used to just following Nico wherever, and B) following Nico’s instruction just feels right because there is an undercurrent and his subconscious is picking up on it. I mean, he’s already taken his shoes off before he even attempts to seek clarification on what he’s undressing for.

This whole moment is fascinating UST in action. It’s that remarkable undercurrent that you can feel as a viewer despite never being overtly acknowledged by the characters. And it just continues to build, with Nico starting to show off and taunt Marti about his skill: “So you have a chance of beating me.” It’s like Nico displaying his feathers to a mate, exuding dominance. And could those words feel any more layered? It feels more like Nico is saying: Just try to resist me.

Above all though, the challenge itself is just so UST-filled. A race. Fast moving bodies. Exertion. Physical proximity. There is just SO MUCH energy there and a physical challenge is the closest substitute for what they really want to do.

So wow, our wave of UST is building and it is almost about to explode as one of my favourite things happens: Niccolò finds an excuse to run his fingers through Martino’s hair.

Did that…just happen?

I mean, Nico already has the promise of physical activity with Marti (their swimming race), which you’d think would be enough for his hormones. But no, Nico is so far gone in the urge-to-whimiscal-idea cycle and so desperate to touch Marti, that he makes up the dumbest excuse to touch Marti’s hair. Seriously. The. Dumbest. Excuse.

- “Can I even beat you if you were a water polo champion?” - “Just admit you don’t want to mess up your hair.”

Um, firstly: why does the taunt require you to actually touch his hair, Nico? And secondly: Marti has already committed to your challenge! His shoes are off. His priestly robes have been pulled over his head and discarded (more symbolism). He is ready to get in the pool. Your taunt is based on absolutely nothing… Your urges have gotten way too ahead of you, sweet child.

Couldn’t the UST in that single moment blow a fuse box, though? It is so visceral, you could choke on it. How badly had Nico been wanting to run his fingers through Marti’s hair? And not just that -- his hand is in proximity of Marti’s face, which he could touch and bring towards him if he lowered his hand. But somehow Nico has enough restraint left to remove his hand from Marti’s hair and pretend it is just a simple taunt.

And this leads to my second favourite thing happening: Marti’s UST exploding right back. Their whole banter in this moment felt disguised as something else:

“You think I give a damn about my hair?” “Absolutely yes.” “Oh really?” “Yeh.” ”Oh really?” ”Yeh.”

Pretty sure they were actually saying:

“You just touched my hair and I want you to do so much more.” “I do.” “Oh really?” “Yeh.” “Oh really?” “Yeh.”

Because Marti loses it. He literally grabs Nico’s body and manhandles him in a burst of testosterone onto a mattress -- I mean pool. (And it is so clever that they kept the camera on that large splash because it felt like a visual metaphor for the explosion of hormones that have consumed them both.)

But the shock of cold water temporarily snaps Marti out of it and he’s back to being paranoid about  Renato catching them after they made such a loud noise. His head darts around, making sure they are still alone.

Meanwhile, the ungracious toss into the pool has also temporarily snapped Nico out of the UST and back into his quintessential child-like playfulness: the guy who thinks it is fun to put tabasco and honey in pasta, thinks it is fun to pretend to drown. This guy… I love him so much. His mind is a marvel.

Martino seems to find this whole act incredibly endearing -- because as if he would ever think the water polo champion had actually drowned. But to add the cherry on top: OH MY GOD, that tiny spout of spit/water that flies out of Nico’s mouth when he reemerges looking like a drowned rat, talking himself up, is the funniest fucking thing in the world. His own bodily functions were like: ‘Nah bro, you’re definitely shit at this.’ Let’s just take a moment to appreciate how charmed Marti is by that bag of idiocy in front of him. Look at his face!

Naturally this intense rush of affection leads to some seriously adorable banter from Marti: apparently Marti was a child protégé too but at breath-holding! One cannot help but assume he is taking the piss out of Nico, the alleged child protégé of water polo.

