#imagine the internet works like those magic systems. and your true name/true face is a HUGE vulnerability

[okavara]

The smolryptid image that inspired some of dante's doodles btw (I wanted to light up dante's day somehow by going: Look!! look I'm showing him your stream)

Thought you tumblr people might appreciate him too :}

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hi! It's an au twilight question.

What if Edward and Bella did the nasty in early New moon. Then the party happens and the Cullens leave. Bella discovers she's pregnant with Renesmee. What do you think what would happen?

A very interesting question, anon. One that will go very interesting places, I'm sure.

That said, as usual, because I'm a completionist, we have to go through the "why no canon?" routine. Bear with me, I simply must.

Why Didn't Edward and Bella Do the Nasty Pre-Breaking Dawn?

For all that Edward is, for all his... questionable morals and sexual fixations, he does have a moral code he strictly holds himself to.

Edward is adamantly against having sex with Bella in terror of the very real possibility that he will murder her in the act. He's very clear about this, he didn't think he could do it, at all, and only his sheer desperation that Bella never be turned, his desire to marry Bella, as well as Alice's thumbs up convinced him to do it.

If Bella was a reasonable person then she would have agreed as well. Sex with Edward, while she's human, is a bad idea. However, Bella never really seems to clue in on what vampires even are so I think the Man of Steel on Woman of Kleenex aspect is lost on her.

Had Alice not given the green light, I imagine Edward would have gone back to the drawing board and ended up either here or here. Bella turning is the worst possible outcome and Edward will risk almost anything, even Bella's death, to see it avoided.

But that doesn't mean it's an action he takes lightly.

He suggests pimping Bella out to Jake before he suggests sleeping with her himself. For Edward, this is a last resort.

More, Edward is a man of his time.

Edward was from an upper class family and, more to the point, still holds himself to the standards of the society he knew when human (much to Bella's amusement).

Edward wistfully talks about courting Bella, how he would have courted her had he been a true man in the time period he was familiar with, and why marriage to him is so very important.

That Edward doesn't seek out the approval of Charlie, Bella's father, is a hilarious aside to me. Edward's all about chivalry until all those old society standards get in his way.

What do you mean a gentleman doesn't sneak into a lady's apartments in the middle of the night to watch her slumber unawares?!

Regardless, marriage is extremely important to Edward, especially in the context of sex.

Edward will absolutely not have sex with a woman who is not first his wife. He also will not marry a girl that society defines as underage, he will wait until Bella's legal and probably until she finishes her primary schooling.

This means Edward was never likely to have sex with her before graduation and certainly not before her eighteenth birthday.

Which, at the earliest, puts her past the New Moon birthday bash.

Edward and Bella Do the Do Anyway

But let's pretend they do it anyway.

I'd say the most likely scenario is after the birthday disaster. This is it, Edward knows he is leaving Bella forever, if he is truly noble then he will never see her again.

Certainly, he will never interact with her nor hold her in his arms. To Edward, this is essentially his last true night on Earth.

So rather than pull a partial D.E.N.N.I.S. system, Edward pulls the full D.E.N.N.I.S. system, he initiates the "I" he was previously missing, "Inspire Hope". Or, in this case, get laid for the first and only time in his life.

He sneaks in through her window. They make beautiful, passionate, tepid love so Edward does not crush her in the act, and as she sleeps blissfully in the aftermath he sneaks back out the window to never be seen again.

(It takes Bella a week to admit that Edward just hit and run. The Cullens aren't coming back.)

However, because Edward didn't actually point blank tell her what was happening, rather than hit her New Moon stage of depression, Bella's instead in denial.

The Cullens are coming back. What, Carlisle has a new job? No, that can't be right, they're coming back. Alice would never leave her without a word. Edward would never leave her without a word.

Jessica pats Bella on the back consolingly and is secretly glad that it's not her. She might have been dumped by Edward Cullen, but at least he didn't humiliate her the way he did Bella Swan.

Leaving without a single word, yikes.

Two weeks go by then Bella gets the flu.

In a single day, she's unable to keep down anything. Huh, that's weird. Very quickly, Bella has her tampon epiphany. Bella is not a virgin, she had sex with Edward, she's late, and she appears to have a baby bump.

