#I’m a working artist which has left very little actual time for pleasurable art

[restless-witch]

it felt like it was time for me to return to daily sketching

[ukiyokki]

mars reads too much dreamnotfound fanfiction for their own good

a dreamnotfound fanfic recommendation list by your resident dumbass (me)

this took way to fucking long... i’m tired

below is a (very extensive) list dedicated to all my favorite dnf fics, ranging from quick one shots to 100k+ word monstrosities that devour the storage on my computer, forever incomplete masterpieces to ongoing works of art, you get the idea. i provided links for each fic/series for your reading pleasure. there will be no smutty/nsfw fics on this list, that’s just not my vibe lmao. this list goes in no particular order, and i’ll update it from time to time when i feel like it. now, without further ado, let us begin.

Heat Waves (complete) by tbhyourelame

(wtf else did you expect, looking at a dnf rec list?) amazingly well written, and while it’s not my favorite dnf fic it’s damn near close. in the midst of a brutal heatwave, a suffering dream comes to terms with the fact that he is desperately in love with his best friend. everything i could say about this fic has already been said by nearly everyone who’s read it, so if you haven’t yet caved into the hype, just go for it. you won’t be disappointed.

Gonna be around (completed) by georgescatcafe

(mc irl) my favorite dnf oneshot to date. just read it, i don’t wanna spoil for you :)

Inferno in the Sky (ongoing)by zairielon

(star wars au) an ongoing star wars au currently clocking in at almost 200k words. need I say more? everything about it absolutely slaps, each chapter is amazingly written, and it’s just good. also, can we just appreciate dream and tubbos dynamic in here? 10/10, amazing, must protecc. oh right, a summary: george, an exiled padawan turned engineer, must return to the jedi temple after attacks on it from an unknown assailant threaten the safety of himself and the other jedi.

Like Magic (ongoing) by KangarooKen, NotGra55 (Gra55)

(harry potter au) the unofficial official dnf harry potter au. we watch the young unlikely wizard pair grow up together throughout their years at hogwarts as they battle good old fashioned wizard racism. beautifully written, incredibly fun and suspenseful, and just an overall blast and a half.

GeorgeNotFound, Son of Poseidon, and the League of Minor Gods (ongoing) by Clichewho_69, Cygnvs, Trash_Kinggg

(percy jackson au) percy jackson au? check. “road trip” (technically quest but u get what i mean)? check. enemies to friends to lovers? check. this fic follows the plot of the lightning theif (albeit loosely), but everything is explained enough where you don’t have to read percy jackson to understand what’s going on. basically after moving to the usa, george gets taken to camp halfblood where he learns that a) gods exist. b) he’s the son of poseidon and c) he needs to prove that he didn’t steal zeus’s master bolt.

Protected (completed) by aenqua

(royalty/camelot au) my favorite piece of dnf media of all time. dubbed the official dnf camelot au, where dream is the heir to the throne and george is a servants son with a secret that couldp get him killed. these childhood friends grow up together and learn trust, love, and acceptance. (that summary did not justice to the masterpiece that is this fic) here’s the directors cut

The Hunter (completed) by HederEgo

(mc irl) a choose your own adventure fic with 13 different endings, where dream the hunter must kill george and stop him from beater the ender dragon. enough said.

The official dream team cowboy AU (series)(ongoing) by antsu_in_my_pantsu

(cowboy au) cowboys and outlaws horses and shit. and the big gay. it’s a cowboy au, what else did you expect? fucking yee haw (all seriousness this is a great read, i loved it so so so so much and i can’t wait for the final chapter to release).

This is a Drista moment, let's just accept it (completed) by Qekyo

dnf fic from drista pov. considering its unique perspective, it’s perfectly done. beautifully showcases a sibling relationship through drista and her memories/moments with dream, and it just works, y’a know? also drista supremacy.

Dear Dream (completed) by Qekyo

(wwii au) i don’t cry when watching/reading anything sad. translation: i’m a heartless bitch. however, this fic is the only exception. it caused me to cry so hard my mom walked in my room and asked if i was ok. ‘nuff said.

TECHNOlogical Wingman (completed) by Closeted_Bookworm

techno is the autocorrect ai on dreams phone, and he gains sentience. interesting concept, and the author fucking nailed it. great fic.

It Was Only a Fic (ongoing) by imagineitdear

dream starts reading a dnf fanfic (we’ve all been there buddy).

Teacher’s Pet (ongoing) by niyuha

(teacher au) in which dream is a high school english teacher and george is the new comp sci teacher in room 297.

Saltwater Secrets (ongoing) by earlgay_milktea

(mermaid/high school au) a great example of the shear amount of variety in fics this fandom has to offer. when i started reading dnf fics i would have never thought i’d find one about a mermaid george hopelessly crushing on his human friend, who happens to be his schools star swimmer. yet here i am, and i am far from disappointed.

Smash My Heart (incomplete) by dontrollthedice

george and sapnap are commentators for duper smash brothers tournaments, and george develops a crush on an up and coming smash streamer named dream.

roleplaying in the dark is harder than it seems (completed) by Alienu

laser tag. 10/10

solar system (completed) by quartzfia

(mc irl) george vists dream in pandora’s vault.

Ramblings of a Lunatic (completed) by jungkooksfic

ahh communicating through a notebook left on a shelf in a bookstore- what a perfect way to start a relationship.

Paint me like your French Girls (It's Charcoal, Actually) (completed) by Turtle_ier

(artist au) george is an art student, and dream is a model.

00:00:00 (completed) by isleofdreams

(soulmate au) 00:00:00 is the moment you meet your soulmate, as indicated but the clock ticking down on your wrist until the moment you meet. i’m not a fan of soulmate aus; this fic is the exception.

Blue Skies Smilin' At Me (completed) by kivy

(artist au) i don’t usually cry while reading stuff, but this brought me damn near close. george is a painting conservator and chats it is with the ghost of the artist if the painting he is working on. they fall in a love.

Current Location (incomplete) by hendollana

(influencer au) george simps for a hot american instagram model. who knew he’d actually follow back?

The Withering (series) (series ongoing, 1 work completed) by App1e_Juice

(mc irl) lore and world building and fight scenes and everything i crave. what’s not to love? something starts making the plants and crops around dreams village wither, and must team up with new friends to find the cause of the mysterious disease plaguing the land.

Minecraft, But You Can't Leave (complete) by facadecake

(mc irl) dream and george are sucked into their own private minecraft world together and must beat the game to escape.

Free The Game, Beat the End (incomplete) by goatgoatwasfound

(mc irl) a glitch in minecraft causes thousands of players from around the world to be trapped inside minecraft, with only one way of escape- beating the ender dragon. first dnf fic i ever read, and it’s still 10/10 for me.

Why don't you come a little closer? (completed) by lifeofandoms

george gets stood up by a date, and Dream pretends he’s the date to save george from the embarrassment. simply adorable.

lightning bug (completed) by saintachesP

(band au) while on tour, dream realizes his feeling for george.

Hold me closer (completed) by Treesofmyheart

(mc irl/dsmp) i just,, really like this trope.

Dizzy on caffeine (completed) by GleamingGreenGoggles

(coffee shop au) best dnf coffeeshop au i’ve read. periodt.

living a life of crime isn’t always easy (series) (completed) by itisjosh

(mafia/assassin au) stockholm syndrome except it’s not weird.

Inhibitions Make Interesting Situations (completed) by Ship_On_The_Sea

i pissed myself laughing. it’s just a dream and george being hilariously dense, flustered idiots. serotonin central.

thy eternal summer shall not fade (completed) by gracequills

(high school au) that moment when you recite shakespeare to your crush in your ap lit class instead of confessing (hate it when that happens).

All is Fair in love and Football (ongoing) by graciegirl2001

(college au) #1 favorite college au. in which george is a cheerleader, and dream is the football teams rising star player. this one gets extra points because of the amazing karlnap moments sprinkled throughout. *chefs kisses air*

online love (completed) by andbutso

(high school au) online classes go zoooooooom

Can’t help falling (completed) by isleofdreams

dream re-learns the guitar to sing to george on his birthday. beautiful. fluffy. amazing

dance in the rain and my arms (completed) by lazy_kitkat

george is a rain god, and dream is a wind god

Weather Boy (completed) by DaintyDiizzle

wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? (where dream can control the rain)

The color orange (completed) by anon

(mc irl) dream describes the colors of a sunset

Family Mode (completed)by Strawberry_flavoured_tears

they’re dads :,)

Breathing Room (incomplete) by papercranes

(band an) an amazing band au. the mad lad author wrote original songs for each chapter. above and beyond, mad props :). unfortunately, it’s incomplete

Piece of Clay (completed) by carbonbrine

(artist au) george is a sculptor and his sculpture comes to life- but oh no he’s hot.

Try (completed) by Not4typicalwriter

(royalty au) george must choose a suitor, but none of them are up to dream, his head knights, standards. or dream is hella jelly. also protective dream is perfect

When the Roses Bloom (completed) by HederEgo

(royalty au) close second for my favorite fic. go to royalty au for a quick serotonin bost. it’s all fluff and flowers and crushes, and i love it. criminally underrated.

Heavenstruck (ongoing) by dontrollthedice

george is dreams guardian angel, and dream want to find out more about him and his past life. bittersweet :,)

Bang and Burn (completed) by App1e_Juice

(spy au) george accidentally falls for target number 1 on sapnap’s secret agency’s hit list. this ones great, i love me a spy au :)

Can I get a uhh… (completed) by lemonskies

dream keeps pulling up to the drive through mcdonald’s that george works at drunk.

Pretty Stranger (completed) by anon

when looking for dream in the terminal, george sees a cute guy and decides to flirt.

Take my Hand (completed) by latinbias

(royalty au) another royalty au? poggers. surprise twists? double poggers. love this a lot.

seconds, minutes, hours, lifetimes (complete) by meridies

ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP *inhales to compose herself* roadtrip au. unrequited love, ignored feelings, longing, pining, you know the drill. absolutely love this one, its the best roadtrip au i have ever read, in any fandom. (maybe cause i identify with it a little too much, but thats not important. whats important is that you read this fic. right now. im waiting).

Message redacted (complete) by justyouraverageloser

(text fic) dream asks for a girls number and realises hes been given the wrong number. however, an unexpected relationship starts to form between him and the stranger on the other end of the line.

the waves (completed) by anon

(mc irl) this fic was written by the same anon who wrote the color orange, which is up there on my fav dnf oneshot list. dream and george know they have a higher purpose. they don’t know where they came from, or why they are seemingly the only humans in the world, or how they feel about eachother, or even where the skeletons come from, but they are sure of one thing: they have to beat a dragon.

The Dream Doll (completed) by PeppDream (Pep_Pizza)

(voodoo i guess) i’m a real big fan of fics with really out there or unique concepts, so naturally this one makes the cut! i really liked it, it’s really sweet and made me think a lot about what matters to me in the world. george finds a strange doll in an antique shop, and would really like to just stuff it in a drawer and forget about it. sadly (?), the doll has other plans.

last updated February 6th, 2021

[cienie-isengardu]

Not only do I not regret asking you to "RELEASE THE RAMBLES!", I'm sending you requests for more. Below is a list of questions that I asked @bihansthot , and enjoyed their answers, but because you are so thorough, and answer in such depth, I'm re-asking them to you.

Brace yourself, it's a list. I didnt have time to sort thru them, I just copied and pasted, so if any are questions you already answered before, please feel free to include the links.

"LET US BEGIN!"

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In the spirit of potential future writing,  I'm trying to find a building that  would make a good substitution for Lin Kuei temple.

I've tried looking up ancient Chinese military barracks/forts, and have found some stuff,  but is all exterior.  Anyone know of any locations (or several I can cobble together) that would make good inspiration fodder?

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So, uhm, religion? What's the Lin Kuei's take on that one? I know they are aware of Gods, they team up with/ encounter Raiden all the time,  and have literally worked for/against Shinook, so I know they recognize higher powers... but I  guess the question is,  do they care?

Do they have a religion,  or spiritual practice that resembles religion? Or do they have a more practical approach "gods exist,  but we just consider them very strong people"?

Which segues into... do they recognize and participate in holidays, or things like birthdays? Or are all their celebrations work related (I.E. successful missions or levels of combat mastery)?

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Food.  What foods do they normally eat? What foods do they like?  What foods don't they like? What foods do they absolutely love so much they'll stop what they're doing to get it?

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If you had to match the Lin Kuei with a dynasty,  what one would it be? (I know the 2021 movie has the opening in the Ming dynasty, so the Lin Kuei is at least that old,  but given that movie Bi Han hasn't aged in 400 years, and was taken is a child,  its probably much older) (and also know the game probably cherry picked random Chinese things it liked).

What do you think the Lin Kuei's view on artistic culture (probably not the right word) is? I know they are heavily militaristic,  but in the game,  Kuai Liang offers Hanzo tea and he properly prepares it the Japanese way, that says they have something of an education other than just related to fighting?

Lastly,  in the movie,  everything Bi Han does is "for the Lin Kuei", but the Lin Kuei is on Earth (assumedly),  and he is working for a guy who wants to enslave Earth, so what do you think the deal is?

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Question about the Cryomancers. I know the game lore says that they are supposed to be rare, but I also know that the Lin Kuei have had at least 5 (grandpa, papa, older, and younger Sub Zero,  and Frost). 4 of which are part of 3 generations that inherited it even with mixed blood (I'm assuming Mama Sub Zero wasn't Cryomancer since they left her alone).

That's a lot of generations in a row for a rare trait... So do you think the Cryomancers as a group have figured out they're being hunted and have chosen to live in hiding?

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Lin Kuei society question? I like writing so I also like world building and I think about these things.

Is Lin Kuei society ever covered? I know there is a Grandmaster, a handful master assassins (Sub Zero's, Sektor, Cyrax, etc) and the  movies always have a bunch canon fodder lesser assassins.

And they live in the very isolated Lin Kuei Palace/Temple in Arktika (or wherever it used to be)

But is Lin Kuei (we'll call it "village") ever covered?   Do they have willing servants, kidnapped slaves, or a mix of both? Are there women (non fighter women,  I know there's Frost) or do they employ strictly male help? If there are women, what's their role, and are there children born there? What about Elderly? What about resources,  is everything (from food, clothes, weapons, and the raw materials to create them) grown or manufactured on sight by skilled laborers or do they import/interact with the outside world? How vicious or civil is this society, could you be killed for looking at Sektor wrong or do they value your services to a degree? What's the degree? This is obviously a combat culture,  but is everyone expected to know martial arts of some variety, is it optional, or do they prohibit it among the servants/slaves? How strict are they on things like clothing, food, alcohol,  drugs, "luxuries", or pleasures? Money? If they interact with the world do they recognize and use $$ currency, commodity currency, or a mixture? Internally are the Lin Kuei payed or just provided for? What about illness or injury,  if you're not a master and it a serious injury/illness are you taken care of or do they just give you a quick death?

Etc. That's all the questions I can think of,  but please feel free to answer questions I didn't ask,  if you think of anything else.

Thank you for this wonderful list to talk about! I’m gonna split the answer into smaller parts, for better focusing on each aspect but also so I don’t feel bad for keeping you waiting for ages, lol. For now let’s focus on asks about the religion!

So good questions! I do think they have some spiritual practice(s) because in martial arts the state of a mind is as important as the physical body and religion is one of many ways to shape someone’s mindset from a young age. I do, however, think that Lin Kuei does not worship the gods. They are aware that the gods exist (with Raiden as the thorn in the side) and may even respect their supernatural powers and battle skills but it never has stopped Lin Kuei from desecrating holy places, murdering people and stealing stuff for the best price. So, it seems to me that whatever religion the members of the clan follow, by nature it is rooted in nontheism.

Of course, there is also a chance that Lin Kuei worships some forgotten deity or deities (as a remnant of their ancient connections with Outworld / realms conquered and destroyed by Shao Kahn?) or may even practice ancestor worship which seems like a good way to uphold a widely understood tradition that plays an important role in the discussed community.

The closest thing to religious practice was seen in Mortal Kombat X, when Sub-Zero and his warriors seemed to pray together before statue of god / deity / ancestor / legendary warrior / personalized thing they value the most (sadly, my knowledge about Asian religious practices or faiths is very limited so I don’t have idea if the statue is supposed to represent any real god/religious symbol).

At the same time, it could be just a bluff since Grandmaster was aware of Cage’s team infiltrating the Lin Kuei territory and used this moment to lure them into a trap. Additionally, Mortal Kombat X comics presented once Kuai Liang sitting before the same statue albeit in a completely different (devoid of reverence?) position.

Of course, if we take into account Mortal Kombat Armageddon, the game states that Lin Kuei Temple placed in Arctika was actually once the Temple of Delia (the great sorceress & wife of god Argus) that at some point get abandoned and re-used by Sub-Zero’s clan.

(In the background, we can see a statue of Delia that Lin Kuei does not worship but did not remove for whatever reason. Mixing both old and new games, we can only wonder if MKX!statue is also the remnant of someone else's faith/religion?)

Beside that, Kuai Liang was pretty vocal about Lin Kuei not worshipping the Elder Gods, what was seen in MK11’s intro dialogue with Cetrion

Sub-Zero: The Lin Kuei do not worship the Elder Gods.

Cetrion: We seek gratitude, not worship.

Sub-Zero: I see no distinction.

and personally did not have any reason to pray to the goddess:

Sub-Zero: Why should I pray to you?

Cetrion: Why does a bird flap its wings?

Sub-Zero: I asked a simple question.

In all fairness, in MK11 Kuai Liang seems the most passive-aggressive toward the Elder God while Frost is focused on her ambitions and Noob!Bi-Han just wants to be left alone when bothered by Cetrion. Similar thing happens toward Raiden. Despite gratitude for saving him, Kuai Liang does not spare the god criticism (can’t serve both Elder Gods and Earthrealm, isn’t fit for his role of protector) and in MKX outright says he does not fear divine beings:

Raiden: Sub-Zero...

Sub-Zero: I fear no gods, Raiden.

Raiden': That's why you shall lose.

Surprisingly, Kuai Liang’s interaction with MK11!Fujin sounds less accusing than with Raiden and Cetrion and it is connected closely to their ties with Bi-Han. And maybe Kuai Liang did seek in the past Fujin and other elements to make a peace with them, like he planned to do so in Mortal Kombat 4 Limited comics?

"I came here to make peace with the gods of the elements that you fought [...]"

Anyway, the accusingly behaviour toward Raiden and Cetrion could be just Kuai Liang’s personal dislike for gods and serious authority issues, which makes sense considering how much he suffered because of their meddling and conflicts.

But honestly?

The available examples of Lin Kuei attitude toward gods, demigods and supernatural beings suggest how little the warriors - especially cryomancers - care for them.

Like, we have Bi-Han in Mythologies, who asked Quan Chi about details of mission:

Sub-Zero: If it's so precious, why don't you get it yourself?

Quan Chi: I cannot enter the temple until the four elements within its walls have been defeated. And I am not on the best of terms with the gods of your realm... especially your god of thunder.

Sub-Zero: Tell me about these elements.

Quan Chi outright said he and earthrealm gods weren’t friends and Bi-Han, reading between the lines, could get the idea that he may end on bad terms with Thunder God. Yet he was interested only in elements (lesser gods than protector of realm?) guarding the temple.

Then Bi-Han beat down four demigods and met a displeased Raiden after Quan Chi got the Shinnok Amulet. His reaction? No fear, like meeting an angry god was a normal occurrence.

Rayden: Do you realize what you've done??

Sub-Zero: I was just earning my living.

Rayden: Your clan's ignorance and greed will cost this entire realm. You must now set things straight.

Sub-Zero: Quan Chi could simply be a lunatic sorcerer. I've never heard of an elder god named Shinnok or of a place called the Netherrealm.

Rayden: Well, you'd better start believing in both, because you're going to the Netherrealm and you're going to bring the amulet back. We must act quickly. I have no dominion in the Netherrealm... You are reality's only hope.

Sub-Zero: I'll do it, Thunder God... but only because I have no choice.

And once he came back from Netherrealm, where he was fixing what he messed up in the first place on Raiden’s order, his abrasive attitude did not change much:

Sub-Zero: Here... the amulet.

Rayden: Impressive, Sub-Zero. Perhaps you will reconcile your reckless past after all.

Sub-Zero: That's it? Not even a thank you?

Of course, to some degree Raiden’s words did have an impact on Bi-Han but even the god’s warning about his soul tainted with evil did not stop him from coming back to Lin Kuei. Bi-Han’s attitude and/or approach to gods seems to change somehow once he was reborn as Noob, but that is a different matter for different times.

Anyway, Mythologies!Bi-Han and MK11!Noob act less aggressive toward gods than Kuai Liang. But then we have Sub-Zero from from the MK novel by Jeff Rovin, who not only is not afraid of gods but outright insult them:

“Wait! Be warned, Shang Tsung. He is cursed!”

“Cursed? By whom?”

Ruthay wailed, “By the immortal Yu.”

Shang Tsung felt cold spiders crawl up his spine. “The demigod Yu?”

“Yes… he who is said to dwell in the underground caverns of Horse Ear Mountain… which is sacred to the goddess Kuan Lin. He who protects the canals… and the tunnels… and looks after all who use them, human and animal.”

“What did our brash friend do to Yu?”

“He… killed a man,” said Ruthay.

“What man?”

“A toll-taker… one who had given up a life of crime… one who had been a partner of the man… you… seek.”

“And how did that crime come to the attention of the spirit of Yu?” Shang Tsung asked.