Nico plays along with this melodramatic account of Marti’s and you can see it is his turn to be helplessly charmed by the idiot in front of him. So much so, I think he genuinely said “Okay let’s see it then” with no ulterior motives or UST-brain. That’s the thing with these two: they are so in sync with each other’s rhythms, they just follow each other’s vibe and match it, no matter where it takes them.

And Marti is just so cute when he accepts Nico’s challenge -- that dramatic nod after Nico suggests a countdown, like ‘fuck yes, we’re doing this!’ He is totally in serious business mode, like we’ve seen him be in with all the challengers the Smugglers set. Nico chose the wrong guy to challenge -- Marti’s not going to lose this for anything.

Nico on the other hand is more amused than anything. I never tire of watching him as he watches Marti’s dramatic resolve. There is just so much affection in his eyes and in his smile. This boy in front of him makes him forget all the shitty things in the world and just makes him feel so happy and so present.

Ensconced in these feelings of warm affection, is it any wonder that Nico’s first move under water is to tickle Marti? Oh the softness. But I’m getting ahead of myself!

THE KISS THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING

1, 2, 3.

Nico and Marti drift down below the surface together, leaving the world behind. And even with chlorine in their eyes, they seem to maintain eye-contact. What energy.

And everything is so soft because friggen Candles starts playing. It feels like we’re in a world where everything is so gentle and peaceful and magical.

Nico breaks that eye-contact briefly as he smiles to himself -- clearly the moment he realises it would be hilarious to poke and tickle Marti -- and the smile grows to a grin. I absolutely adore that even underwater Niccolò can’t stop smiling. Marti’s all clenched up tight, trying not to ingest water but Nico can’t help himself from smiling because he is so happy and feeling so much affection for Marti and I can’t take it!

And that’s not the only thing that feels so in character for Nico: out of all the tactics he could think to employ to disrupt Marti’s focus (we, er, won’t mention Even trying to strangle Isak in og…), Nico elects to TICKLE his opponent. Just like the softness of their pinky touch, it feels like quintessential Niccolò with his sweet, child-like urges. And he’s absolutely loving teasing the crap out of Martino -- look how he tries to gauge Marti’s reaction the whole time, as you do when you want to get a rise out of someone and have their full attention (the UST is back, guys). And it does work because you see Marti trying not to laugh.

Here’s a piece of art: two boys infatuated with each other:

Poor Martino though, guys. He has such a tough job right now -- even without the tickling/pawing. Imagine floating in this peaceful bubble with a beautiful boy smiling at you like that. And so close by. All you’d be able to see would be that beautiful smile… Wouldn’t it make your heart race?

But this cheater needs to be stopped. So Marti reaches out to move Nico’s hands away from his person, and their hands touch.

I can only imagine, in their state, how many biochemical reactions that incidental touch set off. It seems to unlock everything, like some important barrier has been broken, because Nico, as if he can’t hold back anymore, springs forward to kiss Marti.

This time the kiss did feel like an ulterior motive, not an orchestrated tactic. It felt like above anything, Nico just really needed to kiss Marti. He felt safe to do so because just like with the pinky touch, it could be disguised as something innocent if it was taken badly.

(Of course it was just a bonus that Nico would probably win the game with such effective interference. I imagine his total grin from ear to ear after he finished the kiss was from that mixture of ‘Oh my god, I finally kissed him!’ and ‘teasing him is so much fun; he’s gonna be so maaaaad’.)

Taking a step back from Nico’s POV and into the pure cinematic aspect of it though, when Marti starts rising to the surface, it feels like I am watching Marti being blessed by Nico, like Nico is helping free him. It’s that gentle slow motion of the shot and the way Nico’s arm floats up beside Marti like he is guiding him upwards to a better world. Like you’ll be a new person, this is your baptism. And it’s the way Nico smiles at Marti the whole time he watches him rise, like he’s proud of him and so happy for him to now be free. I know all that is just an illusion, but I love it none-the-less.