Bella is carrying Edward's child.

There is no question of aborting the child. This is Edward's child, the only piece she has left of him, even without Renesmee's gift it's ride or die. Bella is delivering this child even if it kills her.

However, she has some immediate issues.

First, she's visibly pregnant, it's been only two weeks. That's not supposed to happen. More, Charlie is bound to notice sooner rather than later, Bella would like to avoid that, the stigma of teen pregnancy, as well as the inhuman complications that are sure to come along.

Second, there's inhuman complications. Bella can't just go to an OBGYN, not even a town over. She's carrying something half human, a doctor will poke around and find that out, and then Bella's blowing the secret.

Bella knows vaguely of the Volturi at this point, but not the severity of the law, it's more that she promised Edward she would never tell a soul.

Plus, a human doctor wouldn't be able to help anyway.

That leaves vampires.

Bella tries to call/email the Cullens. However, thanks to Edward, all their numbers are disconnected and all their emails no longer exist. Her "Alice, help, I'm pregannant" messages are sent to a void.

(Alice, meanwhile, thinks she's finally successful in blocking visions of Bella. At least Edward will be off her back. Without the cliff diving and Jake, Alice does not assume Bella has died/committed suicide.)

A brief internet survey also yields Bella no results, but it does get her a lot of vampire porn. Thanks internet.

Bella... starts to get worried.

She's getting more and more pregnant in a matter of days, Charlie is starting to notice that she can't keep anything down, and the Cullens aren't taking her phone calls.

Then, Bella has it, she remembers that weird baroque painting Carlisle had of him and those Italian vampire dudes: the Volturi. Conveniently named after the city they live in, Volterra, Italy.

Bella debates her options.

Edward told her that these are the guys who make sure that humans who know the secret disappear. Well, Bella is a human who knows the secret, that's bad. Also bad is that they eat people, Bella is a person.

On the other hand, Edward implied these guys are civilized and friends of Carlisle. That's... good? Bella isn't sure she's on good terms with the Cullens, given the whole abrupt leaving thing, but maybe they don't have to know that.

Bella debates with herself, tries to look up the Denali, and only finds the National Park. She has no idea where these guys even live, or what they even look like besides "blonde hot vampire", and she's short on time. Plus, they are close with the Cullens, so the Cullens probably did tell them "Ew, Bella, No Gross, Do Not Want".

Because the Cullens all hate her now.

Bella has some money saved up, and this is probably a one way trip, and if she doesn't go then... well, it's not looking good. Bella musters up her courage, tells Charlie some outrageous fib to explain why she's disappearing off the face of the planet, and books a flight to Rome, then Pisa, then a bus ride to Volterra.

Bella subsists completely on blue gateorade, this doesn't go well, and she vomits blue in the parking lot.

Regardless, she makes it, huzzah she is in Volterra. It's sunny out and there are no vampires. Bella wanders around the city and looks for the most vampire building she can find.

Luckily, she happens to be right, and it's the very central castle. Well done, Bella.

Bella walks in and spots a vampire. She also spots a receptionist, Bella is very confused. Never the less, Bella says the magic words, "I'm a... friend of Carlisle Cullen?"

Even though Bella doesn't have Aro's name (or any of the other Volturi for that matter), Carlisle's name does the trick. Anyone who works for Aro knows that name.

Color Aro intrigued, he will meet this pregnant woman! (Caius, meanwhile, votes that they eat her immediately out of spite.)

Well, Aro touches her hand and lo and behold she's scarily gifted. And she knows Carlisle, what a great day to be Aro.

Aro explains that everything's totally fine with her knowing the secret, it just means they have to turn her eventually, after she gives birth of course.

Bella stares at him numbly and wonders why Edward made this such a big deal if it was that easy.

Aro insists Bella start from the beginning, as in the very beginning of her life. This is weird, but Bella complies.

An hour later they get to the interesting part: Bella meets Carlisle (and Edward Cullen, Aro guesses). Aro gets to hear the whole, sordid, ridiculous tale of Bella and Edward's romance including the part where he fucked her and ran off into the night.

Aro is stunned.