“The man was killed… slowly disemboweled with a sword… while accomplices forced his wife and his son to look on! After his murder… the man’s remains… were dumped into a canal!”

Shang Tsung raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? I was expecting something truly terrible!”

“It was!” Ruthay shrieked. “When he disposed of the body… in that way … he profaned one of the sacred waterways… of Yu!”

Shang Tsung smiled now. “Then he is definitely the man I want,” he said. “Anyone who is impudent enough to insult a demigod won’t be afraid to attack a member of the White Lotus Society, or the gods who watch after them. I will send Hamachi, Ruthay. When he nears his goal, see through his eyes and guide him!”

Book!Sub-Zero was impudent enough to insult a demigod which is why he was one of Shang Tsung’s favorites. And to be clear - book!Sub-Zero did not regret insulting the demigod at all. Even more! He found humor in it!:

He dwelt in a cave two hundred feet up the face of a cliff by the sea. The mouth of his home was barely wide enough to accommodate a slender adult, and was accessible only by climbing the sheer wall of rock, a feat that was impossible for most adults and daunting even to the few arachnids and marsupials that tried it.

Maybe some of them were even sent by Yu, he thought with a smirk, little assassins who would chastise me for having spilled blood in his precious canal.

The less abrasive attitude toward gods was shown by Cyrax, who talked a bit with Raiden over Bi-Han’s remains. He wasn’t outright antagonistic but wasn’t overall respectful either. He talked with Thunder God like he would talk with any other human being that wasn’t actually Scorpion. Frankly, from the named Lin Kuei only MK9!Smoke actually addressed Raiden in respectful manner, with proper bow and the name of lord

albeit did he do so because he respects the divine beings or just out of gratitude for saving him, hard to tell for sure.

So yeah, it seems like no matter what kind of timeline or age or medium of the story, Lin Kuei does not fear gods nor pray to them. And the clan has a long history of dealing with Raiden, so the Lin Kuei had first-hand experiences with supernatural beings. Somehow, cryomancers are the most impudent warriors when it comes to dealing with or criticizing the gods.

Interestingly, as much as Lin Kuei warriors don’t care for gods, most of the known to us named characters believe to have - and to care - for their own souls. Sektor and MK11!Frost embraced the Cyber Lin Kuei idea but Kuai Liang, Cyrax and Smoke were opposed to C.I. project out for concern for their souls among other things. Even Bi-Han, to some degree became concerned about his soul after trip to Netherrealm.

Believing in souls is usually a sign of belief in the afterlife, albeit after all of them went through (the change into cyborgs, death and change into Revenants) this is less a matter of faith (religion) and more first-hand experiences. And let's not forget that regularly dealing over the centuries with Shang Tsung who steals people's souls on a daily basis makes it really hard to not believe spirits are real.

Also, an interesting matter of Lin Kuei practices that could have a religious/spiritual ground and/or be an example of ancestor worship is the clan’s funeral rites. I don’t think we actually saw any Lin Kuei to bury their own (especially after warrior’s failure?) and for sure MK9!Cyrax and Sektor did not bother to take care of Bi-Han’s remains. However the sources provide examples of Lin Kuei keeping corpses, most likely of their own leaders or warriors.

And so, we could see human remains:

put in two coffins on each side of statue

hidden / kept in a block of ice(?) in chamber of Fallen Lin Kuei in which Frost’s frozen body was also laid, but on the altar

Cyrax’s cyber body was kept and guarded by Sub-Zero (and this is like the only thing that Kuai Liang and Cyber Sektor so far agreed on)

and even Cyber Sektor’s remains, even if just for pragmatic reasons, are kept in what seems to be respectful manner:

It could be just Kuai Liang’s good nature to honor fallen of his clan (I’m still not sure if Lin Kuei Palace is the new place for Sub-Zero’s clan or the ancient hideout) but even in MK Conquest TV series, after Grandmaster was killed by then-currently-Sub-Zero, there was the farewell ceremony with clothes on display (cause there was not much left of body after freezing and shattering) while new leader gave the speech promising to punish the guilty.

Which makes me think that Lin Kuei did honor their fallen warriors (especially those exceptional, deserving). Such custom and apparently common belief in soul could also support the ancestor worship - both as some ancient, mythical ancestor(s) connecting warriors into one clan (family) and tradition to follow in the footsteps of forefathers (Bi-Han taking place of his father [old timeline] or grandfather [current timeline] or Kuai Liang taking Bi-Han’s place as Sub-Zero).

My general conclusion about Lin Kuei is that its members believe in souls, have respect and use of spiritual matters (meditation?) and maybe ancestor worship. Whatever the religious / spiritual practices they have over the centuries, it is not something they will share, as the Lin Kuei by nature are secretive people who keep personal things mostly for themselves. The people that joined the clan (Cyrax and Smoke) maybe kept their old, eventual religious beliefs but overall, Lin Kuei warriors did not fear, care for nor pray to gods. They may respect god (Raiden, Fujin) as a person but not because of their divine nature. And even that would not stop them from criticizing said god. Which is pretty much how Kuai Liang and Raiden’s relationship looks like. Grandmaster is grateful to Thunder God for saving him but he won’t blindly follow his authority.

(Kuai Liang has serious authority issues, hasn't he?)

As for holidays, I can’t really see Lin Kuei to follow any specific religious (theistic) special day cause they don’t care much for gods in the first place. Unless they worked undercover and needed to act as normal human beings, religious holidays would mean nothing to them. The warriors may however celebrate their mission success, combat mastery or promotion between themselves or in secret, I think. Like, Lin Kuei did forbid friendship because it was considered warrior’s flaw yet we know some members either were blood-related (Kuai Liang, Bi-Han, previous Sub-Zero - father or grandfather, depending on which timeline is correct) or considered each other a family (Kuai Liang and Tomas Vrbada) and most named characters worked in duos so they have both opportunity and knowledge about each other to celebrate important matters. If they managed to remember anything from previous life, that is. Because from ancient to at least Great Kung Lao’s times most(?) adepts were kidnapped from biological families at a really young age (something around 6 years old). And Mythologies: Sub-Zero takes that even further:

Its warriors are chosen at birth to be raised apart from the workings of day to day civilization and are stripped of their former lives. Only the clan knows their existence. Each of them posses certain skills and abilities that set them apart from normal men. These abilities are passed on from generation to generation and honed throughout the experiences of life.

So, celebrating birthdays doesn’t sound like happening much, unless those with family around could allow themselves such luxury. The clan may however celebrate the day of becoming a fully trained and sworn warrior? Or the fallen warriors? Who knows.

Also, something worth thinking about: in Mortal Kombat Conquest TV series, when the Grandmaster presented newly appointed Sub-Zero to the rest of the clan, he “celebrated” the cryomancer's first official performance as the execution of two men who failed their mission. So, yeah, celebration of something special in (old) Lin Kuei does not necessarily mean anything nice.

(The next part of answer most likely will be focused either on food or architecture / origin of Lin Kuei. Let's hope I will get it written sooner than later)

<><> EDIT <><>

RELIGION <> ORIGINS / ARCHITECTURE <> FOOD <> FOR THE LIN KUEI <> ART <> CRYOMANCERS <> LIN KUEI SOCIETY <> MONEY & MATERIAL GOODS

[mcu-fan-fics-blog]

The Artist and Her Deadly Muse

One Shot Mini Series: Natasha Romanoff x  Fisk Reader. 

Word Count: 3000 approx 

A/n: I have WIP for Wanda and reader its taking more time than I thought, but for now this. I kind of got little carried away with this I hope you guys like it. There will be a second part. See you soon! 

Part 2

New York, your home… Your safe haven. You're sitting on the subway when you see her. You’ve always liked New York for this very reason there are people everywhere. Your hands are fidgeting, anxious to begin their work. There is just something about her the way she handles herself, how her head is steady on her shoulders, no apparent worry crossing her mind. Your hand begins to move on the paper making her rough outline. Your eyes shift between her and your book for a couple of stops. 

Stepping out of the subway and taking that first breath of fresh air… It was just like the first time. There was something about walking through masses of people every day, knowing that you will pass them again and again, and they won't even notice. However, you do notice and you pride yourself in that. Three years living in this marvelous city and it has not ceased to amaze you. You have New York down to a “T”. That's not to say that it was all good, you were detail oriented almost to a pathological degree. Which is why you noticed her and her marvelous red hair. Also the small fact that she was definitely following you. 

You weave through crowds, take unexpected turns, yet still you see her keeping her distance. It was almost funny how she's not noticed that you were leading her on a wild goose chase. You duck into your favorite sandwich shop, and take a seat. You can't help, but feel a little disappointed at the fact that she didn't bother to follow you in. You take your time, catching your breath. When you feel safe you decide to walk out the back door. Suddenly you’re being pinned against a wall, by a very familiar redhead. 

“I usually don't do this before the third date.” You quip a smirk on your face. “Although looking at you now, I might make an exception.” She doesn't seem to like your compliments as she snatched your satchel. “Who do you work for?” she asked impatiently, pressing you harder against the wall. “I’d have to ask you the same question, because I swear if my father sent you…” The confusion written on her face makes you stop your rant. “And you don’t work for my… father” You emphasize the last part. Regretting having opened your mouth.  

You clear your throat and shift your view to her hold on your arms raising your brow. She lets go a little embarrassed. “So… What's up with the staring?” She asks confused. “Well, It's simple really. You stick out like a sore thumb.” You say chuckling at the slightly offended look she flashes you with. You take your satchel back and look through it to make sure everything is good. “Care to explain?” she asked with an amused look in her eyes. You narrow your eyes and she continues. “Your sore thumb statement… What's your evidence.” You shift off the wall, and clean yourself off. “Well, to your credit most people don't pay attention… but I’m not most people.” 

You take your sketchbook out of your satchel and flip to her page showing it to her. “I’ve never seen you around… If I had I’d remember.” You say walking away, and her smile makes your stomach flip. Natasha made her way back to the compound where the team was waiting for her. “What took you so long?” Asked Tony as soon as he saw her walk through the elevator doors. “I took the Subway” Is all she says too preoccupied to notice Tony grimace and the sheer look of disgust in his face. She hears him mutter something about disinfecting everything she touches… She's not completely listening, still thinking about you.  

“Now where have you gone off to Romanoff.” Tony asks teasingly as he waves his hand in her face, which she promptly swats away. “I met an interesting character on the Subway.” She states, still faraway. Tony hums. “I’m sure you did, you’ll always find some interesting characters on the subways.” She shakes her head and agrees. It had been mere hours after meeting you and she could tell she was hooked. The next day she went to the same subway in hopes of finding you but no such luck. She didn't give up though she showed up every day for weeks... She was on the verge of giving up when she saw you. Getting off an armored black car your head bowed as you made your way to an apartment building nearby. For someone you had clocked her… you were incredibly off your game.  You didn't even turn when she walked into the building after you.

“Let me guess you’re about to ask me to paint you like one of my French girls.” You say not bothering to look back a smirk on your face as you turn to face that redhead. You chuckle at her baffled face as you turn around. “Will you paint me like one of your French girls?” She asks, it’s her turn to bask in your reaction. Your laugh fills the room making her laugh with you. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this… I don't even know your name” You point out making her clear her throat just as she's about to say her name you interrupt her. “Let me guess… Patricia?”  She shakes her head in denial stifling a laugh. “Natalie Rushman” You nod. “Yeah that was going to be my next guess.” You play it off making her laugh. “My name is Y/n Fisk it's nice to officially meet you Natalie.” You say as you give her your hand to shake. “Would you like to come upstairs.” You ask politely and she hesitates, but ultimately gives in. You make your way up to your apartment which is a complete understatement. “Well you seem awfully humble for this place.” She states. 

“And for that matter it’s twice now that you’ve clocked me how?” You sigh putting your keys down on the table. “Yes, well my father always had a way of showing me he cared.” She nods intrigued. “My turn… Why were you looking for me?” You were direct and firm, yet not confrontational. “Well you made an impression Y/n.” You hum pouring her and yourself a glass of wine. You take the first sip and she follows shortly after. “I wanted to see how that sketch turned out Y/n… you know because you used my likeness and all. Want to make sure it doesn't end up in the wrong hands.” She says smirking, but there's a seriousness in her voice. And you nod. “Well you'd be relieved to know that the artist is out of commission till further notice.” 

This takes Natalie by surprise, you see it in her eyes she wants to ask why but can't bring herself to actually do it so you tell her. “Another gift from my father… the family company. That is currently on the brink of financial devastation.” You say as you finish off the rest of your wine in one gulp, pouring yourself another glass you offer Natalie one as well. “So no more art and sitting on the subway for hours on end.” You chuckle humorlessly. “When you put it like that…” You try to make light of the situation, but fail. “No more art… No more sitting on the subway for hours on end… No more doing what I love.” Your thoughts racing, almost forgetting you're in a room with an otherwise complete stranger. You clear your throat stopping your train of thought and continue. “This is actually my last night here, I'm moving.” You lift your gaze to meet hers and it’s consuming. The way that her eyes are looking at yours, how she can see right through you. She starts moving closer to you and you let out a deep breath. 

When you don't step away or break eye contact she continues making her way towards you. Her hands move to your face, and she slowly closes in interlocking your lips. You deepen the kiss holding on to her hips and moving her closer to you. Your hands brush the hem of her shirt. She bites your bottom lip asking for entrance and you grant it. A fight for dominance ensues, you almost give in but she beat you to it letting you take control. Your night goes by in her arms exploring her skin, etching every detail in your mind, remembering every spot that makes her knees go weak. When you wake up your bed is empty, and you want to be disappointed but you can't. You can't drag someone into the shit show that is your family. So true to your word you were gone by lunchtime. 

It had been months and it just kept getting worse. You found out why the financial situation had become so dire. Your father all but drained the company of all its funds… You always knew that your father was a questionable man but this was low even for him. Disparaging your mothers name your name. You learned not to be offended though he trusted you enough to get out of this mess. Your mother brought out the best in him, but in the end the worst ended up prevailing. You worked, and worked threw yourself into the obligation that was tossed your way. “Miss Fisk you have Forbes on the line and Pepper Potts on another.” You nod. It had been a year and a half and you thrived. You haven't heard from your father in all that time. You had Manhattan wrapped around your finger, and everyone knew it, like your father you were ruthless to those you betrayed you, Once someone was burned by you no one dared talk about them, much less in your precedence.  

You look and wonder where that bright eyed hopeful person you were went. Then you remember all the people you put your trust in and all the people that tried to kick you when you were down. Forbes was something that represented the end of you, whatever was left of that person you were not too long ago. “Y/n Fisk, to what do I owe the pleasure Ms. Potts?” You were surprised when she called. You thought Stark Industries would want to stay away from a name like yours. “No, need for the formalities Y/n. I’m exploring a business venture that might help us both out.” She goes on to explain her plan and you say you’d think about it, in turn she invites you to a Stark Function this weekend… “Well Pepper I look forward to meeting you and discussing this business venture further.” You put the phone down into the receiver and can't help the small smile that grows on your face. As much as you hated the obligation you couldn't deny the pride that you felt, or how you felt thinking of how proud your mother would be… It almost makes it all worth it.   

It's another one of Tony's parties that she is forced to go to, Natasha Is at the bar serving drinks when she sees you. Or someone who held an uncanny resemblance, something was different, your posture no longer relaxed, now effortlessly poised and business like. The sparkle in your eyes was the same, but everything else was fundamentally different. She witnessed Pepper walk up to you, and how your face instantly lightened. Pepper had shared a couple of words with you and took you to speak with Tony. Natasha's eyes widen slightly as she notices Pepper making her way straight to her. “How’d I do?” She asks Natasha with a smile growing on her face. “What do you mean?” She asks confused. “Well, the new mission haven't you been briefed?” She shakes her head. “No, I just got back from one abroad. What is this mission about?” She nodded understandingly. “That's Y/n Fisk Daughter of Wilson Grant Fisk… Kingpin.”

Natasha's eyes widened, she can't believe she didn't put it together sooner. “So she’s following in her Father's footsteps?” Natasha asks carefully. Pepper continues. “Well, we’ve been keeping tabs since a year and a half ago, after Fisk Industries suddenly went into the red.” Natasha quirks her head. “Wilson syphoned all the money and took off. Y/n is ruthless when it comes to business, it's a miracle she saved the company.” Pepper stops and looks at Natasha's still confused face. “What exactly is she doing here though.” Pepper takes a moment before she answers. “We’re recruiting her… using her to get to her Father.”  Natasha can't help, but shake her head. “How do you know she’s willing to work against her father… They are family at the end of the day. Blood is thicker than water.”  She says as she sees You and Tony walk off into a more secluded part of the compound.

After an hour maybe more she spots you again. This time the light is completely gone in your eyes. It was truly an off putting sight, no apparent emotion ran through your expressions. Your movements were cold, and calculated an opportune smile on your face when someone walked up to you. The desire to get out of there was apparent. She took her eyes off you all of two minutes, and by then you'd made it to the elevator door standing next to a rather old man, whose talking business. She watches you as you wave the older man away with a smile plastered on your face, handing him your card, and just like that you’re gone.

The drive back to Manhattan was a quiet one, full of reflection and contemplation. By the time you make it back to your Penthouse you’re ready to just go to bed. As soon as you walked in you knew something was off. “You need to stay away from Stark Industries Y/n '' It didn't even phase you, your back still turned on him you made yourself a drink and drank it. Finally turning you meet your fathers gaze. “Father, I would say it's good to see you, but that would be a lie. You know how mom felt about lying.” You were testing him and he knew it. “What do you want?” You reiterate and make your annoyance known. “You need to stay away from Stark Industries Y/n, It's for your own good.” You sigh rubbing your temples. “Why would I back down from the business deal of my life? What do you know?” He’s quiet, his eyes boring holes into yours, testing your resilience. “You left me with the mess that was My mothers company in shambles… you don't get a voice in what I do with the company.” 

“You’re not going to like what's going to happen if you don't back down Y/n. The board…” You laugh at his attempt at a threat. “Well, haven't you heard… Those usurpers paid for their wrongs. They tried to take your precious company from me.” You chuckle at his obliviousness. “I have the power here… So I suggest you start talking.” 

(4 Hours Ago)   

“Y/n, I see no need to continue this charade. I Don't think you’re a bad person.” This is where Tony starts off which sets the tone foe the rest of the conversation. “Well, I’ve been around long enough to know when someone wants something from me. So what does Tony Stark need from me?” You say as your eyes close in on him. “It’s not really what I need. It's more of a ‘are you willing to’ corporate.” He then proceeds to show you this presentation very well made if you might add. Of things you already knew about your father, but your question was, How did he know? “Right… So you want me as bait?” You say finally leaving with him. “Well, in a way yes. You won't be in immediate danger, your father won't hurt you.” You chuckle. “You underestimate him.” You say. “He left me to clean up after his mess. Hasn’t checked in once, since then. Why would he now?” 

“Lets just say word has spread about our little business venture.” He states. “So this... you are informing me that  I’m bait.”  He nods. “Great glad you caught on… see we couldn't take the risk…” you finish his statement. “Of me saying no.” You nod. “What do you need me to do exactly.”  Tony then goes on a tangent on what you will need to do takes too long for you liking but you sit through it anyways. “So you want me to push his buttons and get him to talk.” He agrees giving more specifics and more details. “Right, well call me when you need me” You say as you stand up and walk away.

 (Current Time) 

“And you did all of this, Why?” You don't even give him the chance to explain himself. “I was never under any pretense that you were a good man, but this… this is vile.”  You could tell your words hurt him. The same words your mother had once uttered before she passed. “Y/n I-i tried to keep you away from all of this.” He tries to defend himself. “Of course by throwing me right in the middle of all of it.” Push buttons you did. “I was once proud to be a Fisk, a name that commanded respect, now I am disgusted and ashamed of this name.” At this point he just kept blaring on about how he tried to fix things, how he just dug himself deeper. Final jab, at this point it wasn't necessary this one was for you. “I hate you for making me hate mom… every time you would promise her an out of this… she believed you, and I hate her for that.” you take a breath and look him dead in the eye. “Because you never deserved her love.”

Before you could even process the hurt on his face, agents stayed bursting through every entrance. Window, doors, balcony, any entrance you could possibly think about blocked and barricaded. You step back from your father, but he’s too quick. He takes our arm and drags you in front of him, using you as a human shield. 

[citylightsbooks]

A Women’s History of City Lights: Interview with Nancy J. Peters

We'll be celebrating Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s 102nd birthday on March 24, and what better way to remember his legacy AND to mark Women’s History Month, than to honor Nancy J. Peters, Lawrence’s business partner, friend, and longtime comrade at City Lights Books. While Ferlinghetti certainly deserves all of the accolades he’s received, the fact of the matter is there would literally be no City Lights without Nancy Peters. Beyond shepherding City Lights through various fiscal crises and providing the steady anchor that allowed Ferlinghetti to travel the world as a poet and activist, Nancy's vision as an editor and acumen as a publisher were a vital key to the success and longevity of City Lights Publishers.

 ***

City Lights: How did you come to know what City Lights was? How did you meet Lawrence Ferlinghetti?