Now for Marti’s POV. When they submerged, Marti’s mind was fully focused on ‘I’m gonna win this challenge, muthafucka’. With that steely focus, I don’t think he was thinking anything sensual in their bubble away from the world, or saw any special opportunity the way Nico had. He was amused by Nico but still taking things seriously enough to try and fend off Nico’s interference. But then he gets kissed -- and he’s shocked -- and just as he breaks through the surface, it hits him that he was actually kissed by Nico. He hadn’t even suspected it -- he hadn’t been ready to appreciate it! And he’s grinning like a son of a bee while processing everything, probably replaying it in his mind a bunch of times.

The most refreshing swim of Martino’s life - aka his pores have been cleared:

Nico then gets to do his ‘Sucked in, you lost!’ taunts (such layered meaning again) to keep things light until he figures out Martino’s reaction to the kiss; Marti gets to fake protest while his mind races to come up with a way they can do it again; and all through their ‘You cheated!’ / ‘No I didn’t’ banter (so very convincing, Nico), they are dancing around how good it was, how much it actually meant, and how that one kiss won the whole game for both of them.

Of course, now that they’ve kissed and broken that barrier, Marti is just in heaven and all competition flies out the window because now his goal is just to get another kiss. So he makes a big deal about needing another round of the competition for fairness and Nico totally sees through it -- how could he not when the air is so charged and they are both grinning so much. Nico’s whole: ‘You think there are rules here? Ahh. Okay~’ is so smooth and seductive and flirtatious and damn!

It is here that my third favourite thing happens: Nico’s game face emerges. It is what will become a very familiar Niccolò mood transition: becoming very serious and focused and determined at the precipice of something sexual while Marti just grins away (every time, I swear). Nico’s ‘game face’ is hard to capture in screenshots because it is such a micro expression, but if you compare his face from before their first submerge to before their second submerge, you can see how it is less playful-amused and more serious-amused. And I can’t tell you how much it jolts me every time I see it.

I just…really love Nico so much here. He is having this really private moment that Marti doesn’t notice in his eagerness to get back under (Marti’s completely chomping at the bit, all ‘let’s-go-go-go!’). But in this private moment, you really get a glimpse of Nico with all the layers of the night’s flirtation stripped away. He is taking this second submerge so seriously because it isn’t a game to him (not that it is to Marti either, but you know). You can see that Nico is so aware of how important this moment is; what a big deal it is for Marti to step out of his comfort zone like this. Nico knows exactly what Marti is trying to do, he knows exactly what will soon be happening, and he is preparing for it, ready to savour it.

Look at this face, guys. It hits like a bullet:

And the two of them drift down under the water again, and we get a wide shot of this dark but comforting bubble -- wide because this time they are both on the same page, thinking and feeling the same things and no one else exists. And there is ZERO preamble -- Marti doesn’t even pretend that he’s only there to hold his breath, he just goes straight for it.

And Nico surrenders to Marti. Yes, it is a reference to his promise not to touch Marti, but it is so much more than that -- Nico knows what Marti wants to do and is going to let him do it on his own terms, with all the pressure taken off. Plus, he probably loves the idea of being able to just anticipate it.

What also affects me is Nico reverting back to a smile as he waits. Yes, he’s over the moon that Marti is going to try and kiss him, but it feels bigger than that. We saw that before they submerged he was actually in a very focused mood, so this smile feels like a shield put back in place to keep things light for Marti even if inside he is actually a raging storm of emotion.

And sweet Marti, who needed the help of Nico and this underwater sanctuary to coax his true self free, kisses him.

I’ve already seen people describe what happens next as ‘Nico melting’, but truly, what other word is there for it? He melts into the kiss and his hand instinctively cups the back of Marti’s neck and slides into his hair. And he is so engrossed in the kiss and all the feelings that come with it, he can’t stop his hand from roaming all over Marti’s head to feel every part of him. (And we know how much he had been wanting to touch Marti’s hair earlier, too.)

The best part is that Marti is cupping Nico’s neck right back because Marti is as overwhelmed by Nico as Nico is by him. He too had been wanting to touch Nico for so long. And then Nico’s free hand comes to rest on Marti’s forearm (the same arm that is cupping Nico’s neck). They are so sweetly connected.