He first apologizes for the Cullens behavior, they should absolutely not have abandoned her, and not turning her was completely irresponsible (what the hell was Carlisle thinking?)

He then gives the bad news, he... has never heard of anything like this.

You see, normal vampires don't have sex with humans. It isn't done.

Also, there's this thing called Immortal Children (Edward tell you about that, no? Well, he probably thought it wasn't relevant). That thing your carrying might not be a child capable of growth but an insatiable monster.

Or it could be the alien from Aliens.

There's no way to tell, really.

BUT NO NEED TO WORRY, BELLA, THEY WILL FIGURE THIS OUT.

Aro promises Bella his protection and a period of observation for the child. Bella's not sure she likes that observation part, but this seems like a pretty sweet deal otherwise.

As for what to do, well, Aro has to call in the foremost vampire medical expert. Sorry, Bella, but there's only one man for the job.

Aro sends out Demetri to find Carlisle.

Demetri shows up on Carlisle's doorstep, "Carlisle, old friend, Aro has need of you. Your son knocked up a human girl."

Carlisle blinks, blinks again, then does a thousand yard stare. My God.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Edward is already on Victoria's tail. Carlisle tries to call him, to no avail, Edward isn't taking his phone calls.

Alice and Jasper are already on their trip to hunt down Alice's past. Plus, given the Volturi, they'd be unlikely to come anyway. Carlisle sends them a message.

Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett travel to Volterra to clean up Edward's mess.

And sure enough, there's Bella, very pregnant with a child that is very much not human. Carlisle dies inside, Rosalie's on a warpath that Edward would abandon his pregnant girlfriend to the point where the only place she could turn was human drinking vampires.

Rosalie takes it upon herself to leave Edward the world's angriest voice messages until he returns her phone calls.

Aro's delighted to see Carlisle again. Even if he does have a wife now. Also, Aro claims finders keepers for Bella, Carlisle's not happy about this and less happy that Aro points out that if Edward cared so much he wouldn't be absent right now, would he?

They figure out the blood drinking thing, Carlisle desperately raids a hospital to prevent Bella from being fed the leftovers of the Volturi victims. This likely doesn't work out for him.

At the last possible moment, Edward finally picks up his phone. He learns that all he's tried to accomplish failed spectacularly. Bella is pregnant with his demon child, is literally drinking blood, and is in Vampire HQ with the leader insisting she will be turned immediately after the C-section.

Edward races to Volterra and strides into the room demanding Bella be aborted and remain human.

Aro stares.

Carlisle awkwardly explains that Bella's too far along, it's too late now even if they wanted to, more she adamantly doesn't want to abort and never did.

As for Bella being human... Bella pipes in that she's cool on becoming the vampire part. Aro's a great guy. She then races to embrace Edward, he's come back, after all this time. And he's going to be a father, isn't that wonderful?

Edward loses his mind.

And because this is Edward, I have no idea what he'll do, only it'll be utter madness. This is my best guess.

To be a little more serious, he probably tries to abort the child anyway, he mercy kills Bella and the child, or Renesmee manages to get through to him.

Given canon, it's likely the latter. Bella is convinced that her and Edward's relationship is perfect.

Aro has no idea what to think of any of this.

[cam-rowe]

Camille Rowe: « I would have loved to act in Kill Bill »

« Clara Bow... Why do I have Clara Bow’s name in my head when I think about Camille Rowe ? » The author and journalist, Simon Liberati, tells us the story of how he met the French-American actress and model, Camille Rowe.

Because I’m an old man, and because of age, I mix up pre-war actress with today’s It girls. One hundred years later, no one knows the name of Clara Bow, the first it girl (the name was invented for her). Blonde with big blue eyes, she was the queen of Hollywood, she shared lovers with her enemy Marion Davies, the other blonde with big blue eyes, mistress of Randolph Hearst and a castle on the side of Lower Topanga, the Spiral Staircase where the Manson family lived. I think of those girls because Camille Rowe reminds me of Tarantino, she should film with him, it would suit her. 