Nancy Peters: In Greece in the early 1960s, I became friends with Nanos Valaoritis and Marie Wilson who were at the center of an international bohemian/surrealist community. They had a large home which was always full of traveling writers and artists whom they made welcome. The Beat writers were among their guests, and City Lights was frequently talked about as a place everyone would meet up someday. I met Philip Lamantia there and in 1965 he introduced me to Lawrence in Paris at one of Jean-Jacque Lebel’s anarcho-surrealist festivals of free expression.  Before a riotous crowd Lawrence gave a show-stopping rendition of his “Lord’s Prayer.” I was impressed by his powerful stage presence. Later that year, when Philip and I were living in Andalusia, Lawrence wrote Philip, asking for a selection of poems for a Pocket Poets Series volume. We corresponded some while we were putting the book together, but I didn’t see him again until 1971 when I moved to San Francisco.

I’d been working as an executive-trainee librarian at the Library of Congress in the fall of 1968. In April, Martin Luther King was assassinated and the impassioned protests that ensued left Washington neighborhoods in ruins. There was shockingly little assistance to residents from the government and my part of the city was under military surveillance, helicopters hovering over my apartment through the night. A Moratorium to End the War in Vietnam took place in Washington the following year. Over 750,000 people peacefully demonstrated. In a small way, I was involved in the planning and, during the protests, my apartment was crammed with fellow activists.

The Library of Congress was an amazing, fascinating place with compatible co-workers from all over the world—thousands of book people all in one place. However, the mission of the Library is to serve Congress, and the institution was a huge conservative bureaucracy serving a conservative and ineffective Congress as I saw it. I believed that if I stayed there I would have little contact with actual books or opportunities for civic activism.

So I moved to San Francisco, where Philip was living and urging me to come, and spent an enormous amount of time at City Lights while I was job hunting. It seemed like paradise, such a stimulating atmosphere where people could sit down to read, share ideas, and have conversations about books, politics, art. One day in early 1971 when I was walking down the street in North Beach, Lawrence hailed me and asked if I would like to help him with a bibliography of Allen Ginsberg’s writings.  After just a brief meeting at the publishing office, Lawrence went to Europe and his editorial assistant Jan Herman suddenly decided to move to Germany. Jan showed me how all the editorial work was done in the office, told me Lawrence “wouldn’t mind,” and so I found myself beginning an exciting new career in publishing.

 What was your experience taking over as executive director and co-owner in 1984?

The store back then employed seven people: six men at the bookstore and one (me) at the publishing branch. So “executive director” is far too grand a title. City Lights was a small, failing organization by 1982. The store was not founded to make profits for the owners and it never did make a profit. Breaking even was the goal. But every year the losses mounted and there came a time when there were very few books left on the shelves. No one had seen a customer venture downstairs to the lower part of the store for many months.  

At the time, Lawrence was immensely popular and in great demand as a performer and a speaker, so he was traveling much of the time, visiting foreign colleagues, living abroad, finding new writers to translate. At this low point in the store’s history Lawrence told me in a frustrated moment that if I’d like to own City Lights, he would give it to me outright if I would run the business, freeing him to do all the other things he wanted to do. I declined, but told him I would be honored to be his partner. Theft was seriously addressed, and a protracted payment plan was agreed to by Book People, the East Bay employee-owned distributors who extended us credit for a generous period. Savvy booksellers Richard Berman and Paul Yamazaki headed the re-stocking plan. The three of us would go every week to Book People and Lou Swift Distributors to collect enough books to sell the following week. As time went on, everybody at the store consulted book catalogs and took on the responsibility for buying subject sections. I envisioned a participatory structure. If not a co-op, I wanted a bookstore where all the staff had responsibilities and power.

Why the decision not to have multiple bookstore locations around SF?

At one time we seriously considered additional locations. We explored sites in San Francisco’s Mission district and visited city officials in San Jose to talk about a second store there. But our resources were limited, and we were concerned about the time and money that would be required to create a sister store that would embody the same spirit and ethic as the original. During my time as director, the evolving challenges from chain stores and especially Amazon made beginning a new store a very risky enterprise. In retrospect, so many independents were closing that we decided to invest in our present, iconic location. In retrospect I think it was a good decision after watching attempts by other stores fail to duplicate their success elsewhere.

How has North Beach changed, how has it stayed the same? With the exodus of Big Tech and falling rents, how do you think that will affect North Beach and San Francisco in general in the future? Will there be “a rebirth of wonder”?

North Beach when I came to SF was a small bohemian village, where neighbors shared meals on their flat rooftops watching the sun set over the Bay. My rent was $125 a month, cheap even then. City Lights and the Discovery Bookstore (used books) next door to Vesuvio were key places to spend an evening. Two large Italian grocers delivered (no charge) bags of groceries up four flights of stairs to my apartment. The neighborhood was full of inexpensive Basque, Italian, and Chinese restaurants, and many cafes, many of which seemed unchanged since the 19th century. Change happens, and City Lights is well prepared for the future. It’s never easy to predict how things will develop, but the feeling of a lovely Mediterranean town persists, with the wooden buildings painted pastel colors, and the shimmering sea light on misty days. I feel certain that the light of City Lights will prevail for a long time to come.

 Do you feel that your gender had any impact on your experience during your 23 years as director? Do you have any comments about women in bookselling or publishing in general?

Gender always has an impact. The Beat movement was certainly male focused. Even though the undaunted Diane di Prima was recognized, she was never enthusiastically supported by the inner nucleus of Beat poets. It was a long time before the Beat women came into their own. From the start, Lawrence, who insisted he wasn’t a Beat, had eclectic tastes and was open to women’s poetry. He admired Marianne Moore and Edna St. Vincent Millay as much as he did T.S. Eliot, Jacques Prévert, and Allen Ginsberg. In the Pocket Poets Series, he’d published di Prima and, very early in the series, both Marie Ponsot and Denise Levertov.

Women’s rights and opportunities are always vulnerable and cyclic. The Women’s Movement of the 1970s was very powerful and widespread, its impact on women’s lives enormous. At City Lights we hired more women; we published more women. There have always been outstanding women in publishing and bookselling, and during that time increasingly more women writers were published, reviewed, and were given accolades and awards. Women opened general bookstores and women’s bookstores, founded feminist and lesbian presses. It was a thrilling development, to see so many marginalized writers, and not just women, finding established publishers or creating their own presses. Together they created a larger, much more diverse national literature.

I’ve had the pleasure of working with many talented women at the bookstore. And in the publishing branch: Stella Levy, Kim McCloud, and Patricia Fujii. Gail Chiarello collected and edited our bestselling Bukowski stories. Annie Janowitz proposed the timely Unamerican Activities, and Amy Scholder brought us classics by Karen Finley, Rebecca Brown, and others. I’m happy to say that Amy Scholder is again working with City Lights as an editor.

When did you meet the now current publisher and executive director Elaine Katzenberger? What was her position at the bookstore? When did you know that she was the right person to take over as director?

Ah, Elaine, the woman who can do everything! Elaine began at the bookstore sales counter, then reorganized files and the store accounts, and very soon excelled as a book buyer. She had a great feeling for good writing, so I asked her to become an editor and she immediately began adding excellent books to City Lights’ list. She’s smart, witty, multitalented, and politically astute. We are very lucky to have her at the helm.

What is your understanding or vision of what of City Lights is and what it could be? How has Lawrence’s passing impacted this?

Lawrence’s democratic inclusiveness made him the best-selling poet in the U.S. His moral principles, his courage and resilience are a model to be emulated. He conceived City Lights as an educational institution that would open minds to explore and relate to the world through books. “One guy told me he’d got the equivalent of a Ph. D just sitting in the basement reading all our great books,” he often reminded us.

His “literary gathering place” was to be a fulcrum of San Francisco cultural experience, where our bookselling and publishing could amplify the voices of diverse experiences, connect with other creative communities, and serve as a center of dissent and, at the same time, a force for creating a better society.

Lawrence’s vision will continue to be our guiding light. An optimistic realist, he believed that City Lights would long endure as the co-creation of all the dedicated people who work here and make it what it is.

[matthiasschoenaertsdaily]

Matthias Schoenaerts full interview for De Morgen Magazine (original in Flemish, translated into English by @matthiasschoenaertsdaily​)

Interview by Els Maes, published on November 28, 2020

Even a global pandemic will not destroy the optimism of actor Matthias Schoenaerts (42). Because he knows from his own experience how much beauty can emerge from the most hopeless situations. "I've had my back against the wall often enough, I'll always find a way out."

A bleak autumn day on a concrete square. There is lukewarm coffee, lukewarm Chimay and rolling tobacco. At dusk we see the silhouettes of fat rats that shoot past our ankles. And yet Matthias Schoenaerts will tell us in a glowing argument that this, here and now, is the very best place to be. That there is so much beauty to discover, he says. Le paradis c'est ici. As long as we want to see it.

"It's strange to say in this unpleasant period, but I've enjoyed the past few months enormously. It's the first time in ten years, since Runskop actually, that I'll be home for a long period of time. This is so beneficial: I am photographing, painting, writing. I can devote time and attention to the very simple things we'd otherwise race past."

"Seriously, look at that," he says, picking a leaf off the ground. "Those colors, that pattern. I can spend hours looking at the pure beauty of the things that surround us."

Above us a pigeon is wreaking havoc between the thinned out foliage. "While you are singing about the wonderful beauty of nature, that animal is going to shit on our heads," I say. "And that too will be a s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d moment," Schoenaerts answers.

Matthias Schoenaerts is Belgium's most successful international film star. But here and now, on a bench in his hometown, he is a technically unemployed actor, an all-round searching artist, but above all: fighter of cynicism. "I refuse to go along with all negativity and fear. The true battle today is cynicism versus courage. And I always choose the latter."

We're on the Oudevaartplaats, the square that everyone knows as the Antwerp Bird Market, and where Schoenaerts' childhood memories are waiting to be picked up. It comes into the conversation just like that: Brando, the cute chow chow that little Matthias got from his mom on this square, when here on the bird market puppies were still sold. "My dogs were my great loves. The home situation was often difficult, and with my dogs I found security. We had three chow chows, those fluffy lion dogs with a blue tongue. Brando was the first, I loved that animal."

"We lived in a small apartment with three dogs, anything but ideal. One day we let them go, to people with a large estate. That was heartbreaking."

There is a beautiful lesson in that, about love and letting go. It would have been selfish to keep your dogs if you could give them a nicer life elsewhere, wouldn't it?

"Absolutely, but I obviously didn't process that departure properly. Brando still appears in my dreams, after all these years. Then he returns home unexpectedly, and am I mad with joy.

"I often dream about my parents too: that reunion is so intensely beautiful and warm. Oh, there you are, finally! Those dreams are true to life, and the awakening is rock-hard."

Is that one of the reasons why you like being here in Antwerp, because here you feel more connected to the people that you loved?

"This is my home, my zero, I can't imagine a place in the world where I would rather live. When my mom was alive, and especially when she got sick, in between filming I tried to be with her as much as possible here in Antwerp. In the meantime I have an apartment here, my first permanent place of my own, but I've hardly been there in recent years. Now I can finally enjoy my home, I find peace, tranquility and inspiration there. I have seen fantastic sunsets on my roof terrace in recent months. So much beauty, and you can just admire it there, every day, for free. As long as you take the time to enjoy it.

"Normally I would have started filming again in April, and left for a hectic ride of at least two years, with projects that would follow each other quickly. I was at my limits, sooner or later I was going to bang my head against the wall. I feel how beneficial it is to slow down for a moment. David Lynch said that: 'Just slow things down and it becomes more beautiful'.

"As an actor you have to work in a big machine, according to a tight schedule. I have now discovered the pleasure of creating things for myself very spontaneously in my own cadence."

Is that work something you ever want to go public with?

"I want to do something with my photography someday, but I'm in no hurry. I'm also writing a film script, I've had an idea for a trilogy for a long time. It's a very personal project, and it takes time for it to crystallize into something very pure and proper. Maybe those films will come within ten years, maybe never.

"The most important thing is to keep busy. You have to look for something, anything, on which you can focus your passion, love and attention. Of course I would like to return to set, and those projects will come back later. But if I can't change anything about a situation, why worry about it?

"From a very young age I learned that there are not many certainties in life, I adapt easily to unexpected circumstances. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is feeling powerless. I never want to be the victim of a situation, I will always think: what can I do myself? Which way can I go? I have often enough stood with my back against the wall, I will always find a way out and take matters into my own hands."

So Schoenaerts decided to use this period to put Zenith - his artist name as a street artist - to hard work. Since the lockdown he has already created nine impressive murals, including one in the courtyard of the Oudenaarde prison, and one at the beginning of this month in the Antwerp Begijnenstraat, on the bare walls that form their furthest horizon for the prisoners. A moving event, he says. Not only by the touching conversations with inmates, and the forty-minute applause with which the prisoners welcomed him. "The mural contains a poem by my father. While I am there painting those beautiful words of my dad on the wall, I suddenly remember that my mom used to give meditation lessons to the prisoners there in the Begijnenstraat. I had completely forgotten about that until I stood there. How beautiful that is. Suddenly I felt my parents very tangible, very close to me."

It's a bit funny: a long time ago you were arrested for graffiti, now they invite you to prison to make a mural.

"I used to tag a lot, but I really don't like the vandalism that sometimes comes with graffiti. Defacing a facade, that's just ridiculous. But trains, bridges, tunnels.... frankly I think that's the max. Soon I'm going to do another oldskool graffiti wall, with some friends, back to the roots. But with permission, yes."

Scary dudes

The problems of the Belgian detention system are well known: outdated infrastructure, overcrowding and a system of pre-trial detention which means that some people are innocently stuck for years. Schoenaerts: "These are human lives that are destroyed by the Belgian state, isn't that scandalous?"

Schoenaerts' engagement started years ago, after meeting Hans Claus, prison director in Oudenaarde, who contacted him when he wanted to organize a screening of Le Fidèle, the film by Michaël R. Roskam starring Schoenaerts. Claus has been fighting for many years for a reform of our detention system, among others with the non-profit organization De Huizen, small-scale centers that are more focused on rehabilitation and reintegration of the detainee. How does Schoenaerts see his role? "Those murals are a kind of lubricant for me, to get attention for this problem. I am not the expert and I am certainly not a politician. This injustice touches me as a human being, and my message is clear: please listen to the people who have been working hard for decades to reform the system from the inside."

In The Mustang, your last feature film to be seen here before the lockdown, you take on the role of a prisoner who learns to tame wild horses and his demons. Has that role changed your vision?

"That rehabilitation program with mustangs really exists, and the chance of recidivism is almost zero percent. I had a conversation in the Begijnenstraat with the minister of Justice Vincent Van Quickenborne (Open Vld, ed.), and he told me that the chance of relapse here is 40 to 50 percent. Isn't that madness?

"That's what fascinates me most of all: what do we do with those detainees while they're stuck? How can we help to break the destructive patterns that put them in prison? Imprisonment is a punishment in itself, but someday we'll send those people back into society, so let's mainly support them in their self-development.

"In preparation for The Mustang, I visited prisons in the U.S., and talked to men who had been detained for 20, 30 years. Heavy guys: Aryan Brotherhood (powerful crime syndicate of neo-Nazis in American prisons, ed.), Mexican gang leaders... real scary dudes. You know what those say to me? That they live in fear every day, but they must not show weakness. Psychological counseling and things like that have their value, but that's often very cerebral. I especially believe in the healing power of art. Imagine that inmates can express all those fucked up emotions through art: I think that there is an enormous potential in this."

I heard you're playing with the idea of giving acting lessons to inmates?

"That's not a concrete plan yet, but I would love it if people from the creative sector would commit themselves to this: musicians, sculptors, dancers. Or writers who help prisoners put their own story into words.

"The cultural sector needs to start sticking its neck out. The sector is lying flat, and that's terrible. But we have to keep moving. We can all do something for the community, without being paid for it. Planting small seeds, doing something good for your fellow man, something beautiful always comes out of it."

Had you been to a prison before The Mustang?

"To visit friends, yes. In Merksplas, Hoogstraten, Hasselt, Dendermonde... We shouldn't talk about that any further. A prison is deep tristesse. Who dares to call that 'a hotel', shame on you."

This summer you painted an impressive mural in Paris in honor of George Floyd, murdered by American officers. And in Ostend last week a new mural was unveiled, with a 'decapitated' Leopold II. Is activism an important part of your street art?

"Graffiti used to be more of a style exercise for me, you want to create things that get noticed within the scene. But gradually I felt like communicating with a wider audience. I like to incorporate a lot of symbolism in my paintings, such as the cracks I photograph all over the world and then magnify them in another place. And the praying hands, a universal image of hope and faith in yourself. Art has the power to speak to our deepest emotions, and that is what binds us to the other. Connectedness, empathy, harmony, solidarity, that's the essence for me."

The corona crisis is one big exercise in empathy and solidarity. Sometimes we seem to lack that.

"I refuse to surrender to cynicism, and I surround myself with positive people who do beautiful things for others. This period would lead us to insights: how do we deal with each other? Do we help each other, or is it every man for himself? A human is such a wonderful creature, but we mess it up so much for ourselves.

"Yeah, I know. Some people who read this will think: this guy is smoking too many joints. (laughs) I don't smoke joints, and I'm not an unworldly idealist. But I will always focus my attention on the good, in spite of everything."

If you always want to see the good in people, are you sometimes disappointed?

"Yes, of course. I'm not a naive brat, I've learned to guard my boundaries. I can't please everyone all the time, and I don't let anyone rush me. I react badly when people put pressure on me because they want things from me. The perception of me that others have of me, I can't control. I don't let myself put out of balance easily anymore."

I saw that on your Instagram Stories you warned about fake profiles on social media, of people pretending to be you. That made you visibly angry.

"Really, that makes me angry. Every day I receive screenshots from people who have been tricked by crooks who approach innocent victims with my name and my pictures. There are stories of fans who have paid thousands of euros because they were promised a meet-and-greet with me. How disgusting is that? One person has transferred 14,000 euros to someone who pretended to be my manager.

"Of course, that raises questions about how gullible some people can be. But I've seen those chat conversations for myself: those criminals are terribly sneaky. They know how to play on the vulnerabilities of their victims in a very cunning way. This is manipulation and swindle of the filthiest kind.

"Really, I get physically unwell when I think about it. How can someone be so mean? If I ever catch these guys, I'm gonna bash their skulls in, I'm not kidding. Sorry."

Or: those crooks get a jail sentence, where you're going to give them acting lessons.

(laughs) "Okay, let it be clear that I think everyone should be punished for their crimes. My commitment to the prison system is not a plea for impunity, and I certainly don't want to romanticize crime.

"But when someone abuses innocent people's trust in such a cunning way, the question is: how did you derail so morally? And above all: how can we initiate a transformation in that person? Surely you can't lock someone up and expect that person to suddenly make better choices years later? First such a person has to take responsibility for his own actions."

Do you have something criminal on your conscience?

"No." (Thinks for a second) "No. Thank God. I couldn't live with that.

"I've probably hurt people in my life, like everybody else. Sometimes we just hurt people because of who we are, or because we can't fulfill what others want from us. But I have never harmed anyone consciously or criminally, no."

As a teenager you sometimes came into contact with the juvenile court, for vandalism. Do you think you could have ended up on the other side of the bars?

"Probably, a life can take strange turns sometimes."

What made you sit here today, and not get on the 'wrong' path?

"Wait... that's a good question. There's the one terrible dramatic event that caused a total turnaround in my life: when my dad went into a coma after a psychosis, and I was told he only had 24 hours left to live.

"I was 21 then, thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. I was doing graffiti and wanted to find my way creatively. But I was messing around, going with friends who... Anyway, there was latent danger, it threatened to go a little bit the wrong way.

"And then I got that phone call: come and say goodbye. Bam. The relationship with my father had been sour for years, we hardly saw each other. Until I stood there at his deathbed in intensive care... I only felt love, a wave of emotions that I had pushed down very deeply. That realization was rock-hard: this was it. My father and I will never get the chance to figure shit out, I thought.

"Long story, the rest is known: after 72 hours my father woke up from a coma against all odds. Like a plant: he could not speak, reacted to nothing or nobody. According to the chief psychiatrist, we had to accept that his condition would never improve. That was without the fighting spirit of my mother and me.

"It's because of that unlikely event that I've changed my whole lifestyle. For eight months, my mother and I went to visit my father every day. We talked to him, but he seemed to look straight through us. For hours we sat with him at the psychiatry department of Stuivenberg, how desperate those first months were also. We continued to fight, taught him to talk, to eat, to walk. A miracle, the doctors called it. Bullshit of course. It was love, dedication and stubbornness. Especially thanks to my mother, the lioness who kept fighting for him. And see how much beauty came out of it. My life then received an entirely different impulse.

"I suddenly think of an anecdote I've never told before. After a while we were allowed to take my father to the cafeteria once in a while, or to the garden. But he was absolutely not allowed to leave the hospital. Fuck it. I hid a bag of clothes for him, secretly dressed him in the toilet and took my father to the city. By bus, because I didn't have a driver's license. I wanted to stimulate his senses, test if any memories would come back. He was fond of Our Lady's Cathedral, so that's where I wanted to take him."

Matthiaske, why am I crying?

He plays it out. The written version here is only a dead script compared to the lived-through performance, right there on that dark square, just around the corner of the Arenbergschouwburg, where Matthias made his stage debut as a 9-year-old boy next to father Julien, as The Little Prince.

Matthias shows how he supported his frail dad, and how they shuffled in small, careful steps towards the cathedral. Dad looking at the ground to be sure not to fall. "I say, 'Dad, look up'. He looks up, and I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen my father cry. 'Matthiaske,' he says, 'can you tell me why I'm crying?'

"I had already decided then that I would take my father into my house. Overconfident, yes, at that age, but they have become the most beautiful years of my life. Mom came by every day to help. Suddenly we were a bit of a family again, something we had only been for a short time when I was young."