And yes, while forces underwater make it rather a necessity to hold onto another person if you want to stay close to them and not float away, we all know that that necessity is completely secondary to them just wanting to hold each other. ;)

So Nico’s arm then slips beneath Marti’s to gently hold his torso (the sensuality!) to guide them up for air. (And may I just say that Nico moves with such elegance -- those legs pushing up, wow.) This means that both of them come up for air still practically attached to one another, almost chest-to-chest. There’s no way they will let themselves move any further apart. And better than even that: Nico is still cupping Marti’s face when they break the surface, like even the natural forces of buoyancy and gravity couldn’t stop him from holding Martino.

They then clear the water from their eyes and take a moment to just stare at each other in wonder. Marti’s gaping mouth (possibly the biggest smile of his life) just hits you with all the feels. You figure from this that Marti has zero chill while Nico is more composed… Until Nico’s hand bursts out of the water again to grab the back of Marti’s head and pull him closer for more kisses -- then you realise that nope, Nico has zero chill as well. He even jolts up higher for a better angle.

Marti can’t stop grinning the whole time, while Nico is just so focused on kissing him -- their first of many versions of this. And then they touch foreheads -- also the beginning of a very familiar pattern between them. And Marti starts giving back those kisses as good as he is getting them, all while cupping Nico’s neck in return. I felt every bit of that intensity!

And let’s not forget the way Nico is so overcome by their chemistry and Marti’s mutual enthusiasm, he mouths “Well!” at two different points (I think that was what he was saying, right?). It’s like their kisses and energy are even better than he had imagined; that Marti is so much more into it than he’d ever dreamed possible. Perhaps even he had forgotten how good it feels to kiss someone with that much passion after his stale relationship with Maddalena.

It must have felt so good for them to finally be able to show each other how they feel. Marti in particular must have been so amazed that he could even feel this amount of yearning for someone after all his lacklustre experiences with girls. His friends’ incessant talking about sex would finally make sense; he now understands that obsession and yearning because holy shit it feels amazing with the right person!

It is a shame that at such a pivotal moment, Renato interrupts them. I wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t. Perhaps some underwater body grinding…

And there we have it. Their first kiss(es) that was going to change everything for them. The fact that this essay is 4000+ words shows how much this clip affected me and why I think Martino’s and Niccolò’s chemistry is ah-may-zing. I used to feel so bemused whenever I saw people say that Nicotino felt like just friends in this ep. I mean, even the hair touch before they fell into the pool felt so charged. Even just the way they gaze at one another… Damn son. I am a subscriber for life.

Thank you to all involved for giving us this beautiful moment.

ONE LAST THING…

Unfortunately, there is one downside to this glorious scene, and I’d feel too guilty if I were to just skirt over it. I couldn’t write all of this gushing without acknowledging that life is messy and sometimes forces very much meant to be together (such as Nicotino, and dare I say Gio/Eva), can be destructive to others in the process. I do need to acknowledge Maddalena and Emma, who were cheated on and stood up in order for this huge moment to occur. I am sorry for their humiliation and pain. The girls might never understand it, but those two boys needed each other in ways they couldn’t have known or understood. Your pain, girls, might have saved two lives.

Well, that got dark. Let’s end this on a leftover piece of art of two boys falling in love, shall we?

[topmixtrends]

JOURNEY INTO the Mind’s Eye by Lesley Blanch (1904–2007) was first published 50 years ago. It begins with “the Traveller,” an unnamed family friend dressed in a fur-lined overcoat, who repeatedly breezes into young Blanch’s nursery, proffering gifts: a silver cigarette case from the Caucasus, a chunk of malachite, then, another time, a Kazakh fox-skin cap, all the while recounting legendary Russian tales of Ilya Mourametz, the heroic bogatyr (a kind of Slavic knight), and Konyiok Gorbunok, the little humpbacked horse.

It is a curious, rambling travel book. Within its pages we go to Paris and Siberia, but really it is a love story and, as the title suggests, an internal voyage into the imagination. The Traveller ignites in Blanch a deep and lifelong love for Russia, especially the early 19th-century Russia of Alexander Pushkin, which becomes a giant metaphor for her adult appetites, all pursued with a “drug addict’s intensity.”