In the meantime, Camille Rowe has just played a role in a choral film inspired by the work of Anna Gavalda: ‘I wish someone was waiting for me somewhere (j’aimerai que quelqu’un m’attende quelque part).’ A movie by Arnaud Viard, with Jean-Paul Rouve and Alice Taglioni. An hour and half long feature film. It’s a very moving film where you can see her with a beanie, red nose and wet eyes because she cries a lot. Some directors are really into giving roles of morose girls who are not really boring, but «Annagavaldian » which mean not really funny to models and it girls. 

I remember Abel Ferrara’s movie, ‘The Blackout’ where the poor Claudia Schiffer gave the line to Beatrice Dalle in a psycho-rigid version. At the time an article from France Dimanche or d’ici Paris kind of cruelly recounted Claudia’s troubles with Abel. 

I don't think the shooting of Arnaud Viard was that chaotic. Camille Rowe plays the role of Jean-Paul Rouve’s little sister, a frustrated theatre actor who became a wine merchant and soon committed suicide, who pays her, her fantasies of art photography. He lends her 10.000€ so she can do her project of the moment with Diane Arbus (she likes deformed people) all in Dijon. Then Jean-Paul Rouve dies of love for Elsa Zylleberstein (an actress who have cancer) and then Camille finds herself crying for a good forty minutes with the rest of the family (choral). 

When I was able to reach Camille Rowe on her cell phone while she was shooting with Jen Eymere for the cover of L'Officiel, the first question I was dying to ask her was: "What were you thinking about that was so sad that you could cry for 40 minutes over Jean-Paul Rouve's death?" "As it is a... melodrama, we often kept the first takes. So it wasn't hours of tears a day either. I was thinking about a traumatic event that happened to me, so I kept the after-effects long after the three weeks of shooting [sinister laugh]. I promised myself I'd never do it again. The worst thing is that in my life I'm the kind of person who cries easily..." 

Yet Camille Chrystal Pourcheresse, better known as Camille Rowe, is a French- American model and actress born on January 7, 1990. She is 30 years old. The beautiful age... Daughter of a prosperous restaurateur, she had, according to Wikipedia, a happy childhood "in a favoured district of the capital". When I went to look for her photos on the Internet, I told myself that I knew her face. Magnificent blue eyes spread apart, huge mouth, curious nose a bit too big, a bit wet, a bit charming (like Anatole France) sublime breasts, thin thighs... Californian style. Hair beach blond surf and warm sand... I know this face maybe from the Baron or Montana, from a Purple dinner or from the Cora cafeteria in Soissons (where I live), I didn't dare to ask her... When L'Officiel commissioned the portrait I'm trying to write, I didn't really feel like it, I was in a deplorable mood, retyping a book that was already more or less a failure, Prayers Answered, whose title I stole from Truman Capote who in exchange sent me a spell, but I always tell myself that things come from encounters, even furtive ones, ordered with a frame... a 10- minute interview on the phone can get me out of the slump. I'll call her at 1:00. 

The voice is really lovely. Not too charming, not manicured, not dragging, not grunge, but open ... She tells me that she's walking down the street to go to the shooting and I already regret having had the laziness to walk a hundred kilometres in traffic jams to meet her. I've heard many voices in sixty years, few so open... Nothing to do with the idea I had of her, coming from a mix of Wikipedia, articles by Elle and photographs by Terry Richardson where she was sticking her tongue out in an old Purple from ten years ago. I also have a 2018 César box set with ‘Rock'n'roll’ by Guillaume Canet but I have to admit that I forgot the content of this film except that Marion Cotillard is trying to learn the Canadian accent. Hence my second question ... I read (in Glamour? in Elle? in the UGC press kit?) that Camille Rowe had a hard time losing her French-American accent to play a choral film. 

the banks of the Saône. It's true that we can't imagine Jean-Paul Rouve's sister speaking with the accent of Laurel Canyon and Linda Hardy.

- “It's not a question of accent but of intonation. It comes out when I'm speaking in a group, when I'm expressing emotions... At first, it didn't really fit with Dijon.” 

- “I can assure you that you can't hear anything...”

- “Thank you [happy laugh], that means I've done a good job so.”

 - “Did you like Dijon?”

 - “Yes, I loved it. There's a lot of wineries there. My boyfriend and I went for a walk and tasted some good wines.”