It was at that time that you decided to become an actor. Why did you decide to become an actor?

"I had always resisted following in my father's footsteps. In my youth I mainly wanted to break away from my father, and seek my own path. I didn't want to have anything to do with him and all those loudmouths around him in the theater world. But most of all I was terrified that compared to the great Julien Schoenaerts I would never be good enough.

"Only now do I understand why I then decided to go to the conservatory. Not to become an actor, but to understand my father. We had so many years together, and now that we had been given a second chance, I wanted to get to know him as well as possible. By acting, maybe I could get closer to him." (pauses)

Sentimental fuss

He banishes the tears. It's one of the many things he has in common with his father, he says: they're both very emotional, but they hate sentimental fuss. "Come on, Matthias: breathe," he commands himself.

"Voilà, see how much beauty can come out of misery. What a chain of beautiful things came out of the fight my mother and I put up in the most hopeless situation. Who knows how differently my life would have turned out?"

"There are so many lessons in that. If we just talked about the rehabilitation of detainees, for example. It takes commitment. Not a workshop of two hours. You have to persevere, even in the event of a setback, with no guarantee of a happy ending. That's why I think it's so important to keep telling that story about my dad. Those are the values I believe in: dedication, stamina, attention, love. You can apply that to everything in life. Love is the fuel."

You often talk about your parents as if you want to keep them alive with your words.

"Because my mom and dad are the people I've loved most. With them I shared the most important moments, built the most beautiful memories. That loss is enormous. Life has been really fucking tough since they've been gone.

"That's what grabs me so much in this period. How many people have died of corona in Belgium?"

According to Google, today, on the day of the interview, the counter stands at almost 14,000 deaths.

"Fourteen thousand! Imagine how many people that has an impact on? How many people have suddenly lost their mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or neighbor? Behind those figures lie tens of thousands of poignant stories, of people who see a loved one torn from their lives. That is a mountain of unresolved grief, and far too little attention is paid to it."

Earlier during our conversation a guy had walked past coughing and maskless. It pissed Schoenaerts off: "And whining about masks or strict measures. Grow some fucking balls. Having to say goodbye to a loved one, that's the worst thing."

"Isn't that what this period teaches us? That our time here is limited? And what really counts in life: sharing moments of beauty with the people you hold most dear. All the rest is wallpaper. Having success, making movies, that's all fun. But the day you lie on your deathbed, you really don't think about the professional successes on your resume. No way."

[2manyfandoms2count]

You can count on me (I will be there for you)

@sallteas art has been living in my mind rent free for a while, turns out my exams were the catalyst for me to actually start writing a fic inspired by it. Priorities, right?

This first chapter is a little sappy and melodramatic, but I hope you’ll enjoy nonetheless!

Read on AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3

---

Chapter 1

Marinette stares at her reflection in the full-length mirror, fiddling with her dress gloves. Her veil falls elegantly from her updo and rests on her bare upper back; it tickles her a little. No matter how real the fabric feels against her skin, though, it’s like she’s looking at somebody else.

The woman staring back at her is beautiful, in what seems like an effortless way. She knows better, though; she spent her morning swarmed by hair and makeup artists, and she has to say, the result is truly phenomenal. Never, in a million realities, would she have expected to look as much like a princess as she does now. Her wedding dress is a true work of art; a strapless, ivory ball-gown, cut in the smoothest silk faille on the market, and, incidentally, a perfect recreation of what she’s always dreamed of. 

In fact, the whole wedding is straight out of her teenage daydreams, down to the man she’ll be joining at the altar in less than an hour. Adrien has been so good about accommodating her wishes. Everybody was already saying it would be the wedding of the century before the details had even been settled.

As she observes herself, she knows that she should be happy. 

Then why does it all feel so wrong?

She tries smiling at her image, but it doesn’t sit right on her face. There are just too many thoughts swirling in her mind for it to look genuine. 

Her first concern is the plan. Just a month, which feels like eons, ago, it had seemed like a good idea. Ladybug and Chat Noir had been happily dating for a little over a year, they were confident about defeating Hawkmoth and Mayura. Everything felt right in the world. They had plans for the future. She’d felt unstoppable.

That was before her world had crumbled. 

She wasn’t sure when or where it had happened. What she did know was that someone had caught her in her transformation. 

She didn’t know who they were, or what they wanted, but something told her they were up to no good. They wouldn’t have used butterfly-themed stationary to contact her otherwise. 

They wouldn’t have sounded so ominous, either. 

I know. An envelope on her way to work had read.

Didn’t think I’d spot you, did you? Another, stuck in her mail.  

You’re a little careless, for a hero of international renown. This one on her balcony.

It had been difficult to continue to pretend it was all a coincidence.

She’d had no other choice than to reveal her identity with Chat Noir. Not only did he deserve to know, but she needed someone to share her increasing fear with. Someone to help her come up with a plan. And who better than her partner, in all senses of the term?

The gripping feeling in her stomach hadn’t even let her enjoy how happy he’d been to learn who she was. And passed his initial reaction of picking her up and spinning her around, his lips finding hers in the process, his face had lost all exhilaration. Her words had kicked in, and he'd cursed. A lot. 

Especially when she’d admitted she’d feel safer with protection.

He’d immediately volunteered -of course he had- but she’d turned him down as a long term solution. It broke her heart, but they couldn’t live that way. And she refused to know who he was. Not like this.

Even years later, Master Fu’s fate was still too fresh a memory; she didn’t want to have to resort to giving up her memories of Chat Noir, of them, if she could help it.

He’d paced around a little, lost in thought, before stopping in front of her, fever in his eyes.

I have a solution, he’d said quietly. You might not like it.

She’d listened as he’d told her how Adrien Agreste, the boy she’d once loved, now a friend she saw every once in a while, owed him a favour. How dating him, and marrying him, could solve their problem. He couldn’t go anywhere without a bodyguard. He was sure he’d do the necessary for her to get one as well. It wouldn't seem conspicuous at all.

She’d felt her heart tear in her chest at the idea of marrying somebody else than the man who stood before her. He’d told her it would be alright, though, and she’d believed him. Was there any other choice, anyway?

Even now, standing in a suite of the small castle she and Adrien are getting married in -a real royal wedding-, she can’t think of a better solution.

As she smooths her skirt, her thoughts drift to Adrien. He’d been so good to her. But why was he so onboard with the plan? He’d been all in from their first meeting. He’d orchestrated their whirlwind romance perfectly, pulling all the stops. Their very mediatised outings in the most romantic places in Paris. Whisking her away to Venice for a weekend. The interviews, in which he described their love was “meant to be”. Everybody had fallen for it, even their closest friends. It was no secret Marinette had had feelings for him, and he’d confessed to Nadja Chamack that he’d loved her as well when they were in collège. And seeing each other years later, after losing touch a little, had made it dawn upon them that their feelings had never really left.

The proposal had been the cherry on top. He’d privatised the Trocadéro, from the esplanade to the Iéna bridge, hired a private Chef, musicians, tipped off the paparazzi. Doves had flown when he’d gotten on one knee. They’d slow-danced in the gardens to "their" melody.

She’d done her best to conceal her tears as they did. It had all been so beautiful. But what if it didn’t work out?

She and Adrien were friends, sure. He was close with Chat Noir, by the look of things. What had her partner done for him to owe him such a huge favour? Why was he accepting to marry her, knowing that her heart belonged to someone else? She knew his did, too.

And a few moments before the ceremony, it still wasn’t too late for him to back down. 

Marinette bites her lip as she thinks about Chat Noir. And jumps as she hears a small tap on her window. 

She turns around in time to see the black-gloved hand retreat from the pane, and her heart soars. They weren’t kidding when they said they were in sync. It was like he could read her mind, and know exactly when to show up for her.

She looks outside. Chat Noir is leaning on the folded shutters, softly humming to himself as he looks out onto the garden that stretches out behind the castle. He doesn’t look at her directly when she opens the window for him, but he definitely smiles.

“Hi m’la-” he doesn’t have time to finish his greeting. She pulls him inside and closes the curtains behind him. 

“You can’t be seen lurking around, we don’t know who’s watching.” She searches for his eyes, but they keep escaping. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it gently. “Hey, is everything okay?” 

He finally looks up, and his eyes fill with warmth as he takes in her appearance.

“You look stunning, my Lady.” He breathes as she resumes her tugging at her gloves.

Having Chat Noir with her soothes her, but it also highlights just how wrong the situation is. As much as she knows how necessary this all is, she can't forget that he is the person she wants to be with. It takes all her willpower for tears not to spill out.

He notices, of course.

“Why is my lady looking so glum on her wedding day?” He teases, coming behind her and resting his head on her bare shoulder. He’s looking at his bride’s reflection. Does it really count as seeing her?...

She turns around and looks at him sternly. “You can’t call me your lady anymore, I’m getting married!”

“Oh yeah, my apologies.” He smiles; he doubts he’ll ever be able to drop the habit, although he knows that he really should, lest he slips up as Adrien. As her husband. His heart flutters at the thought, and he’s so distracted by it he almost misses her next words.

“What if… what if he changes his mind at the altar?” Marinette’s voice is barely above a whisper, but her eyes are full of worry. 

Fuck, she’s cute, what do I even say to her? Chat Noir’s heart skips a beat, and he’s tempted to come clean to her there and then. It’s me, Adrien Agreste, Chat Noir, whatever, you could call me anything you desire, I’d answer. My heart is yours, it has been since the first day we met. Nothing, absolutely nothing, you hear me? would make me say no at the altar. I’d never do that to you.

It takes a minute for him to battle his instincts, during which he twirls her around and takes her in his arms. He feels her shake a little as she sobs against his chest. 

He hates having to hide information from her, especially this one. Everything would be so much easier if he didn’t have to. She wouldn’t be so miserable on her wedding day, their wedding day, for one.

“Hey.” He tilts her chin up lightly, and wipes the tears off her cheeks with his thumb. “He won’t. I… I was just with him, before I came to check on you. He wants you to be safe. You’re his… friend. Not to mention, the saviour of Paris. He says it’s a pleasure to help.”

She sighs. “What about the girl he loves?”

“It’ll work out, don’t worry.” Chat Noir represses a smile.

“What about you?” Marinette looks so anguished at the thought that he may be suffering that it’s difficult for him not to kiss her. 

“What about me? Are you worried I won’t still want to marry you after the whole situation is over and we can be together in peace? I’m not that shallow, you know.” His eyes twinkle mischievously. “Unless,” he gasps theatrically, “you’re worried you’ll fall for Adrien again!” He points at her accusingly, although his grin says otherwise.

Marinette lets out a little chuckle, the first since he’s arrived. He’s so grateful for the sound. “I promise I’m not.” She cups his cheek and brushes her thumb against the rim of his mask. “I like Adrien very much, and he’s been very sweet, but somehow my heart seems to prefer a questionable cat boy to a respectable model.”

“His loss.” Or not, he thinks as he kisses the palm of her hand.

“You’re staying for the ceremony, right? As your civilian self?”

“You can count on me to keep an eye on you two. I promise I’ll tackle Adrien if he tries to make a run for it.” He winks. He backtracks when he sees the panic in her eyes. “Joke aside, I paw-mise everything will be fine. And that I’ll always be there for you. Never doubt that.”

Marinette blushes as they stare into each other’s eyes. 

I love you, they both think, but don’t say. Now is not the time.

“Marinette?” There’s a knock on the door as Sabine calls for her. “It’s nearly time to go, can I come in?” 

“Uh, yeah, just a second!” Marinette jumps away from Chat Noir and checks the lock of her room is closed. 

She then walks over to him, he has already opened the window to leave. He smiles and kisses her forehead tenderly before backing away.

“See you later, my Lady. I know, I know, I shouldn’t call you that.” He throws his hands up before she can protest the nickname. “But I like to think that you’ll be my Lady until you say yes to Agreste.” 

And even that won’t change anything, they both think as they part ways.

[busybby]

hello everyone! no one asked for this but notion is now my guilty pleasure so i wanted to join in on creating some notion content (you have no idea how much time i've spent watching notion youtube videos, on notiontwt, and messing with my own notion). honestly i wasn't able to find a notion setup or template that i felt was perfect for me and it took me a long time to acknowledge this and be okay with it (lol this sounds so dramatic). i wanted to use it because it seemed so helpful, but for so long it was so frustrating. i'd spend so much time trying to make it work and then never return to any pages i set up. ultimately, i had to be very intentional about notion: what i wanted to use it for, how often i wanted to use it, etc. the problem was that i felt too overwhelmed to try to just make a set up from scratch. that being said, in this post i'm going to go over not only my own set up but how i got to it.

i actually found notion via @noodledesk​ back in the spring! their posts and set up inspired me to start researching and watching youtube videos. at this point i was just using notion's built in templates. i wanted to make them more personalized, but i was still confused about notion so it didn't go well and i eventually abandoned them. then, over the summer, i rediscovered noodledesk's task prioritization template and began using that. i ended up using it for a longggg time, probably from july to october! i altered it a teeny bit and over time added a few things to personalize it more. here's a pic of how it looks as of the last time i used it!

as you can see it's basically a big grid organized by days and amount of time the task will require. there's some less organized stuff at the bottom and on top is my morning routine, a random motivational picture, a quote i like, and links to things i use daily like my google calendar.

this set up worked really well for me over the summer when i had absolutely no structure in my life, but once i was back in school and working two jobs, i found i don't need so much help prioritizing my tasks but rather a big space for me to see everything. and when i say everything, i mean literally everything.

around this time, i discovered notiontwt (notion twitter) and found sooo many beautiful spreads! they were so cute and inspired me a lot. this is one set up i attempted to use (i especially liked the weekly spread) and this is one that i made myself using a 'pack' of graphics as a kind of theme.

like i said the graphics (header and calendar) are from the artist i linked above. the fanart of harry styles is by this artist. also just something that i think is important and could be a helpful reminder is to always put sources/artists for any images or art you include at the bottom of your pages! even if you're the only one seeing the page!! also of course ask if the image is okay to use!

so i tried to use that spread for october and again... it was abandoned. i also was using it in conjunction with the priority page and an 'assignments masterlist' database i have but things were just not working. i think this is the point that i decided that i would just be creative, let things flow, and do what i wanted. i took pieces from set ups that i liked, made my own little pieces, and added them to a blank page that i titled 'my brain.' 'my brain' really helped to free up my mind. calling it that made me center the page on myself and only use things that i liked and that worked for me (& ignore all the aesthetic stuff i was seeing). i felt free to delete some things and add others even if i didn't know exactly how i wanted them to look or function. in addition, i even added a little section to that page where i wrote, "i want this to be a space of fluid exploration so i can move things around as i figure out what works best for me," as a reminder of what that page was meant to be. i also started bulking up my 'essentials page' which i'll go through another time, but it was important in creating this page and keeping it focused on my daily needs.

going into this 'project' there were a few elements i knew i liked from things i'd tried and things i'd seen. these were: images, a grid layout (from noodledesk's priority page), a full page, quotes, organization by weekday. so, the first thing i did was make these elements in my page. then i arranged them into a layout that i liked (loosely inspired by, again, noodle desk): list on the left, image on the right. this is what it looked like:

at the top, there is a callout that says "today" and it's meant to overview everything that should be in my head on that particular day or... every day. underneath there are three columns, one for tasks (check list), one for events and random thoughts (reminders) and one for general inspiration. the inspiration column has the callout with the goal of the page that i already discussed, a painting by my favorite artist, and a quote that i liked from a book i've read recently.

underneath all of that is more of a future look-ahead. i have a grid-style weekly planner and then a linked database that i use every day. i learned how to make this database from @blacklinguist​‘s post.and under all that i just have some other stuff.

so this is basically what i began working with! since, i've added sub sections to organzize my to-do list, a goal section, and a cute picture next to my weekly grid. i just added these as they came to me. for example, i wanted to do this one reading challenge but I always forget about goals because i put them deep into other pages and then forget about them. so i made a section on my main page for them!

also if it's important, the assignments masterlist is sorted by due date, but in the weekly grid i put the tasks under the day that they're due. so you can see my falling man reading is due on dec.1, but i need to actually do it before then so in the weekly grid it's under the monday heading (and tuesday but that's because i doubt i'll finish it monday). i also try to add the dates of the week to those headings so i don't get confused but usually i forget. i at least try to bold the current day. random note but that's one thing i had trouble with in a lot of the templates i was trying before. they usually only organized things by due or 'do' date, but my brain really requires both so i made sure to include that here. BUT i wasn't aware of that before. i honestly just put that into words and realized it now. that's why it's important to just add absolutely anything that you think might help you even a little bit. anywho, here it is in its current state:

and that's pretty much it! another time i can go over the other pages i use, but this is my version of what a lot of notion users call a dashboard and this is what I've put the most effort into making work for me. i hope this helps you in some way whether it's using this format exactly, taking some inspiration, or just realizing that notion is super flexible and can work for you (even if it's intimidating right now). also i'm so sorry if this is overwhelming but i think it's super satisfying lol. let me know if you have any questions or ideas and please message me about notion because i love talking about it.

[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry 2020 Master List

Dear lovely Participants, Creators, Alpha and Beta Readers, Commentors, Cheerleaders, Readers and Fans of our fest,

Our 2nd installment of LCDrarry is coming to an end, and we'd like to thank you all for taking part in our little fest, for creating so many amazing new Drarry works for us all to enjoy, for commenting on your favourite creations, for sharing and recommending the LCDrarry gems with your friends and blog followers, and for making this fest another amazing experience for us mods.

We hope we could bring you some joy and diversion in these trying times and send you lots of love, strength and perseverance wherever you are :*

Under the cut, you can find out who created what ;D The works are listed in the order they posted during the fest.

Happy reading & squeeing & don’t forget to follow your favourite creators!

~Your LCDrarry Mods Tami @celilasart​ and Suzi @erin-riwen​

PS: Reblogs are very much appreciated <3

***

Love, Actually, is All Around

Prompt: #180 | "Love, Actually" - 2003 - Richard Curtis Author: punk_rock_yuppie Word Count: 9,975 words Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Wizarding Politics, Discriminiation, Slight power imbalance

Summary: It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco happens to work in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

Read "Love, Actually, is All Around" now on AO3.

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Drarry on Ice

Prompt: #150 | '"Yuuri!!! On Ice" - 2016 - Series Artist: RunningOutsideTheLines Art Medium: Traditional Art Rating: General Warnings: none

Summary: Harry and Draco find love on the ice. I love Yuuri on Ice and Harry and Draco seem like such a perfect fit for Victor and Yuuri. I'll leave it up to your imagination as far as which is which. This image is from the final scene when the two of them do a exhibition skate together.

View "Drarry on Ice" now on AO3.

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Boats, but Not the Ocean

Prompt: #203 | "Groundhog Day" - 1993 - Harold Ramis Author: p1013 Word Count: 15,551 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Very minor mention of suicide, some mild horror

Summary: If Draco ever gets his hands on this Bill Murray character, he's going to kill him.

Read "Boats, but Not the Ocean" now on AO3.

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When I Put My Eyes On You

Prompt: #193 | "The Way He Looks" - 2014 - Daniel Ribeiro Author: Zzzara Word Count: 31,155 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Summary: When a hero defeats a villain, there's supposed to be a happily-ever-after... but when did anything ever happen to Harry Potter the way it was supposed to? Having sacrificed himself to the greater good, Harry is left alone in the darkness, blindly groping for the shreds of the life he knew. When the enemies meet, how is the story supposed to go, once they learn there's more to it than the eye can see? A story of pain, hope and things we discover, once we stop looking for them with our eyes.

Read "When I Put My Eyes On You" now on AO3.

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Spellbound

Prompt: #113 | "Overboard" - 1987 - Garry Marshall Author: mortenavida Word Count: 15,878 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Amnesiac Draco Malfoy, Widowed Harry Potter, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Dub-Con due to Amnesia (Only Kissing)

Summary: It’s been years since Harry left with Ginny to get away from the bad memories of war. The small town of Elk Cove, Oregon, had been a perfect place to raise their children. Now widowed, Harry works hard to make sure his children never want for anything. When an old rival steps into his life, everything changes and Harry finds the perfect opportunity to get back at Malfoy for everything the Slytherin did to him -- if he doesn’t regret falling for him first.

Read "Spellbound" now on AO3.

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Of Labcoats and Animagi

Prompt: #97 | "Queer Eye" - 2017 - Series Author: meandminniemcg Word Count: 10,868 words Rating: Mature Warnings: mention of past abuse, panic attack (tw at beginning of chapter, can be skipped)

Summary: Fashion icon Draco? That's long past. After the war, he never bought any new clothes and lives in his labcoats. When he doesn't feel confident enough to meet his pen friend Prongs in real life, Luna decides to stage an intervention with a little help from the Fab Five.

Read "Of Labcoats and Animagi" now on AO3.

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Title of Their Sex Tape

Prompt: #112 | "Brooklyn Nine Nine" - 2013 - Series Author: Cibee Word Count: 12,428 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: None

Summary: What are the Wizarding world's most elite law enforcers doing when they aren't catching criminals? It seems Auror Malfoy is often caught throwing food into Auror Potter's mouth when he's mid-yawn. This story isn't about Draco throwing food at Harry. What it does have is: Undercover! Heists! Draco pining for Harry! Harry being oblivious, but also can't help noticing how good Draco smells! Banters and jokes! That's about it.

Read "Title of Their Sex Tape" now on AO3.