Blanch begins writing love letters to the Traveller as a schoolgirl. Then, aged 17, she is seduced by him on the Dijon Express (although in her mind she pretends it is the Trans-Siberian). Later he disappears, and she searches for him frantically.

On publication in 1968, one reviewer dismissed this glamorous, oddball tale as “pomegranate prose.” But given Blanch’s fondness for the jewel-like fruit — and for the “moon-faced and wasp-waisted” dancing girls who juggled them in harems — I like to think she didn’t take offense at this kiss-off. After all, the Traveller had told her that within every pomegranate is “one seed from Eden.”

Romantic and whimsical, yes, but Blanch was no starry-eyed daydreamer. Running just below the surface of her glossy writing is a good deal of common sense and a brazen appetite. Despite working as features editor at British Vogue, she had a strong dislike of killjoy dieticians and freely indulged her “faiblesse” for suet puddings. Aged 99, she claimed that she was still capable of devouring “a Christmas pudding at midnight.”

Journey into the Mind’s Eye, which casually melds fact and fiction, was the first Lesley Blanch book I read, and it left me craving more of everything she had to offer — unabashed exoticism, humor, and lively, pomegranate-laden prose. It was to her food writing, her sketchbooks of culinary adventuring, that I turned to next. These books travel paths equally luscious to the one covered in Journey into the Mind’s Eye, because just as Blanch was a superior traveler, she was also a superior eater. “Travelling widely and eating wildly” was her motto.

Whether in Mexico or Egypt, the Balkans or Yemen, mealtimes were the lifeblood — and often the goals — of her adventures: food was first culture, then code, and, finally, trophy. Moveable feasts. The ultimate mementos.

Her first culinary travelogue, Round the World in Eighty Dishes, was published in 1956, coming out two years after the end of Britain’s postwar rationing. It was the era of Queen Elizabeth II’s Coronation and the Suez Crisis. Blanch’s exuberant journeying to such faraway shores, rendered in verbal Technicolor, would have seemed impossible to most. She describes this book, seductively and wonderfully, as her “kitchen-window peepshow.” Like two other great female writer-cooks of the same epoch, Patience Gray (1917–2005) and M. F. K. Fisher (1908–1992), Blanch had an instantly recognizable voice. She was also refreshingly funny and frank, caring less for accurate recipes. “Timidity and prejudice should have no space in the kitchen,” she wrote. How good to hear. How Lesley.

A third of the way into Round the World in Eighty Dishes, Blanch unleashes some particularly honeyed prose for paska, a Russian Easter bread that is, she assures us, “delicious at any time.” In the lengthy introduction above the method, we are taken to Russian Easter services in Nice, Copenhagen, and “even Los Angeles,” but the memory most vividly recounted is in the 8th arrondissement of Paris, at the Russian church on the Rue Daru (that is, the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral). There, she recalls, she was:

[S]o carried away that I set fire to myself with the candle I was carrying, and was rescued by a dashing-looking stranger who beat out the flames, and later, taught me my Russian alphabet in icing sugar letters, for he was an émigré who said he’d been a head pastry-cook at the Winter Palace.

Even the most prolific collector of cookbooks would be hard-pressed to find a recipe introduction that could compete with the exoticism of that anecdote.

The opener of From Wilder Shores: The Tables of my Travels (1989), her second food book, begins with a dedication “to my Digestion which has nobly supported so many surprises, trials and unwise indulgences throughout our long years of travel together.”

In Arabia, coffee is drunk from egg-cup-sized finjans, sugared heavily during festivities but unsweetened during mourning periods, “bitter as grief.” In the Balkans, she notes how pure water collected from certain sources and wells is coveted as if it were vintage wine. In Bavaria, driving back from a Wagner festival, drunk on sound and revelry, she considers the diet of mad old King Ludwig, who would eat breakfast at sunset. She also discovers a dish as “rich as Wagner’s music.” It is “Cheese Muff,” and she provides the reader with a recipe — little more than 100 grams of cheddar, butter, breadcrumbs, and eggs — as well as with the suggestion to serve it with dry biscuits and coffee, as “the Muff is on the heavy side.”