It's true that she doesn't look like she's sucking ice cream. Not a drunk, no... but a well-to-do person, as they say in the press. The blur in the eyes, the wet nose and the infectious laughter can make you think that... Kind of like Romy Schneider. The comparison is not infamous. Clara Bow didn't spit on a drink either... The stupid question now that I've stolen from an old issue of Miss Tender-Aged... 

- “Camille, ideally, what role would you have liked to play in the cinema?” 

- “The movie I really would have liked to play in is Kill Bill.”

I was right to think of Tarantino, Camille Rowe has a Margot Robbie side to her as Sharon Tate... Something joyful, Californian, uncomplicated and a little attracted by evil at the same time... 

- “In the film, you photograph deformed people. In life are you a fan of Diane Arbus?” 

- “As for art, I prefer painting. I am not a fan of photography. On the other hand, I like horror films... Otherwise, I'm quite interested in serial killers...”

An opening? I don't believe it. I read (on Wikipedia?) that she likes old David Cronenberg... So we quote some movies... If I had come instead of phoning her, I could have told her that I spent several evenings with Cronenberg in Geneva in November (his daughter is a photographer too) and that he has a great sound system on his iPhone that allows him to listen to or zap people depending on whether they are sitting in front of him, on the left or on the right... 

- “You'll never guess what they're doing to my makeup while I'm talking to you... They're scraping scabs off my nose.”

That girl is really charming... Rowe power... Only good-looking people talk about this kind of stuff. 

- “Do you have plans?”

- “Yes, a Canadian sci-fi film... And an English film...”

- “Your first role? - When I was 12 at school in Edmond Rostand's Chantecler, I played a chicken... A mean chicken. I liked that [sinister laugh].”

Rowe-power got a magic touch. 

-

(CREDIT FOR TRANSLATION: kareninapetrova)

[shenglingyuan]

interview with priest from 2012

Hello! KK, the leader of GPS Translations(translation group for Imperfections) wanted to share an early interview with Priest. This one dates back to 2012! She talks about the origin of her pen name, her writing style, writing inspirations, and about “writing” smut =w=

You can listen to the audio recording here. Her voice is really cute and sweet!!!

Host(H): Why did you take Priest as your author name? Priest(P): At first, I only had a reader ID. When I registered as an author in Jinjiang(jjwxc), many of the Chinese names I tried were already taken. I took an English book randomly and used the first word I saw, which was “priest”.

H: Really? Just so casually and randomly? I thought it was religious or something like that? P: Really, really. Because I tried some Chinese names and they were all taken and the website system was asking me to add 01, 06, something like that after my Chinese name. It’s quite annoying, so I went to an English one.

H: When did you start writing? P: On the internet, probably 2007.

H: Which one of your work are you most satisfied with? P: What I’ve written, they don’t have much difference to me. I like them all so I really can’t pick up a favorite one. Maybe my favorite one would be something that I haven’t written yet. I hope in the future you can keep supporting me.

H: What genre would you like to try in the future? P: In the future, probably, some weird ancient background or modern background to express reality, I don’t know which one will I choose as my next one.

H: Can you tell us the type of the CP? P: I can tell you that but probably it will change before I finish, because I once liked zhongquan*, but now I don’t know why but I’ve been liking zhagong more. *one of the CP is very loyal to the other one, will spoil and love the other very much  and can do everything for the other *one of the CP only takes advantage of the other’s feelings, doesn’t really love the other one but only use the other half to get a good time H: I’m not really into zhagong but I think I will--- P: So you’re gonna abandon me :( H: No, I will never abandon you!!

H: Do you have an author you like, BL and BG? P: Yes, I do. I think I like quite a lot in BL, maybe I can’t speak them all out loud because if I list it, it will fill a whole paper. I’ve read a lot and I like a lot. I haven’t read BL type a lot recently. Recently I was reading Yu Hua’s book. I liked him a lot, I’m a really a big fan of him

H: So what good novels have you read recently in BL? P: I recently started liking ghost stories for no reason and I read a lot, a lot, a lot of ghost stories but it seems that most of my readers are not really into it.

H: Which one have you read? P: It’s Liu Gan.