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Harry Potter and the Beast

Prompt: #204 | "Beauty and the Beast" - 1991 - Gary Trousdale Author/Artist: Miakagrewup Word Count/Art Medium: 5,655 words/31 illustrated pages Rating: General Warnings: None

Summary: Arrogant prince Draco is cursed to live as a terrifying beast until he finds true love. This fairy tale consists of 31 fully illustrated pages.

Read "Harry Potter and the Beast" now on AO3.

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So Open Up My Eyes, Tell Me I'm Alive

Prompt: #191 | "Secret Garden" - 1993 - Agnieszka Holland Author: mycucumbereyes Word Count: 12,865 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: trauma, canon typical violence, homophobia, use of f-g/f----t, mention of suicidal thoughts, character with a disability

Summary: When Draco Malfoy comes to live at Godric’s Hollow, he finds it full of secrets. One night he hears the sound of crying…

Read "So Open Up My Eyes, Tell Me I'm Alive" now on AO3.

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i demand to dig my own grave

Prompt: #10 | "Psych" - 2006 - Series Author: M0stlyVoid Word Count: 20,836 words Rating: Mature Warnings: None

Summary: Draco finds himself in hot water with the Aurors, and in a burst of panicked inspiration manages to wiggle out of it by claiming to be a Seer. There's just one little problem– Senior Auror Harry Potter, the Prat Who Lived, who's known him for a decade, knows full well Draco doesn't have a single psychic bone in his body and seems determined to pull him up for it. Now, the Department is demanding he help them solve cases, Potter's looming over his shoulder at every turn, and worst of all, he hasn't had a shag in weeks because of all this bother. What's a pseudo-Seer to do?

Read "i demand to dig my own grave" now on AO3.

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As You Wish

Prompt: #37 | "The Princess Bride" - 1987 - Rob Reiner Author: Pineau_noir Word Count: 21,917 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Canon-typical (Harry Potter and The Princess Bride) violence, mention of suicide, canon-typical character death

Summary: Draco was raised on a farm in the small country of Witshire; his favourite pastimes were flying on his broom and tormenting the hired farm boy. Though his name was Harry, Draco never called him that. On Harry's forehead there was a scar shaped like a lightning bolt, so Draco called him Scarhead. Nothing gave Draco as much pleasure as ordering Harry around.

Or a story about fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, True Love, and miracles.

Read "As You Wish" now on AO3.

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Queer Eye for the Drarry Guys

Prompt: #97 | "Queer Eye"- 2017 - Series Author: blowfish_diaries Word Count: 18,201 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: none

Summary: Teddy's dads are great! Really! They just need a little push from five *fabulous* gays to get them to see what's right in front of them.

Read "Queer Eye for the Drarry Guys" now on AO3.

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Casecation

Prompt: #112 | "Brooklyn Nine Nine" - 2013 - Series Author: Mfingenius Word Count: 4,293 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: AU, canon-typical discussion of heavy topics, discussion of mpreg

Summary: "Draco Malfoy, I swear to God-” Hermione snaps under her breath, causing Draco to laugh lowly as he ducks under a hanging plant pot. “Draco Potter, ‘Mione,” Harry murmurs with a helpless grin; they’re not really supposed to be speaking – they're walking through the halls of Antonin Dolohov’s beach house, on their way to arrest him – but Harry can’t help marking the difference, even a year after they got married. “Be quiet,” Ginny says, rolling her eyes. “If he hears us and escapes-” Draco signals at them, and they all steel themselves for when he throws the door of the bedroom open. “Shit!”

Read "Casecation" now on AO3.

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Don't Blink!

Prompt: #179 | "Dr Who" - 2007 - Series Author/Artist: Gnarf Art Medium: Digital art Rating: General Warnings: None

Summary: Harry had always had exceptionally bad timing. It's not different this time.

Read "Don't Blink!" now on AO3.

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A Demon and an Angel Visit the Ritz

Prompt: #167 | “Good Omens” - 2019 - Series Artist: ravenclawkward Art Medium: Digital Oil Painting Rating: General Warnings: None

Summary: Harry the demon and Draco the angel just finished saving the world. They've earned their celebration, wouldn't you say?

Read "A Demon and an Angel Visit the Ritz" now on AO3.

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Change on the Horizon

Prompt: #57 | "Shameless (US)" - 2011 - Series Author: static_abyss Word Count: 118,645 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Character with depression, mentions of not wanting to exist and lethargy, though no actual suicide or mentions of suicide. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, specifically not taking prescribed medication for depression. Internalized homophobia, and general homophobia from parental figures, though there is a happy ending. Casual relationships.

Summary: A canon AU drarry fic based on the relationship between Mickey and Ian from Shameless. A story about the aftereffects of the Second Wizarding War and how Draco and Harry come together and break apart over and over. How maybe, somewhere along the way, they find a way to live with themselves.

Read "Change on the Horizon" now on AO3.

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The Thrill of the Chase Moves in Mysterious Ways

Prompt: #192 | "Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries" - 2012 - Series Author: VeelaWings Word Count: 32,569 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Heavy Drinking, Smoking Cigars, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Violence, Gun Violence, Poisoning

Summary:

“Do you have a personal interest in this case, Malfoy?” Harry asked, arms crossed and blocking the view of the body behind him.

“Not at all.” Draco smiled sweetly, cuddled into the side of tonight’s date. “Although I did briefly own that painting until it proved to be stolen.” He helpfully pointed to the Renaissance portrait a few metres to their left.

“Why is it always so complicated with you?”

+++++

Some people might argue that Draco didn’t have very good ideas. That was a lie. Draco had fantastic ideas, however, due to mankind having free will, the planning and execution of those ideas didn’t always pan out in his favor.

(Or — Draco solves crimes that don’t technically belong to him and Harry tries not to fall in love. Co-Starring: Hermione, High Heels, and Hiccups along the way. #dat 1920s lyfe)

Read "The Thrill of the Chase Moves in Mysterious Ways” now on AO3.

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Burn Your Life Down (but look back to me)

Prompt: #202 | Casablanca - 1942 - Michael Curtiz Author: Triggerlil Word Count: 35,910 words Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: Alternate Universe - World War II, Film Noir, Self-Medication, Alcohol, Infidelity (not between Harry and Draco), Smoking, Mention of Slavery and Human Trafficking

Summary:

It's been years since destiny walked into an apartment on Rue Azais, and Harry is over it. Really, he is. He has Blaise, he has his work, and if necessary, he still has his memories. But with the onset of WWII, the foundations of his life are crumbling, and suddenly a certain blond man is walking back into his life, asking Harry to make important, and dangerous, choices.

Read “Burn Your Life Down (but look back to me)” now on AO3.

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Super Rich Kids

Prompt: #24 | "The Bling Ring" - 2013 - Sofia Coppola Author: Thusspoketrish Word Count: 81,000 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Thriller, Murder, Dark Humour, Angst, Depression, Nihilism, Existenialism, Jealousy, Hurt/Comfort, Gaslighting, Very Brief Instance of Suicidal Ideation, Immorality, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence (not between Harry and Draco), Abusive Drug Use, Manipulative Behaviour, Heterosexual Sex, Threesomes, Candaulism, Possible Infidelity Due to Unclear Relationship Status (please read the tags on AO3 carefully, this list is not exhaustive)

Summary:

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Read “Super Rich Kids” now on AO3.

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We Built This Right

Prompt: #48 | "Yuri on ice" - 2016 - Series Author: remy_writes5 Word Count: 15,344 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Homophobic Language, Anxiety, Strained Relationship with Parents

Summary:

At last year's Grand Prix Final, Harry had an accident that left him with a lightning scar on his forehead, a concussion and a twisted ankle. Now everyone is waiting to see if his career is over - including former rival, Draco Malfoy.

Read "We Built This Right” now on AO3.

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Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

[45paperplates]

More about Olivia Rodrigo: On her Lyrics

Starting some time in 2018 or maybe a little earlier, Olivia Rodrigo began to play original songs, or more often pieces of songs, one verse and a chorus, apparently unfinished, for her followers on Instagram Live. She was about fifteen at the time, although one of the more complete songs (“Naive Girl”) can be confirmed to date back to 2014 or 2015, when she was twelve years old. I began to listen to these songs, all but one of which are available to hear conveniently compiled into a single twenty-five minute Youtube video, when my appetite for her music was only beginning to grow to its present size, after I had listened to the album on repeat for a good three or four days straight. They are the kind of thing only obsessive fans can really gush over, something akin to Bob Dylan’s early Minnesota Hotel Tape from 1961: badly recorded and casually created by a young artist who never intended them to be anything more than they are, a fun and easy way to show off their talent at a time when a wellspring of inspiration was already pouring forth with no better available outlet.  

These little pieces, however, establish finally for sure what a major label pop debut with other ambitions, no matter how special it may be, can only hint at, which is that something within her is driving a preternatural attention for detail, currently unmatched in it’s free naturalism, imaginative power, and consistency, only possibly consistent as a result of its being deeply possessed and long established, despite her youth. I have already touched on what I think that something may be in my first post about her. But whatever it is, it is immediately apparent in her performances here, an instinct that had already cemented deeply considered vocalization as her default, as a simple creative necessity, although a few of the earliest recordings have added even another layer of Broadway-like drama that has since been stripped away, I am guessing as a result of the nascent growth of some level of creative confidence.

Songwriting, then, is to some degree shown to be a third result of that engrained ability, after said holistic sincerity and its resultant vocal intuition, and yet a good chunk of the songs are lyrically composed as well with a just as holistically sincere and intuitive affect, presenting very well-understood conundrums, pared down to koan-like solids one would think by years of rumination. A few are, I would dare to say, more tightly constructed and figuratively multivalent than the songs on her album, many of which share their succinctness but not the violently prismatic irony that seems to be able to overpower the sincere creative drive that gave it life in its brightest inspired flashes. “drivers license” in fact excels by flattening that figurative prism into a simpler and more benign shape, allowing the casual listener to both easily understand and retain some wisp of hope in the end, even if it is only implied.

I would not be so stupid as to claim that Olivia intended these best-written of her unreleased bedroom productions to be metaphysical poems somehow toeing the line between classical balance and baroque terror in their meditation on the reciprocal quality of human sin. That would be silly, not because I don’t think a teenager is capable of such a thing (teenagers have, in fact, always been capable of making high art) but because these few songs focus on themes common to all of her songs: teenage insecurity, uncontrollable jealousy, and betrayal both social and self-inflicted. The depth of her imagery comes instead, I think, from an intuitive understanding of where the cultural meat of an issue lies, and when she writes a song her drive craves and so aims for power and gets rid of whatever there is that lacks it. Perhaps working with a co-writer somewhat slows that drive.  

“Pretender” is a song about being “fake” and how it works both outwardly and internally. It’s personification, the “pretender” of the title, is accused, envied, pitied, and ultimately, understood. It moves through four key lines.

Pointing her finger at this automaton, about whom she alone knows the truth, Olivia first wishes vindictively,

If only they knew what I knew.

But then, now envious of the figure, she prays,

I wish I knew what you knew.

Maybe as a result of these two contradictory desires, she is forced to admit with regret that the pretender can only be a fantastic image rather than a full person, a strawman created by her mind to both embody her sublimated desire and reflexively maintain her own superiority when it goes unfulfilled:

I created you to be plastic and deadly.

Finally, in a relentlessly logical conclusion, she must admit, as the construction falls to pieces, that this is obviously all about herself:

I created you to hide my own envy, ... Maybe I’m a pretender like you.

With her catalog in mind, the canonical interpretation is pretty obvious. The pretender is someone who is perfect and happy and Olivia is jealous of that. By the guilt left in the wake of her accusation, she realizes, indeed it should have been quite apparent from the start, that perhaps the person who seems to be happy is actually not happy. She perceives by juxtaposition that maybe others see her, Olivia, the same way, and in a sinking conclusion, perfect happiness, the other’s and hers as well, is shown to be only truly possible in image and never in the fullness of experience. It is a song about the difficult process of empathy and its bitter personal rewards. This interpretation prevails in Youtube comments, specifically in reference to her other songs about the jealousy encouraged by social media. “I’m happy for them, but then again, I’m not.” Maybe Olivia’s own fun and carefree public-facing presence is just as false?

The genius behind this songwriting, however, is that this other person does not need to exist for the song’s structure to function. This is by design, no doubt; she could very well be speaking only to herself the entire time. If Olivia is pretending too, as the final line suggests, then why could she not have been the pretender all along? Indeed, how else could Olivia be the only one who knows “the truth” about this figure in the first place? A personal struggle with identity, that is the meat of it all.

Her first wish for the pretender’s exposure is based in personal remorse, for lying to the world about who she really is. That her own social facade might be justly but violently forced open to expose the truth would be a painful but cathartic release. She makes her second wish as she recoils in the face of such an embarrassing prospect, hoping against reason that maybe it’s somehow all avoidable, that by abandoning any loyalty to the truth and to herself altogether she might in fact achieve the paradise that the pretender affects, soulless but free of the pain of having a soul too. Third is the realization that this is evil, that her desire is sinful, both grotesque and inhuman (“plastic”), and cruel (“deadly”). Fourth and last she can no longer pretend that her original finger-pointing isn't itself the result of this same worldly desire, as narcissistic an attempt at personal redemption as the outward facade is itself. Insecurity and jealousy, no matter how embarrassing or ugly, no more compose an understanding of identity than any more knowingly-constructed and performative self-image, and are just as self-serving in their own twisted way.

So in this song she is deconstructing herself, from outward composure to cryptic narcissism, shattering layer after layer in an alarmingly accelerating regression. Unfortunately, all that is left in the end is what she has done after what she is—performatively, emotionally, intuitively—has fallen away, specifically the intended result of the accusation she threw at the pretender to begin it all: once again, guilt. What else but guilt is exposed now to be the substance left of the human individual? For Olivia, deep down at least, guilt is always the together creator and eraser of human pleasure, the identity that is desire, and the only thing that fears the emptiness that would be left without it.

That a teenager could write such a penetratingly self-critical work is of course impressive, but the fact that guilt, desire, pleasure, happiness, identity, and fear are shown ultimately to be one and the same generative source is far more exciting. Here she exposes the potential versatility of her created and creative ability, that in maturity this raw power without singular definition could be manipulated into many other things completely new, things only Olivia and not I can imagine now.

[vagabondedlife]

Kei Fujiwara’s name is hardly recognizable to most fans of Japanese cinema despite her crucial role in director Shinya Tsukamoto’s early cult classics. As Tsukamoto’s “right hand” woman in the 1980s, Fujiwara became closely involved in his underground theater troupe, Kaijyu Theater, and contributed to the productions of the experimental and DIY films The Phantom of Regular Size (1986), The Adventures of Denchu Kozo (1987), and Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989). Her credits include actress, cinematographer, prop artist, makeup artist, and set-designer (her apartment was used as a primary set). She also engineered Tetsuo’s iconic phallic drill.

Born in Kumamoto in 1957, Fujiwara moved to Tokyo in her early twenties and discovered theater troupe director Jūrō Kara, who became her mentor. After a decade, she created her own troupe called Organ Vital, which underwent a series of evolutions but remains her life work. Her new project this year is Ibunkitan, a form of micro-nomadic theater, whose kanji characters mean “strange-listen-machine-story.” A private person now living in the reclusive mountains of Nagano, Fujiwara rarely gives interviews, but seemed excited to talk about her rarely discussed directorial debut, Organ (1996).

An avant-garde exploration of violence, pain and pleasure with an operatic amount of coagulated blood and extrasomatic body horror, Organ follows two detectives after they break into an organ harvester’s warehouse and collide with yakuza gangsters, a drugged doctor, and his eye-patch wearing sister Yoko, played by Fujiwara herself, who also produced and wrote the film. A cherished work among hardcore fans of Japanese cult cinema, Organ is still ripe for rediscovery. The film’s offerings of a full-bodied sensorial experience and an abusive questioning of cruelty prove tirelessly relevant.

Fujiwara’s work was recently revived at FFFest in New York City with a double feature of Tetsuo: The Iron Man and Organ. Fujiwara prepared a special statement that was shared as an introduction. Following the screening, we had the opportunity to speak to the artist about her life, practice, and ideals in more depth. The conversation was held over the phone in Japanese.

NOTEBOOK: Is Ibunkitan a new Organ Vital?

KEI FUJIWARA: Yes, it’s a new Organ Vital. When I was young, I lived in the rural area. I always just read theater but never had the opportunity to see state-of-the-art theater. When I was in high school, I was always reading, and I picked up an Antonin Artaud book that featured this French term. It meant the vessels of life. When translated to English, I’m told it just becomes, “vitals of organ,” or something, but in Japanese it is called gozōroppu and to me signifies the corporal. That’s the name of my theater company, and it has always been that for me. Born into this three-dimensional world with bodies, we sense and express. That’s what’s interesting in life. Ibunkitan can be done in a very small space. We’ve done it in temples, in the corner of a shop, in salons. Our first performance was in March, and we’re planning to do another in November. We've been invited to perform my new Jomon-inspired piece in a live-house in the mountains in Nagano, so we’re preparing some woodwork for that now.

NOTEBOOK: You were working in Shinya Tsukamoto’s Kaijyu Theater production between working with Jūrō Kara?

FUJIWARA: Jūrō Kara, my mentor—when I was in Jōkyō Gekijo [Situation Theatre], he took a liking to me and wrote roles for me. A lot happened, and Kara said he would make a new troupe with me, but I had other plans, so I left once, and he said, “As my mentee, you can leave but wait for me to come get you.” That’s when I went to work with Shinya Tsukamoto on his plays and films. It was after Tetsuo: The Iron Man [1989] that Kara started the new troupe “Kara-gumi” and I returned to work with him.

NOTEBOOK: How was it that you began working with Tsukamoto?

FUJIWARA: I had just left Kara and after a while a friend said that Tsukamoto was looking for someone to act in his plays. He was Tsukamoto’s classmate and an actor, and he made the introduction. I found Tsukamoto interesting and talented. So, I began working diligently as his right hand after that.

NOTEBOOK: I wanted to ask you about Tsukamoto’s 1987 film, The Adventures of Denchu Kozo.

FUJIWARA: Denchu Kozo and Tetsuo were actually both shot in my apartment where I was living at the time. You know all those cats? I couldn’t rent a normal apartment, so I had to live in a cheap nagaya tenement house on the verge of getting demolished. I just needed a place to live that permitted pets. Denchu Kozo and Tetsuo’s interior shots are all at my place.

NOTEBOOK: Are the scenes projected in the TV monitor in Tetsuo from Denchu Kozo?

FUJIWARA: Yes. They’re from Denchu Kozo.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: What turned you onto making Organ, if you were always only interested in theater?

FUJIWARA: That was because of my experience filmmaking with Tsukamoto. It prepared me for how arduous it would be. Theater is an impermanent art, and that’s why it’s such a luxurious art form. But film is like capturing a world in a crystal ball. The joy of creating film is like making your own universe. My staff members at the time— six men other than myself—were all talented, and I thought, “Everyone’s here, why don’t I just make it?” So, all the staff also became the actors, and that’s how we started filming. But it was so difficult at first. We used the atelier space we had and reformed it over and over and shot it like that. It was time-consuming. It became the warehouse set, the school set. It kept on transforming. We did it all in the same space.

NOTEBOOK: That seems like a very theatrical way of using space.

FUJIWARA: Yes.

NOTEBOOK: But first, you started writing it?

FUJIWARA: Yes, I first started writing it. I’m actually not very good at planning. I just think that if I put my mind to it, I can make it happen. So I wrote the script, and had the staff pool in their savings. Between the seven of us we had 200,000 yen, so I thought, “Great, if we have 200,000 yen and one reel of film is 5,000 yen, and even if we bought lights, we can make 30 minutes of footage.” As for the equipment, there are countless aspiring-filmmaker boys who have camera equipment lying around collecting dust, so we borrowed from them. As for the set, we were all used to making it for our theater. We were good at foraging free stuff to make things. That warehouse set in the beginning of Organ was made with an extremely cheap budget. Then we started filming. All those organs in that scene were worked from what was supposed to be our dinner for the day [laughs]. We used real food. We took some gelatin- and konjac-noodles and thought, “This can look like veins!”

NOTEBOOK: And then you had it for dinner?

FUJIWARA: Well, we ended up not being able to, because it was covered in fake blood! It was all about how little money we could spend and still make something, which was a valuable lesson for me.

NOTEBOOK: You’ve mentioned the Kenji Miyazawa poem, Ame ni mo makezu1.

FUJIWARA: Yes, I just really like Kenji Miyazawa. I like the way he thinks, and his philosophy. He’s a Buddhist, and as I haven’t studied Buddhism properly, I cannot say for sure, but I think his seimeikan, or view of life, is on par with that of Osamu Tezuka. Osamu Tezuka and Kenji Miyazawa are two gods with the same perspective regarding seimeikan. No matter how great their art is, Yoshihide Otomo and Hayao Miyazaki can never reach Osamu’s level. Osamu’s core is love. There’s only love. The way they think about life is totally different. I was reading manga before I was literate [laughs]. I like Osamu Tezuka, but also Sanpei Shirato. And in my teens, I liked Daijiro Morohoshi. He’s an extremely interesting person.

NOTEBOOK: Do you think that your films need to be discovered?

FUJIWARA: They need to lock in perfectly with someone’s desire to watch it, or else watching it has no meaning. It just appears as a confusing, grotesque film.

NOTEBOOK: Please tell us about your make up and special effects.