In the chapter “Meals on Wheels,” we find Blanch focusing not on “trolleys carrying hot food to the needy” (heaven forbid) but rather on the “whirring and clash of steel on steel — the wheels of express trains hurtling powerfully across limitless tracks.” To read her descriptions of restaurant cars belonging to bygone eras is to weep into your concourse-bought sandwich and Styrofoam cup of coffee. Here, naturally, Blanch recalls her Trans-Siberian train journey, where five days on-board meant “round the clock relays” of stews, fish soup, caviar, black bread, vodka, and Caucasian champagne, kept going, of course, by endless cups of tea from the gurgling samovar. When I undertook that same journey, two years ago, there was vodka, and, of course, tea, but mainly there was greasy, thin solyanka served in a somewhat glum on-board cafe with red faux-leather chairs.

Blanch remembers that when the “satiny expanses” of Lake Baikal came into view, the dining car collectively sprung to their feet to toast the “Holy Sea.” I too paused there, in the depths of winter, to walk across the lake’s frozen surface — but my abiding memory is of that evening, back in the overheated carriage, when the air hummed with the pungent fishy smell of smoked omul carried on-board by almost all of my fellow passengers. Blanch tackles omul in a later chapter of From Wilder Shores, entitled “Russian Traditional”: “Omul is so good that it requires no fancy treatment.” I beg to differ, but that is the situation affecting taste and memory — of course omul is good served differently. As to alcohol, only Armenian brandy seems capable of slaying her. “My hang-over lasted two days and left me in a state of Dostoievskian repentance,” she wrote of it.

I like the fact that even today, in Odessa, at its spectacularly baroque opera house on the Black Sea, one can obtain the same snack between acts that Blanch purchased in Moscow in the early 1960s, namely, “a thick square of white bread with a dollop of caviar on top.” As she rightly says: “Those theatre snacks […] were easy to handle, sustaining, and added a festive touch.”

Back home, or “en poste” with her diplomat-novelist husband, Romain Gary, Blanch travels in her kitchen. “Sometimes I make manti/pilmeny and munch lovingly, recalling both the Afghan wastes, and my journey across Siberia.” Although the more sensitive reader might want to forgo the kicker at the end of the recipe: “In Turkestan the sauce was a rather rank goat cheese, thinned down.” But then, Blanch’s were “cookbooks” unrestricted by their recipes. She could write about mealtimes, food, and eating in a manner so luxurious that the reader need not attempt the recipes at all.

Blanch understood the values attached to cuisine as national identity, knew that behind each dish lay “centuries of history, travel, exploration and adventure.” She also understood that where tourism heavily treads it eclipses culture in its path. For her, it was in the kitchen, and at the family table, where traditions were cherished and fiercely protected.

In re-creating Afghan, Uzbek, and Moroccan dishes — national cuisines so à la mode in the West today — in her books and in her kitchen, Blanch unintentionally proved that she was ahead of the curve. And she offers fitting substitutes for our most faddish of food trends, too. Rather than “smashed avocado toast,” try Blanch’s “Avocado Summer Soup,” mashed with lemon (rather than lime), whipped with yoghurt, stirred through with a “breakfast cup” (no idea) of water, and then chilled over night. Delicious.

This summer, NYRB Classics has rereleased Journey into the Mind’s Eye in paperback, with an introduction by the author’s goddaughter, Georgia de Chamberet. If only a publisher would refresh Blanch’s culinary books and kickstart a revival of her food writing. Her culinary prose is so enjoyable and so unique that it cries out to be introduced to new generations of readers. Blanch believed, absolutely, in the power of an open mind and a good appetite. How well she applied this adage to all aspects of her long, globetrotting life, and what useful advice it still is to us today, wherever we choose to travel.

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Caroline Eden is a UK-based writer contributing to the Guardian, BBC Radio 4, and The Telegraph. She is the author of Samarkand: Recipes and Stories from Central Asia and the Caucasus and the forthcoming Black Sea.

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Banner image by Michael Himbeault.

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