H: Someone told me they read ‘Liu Gan’ and they got scared to sleep alone at night. P: Qing Qiu’s ‘Gui Hua Lian Pan’ is quite good. And I read another one, ‘Tong Hua Zhong Lu Si Li Xie Ji Yi Yuan Guai Tan’, and I read this one today.

H: Is there any possibility that you will write horror stories? P: I’m not sure if I’m good at it because no one told me ghost stories in my childhood, so I can just keep reading others for now.

H: An audience is asking, your work often contains a lot of imagination. The multiple subjects and content, are they related to your professional major or hobbies? Take ‘Final Blue-Signet(Zhong Ji Lan Yin)’ as an example. P: Not really related to my major but I’m kind of like a jack of all trades, master of none, so I have quite a lot of hobbies.

H: Another is asking, is Priest a STEM major? Did you feel confused when you wrote ‘Final Blue-Signet’ because of your mixed background? P: You can say so [that I’m a STEM Major]. But I hope you don’t believe my settings too much because I’m just bullshitting. But I’m not feeling confused by it because after all, I’m the one who wrote them.

H: Where did your inspiration came from for writing ‘Final Blue-Signet’? P: I was waiting in line to buy bread and there was an advertisement board opposite it. The ad has a picture that was very very very big and was very very very complicated, and then I just figured out the story for ‘Final Blue-Signet’.

H: What exactly did the picture show? Why would it make you think of ‘Final Blue-Signet’? P: Because I don’t really get the picture, and I can’t figure out why are they drawing those kind of things. I think the complicated thing is like a magical pattern. So, it’s lovely. While I was in the line and I had nothing to so, I just handed out an essay which is very complicated. Then I took out a little notebook and wrote down my settings and started to set for Final Blue-Signet.

H: What about Qi Ye(The Seventh Lord)’s inspiration? P: Actually, it was difficult to write this one. I spent a lot of time and I tried a lot of settings and dropped a lot of settings, but I cherished them so I don’t wanna give up on them. After, I just combined everything together. So the final product is like everything and unlike everything.

H: Can you describe your own writing style? P: You can say that I’m under the “bullshitting” style.

H: Why? How could you call yourself under the “bullshitting” style? P: Because I think I’m bullshitting from settings to the plot, I just make them randomly and very casually. H: So modest. P: No no no I’m really bullshitting style.

H: You must have an outline. Will you change your plot because of what the readers say to you? P: EHHH? I don’t think this question is in the rehearsal. How could you suddenly ask me this question, just because I said I had a bullshitting style? The hope was all for the best at first. I had an outline at the very beginning but almost every part of the outline can’t stand for more than 30,000 words, it just totally goes out of the outline. Whether I will be influenced by my readers ... it depends because some of my novels, I write them in advance and some I write them at the moment. Those that are written at the moment are more easily to be influenced by the readers.

H: Is Liang Jiuxiao in The Seventh Lord really dead? P: Yes, yes, yes, and yes. It’s true. H: He’s a very popular character among your readers and many of your readers think that he has something with his senior brother*? P: They are thinking too much. *this senior brother is Zhou Zishu of Faraway Wanderers/Tian Ya Ke

H:Do you have preference over the type of CP or genre? P: No I don’t have one. If you read my novels, then you’ll know I don’t have a preferred one.

H: Many of us want to ask you a question. Why is there very few sex plots in your novels? When do you plan to write more sex plots? P: There are more and there are less. Actually I wrote them, I just make them less so you can’t see it.

H: No sex plot is really being “deceitful”. P: Well I forgot to say that I’m also a “deceitful” type of writer.

H: So you just erase all the sex plot like that? P: You can say so.

H: When do you plan to write them and do you have any conditions to do it? P: One: until the day I’m finally good at it, and two: when the internet has a rating for different age.

H: You mean you’re afraid of tainting underage readers? P: Yeah, yeah, yeah … I hope that underage readers can see cute media like cartoons or something instead.

H: Another audience question: you have a very busy life, and you update very fast. How could you balance the relationship between writing, your studying, and your life? P: I’m not actually that busy, I like hanging out. I don’t write novels for a very long time a day. In a day, one to two hours tops.