FUJIWARA: Since Tetsuo, my method is always the same. I don’t have any background knowledge of special effect makeup. I just have a gut feeling of what can and can’t be used. Tsukamoto had these drawing storyboards for Tetsuo, like the steel body and the drill penis. For the latter, Tsukamoto just wanted to make something simple and said it would be enough if we could just pretend like it was moving, but I thought it would only be interesting if it actually moved. I didn’t have any hi-tech skills, so I thought, “That’s it!” I took the nearest working electric fan, dissembled it down to its core, used all the rubber and tape I had at home, sprayed it up and got it to go, vroom [laughs]! It was the same for Organ. I used household products, mostly kitchenware.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: What about your cinematography?

FUJIWARA: I had no background knowledge. The first time I started shooting was on Tsukamoto’s set. A lot of people who graduated film school and wanted to help were there, but Tsukamoto didn’t trust any of them. Just because you have technique doesn’t mean you can shoot well. He thought that the person wielding the camera needs a certain amount of power, of energy. So I, who had never touched a camera in my life, was given the camera and told where to press to get it rolling, and shot all of the scenes Tsukamoto was in.

NOTEBOOK: Do you still shoot with a camera lately?

FUJIWARA: Rarely.

NOTEBOOK: As the occasion for this screening was FFFest, Female Filmmakers Festival, could you comment about your experience as a female filmmaker?

FUJIWARA: Something men don’t have—there are two types: female filmmakers who focus their perspective on their immediate surroundings and daily lives, and those who focus on creating a worldview from the even more intimate bodily perspective. That’s what’s a little different from male filmmakers. Even in theater, most female directors write familial narratives, although I don’t [laughs].

NOTEBOOK: The podcast Ladies Horror Night, on the occasion of this screening, recorded an episode that raised the question of why you, a female filmmaker, didn’t include more female characters. I’m not sure about this pressure for female filmmakers to represent female subjects, as I think there’s power in the female filmmaker re-writing the male-centric story. Can you speak on this and how you came to write the police story in Organ?

FUJIWARA: When I think about seimeikan—our view of life—it appears to me that the moral judgment of good versus bad is not something universal, but just a rule that protects our lifestyle in society. It’s a regulation. We make regulations to protect ourselves. That takes the form of “good” and “evil.” But that’s not the good and evil that holds ground in nature. Animals kill other animals for their own predation, right? Humans, too, in the context of war, can kill other humans and become heroes. The concept of zen-aku, or the notion of good and evil, is just a societal regulation. The police represent upholders of this regulation. And then there are those who defy this regulation, who lie in a realm completely different from this conventional morality. Organ is a clash between these two groups. That’s how I formed the police narrative. As for why there are few female characters, well… In the case of females, expressing them requires—for many, not all—a focus on the micro world, the micro perspective, that is, if you pay attention to their priorities. In other words, if you have a goal and you want to finish something, but she says she needs to take a bath at this certain time and cannot participate, there’s nothing you can do. In my theater, only men can keep up with me. Because of this standpoint, if a woman were to express a woman, she would need to create a micro world. But when describing a police story, a macro worldview, the direction would lose focus.

NOTEBOOK: It would become more internal?

FUJIWARA: Right. That’s why there aren’t as many female characters. But the wife of Numata represents the reality for women. And also the female teacher who approaches the criminal but gets killed. Woman participated in this way. But it’s hard for them to take leading parts for the narrative. It’s hard to let them be there and have their perspective be represented, because their perspective is in a different dimension.

NOTEBOOK: What about the character you play, Yoko?

FUJIWARA: Yoko is outside of that realm. She’s an outlier. She doesn’t represent family or the household or the joy of daily life, because she didn’t enjoy any of those things. That’s why she can exist there.

NOTEBOOK: How did you direct your actors in Organ, was it different from how you usually direct them in theater?

FUJIWARA: It’s the same. The only direction I gave them in Organ was that they only get one shot. I don’t give actors multiple takes. If there’s a camera or equipment problem that requires another take or two, I’ll do it. But I won’t do it for the actor. The actor has one chance, the take. But, on the offhand that the actor makes a mistake and requires a take two, I tell them they need to buy their own film roll. That was the rule. So, no one ever made a single mistake. They were all dead serious, completely focused. They’re all broke and have no money to buy film.

NOTEBOOK: In that sense it’s theatrical.

FUJIWARA: Right, and I had one actress tell me that that it was brilliant. She said, “I do lots of work for TV and film, but everyone is so lukewarm and they do take after take, and think about it so leniently. But there’s none of that here. The one take is the real thing.”

NOTEBOOK: So, that urgency was good for the actors?

FUJIWARA: Right. They said they couldn’t afford to buy their own film.

NOTEBOOK: If you give theater actors the same direction for film, how does that work? The performances in Organ don’t come off as exaggerated; I doubt a viewer without knowing would assume they are all theater actors.

FUJIWARA: There’s no difference. In theater, my scripts are like music scores. The lines come out and dance, modulate, sing, calling on the innate sensation playing the instrument that is yourself on stage. The actor, with this music-score-as-script, has a multitude of possibilities of how to play it. In film, the scripted character is a part of the environment. They are simply material for the scene. I didn’t need to explain this to them, they naturally just became materials for the scene.

Above: Organ

NOTEBOOK: That’s a good transition into my next question: can you talk about your music and sound design direction?

FUJIWARA: Music is difficult. What I say doesn’t get across, because I was working with new people. They hadn’t even seen any of my theater. I like German bands, something strong and hard. But even if they mimic the Germans, the Japanese can’t avoid making music that doesn’t sound soft and weak. One day I said, “Make it more powerful, something that alludes to the power of nature, more animalistic and sturdily-built,” and they said, “Okay.” The demo they brought to me literally had animal sounds, like elephants wailing and dogs barking, and I was like, “…That’s not what I meant” [laughs]. It didn’t get across. But there were some interesting sound bites that I could use. But Japanese band musicians can’t get over their own softness. I think what they have is different.

NOTEBOOK: So you’re not happy with the results?

FUJIWARA: Well, I’m the type of person that thinks, que sera, sera. So I wasn’t satisfied, but…

NOTEBOOK: You’ve mentioned that you a very easily scared person. But in Tetsuo and Organ, your characters say, “I won’t be afraid.” How do you interpret this difference?

FUJIWARA: When I came to Tokyo in my twenties, the first theater directors I met said they’d never met anyone as weak and sensitive as myself. They didn’t think I could live on a few years longer, much less do theater, and that I might find myself drugged up in a brothel in the near future. Kara was the only person that ever said to me that I was the strongest person he’d met. In other words, the fear and strength that I have appears to others as a weakness that can barely withstand life, but it’s just my highly sensitive nature they see. In actuality, I’m very strong. I feel very easily, so that seems weak, but my capacity for empathy is just very large. I feel others’ pain and sadness so strongly that I throw up thinking about them. That’s why I don’t watch TV or read the newspaper. Or else I would be crying all day [laughs].

NOTEBOOK: Watching Organ feels like you’re making the audience feel this extreme pain you describe.

FUJIWARA: Yes, that’s the result of the film. My second film, ID [2005], is even more so.

NOTEBOOK: In addition to fear and pain, pleasure is another large theme. After the screening, someone told me your film was grotesque but something about it was so pleasurable. How do you maintain that balance?

FUJIWARA: I think humans, in order to live, can’t cut those away from existence. If you deny desire, you’re not human. The existence of such things causes our misery, too. Thus, desire and slaughter are inescapable. My fear and sorrow regarding this, and my questioning what are they anyway. That’s what I wanted to portray.

NOTEBOOK: What’s interesting about your portrayal of violence is that Yoko uses the gun as a weapon but doesn’t shoot from it. The one time she tries to shoot at her father, it wasn’t loaded. She mostly hits with it.

FUJIWARA: When I act a role, it needs to be real for me to imagine it. I can’t shoot a gun just like that. I need to feel it. Whenever I do something I feel a corporal build-up that can’t just be released by shooting away.

NOTEBOOK: Shooting it would be too easy?

FUJIWARA: An action needs to be taken. The body and the heart are connected. It’s not that easy.

NOTEBOOK: What was the biggest challenge in shooting Organ?

FUJIWARA: The most difficult challenge was the first scene, in the warehouse. When the doctor and yakuza fend off the police while trying to dissect the man. That shoot was in the middle of summer, but we had to close off the warehouse because it was a night scene. It was hot, smelly, only men, and everyone’s body odor was suffocating the room. That was really difficult. At the time there were seven of us, and now there are three of us, just Takahashi, Mori and I. In Organ, all the actors take on multiple roles. Whenever they weren’t onscreen they were doing lights or shooting. We shot it scene by scene in order. I remember towards the end of the film, during the scene in the tunnel, when my role Yoko comes in on a bike and there’s a fighting scene, we couldn’t get a permit to shoot. We were able to shoot outside the tunnel on the road but not inside. But I badly wanted to shoot inside so we went at midnight, and the characters got all bloody and we were shooting, and the police came. They thought it was a real yakuza fight and took off the safety on their pistols and were about to shoot at us. We thought we were done for. The character Yasuda, who later falls into the ditch and gets stabbed with a Japanese sword, was responsible for getting the permits and he had all the documents on him. So, he came out from the ditch all bloody and with a sword in him, screaming, “We’re shooting a film!” terrifying the police even more. While he was negotiating with them we finished shooting the scene. The police just told us to be safe and left, but it was all thanks to him for putting his life on the line. We really thought we were going to get shot. Usually film shoots have large crews and it’s obvious, but in our case, all the crew were also the actors, so it was hard to tell, and the lights were hidden.

NOTEBOOK: What about the camera?

FUJIWARA: Yes, but it was a small 16mm Scoopic, and the police were so focused on the bloody actors they didn’t notice it. The police were terrified, but it was a great location and I just needed to shoot there no matter what.

[marcsundar]

The Indie Contemplation

At one am I decided not to write a short story. Plenty of reasons so, I decided to put down the pen and forget about it.

What story could I tell? I mean; that has not been told before? There is no originality left in the world.

There is merely so much regurgitation of the same story template one can fathom. And as an author of tales, there is only so much of the same shit I can commit to a page without feeling completely guilty for doing so. I have a responsibility not to write The Reciprocal Verse (albeit in different words) and pawn it to a new, research-lazy generation.

I decided not to write a short story – due to the fact that I am unassumingly average. There are many writers out there and although I have read many authors who I, in my categorically biased opinion, are significantly worse than I am; I have certainly read better. More successful, patient and learned people. I suspect that my average, mediocre and ordinary tales will simply be another internet shelf product of vast median. Nothing terribly benign; though nor el spectacular neither.

I decided not to write a short story due to the fact that I am in doubt as to whether I can actually write anyway. Writing is a tailored art – tailored to a reader.  Why should I write if it is not to be read? My main issue is who is my audience and how can I write to them – if I do not know who this person/persons is/are? I can only write for myself as my audience and reader… but what then for the art of writing when I can merely daydream my stories in a wistful haze?

And on this note, I have decided not to continue writing this short piece due to my overly scientific genetics. My words and sentences are far too structured in the way of me to make an original piece by me. Sadly far more important to my writing than an originality in human kind as a whole. Which is another aspect of this scientific thinking – I should be more artistic or, even, more faithful. Produce writing of inspiration without the need for a coherent structure or ‘my own’ structure which limits everything I do.

I did not write a short story at 1am this morning since I figure my work would not sell. I’d gain no money from the effort and since I need this to live; what’s the point? I’ll stick to the day job I have to get up for in a few hours. Which leaves me little or no time to stick it up on a freebie website somewhere.

Five minutes later I made a coffee – this being a further reinforcement to my desire not to write. It wouldn’t be read; let's be honest. I’d like most of the world to read it and be famed as a writer of the piece. But it won't be.

My full time job dictates that I will not write a short piece of literature on this lanterned night. I have a career – its second best to the lark of being an author; true say but unfortunately that is all it is. A lark (not a business). I may as well ignore the cries of spoilt generations and settle for second best. (Tell Madonna it is not personal.) Tell regurgitative Hollywood (or any other film industry) that I appreciate you like to sell, but on this occasion I cannot buy. My full time job pays and I’m good at it. There is expansion available and I support those whom I love rather than follow my set whim or dream egotistically.

Apologies for this one – but I have decided to shut down my computer and not write a short piece tonight. This is because you the reader will not be important enough. That’s right; you will read for your own pleasure which will give extremely little in return.  I won't be there when you read the piece I did not write so I cannot even see the smile on your face right now… importance can be measured by vocation – an agent, publisher etc. and what chance to you being that? I work with statistics in my day job and without boring you with deriving a formula or complex calculation: the probability is very low.

Reminding myself of universal inequality and the fact that clever late Stephen Hawkins thinks there is no such thing as perfection in the universe; I will not write a short ditty. I only really want perfection and since there is none – I cannot appeal to the world and why try myself? It is an impossibility not an improbability. Better efforts spent elsewhere; rather not on the challenge of perfection but the object of leaving a mark..? well if I were the only one then I’d be very special but time has it that I’m not. Future has it that I will be forgotten, regardless.

I have ceased to write a short story this morning, five minutes before I have to get up because I don’t have the time and I cannot be bothered to make the time. I’m lethargic – disdain or hormones or what-have-you.

The issue of putting down a pen has come to fruition due to the explained fact that life will continue. The purpose of a piece of literature should always be to stop life; to make the reader contemplate the end – the point where a piece becomes life or death. Any tears or passion which go into ink is just not quite enough. There is no guarantee of putting the best of oneself; thus the warranty be passed to the author. No point in writing a half-arsed effort just coin produce. Just to – fill the ‘gaps’ between masterpieces. Put in your maximum – none of this ‘I shall save hard core for my bigger, widely accepted, highly marketed project.’ No no! write the best short story that one can expend. Then do it all again for the next and then the next… directly from your heart.

A reason I shall add to my bank for not writing the thoughts I have in my head is the additional chore of having to market my own writing. I can’t just write… I have to market! I need to find an audience and behave in my written word to satisfy them. I’ll need to think outside writing – where to publish my deed; for example. A book in a shop or an online page – a magazine or a note on a social network. I choose, or at least, I must appreciate that someone else takes in the marketing of my short piece. Its not just about writing.

Finally, I’d like to point out a grandiose reason why I will not write a short story tonight… If I did write a short piece right now, I believe that whatever I write may just end up sounding oh so bitter.

[faulty-writes]

Forgive me for what I'm about to type, but... A college AU where Mirio is volunteered in an art class to pose as a nude model, probably because of his quirk and that he has NO SHAME LEFT in his body. But then he finds out that his fem crush, is going to be the one drawing him. He's been given total artistic freedom, so his poses shift from being dramatic or silly to being more... sensual, the longer he's there. Not really NSFW, just... really suggestive. With some fluff, because it is MIRIO here

[ I fully believe Mirio has no shame when it comes to being nude, not that I’m complaining. Haha. ] 

“Hm?” his eyebrows raised in surprise. “An art class?” he questioned and you nodded, though you decided you weren’t going to tell him that you were one of the artists in the class. Believing that if you did, he would refuse what you were about to ask. “Yeah and I know that ...some of the students in the class are …” you tapped your chin, trying to think of the right word to use, “struggling with finding creative ways to project their art and some of them were talking about using a model.” his eyes lit up. “A model?!” there was clear excitement in his voice.

You chuckled, “Yes, a model. But there’s a catch …” you said and he tilted his head, “What’s the catch? Doesn’t matter to me, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help others!” he declared as he pointed at himself and you nodded, “Yes, I know.” you said before taking a deep breath. You were a little nervous to tell him, but you had promised you would get Mirio to be the nude model for your art class. “Um …” you felt your cheeks flush and you reached up to play with a piece of your hair, wrapping a strand around your finger. “Well ...um, given your quirk and ...the fact that you um, are more used to uh, feeling the breeze between your legs.” you used air quotations when you said the word “breeze” before continuing. 

“The art class thought you’d make the perfect nude model and I know that’s weird to ask,” you saw his confused expression. “But it would help the students so much, so please ...will you at least try?” you questioned, your hands folding together and a pout on your lips. Truthfully, the adorable way you looked made his heart race. He happened to like you a lot and he couldn’t really refuse your request, what kind of person would he be if he didn’t help you out? So, he smiled and pulled you close. “I’d love to! After all, it’ll help those art students right?” you chuckled, feeling your cheeks warm up.

“Oh yeah! I’ll owe you big time for this Mirio,” you said and he laughed before releasing you. “No need to owe me anything, I’m just happy to help. When is the first class?” he questioned and you thought for a moment, “It’s at 5 PM tonight. It lasts for about two hours. You still up for it?” you questioned and watched him smile, “You bet!” he said, giving a thumbs up which made you laugh. “Well thanks, this college wouldn’t be the same without you!” After all, it wasn’t every day a great hero like Mirio walked through the halls and to be so kind and amazing on top of that. It was a win-win.

You walked away, your heart racing as you thought about the art class and how Mirio would react when he saw you or how you’d react when you saw him. But you knew that was silly, this was Mirio here. There was no reason to be ashamed or even possibly aroused in the name of art, right? Guess you’d find out. When 5 PM came around, you gathered your art supplies and left your dorm. Your art class wasn’t required, it was more like a club activity after school and you were happy that you could unleash your creativity somehow. When you walked into the classroom, you could hear the chatter between the art students.

Most of them seemed to be flaunting over Mirio and you turned your head, your heart nearly stopping as you saw him in all his nude glory. But he didn’t seem ashamed, in fact, he had a smile on his face as he stood there. Deciding to strike a more heroic pose and your eyes couldn’t help but scan every inch of his body, without those clothes you could see every bit of muscle he had. The curves of his body and even the small bushel of hair that rested just above his V-line. It matched the exact color of his hair and you hadn’t realized your jaw was dropped until Mirio jumped, surprised to see you.

“Oh wow …” he said before dropping his pose, the class hadn’t started yet so he walked over to you. “I didn’t know you were an artist, y/n! That’s so cool!” although he was happy, he also felt a little nervous knowing that you’d be drawing him. But he would try his best to give you something to work with, even though he had butterflies in his stomach. You blushed, averting your gaze though you couldn’t help but take a few innocent looks. God, he was beautiful. “Uh ...y-yeah, it’s one of my ...creative outlets,” you explained before placing your sketchpad and drawing supplies onto the easel.

“Oh ...that's amazing! Well, I’ll try to be a good model. Any advice?” he asked and you shyly glanced at him as you took your seat. “Um, well just be yourself. As long as you’re posing, there’s nothing to worry about,” you said, noticing that class was about to start. Everyone had taken their positions in front of their easels and most of them had their drawing pencils ready. You turned to Mirio, trying to focus on his face. “You better get to posing.” you said and Mirio smiled, “Oh sure thing, sunshine!” he chuckled before walking to the center of the room. You swallowed as you began to sketch his outline.

Much like before he had chosen to do a heroic pose, his arms flexed up and his body was turned to the side. One leg was stretched over, making his thigh and backside very noticeable. You were almost thankful that he had chosen that position, given you couldn’t see his lower regions. You concentrated on breathing as you continued to draw him, after which you added the details. The muscle lines and small features of his skin and hair. The final thing you added was the shading and some of the background that surrounded him. All in all, it turned out pretty good but you almost felt bad when the session ended and Mirio got dressed again.

Complaining that while it was fun to pose, his body got stiff. You only chuckled in response, “Well better get used to it, you have another session tomorrow.” you said before packing up your pencils. You picked up your sketch pad only to have Mirio look over your shoulder. “Wow!” he said, “You’re pretty good, is that what I really look like?” he questioned, taking in the detail of your sketch. But you shrugged, “I suppose. Everyone had their own style of art though. So while mine may look similar to the others, there’s always that personal touch that adds something special to it.” you explained as Mirio smiled. “Well, is it too much to say I like your style the best?” he questioned and you chuckled softly.

“No, but you might want to look at the other drawings before you say that,” you said before turning away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I can’t wait to see what pose you choose.'' Of course, you knew that you’d eventually get distracted by Mirio’s body. Despite knowing that such a thing was technically wrong, you couldn’t help yourself. He was attractive, even as an art model. It was clear you weren’t the only one that looked at him as something beyond that, but perhaps finding some pleasure within your art wasn’t so bad. Either way, you were looking forward to the next day.

When 5 PM came, you had arrived for your art class a little late. Mirio was already posing and you nearly fainted at the sight of him. He was facing the doorway, the one you had just walked through and his stare was directed straight at you. You almost wanted to smack that smile off his face as he playfully winked at you. He was laying down on his side, his elbow bent to support his head, and while his legs were closed. You could clearly still make out his well ...as he liked to call it, willy in all its glory. You looked up at the ceiling, your shoulders hunched. “It’s just an art class ...just an art class,” you repeat to yourself before setting up your easel and getting to work.

Though sketching out his upper body was no problem, even with your flushed cheeks. It was the lower half that distracted you as you hadn’t really practiced much with drawing the human anatomy, but this was Mirio here. So with that thought in mind, you pushed past your feelings and finished your sketch. Almost grateful when the art class was over, though you refused to show Mirio your drawing and he, in turn, teased you about blushing. Damn him. “P-Pick a less ....suggestive position next time!” you stuttered before leaving the classroom, silently cursing yourself and Mirio out.

The following day it was worse, when you had told Mirio to pick out a less suggestive position, you hadn’t thought you’d be drawing him in stages. Someone suggested sketching the model in motion, which involved Mirio rolling over. Given it was good practice, drawing different positions in one essential sketch. You weren’t sure if you should curse or congratulate the person on their wonderful suggestion. Now instead of the front, you were drawing the back of Mirio and that luscious backside he happened to have. It was strange to be staring at it for as long as you did before actually drawing it. But, as you thought before. Sometimes there's a pleasure in art.