H: How many words can you write in those one or two hours? P: One or two hours is enough for one or two updates.

H: How many words exactly? P: In my bad condition, about 2000 words, if I’m in good condition, more than 3000 words. H: You are so fast! P: Uhhh, right.

H: You never face the difficulty of not knowing what to write? P: I just said my style is “deceitful” plus “bullshitting” so I think this style can make me happy. Also, my stories, the quality is quite low. I have quite a lot of typos.

H: How do you name your characters in your book? P: Mostly, from dictionaries. A book is very handy, too. I think of a page number and line number, which character of the line then I open it. If it’s really weird, I will do it again. If I think it’s okay, then it’s okay.

H: So casual, just like how you chose your pen name. P: Yep yep, but I’m very loyal to the names. Because I can’t remember them all if I have a lot of names.

H: Thank you for your gentle attitude. Is there anything else you want to say to our audience? P: First of all, I wish you all a happy new year and may your wishes come true. I hope everyone can study well and can read less sex plots to protect yourselves.

H: Thank you for coming today, Priest. P: Thanks, thanks, thanks for your hard work!

H: Well thanks for your hard work too!

Priest is the author of Guardian(2012), Sha Po Lang(2015), Silent Reading(2016), Imperfections(2017), Faraway Wanderers(2010), and more. Masterlist of English translations can be found here.

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 106: Buddy’s Book

“We imagined him way off.”

As a children's librarian, I feel there are some things I should clear up before getting started. First, we don't read at the front desk as patrons come in (and we certainly wouldn't be reading something as smutty as Passions of Xanxor); our job is helping people, not sating our own love of books, and there’s tons of other work to do when patrons aren’t in immediate need. Second, we might tell noisy patrons to be quiet at times, but we don't loudly and nonverbally shoosh, because that’s rude as hell and would justifiably result in louder backlash. Third, we weed our collections regularly, meaning a journal that's hundreds of years old would've been trashed, donated, or (most likely in this case) moved to special collections long before it could've been left uncatalogued on the ground for a patron to find (and yeah, we are capable of checking beneath the shelves). 

None of these misconceptions matter that much, but what is a little annoying is the stereotype that libraries are book repositories, rather than information centers. Yes, we carry books, but we also carry digital media to fit a modern world, and more importantly, we're staffed with information specialists  who teach digital literacy to all ages. If you're a Connie, getting your information from the internet and citing erroneous sources, come to the library and we'll teach you how to research properly using every tool at your disposal, including your smartphone. Smartphones aren’t the problem. The internet isn’t the problem. Shoddy methodology is the problem, and it’s still a problem if you’re only researching with books, because books can be erroneous as well. Pick a world history book from as late as the 80s and it’ll tell you the USSR still exists. Pick a book written by a racist and you might walk away thinking some very biased information is factual, depending on your critical thinking skills.

Libraries have always been at the forefront of literacy, research, and community outreach, so don't let anyone in charge of budgets tell you that we're a relic of the past despite what portrayals of libraries so often amount to in media.

(Also, and as much as I loathe the Dewey Decimal System, which is outdated and nonadjustable and prejudiced and not at all structured well from a consumer-facing standpoint, which is crucial to kids especially: how did they not make a single reference to Dewey also being the last name of Beach City’s mayor and Buddy’s buddy?)

Okay, professional duties out of the way. Let's talk about stories.

Buddy's Book is about history, but more specifically, about the way we perceive history when we weren't there to live it. Nothing we see of the past looks the way it actually looked, because Steven and Connie are conflating a person who died centuries ago with Jamie. And it doesn’t stop at the visual level: unless we're to believe that the glorious line "I shall not disappear! I shan't die a lowly first mate! I shwill do something great with my life!" is actually written in the journal, the kids are allowing the idea of Jamie to seep into the narration as well. It’s reminiscent of one of my favorite Simpsons gags, where the ghost of Cesar Chavez explains that he appears as Cesar Romero to Homer because Homer doesn’t know what Cesar Chavez looked like. 