On the fourth day, you were somewhat dreading what position he’d make. Your face flushed just thinking about it and you had your head down as you entered the classroom. You immediately heard giggling and your head snapped up, your jaw dropped at the sight of Mirio. He was propped up on his knees but his thighs were spread. Leaving all his lower region ...hanging out, for a lack of better words. He was leaning back slightly with one hand pressed against his chest and the other was stretched out toward you. His fingers spread out and palm facing up as if he were waiting for you to grab his hand.

Damn ...he looked ...you shook your head, trying to keep only artistic thoughts in your mind. Though one thing was for sure, Mirio almost seemed to be teasing you with these positions, and in a way, it was beginning to bother you. Your face only darkened in color when you sat down and Mirio’s eyes followed you. You shyly looked at the blond who gave you a playful wink in return. You squeaked and decided to hide behind your sketchpad, slightly thankful it was a little bigger than the easel. Though you could still feel his stare and proceeded to curse him out under your breath.

When the end of the week came, you must have missed the memo that the art class had been canceled at the last moment because when you entered the room, it was empty. Apart from Mirio who was already out of his clothes, he reached up scratching the back of his head before he noticed you. “Oh, hey y/n!” he said as he ran over and you averted your eyes, trying to make sure they didn’t look down at Mirio’s glory. “No one else is here, pretty weird huh?” he said with a laugh and you shrugged, taking a deep breath. Your cheeks were beginning to feel warm, guess that was the power of nudity.

“Uh ...I-I’m not too sure, maybe we should ...j-just leave?” you questioned, nearly squeaking when Mirio’s arm came to rest around your shoulders. Though you tried to dig your feet into the ground and prevent him from moving you. It was of little use as he pulled you close anyway. “No way! That wouldn’t be right! I want you to practice your art! It’s super good and well, I did say I’d be your art model. So it’d be pretty rude of me to break my word.” he pointed out, though you wanted to mention you didn’t request him as your specific model. You didn’t see much of a point trying to argue with the man.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly feeling dry as you glanced around the classroom. “Um …” Mirio gently rubbed your shoulder, waiting for your response as you cradled your sketchpad to your chest. “I uh, g-guess that’d be fine. Um, I c-can sketch you if you w-want,” you said, looking down in an effort to hide your blush. But Mirio didn’t seem to notice or care because he removed his arm with a bright grin on his face. “I was hoping you’d say that sunshine! Come on!” he insisted as he grabbed your hand and enthusiastically dragged you over to a large mirror. “Huh?” you blinked as Mirio then brought over a chair.

“What are you up?” you questioned, narrowing your eyes but Mirio only smiled and walked over to grab the nearest easel. You stepped out of the way as he placed it next to the chair. “Here, you can put your sketchpad here.” he insisted and though you protested, he took it and placed it on the easel anyway. You huffed and placed your hands on your hips. “Mirio …” you said, almost sounding as though you were scolding him and maybe in a sense you were. But he only smiled and grabbed your hand, “Come on.” he insisted as he took his seat and pulled your hand. “Uh …” your eyes widened as you got the hint of what he wanted.

“M-Mirio I don’t know about-” you could barely finish your sentence before letting out a cry as Mirio pulled you forward. You squeaked when you felt him grab your leg and lift it up, stretching it over his lap. Then he placed his hands on your hips, applying pressure to make you sit down. Your face immediately lit up as you found yourself somewhat in his lap. You were sitting on his thighs, just inches away from his willy. You partly wondered if he did that on purpose, though that smile on his face said it all. He meant to do this, damn him. “You know I’ve always liked you right?” he said and the confession made you jump.

“Uh w-what?” you questioned, wondering just how hot your face could get before passing out. But Mirio nodded, “Yeah, it’s kind of funny. I never thought I’d get an opportunity like this and I kind of don’t want to let you go, is that weird?” he questioned before his hearty laugh came. “Of course, I wouldn’t force anything on you. Believe me, I’m not that type of guy, I’m just happy being close to you. Hugging you and well, having you on my lap is a little bonus.” he said, sounding as chipper as ever. Though you thought it was a strange time for him to confess his feelings, your thoughts were shattered when he dragged the easel closer.

“Hm?” your head turned before Mirio handed you a charcoal stick. You blinked and slowly took it, piecing together what he wanted. “Wait ...you want ...me to draw us?” you questioned, here you were in an empty classroom. Sitting on Mirio’s lap while he sat on a chair naked. Nothing wrong with that right? Mirio smiled and reached up to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah! After all, you probably have so many sketches of me. So why not one together?” you swallowed and looked at the mirror, your own flushed face staring back at you.

You let out a sigh, trying to will your cheeks to cool down. “I mean I …” you hadn’t actually practiced sketching yourself, but you couldn’t exactly avoid doing it now. You gasped when you felt his arm around your waist, his face resting just above your chest. Nuzzling into the small amount of exposed skin you had, damn low cut shirts. You hoped he wouldn’t hear the sound of your rapid heartbeat, “Yes?” Mirio questioned, smiling up at you before you swallowed, trying to moisten your dry mouth. “I ...I suppose I can give it a shot,” you said before looking at the mirror and beginning to draw the outline of both Mirio and yourself.

Maybe this is what you deserved for choosing Mirio Togata as your art model, maybe next time you’d be more careful. But by the end of the rather awkward art session, your sketch had turned out better than you expected and it was partly thanks to Mirio. “Wow! See? Don’t we look perfect together?” he questioned as he loomed over your shoulder. You couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah ...I guess we do.” you replied before turning to face him, thankful that he had decided to put his clothes back on. “Thank you Mirio, I owe you a lot,” After all, he had made your art class interesting.

“Well, I’m just happy to help,” he said before tapping his chin, his smile fading. “Though, if you really think you owe me. I can think of something I want as a favor, that is if you’re okay with it,” he said and you perked up a bit. “What is it?” you questioned, taking a step closer, and once more he smiled. “Well …” he began as he placed his hands on your shoulders. “I already said how I feel, so ...how about another art session, but make it a date?” you blinked, well that certainly wasn’t what you were expecting but somehow, you giggled.

“Okay, an art date it is.” he grinned, “Thank you, sunshine!��� he said and you squealed as his arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground in a playful hug. Who would have thought a simple question would have led you here, but you couldn’t complain. You got both the guy and the art, each one seeming to complete your world in different ways.

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 19

Chapters: 19/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18]

"It’s skew.”

“Come and straighten it, then.”

“I’m spotting, you’re hanging.”

Gerry growls at him. Jon looks rather pleased about it.

Martin, who doesn’t want Gerry to hit their infuriating lover with a hammer, goes over to where he’s hanging the massive painting and tilts it minutely to the left. “Better?”

“Perfect!” Jon pronounces, clapping his hands.

Through some sort of witchcraft, the artist has hung the painting in such a position that it emulates where a window would be in a traditional room. It opens up the space in such a way that it seems less like a store room, and far more like a creative space that someone would actually enjoy spending time in.

The lightning helps too, warm light filtering from the ceiling and corner lamps, and LCD strips illuminating the bookshelves from inside.

All in all, considering this was a utilitarian storage space just a few weeks ago, it seems like a downright miracle.

The three of them lean back against Jon's desk, free of clutter for the first and only time in its life. The bookshelves are empty, and except for his new painting, so are the walls.

The piano occupies one wall, and Gerry hopes to hear it being played often.

Jon reaches out and takes Gerry's hand, drawing them close together affectionately. "How long have you been planning for us to move in?"

"Well, I wasn't planning, per se. Only considering the possibility." Gerry smirks confidently. "I know we're all a little bizarre, but this is the course of most relationships, and we could only spend so much time sleeping over before paying for three flats became superfluous."

"Besides," Martin continues for him. "There's no harm in planning for something you hope will happen eventually. Especially when your new flatmates will be this wildly good looking."

He gestures to himself dramatically, doing a small turn in place. Gerry and Jon laugh with him happily, until he stumbles back into Gerry's side, where he gets wrapped up under an arm.

"So do you like your new space, Jon?" Gerry cuddles around him, twisting the three of them into an odd sort of snuggle pretzel.

"I absolutely adore it." Jon utters happily, sighing in contentment as they all lean there together.

***

At the end of June, Jon hands over his keys and the three of them officially live together.

There's still a lot of settling to be done, even though they've been moving in together for almost six weeks by that point. The boxes are unpacked, but they still need to make it a comfortable home for all of them, a certainty that comes only with time.

Martin and Jon both love their studies, a matching pair that look and feel completely opposite.

Martin opts for a small bedroom, keeping the bed from his old flat, his painting hung opposite. He finds an antique writing desk at a charity store, and installs it for writing poetry or working on his laptop in the evenings.

He adorns the walls with pictures and posters, and random pieces of poetry and music that he loves.

It's a cozy space that he adores, even though he opts to sleep in the master bedroom almost always. The option makes him feel like he has his own breathing room, even if he rarely needs it.

Jon's is more of a true study, with a large desk taking up the majority of the space. His walls are lined with shelves, and he promptly fills them with books and knickknacks. The odd collection includes first edition classics, next to mass market paperbacks and music books, with non-fiction nature and animal books scattered throughout. These are interwoven with seashells, tiny mechanical statues and several flowers preserved in resin, gifts from Martin throughout their relationship.

On the wall above the piano, he hangs framed photos of his parents, himself with Gerry as a teen, and all three of them together as adults. The photo he once took of Martin, Gerry and Tim hangs right in the centre, all his favorite humans in one frame. He hangs the sketch of him and Martin in the park from when they were all courting, as well as the others he has stolen from Gerry over time.

Gerry embraces the chaos and upheaval as if it's all he ever wanted, and really, it is. A home, with the people he loves, noisy and frenetic, loving and comfortable.

In the middle of July, he quits his job at the bar in the middle of a shift, with very little contemplation or preamble.

He smiles at his lovers radiantly when he comes through the door several hours early to find them watching a movie.

"What happened?" Martin queries, clear concern lining his expressive face.

"I quit." Gerry flops down between them, snuggling down immediately.

"But why?" Presses a sleepy Jon, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand.

Gerry shrugs. "I got the job because I was bored, essentially. I wanted to interact with interesting people and I didn't know anyone in London anymore. But tonight I realized how badly I wanted to be right here, with you two." He smiles at them, trying to explain without conveying too many of his sappy emotions. "l honestly couldn't think of one reason to be working at midnight on a Saturday, instead of at home, or out on a date, or literally anything else we could be doing together. So I quit."

"Oh Gerry." Jon whispers, both of them carefully tuned to his moods, regardless of his attempts at seeming unconcerned.

"I don't feel the need to fill my time and chase inspiration anymore. I just want to be with you. Both of you." He kisses first Martin's hand, then Jon's, grinning at them all the way.

"I love you. I'm happy you're home." Jon whispers to him, sleepy and content.

Martin hums an agreement, squeezing his hand and smiling down at him lovingly.

They watch their movie and then go to bed all together, and Gerry knows he's made the best choice of his life.

***

Gerry finds himself with an odd amount of time on his hands while his partners go to work during the day, like normal people.

He decides to take on several art commissions from clients he's actually interested in working for, which thrills Gertrude. He doesn't think it entirely makes up for his boyfriend hitting Peter Lukas in the middle of a showcase, but it's a start.

He also indulges himself and buys a new tattoo machine.

He's not really interested in taking clients again, but… well, he wants it and so he gets it. If it's only to use on himself or the occasional visitor, then that's fine by him.

"You have everything you need to give tattoos now, right?" Martin asks him one early morning.

Gerry is still mostly asleep, clutching a cup of tea and petting Saturn where he perches on his lap. He blinks at Martin, confused.

"I think so. I mean, I haven't used my machine yet, but there's really only one way to test it out." Gerry tilts his head curiously, sunlight glittering in his hair, dyed back to its original black. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you want to give me one?" Martin grins at him a bit shyly.

Gerry sits up straight, instantly wide awake. "Yes. So much."

Martin laughs warmly. "You have the same look on your face that Luna gets when we take out the catnip toys."

Uncaring about how eager he might look, Gerry shoos Saturn to go over and kneel by Martin. "I would be honored to have your tattoo virginity. Do you want me to draw something?"

"Yes," Martin tells him with a grin, "that's exactly what I want. A Gerry Delano original, right on my skin."

"What do you want it to be?" Gerry's teal eyes are bright and slightly manic, and Martin glories in the sensation of producing a new reaction in his lover.

"It's entirely up to you." He responds, pressing a firm kiss to Gerry's mouth. "I want to see what makes you think of me."

"Oh, I like it." He declares, jumping up and going off to find a sketchbook.

Martin sips his tea and smiles to himself, very pleased indeed.

***

"You're just going to let him give you whatever he wants to?" Jon blanches when Martin tells him.

"Relax Jon, it's Gerry, not some evil mastermind. He'll draw something I like. And if I don't, it's not hard, I just tell him no."

Jon, who rather considers that Gerry is an evil mastermind, does not look convinced. "But…"

"Hush, love." Martin tells him firmly.

Gerry, drawing under the window nearby, takes no notice of them. He has a focused frown on his face as he concentrates on the careful lines appearing on his page.

Martin considers it a rare pleasure to just watch him draw, and tries to guess what might be forming on the page before him.

He completely trusts that Gerry knows him exactly well enough to draw him the perfect tattoo. And then he can have his own piece of Gerry, inked right into his skin.

When he sits back down with Jon and Martin a little later, he has a smudge of charcoal above his eyebrow, and Martin gently rubs it away before Gerry has a chance to start talking. He blushes quite uncharacteristically, and Martin knows it means he's been swirling in the frantic rush of his own creativity.

"So I have a proposal for you." Gerry starts, body humming with excitement. "A tattoo in two parts, if you will."

"Yeah?" Martin encourages him, just as interested.

Gerry collects Martin's hand in both of his own, running a thumb over a spot on his wrist. It's the same place that Jon has his own tattoo, which immediately makes Martin pleased. "A small crescent moon, right here. The placement to match with Jon, the symbol for Luna."

Gerry pushes a scrap of paper forward, an elegant crescent moon filling space.

"For the other…" Gerry turns over the larger page, handing it to Martin.

There's an immeasurable beat of silence as Martin contemplates the design before him. A set of waxing and waning moons, connected by a series of dots, lines and more dots making a background of geometric shapes.

He… feels it. He understands now, what Jon had meant, when he described seeing the inspiration for his own tattoo for the first time. It's a representation of some inner part of himself, normally hidden from the world, but carefully unearthed for his lovers, over the course of many months and endless intimacy.

"Martin?" Gerry entreats, leaning minutely closer to him.

"I love it." He whispers, pulling the goth over to kiss him fiercely. They tangle together pleasantly, for several moments, everything else falling away as they get absorbed in each other.

"Not that anyone asked me, but I like it as well." Jon informs them pertly.

"Your opinion is as important to us as ever, baby." Gerry replies, grinning proudly. He turns back to Martin. "Where do you want it?"

Martin considers for a moment, before getting up and pulling off his shirt and jumper, leaving himself bare from the waist up. He still feels a small pang of shyness to be naked in any way, but confidence born of time and perspective drown most of it away now.

He and Gerry stand facing each other. Martin lifts the other man's hand, placing it on his sternum, over his softly pounding heart.

"Right here?" Gerry asks, voice soft.

"Right here." Martin affirms.

***

In the end, Gerry takes them over to Melanie's tattoo shop to work on Martin. He lists a number of reasons, but really, he finds a certain amount of comfort working under the stark lights and amid the buzzing of other machines.

They do the small tattoo first, and Martin sits for it exceptionally well.

Before Gerry starts the sternum piece, an endeavor of several hours, Georgie arrives and drags Jon off to drink coffee and catch up in a nearby coffee shop. Melanie goes into the next room to take another client, and Gerry and Martin are left alone together.

"Ready, love?" Gerry asks as he finishes placing the stencil, bisecting his chest.

"I'm nervous," Martin confesses softly.

Gerry doesn't move his gloved hands, not wanting to contaminate them, but he does press their foreheads together gently, taking a moment to sooth Martin with his companionship.

"Do you want to take a break? You can just sit with the stencil for a while." Gerry leans forward and places a swift kiss on Martin's nose, before retreating from his personal space.

"No, I'm ready." He smiles, biting his lip a little. "I just- I feel like this is a big moment, you know?"

"It is. You're embracing who you really are." Gerry runs a finger along one of Martin's chest scars, considering. "You're choosing to love yourself instead of just tolerating him."

"How can you always tell?" Martin whispers the words, voice heavy with emotion. "How can you put things into words like that, so simply."

"I know you. You think I don't see when you avoid looking in the mirror. You hope I don't notice that you used to hate being naked, even with Jon and I." Gerry pauses, tripping Martin's head up with the tip of a finger, minimizing contact still. "But I see you, Martin. I love you just the way you are. And I want you to love yourself just the same. I'll tell you everyday, show you constantly, if I need to."

Martin is crying for real now, tears streaming down his face. Gerry abandons his sterility, pulling Martin into his arms. He rocks his lover gently, and they are just together for a moment, no need to rush, no distractions. Just them, and the comfort they find in each other.

"I love you too." Martin tells him simply, when they pull apart.

"Good," Gerry grins, kissing him thoroughly, the taste of salty tears on his lips. He stands, pulling off his ruined gloves and going to wash his hands again.

Martin takes a sip of the tea Jon made him before he left, smiling because Jon always makes it with a little more sugar than he allows himself. "I'm ready."

When Jon returns, they're just finished up, the last few moments of buzzing filling the air. He watches them together, artist and canvas, and loves them fiercely.

"How was coffee with Georgie?" Martin queries, taking his offered hand.

Jon relays the details as Gerry finishes, and then cleans up.

Jon and Gerry stand on either side of Martin in the mirror as he looks at it for the first time. Martin nods wildly, when Jon asks if he likes it, and they hug him from either side as he sheds a few more tears.

Jon had once thought that tattoos seemed very boring in comparison to Gerry's normal work, but seeing the design come alive on Martin's skin, full of feeling and depth, he can't help but think of it as the best thing his lover has ever done. Gerry can't help but agree.

"Let's go to the park!" Martin exclaims as they leave, after saying their goodbyes to Georgie and Melanie.

"The park?" Jon asks, laughing. "It's so windy."

"I don't care, I want to feed the ducks and eat ice cream with my boyfriends." He insists, giddy with happiness and adrenaline.

"Okay, but you're picking the flavours this time." Gerry says, taking one of Martin's hands. Jon takes the other.

"Deal."

***

Jon and Gerry find themselves watching Martin once again feed ducks as they sit beneath a tree, more than a year after the very first time.

"Why don't we come to the park more often?" Jon asks from where he reclines between Gerry's long legs.

His arms snake around his waist, and Jon feels very content and comfortable, despite the cutting wind.

"Because," Gerry kisses under an ear softly, "we live in England and it rains more than 100 days a year."

"He looks so happy here." They watch as Martin stoops to offer a piece of bread to a curious toddler. The child is inordinately pleased, and her mother watches on gratefully from nearby as they feed the rowdy birds together.

"Are you happy?" Gerry asks him, unexpectedly serious. "With your life, with me?"

"Gerry! Of course I'm happy with you." Jon sits up, turning in the tangle of Gerry's limbs to face him.

"I'm only checking on you." He runs a gentle finger down Jon's face, then cups his cheek affectionately. "I know how much stress work puts you under and I hate that for you."

Jon looks away from his intent gaze, fiddling with his fingers nervously. "Well, yeah. My job sucks. The worst part is, I love being a librarian! Being surrounded by books, helping people choose something to read or guiding them with their research. But that's so little of my job now, and Elias just finds new and interesting ways to put pressure on me. But I'm not qualified and I know I probably won't get another job in a library, especially not without a glowing recommendation from Elias-"

"And we both know that's never going to happen." Gerry finishes for him.

Jon nods and they just sit together a moment. Gerry lifts one of his hands and kisses each of his fingers and then his palm, until Jon blushes and smiles at him.

"I know you think it's annoying, so you keep your feelings about work inside, a lot of the time. I don't want you to do that anymore, okay? If you have a terrible job, then we all carry that."

"But-"

"Nope, no buts. We are all partners. That means more then dinner dates and living together and sex."

"And punching rich fuckers who hurt our Martin."

Gerry laughs, still reveling in Jon's unexpected protectiveness- and the violent manifestation of it. "Yes, that too. There will be other jobs, for all of us, probably. But our relationship, the three of us. We're forever."

"Like those tattoos that you gave Martin today?" Jon asks, pert glint in his eye.

"Yes, much like that." He smirks brazenly back. "And the one I gave you, and the ones I've given myself, over the years."

Gerry continues, squeezing Jon's hand, "I know that the idea of not being able to provide for yourself scares you, but we're in this together now. You don't have to cling to a job that you hate in case you're left without one at all."

"I-" Jon looks away, uncomfortable to be so well understood. Gerry stits with him, energy easy between them, just holding his hand, loving and supportive.

"I have been considering, that is, maybe becoming a school teacher." The confession is halting, and he offers it with a small shy smile.

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Gerry responds, gentle encouragement colouring his voice.

"I would probably have to go back to school for a year. Get a post-grad in Education. I wouldn't be working for most of that time, and my savings will only go so far, even without having to pay rent." Jon whispers, as if the words will be any less offensive to him if they are quiet.

"You know I can float you, especially for just a year. And Martin too."

"It just doesn't seem fair to burden you with that."

"It's not a burden, it's a part of life. You think you're so old, that you should be settled, but you're barely 30, Jon. You still have time to make new life choices occasionally, and the point of being in a relationship is that you let us support you every now and then." Gerry is earnest and focused, and Jon can't help but believe him, long fingers cupping his face and teal eyes holding his gaze.

Martin arrives then, plonking down next to Jon and giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"What are we talking about then? Such serious faces."

Gerry nudges Jon, who haltingly offers Martin the same idea he told Gerry.

“Oh, I think that’s a great idea.” He says, eyes alight. “Like, high schoolers, right?”

“Yes, of course. Anyone under 10 is an alien and I don’t want to hear any arguments.”

They laugh at him, their contentment surrounding him warmly.

"You don't have to quit right away." Martin offers. "There are plenty of part time degree programs, and you have to apply first. It all takes time."

"You seem pretty clued up about it." Jon observes, narrowing his eyes at Martin suspiciously.

"Well, if you must know. I've been thinking about getting a business degree."

"Oh my God! Martin, how is this the first we're hearing about this?" Gerry demands, sitting up straight.

"I didn't want it to be a thing until I was sure, and the move was over." He confesses, "It's gonna take a lot of my free time and I wanted to discuss that with you both carefully."

"I'm gonna be living with two thirty year old students." Gerry mutters, shocked. He leans back against the tree again, running his fingers through his long hair.

"I haven't agreed yet-" Jon starts.

Martin speaks up at the same time. "You could get a degree too. We could all be students together."

"No, but thanks anyway." Gerry shudders, grimacing. He perks right back up. "I'll be your sexy study partner though."

"Gerard!" Jon cries, scandalised.

Gerry shakes his head. "As if I've never felt you up while you were trying to study for a test."

"Exactly!" Even Jon struggles to keep up his prim expression at that, and they tumble into pleasant laughter together.

"So," Martin hazards, "are we gonna do this?"

"Well, if you're going to. I suppose we should both get it done at the same time." Jon responds, still hesitant but clearly warming to the idea. "You're really okay with this, Gerry?"

Gerry beams at them both, a soft, special look in his eyes. "I'm more than okay with anything you want to do with your lives. In case you haven't noticed, I'm really very fond of you both."

Jon leans forward in the circle of Gerry's legs, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss, before turning back to lay against his chest.

Martin shifts around to lean into his side, and Gerry tucks one arm around him, the other around Jon. Jon reaches out to take one of Martin's hands, and the three of them sit wrapped up together.

As ever, their own mutual magnetism draws them forever closer and closer, binding them to one another in an inexplicable tangle of love and affection.

"Do you think it will always be like this, between us?" Martin whispers gently, as the sun begins to set and the landscape sets ablaze before them.

"Probably not," Jon responds, voice warm and content. "Life will keep shifting like a tide, and we'll move with it, but the great thing about us is- we're moored together. Nothing can keep us apart, because what we have is stronger than whatever shifts and eddies might try to take us away."

"The gravity between us is fiercer than any storm, any disaster that might try to shake us." Gerry picks up Jon's train of thought, pulling them both minutely closer.

"Good," Martin says simply, fiercely in love and the happiest he's ever felt.

They watch the sun as it drops below the horizon, sometimes quiet and occasionally sharing some errant thought or another.

They eat ice cream on the way home, holding hands and laughing.

It's warm, and soft and peaceful.

And they're all, finally, home.

[joonclouds]

The Price Of A Wish | 2

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

_________________

You’re into the last leg of this evening. Between having to skip dinner, make small talk with businessmen who make it their life’s work to mansplain the workings of this country’s economy to you, and Jung Hoseok upending your world on it’s ass, you’ve almost made it through the night.

With an arm resting in the crook of Taehyung’s elbow, the two of you take a slow walk around the less occupied parts of the gallery before you have to be at the main foyer to see off the guests. It’s not hidden from everyone’s eyes, but it’s a little ways from the crowd and you’re glad for the small breather. The two of you stop in front of one of your favourite pieces in the new collection - a massive triptych that takes up almost the whole wall at the far end of the exhibition hall.

“So, Jung Hoseok, huh.”

Taehyung is speaking softer now and he tilts his head closer to your ear, like he’s telling you a secret. Even while you’re wearing heels, he’s taller than you by half a head.

“It’s nothing.”

“You left me hanging“ - he emphasises the me by pressing an offended hand to his chest - “to greet him. That’s not nothing.”

“Well, he’s an important guest.”

You think back to the fleeting hello, which really was more for the attending press than the two of you. It was like something out of a bad romance anime, complete with the slow motion and sparkly shit, just shy of having a few rose petals fly across the screen. You weren’t seventeen, you were twenty eight, for crying out loud. You could be a mature adult about this.

While your idiot of a heart had gone and betrayed you, as soon as the fluttery feeling had subsided, a tinge of bitterness and anger were quick to make themselves known. Very slight, but there, nonetheless. It made the single moment seem stupid and unwarranted, and that was exactly how you felt about Jung Hoseok.

You play it off coolly, but as you know by now, no matters of the heart (well, your heart, specifically) got past Kim Taehyung.

“Always knew you had high standards.”

“He’s not on the standard.”

“So… is it a celebrity fan crush or is it like…” Taehyung gives your arm that’s hooked in his elbow an enthusiastic shake. Whatever that meant. “Because in my entire nine years of knowing you, you’ve not mentioned his name even once.”

“It just didn’t come up, I guess. ”

“Oh, it didn’t come up.”

“He’s just a friend, okay?”

“Oh, so now he’s just a friend.”

“Did you like, lose your brain halfway through the small talk?”

He groans. “I had to talk to duck face selfie girl at one point so maybe a good chunk of it just slid right out of my ears.”

Despite yourself, you’re amused, but you tuck the smile away behind your teeth.

“Come on, ____. Your definition of making friends is holding people at arms length until they’ve all but signed a blood oath and sworn their firstborn to you in fealty.”

“Ugh. Go back and talk to selfie girl.” You shrug your arm out of Taehyung’s elbow, but he’s quick to tuck it back in place affectionately, and you let him.

“So friends… with benefits?” He presses after a moment, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Academic benefits,” you scowl. “I helped him pass math class.”

Your friend turns to you with a look on his face.

“Oh no.” You groan.

“Oh yes.” Taehyung beams at you with a smile that is way too cheeky to mean anything good. “A crush, but not just any crush, ____, a highschool crush.”

“We were close in highschool. Then he left to be a trainee when he graduated and we lost touch. That’s it, okay? Now can we please drop it?”

“If you think I’m going to be satisfied without the juicy det- ow, fuck! Stop!“

You pinch Taehyung’s arm and he yelps. To anyone not privy to this conversation, you and he are director and curator, finding time during the bustling evening to appraise the opening collection. It looks like he’s made an amusing comment when you nudge him and he laughs amicably.

You elbow him in the ribs to make a point. Hard.

“I’m running on 3 hours sleep, I can’t breathe in this dress, and these heels make me want to strangle something. So help me god I will not hesitate to throw them, and you, off the top floor balcony to christen this new gallery.”

It’s not really a surprise, but the threat does nothing to deter Taehyung. He’s a dog with a bone and not about to let it go anytime soon.

“I haven’t seen you that starry eyed since you watched Bocelli live.”

“That’s different,” you gripe. “Would you be starry eyed if you met god?”

“My point exactly.”

“Ugh.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “So I was seventeen, I had a crush, he moved away after graduation, now we’re here, nothing is going to hap- “

“Shut up.” Taehyung hisses.

“Wow, you know, that’s pretty rich for someone who - “

“Do you want to look like an idiot? Shut up, ____. Shut up right now.”

“What?” You demand, turning to him, confused and annoyed (more so the latter because he’d been the one trying to pull this story out of you). He’s smiling at something over your shoulder, so smug you just know it in your bones it can’t be anything good. You know that look and it makes the blood drain from your face when you guess the worst possible reason for it.

Your voice is a whisper. “He’s coming over, isn’t he.”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

Turning around, Hoseok is right there and you pray to any benevolent god for enough functioning braincells to hold a conversation. Actually, just even one braincell would be fine, because that’s more than you had going for you right now.

“Hey, Hoseok.” You breathe.

“Hey, ____.”

Hoseok offers his hand to Taehyung and smiles. “Jung Hoseok.”

“Pleasure. Kim Taehyung.”

As Taehyung accepts the handshake, he can see why you were so mesmerised. He can imagine Hoseok to be quite the looker, even when he was younger and hadn’t necessarily grown into all his features yet. The guy exuded an easy charm about him that many had fallen victim to. Many, including you (still falling, Taehyung was sure of this).

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, perfect timing, actually.” Taehyung replies easily. “I was just telling ____ that I should head back out to see if everything’s running smoothly.”

One of his hands comes to the middle of your back and gives it a firm nudge. Just enough for you to be slightly off balance, making you take a tiny step in Hoseok’s direction.

Horrified, you open your mouth to say something, but again, Taehyung beats you to it.

“It was great to meet you, Hoseok. You two catch up alright, bye!”

And with that, he’s turning on his heel with a tiny wave and scuttling away. When this evening was over, you were going to find that guy and burn his entire silk pyjama collection, designer or not. Even better, if they were designer.

“Just thought I’d come say hi. Properly, this time.”

Hoseok’s voice is lower now, and there’s a relaxed way about how he’s got one hand in his pocket that definitely wasn’t there before. He’d grown out of his teenage chub into elegant cheekbones, a high nosebridge, and a sharp jawline. It’s with a little twinge that you note how painfully handsome he is now - a reminder that this isn’t your Hoseok - he’s older, different.

“I hope you enjoyed the evening?” It feels formal - too formal, but you don’t know how to talk to this version of him yet, so you take the safe small talk route. He gives the room an approving once over, raising his glass to it and takes a sip.

“I did. The space looks wonderful, and it’s a really commendable initiative. I think a lot of artists will benefit from it. I’m proud of you, ____. I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad you found the time.”

You really hadn’t intended for your tone to be quite so sharp, but the bitterness leaks, no matter your efforts to patch up the cracks.

“I guess I deserved that.” He sighs. “Look. I just wanted to say I - I’m sorry.“

“Yes, I agr- wait. What?” The apology is unexpected, and makes you draw a blank mid- small talk script.“Wait. What for?”

Hoseok hooks a finger under his neck scarf, pulls at it a little to loosen it.

“Like. For.” He gestures vaguely in the air. “The last time we spoke.. Or didn’t.”

Oh.

The bitterness rises very close to the surface now, you can almost taste it at the back of your throat, bubbling and indignant. With lips tightly pressed together, you swallow it back down.

“It’s okay. I didn’t need you to apologise for anything.” Your voice is surprisingly level.

“Well. “Hoseok looks a little lost, like he wasn’t the only one being caught off guard this evening. “I needed to say it anyway.”

“For who? For me, or you?” You’re still pretending like you’re having this conversation with the art piece on the wall instead of him.

“Well. It’s alright. Thank you for your apology,” you continue when he doesn’t reply, calm but curt. “I’ve heard it, and I hope that resolved any residual misunderstandings.”

Hoseok huffs a chuckle but it’s more like a sharp exhale. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

This pricks your temper. If he wanted your attention, he certainly has it now.

“No,” you deadpan. “Not really.”

“Why do you -“ he pauses, gestures to you frustratedly, head to toe, “ - always cut people off when they try and reach out to you, run away when - “

“If we’re really going to be digging up the past, Hoseok, it’s more like you ran away from me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, disturbing the way it was styled.

“ ___, If you could just hear me out, I - “

The bitterness - it rises, bubbles, boils over.

“I’ve heard you out, Hoseok, listened to your apology.”

“Look, I just want us to start over again - “

“Start over?” You let out a snort, not caring that it’s terribly unprofessional and cameras might be watching. “Newsflash, your insufferable persistence is ten years too late.”

Your annoyed outburst hangs in the air as you finally turn to face him properly.

His apology angers and softens you in equal measure. You can’t figure out what his deal is - why he’d never bothered to cross paths with or even reach out to you all these years, though you both ran in overlapping circles of art and entertainment. Until today.

You allow yourself one tiny moment of honesty, dropping all the bells and whistles that came with the persona you had created for tonight.

“Why didn’t you call me back, Hoseok?”

You’ve said it so quietly that he barely catches it.

When Hyunmin, his manager, had insisted he come to this event because his next project, it was a bit of a reluctant agreement on Hoseok’s part when he found out you were the main hostess. Since leaving town, he’d packed up all its memories, shoved them into a metaphorical basement, locked them up with a key and tossed that key to the bottom of a river called Not Dealing With Things. That included you. The whirlwind of the past ten years had done a good job of making sure that basement stayed locked.

So in his confidence he’d been prepared to show up, greet you, apologise, get over some initial awkwardness, make small talk - he’s handled worse. But he wasn’t prepared for you to be even more beautiful than he remembered. Doe eyed and glowing, lips curved into a charming smile, and dressed in a long silver gown that made it look like you were walking in a puddle of moonlight.

Maybe, even that he could handle, if all you offered him was that warm facade that you showed to everyone. But he certainly was not prepared for you looking at him with eyes as soft as the first time he met you.

He opens his mouth to explain himself, but then shuts it again, like he can’t find the right words or bring himself to spin up an excuse. You see his hesitation and suddenly your eyes are cold again and the shutters are up - he’s back to square one.

“Nevermind. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Before he knows it, you’re spinning away in your moonlight dress, leaving him there alone.

He lets out a deep sigh and rubs a hand over his face. Stalks a straight line to the valet, taps his shoe impatiently as the driver gets his car, slides in without tipping anyone, and floors the pedal, heading for the highway.

He needs to get away.

__________________

PREV | NEXT

[oneweekoneband]

I’m slightly nauseous already with knowing I’m going to say this, but what does “self-awareness”  even mean? In modern parlance, as a descriptive phrase, as a comment on art? I’m asking in earnest, like, I’ve been Googling lately, which for me is basically on par with doctoral study in terms of academic rigor. The self is king, anyway, tyrant, so where is the line of distinction between material that intentionally is nodding at some truth about the artist’s life and what’s just, like, all the rest of the regular navel-gazing bullshit. I mean, I’m all self, I am guilty here. I can’t get it out of my poems or even make it more quiet. This is the tenth time I’ve invoked “I” in the space of six sentences. Processing art has always necessitated a certain amount of grappling with the creator, but the busywork of it lately grows more and more tedious. Joy drains out of my body parsing marks left behind not just in stylistic tendencies and themes, but in literal, intentional tags like graffiti on a water tower. This feels an age old and moth-holed complaint, dull, and I am no historian, or really a serious thinker of any kind. I’ve now complained at some length about self-referential art, but didn’t I love how Martin Scorsese nodded to the famous Goodfellas Copacabana tracking shot with the opening frames of last year’s The Irishman? Didn’t I find that terribly fun and sort of sweet? So there’s distinctions. I’m only saying I don’t know with certainty what they even are. I’m unreliable, and someone smarter than me has likely already solved my quandary about why self-knowledge often transforms into overly precious self-reflexivity in such a way that the knowledge is diminished and obscured, leaving only cutesy Easter eggs behind. Postmodernism has birthed a moralizing culture where art exists to be termed either “self-aware Good” or “self-aware Bad”.  Self-referentiality in media is so commonplace, so much the standard, that what was once credited as metatextual inventiveness often feels lazy now. In 1996, Scream was revitalizing a genre. Today, two thirds of all horror movies spend half their running time making sure that you know that they know they’re a horror movie, which is fine, I guess, except sometimes you just wanna watch someone get butchered with an axe in peace. 

This is all to say that in 2020 Taylor Swift looked long and hard upon her image in the reflecting pool of her heart and has written yet another song about Gone Girl.

“mirrorball” is a very good piece of Gone Girl —feels insane to tell anyone reading a post on a blog what Gone Girl is but, you know, the extremely popular 2012 novel about a woman who pretends to have been murdered and frames her husband for it, and subsequently the 2014 film adaption where you kinda see Ben Affleck’s dick for a second—fanfiction. It would be a fine song, a good song, really, even if it weren’t that, if it were just something normal and not unhinged written by a chill person who behaves in a regular way, but we need to acknowledge the facts for what they are. When Taylor Swift watched Rosamund Pike toss her freshly self-bobbed hair out of her face and hiss, “You think you’d be happy with some nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby. I’m it!” her brain lit up like a Christmas tree, and she’s never been the same. If you Google “taylor swift gone girl” there waiting for you will be a medium sized lake’s worth of articles speculating about how Gone Girl influenced and is referenced in past Swift singles “Blank Space” and “Look What You Made Me Do”. This is not new behavior, and if anything it’s getting a bit troubling to think that it’s been this long since Taylor’s read another book. Still, while the prior offerings were a fair attempt at this particular feat of depravity, “mirrorball” has brought Taylor’s Amy Elliott Dunne deification to stunning new heights. And most importantly, Taylor has done a service to every person alive with more than six brain cells and a Internet connection by putting an end to the “Cool Girl” discourse once and for all. By the power invested in “mirrorball”, it is hereby decreed that the Cool Girl speech from Gone Girl is neither feminist or antifeminist, not ironic nor aspirational. No. It’s something much better than all that. It’s a threat. I ! Can ! Change ! Everything ! About ! Me ! To ! Fit ! In !

Gone Girl (2012) by Gillian Flynn

“mirrorball” (2020) by Taylor Swift

When the twinkly musical stylings of Jack Antonoff, a man I distinctly distrust, but for no one specific reason, whirl to life at the beginning of this song I feel instantly entranced, blurry-brained and pleasure-pickled like an infant beneath a light-up crib mobile or, I guess, myself in the old times, the outside times, three tequila sodas deep under the disco lights at The Short Stop. Under a mirrorball in my head. I know very little about music, as a craft, and I really don’t care to know more. I’m happy in a world of pure, dumb sensation. I’m not even sure what kind of instruments are making these jangly little sounds. I just like it. I am vibing. We may not ever be able to behave badly in a club again, but I can sway to my stupid Taylor Swift-and-the-brother-of-the-lady-who-makes-like-those-sweatshirts-with-little-sayings-or-like-vulvas-which-famous-white-women-wear-on-instagram-you-know-what-I-mean song, pressing up onto my tiptoes on the linoleum tile of our kitchen floor and can feel for a second or two something approaching bliss. “mirrorball” is a lush sound bath that I like a lot and then also it’s about being all things to all people, chameleoning at a second’s notice, doing Oscar worthy work on every Zoom call, performing the you who is good, performing the you who is funny, performing the you who draws a liter of your own blood and throws it around the kitchen then cleans it up badly all to get your husband sent to jail for sleeping with a college student... Too much talk about making and unmaking of the self is way too, like, 2012 Tumblr for me now, and I start hearing the word “praxis” ring threateningly in my head, but I’m not yet so evolved that I don’t feel a pull. Musings on the disorganized self—on how we are new all the time, and not just because of all the fresh skin coming up under the dead, personhood in the end so frighteningly flexible—are always going to compel me, I’m afraid, but that goes double for musings on the disorganized self which posit that Taylor Swift still thinks Amy Dunne made some points.

Because on “mirrorball” Taylor is for once not hamfistedly addressing some “hater”, in the quiet and the lack of embarrassing martyrdom it actually offers an interesting answer to the complaint that Taylor is insufficiently self-aware. This criticism emerges often in tandem with claiming to have discovered some crack in the chassis of Swift’s public self, revealing the sweetness to be insincere. My instinct is to dismiss this more or less out of hand as just a mutation of the school of thought that presumes all work by women must be autobiography. And, regardless, it is made altogether laughable by the fact that anyone actually paying attention has known since at least Speak Now, a delightful record populated by the most appalling, horrible characters imaginable, and all of them written by a twenty year old Taylor Swift, that this woman is a pure weirdo. To accuse Taylor Swift of lacking in self-awareness is a reductive misunderstanding, I think, of artifice. Being a fake bitch takes work. Which is to say, if we agree that her public self is a calculated performance—eliding the fact that all public selves are a performance to avoid getting too in the weeds yadda yadda— why, then, should it be presumed that performance is rooted in ignorance? Would it not make more sense that, in fact, someone able to contort themselves so ably into various shapes for public consumption would have a certain understanding of the basic materials they’re working with and concealing? Taylor Swift, in a decade and a half of fame, has presented herself from inside a number of distinct packages. The gangly teenager draped in long curls like climbing wisteria who wrote lyrics down her arms in glitter paint gave way to red lipstick, a Diet Coke campaign, and bad dancing at awards shows. There was the period where she was surrounded constantly by a gaggle of models, then suddenly wasn’t anymore, and that rough interlude with the bleached hair. The whole Polaroid thing. Last year she boldly revealed she’s a democrat. Now it’s the end of the world and she’s got frizzy bangs and flannels and muted little piano songs. Perhaps this endless shape-shifting contradicts or undermines, for some, the pose of tender authenticity which has remained static through each phase, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been doing it all on purpose the entire time. I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try...

In the Disney+ documentary—which, in order to watch, I had to grudgingly give the vile mouse seven dollars, because the login information that I’d begged off of my little sister didn’t work and I was too embarrassed to bring it up a second time—Taylor referred to “mirrorball” as the first time on the album where she explicitly addressed the pandemic, referring to the lyrics that start, “And they called off the circus, Burned the disco down,” and end with “I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me,” which actually did made me laugh, feeling sort of warmly foolish and a little fond, because it never would have occurred to me that she was trying to be literal there. I suppose we really do all contain multitudes. Hate that.