The kids say outright that they’re picturing Buddy as Jamie, so we’re aware from the start that reality is being altered. This sensation is enhanced when the Crystal Gems' appearances shift from their modern outfits to the way they looked in the old photo from So Many Birthdays as soon as the kids think to do so (complete with Amethyst's long hair, which was sorta retconned into being inspired by Greg's). Amethyst speaks using modern slang, and Garnet and Pearl exit their scene on a penny-farthing bicycle, which wouldn't be invented until the 1870s, because to a kid “the past” is a single nebulous unit of time where everything can mix together.

This is mostly played for laughs, and to great effect, but the timing of this episode forces us to confront the downside of nudging history to fit a better story. As silly as it is to insert modern concepts to fill in gaps from long ago, Steven has also had to fill the gaps for his mother's story, combining all the great things he’s heard about her from his family to create an impossible ideal of an imperfect figure. Learning that Buddy didn’t look anything like Jamie at the end of the episode is another joke, but learning that Rose wasn’t who Steven thought she was is the driving force behind Act III of the original series (a.k.a. the final two seasons).

And, of course, this is the first time we see Rose after the reveal. In a bubble, Steven’s lack of reaction to her appearance in the book seems like a misfire, but Mindful Education is coming right up to show how Steven is repressing his emotions (which also retroactively makes me enjoy his childish behavior here, such as not controlling the volume of his voice and playing with the rolling stool).

More than any other flashback so far, Rose is an enigma. She’s a mystery to Buddy, a normal human encountering a giant woman in the desert. She’s a mystery to her friends, all by herself in the desert with a small pride of lions that the other Crystal Gems don’t know about, judging by their reaction to Lion a few hundred years later. And she’s a mystery to us, because we’ve been told that she killed someone and are thirsty for answers.

Instead, she acts like she always has. She’s as empathetic and silly and encouraging as ever, but why wouldn’t she be? The most we’ve seen of her is in Greg’s flashbacks, so we already know what she acted like after the shattering. Read one way, this episode confirms that her behavior wasn’t a front, because she’s just as lovely with this random human hundreds of years earlier.

But remember, we aren’t actually seeing Rose here. We’re seeing Steven’s interpretation of Rose from the writings of a stranger’s journal, and he’s been embellishing this journal the entire time. I’m not saying that Rose didn’t do what the book purports, or that there’s any reason for us to think she didn’t act this way, but it’s up to Steven to show us, and when given the opportunity to present any character any way he likes, he still sees Rose the way he always has. We’re an episode away from his confronting those feelings, but it’s important to see that for now he’s still clinging to the stories he’s familiar with even after a new story has come to light.

Then, of course, there’s Lion. This is the first time in ages we’ve gotten a new hint at his backstory (it’s been on the back burner since Rose’s Scabbard), but as always, his origin remains shrouded. The connection to Rose is clearer than ever, but she’s with seven lions, not one, and none of them are pink. 

This is an area where I’m a little more frustrated by Steven not wondering aloud what’s up with the lions, but I’m not frustrated with Steven, if that makes sense.  Steven has never been as interested in the lore of the show as the fans; magic is his normal, so digging deep into where Lion came from would be like tracking down the family tree of a pet cat. Plus it would ruin the pacing of the episode for us to focus too hard on the lions, and it probably wouldn’t be great for the mystery. My frustration is from wanting a puzzle solved, which speaks to how effective this little side story has been. If we aren’t compelled enough to remember these details, Lars’s eventual resurrection has no oomph, so a little annoyance is worth it.

The coolest aspect of the episode by far is revisiting old haunts; Rose may praise Buddy’s writing, but his drawings are nothing to scoff at, and seeing the locations themselves is a delight. It’s a nice review of the show’s own history through the eyes of someone else (and then back again through the eyes of our heroes looking through the eyes of someone else). This is our second episode in a row with musical cues from past episodes, which I sadly can’t link to because we’ve reached the era where Aivi and Surasshu had to stop posting their background tracks online. Know Your Fusion and Buddy’s Book have a nifty through-line of looking into the show’s past, just as Buddy’s Book and Mindful Education have a through-line of Steven hanging out with Connie as she begins a new school year. It’s cool to see light structuring in the serialization after so many episodes in a row that were more directly connected.

Even though Jamie himself doesn’t actually appear in it, this is probably my favorite Jamie episode. Eugene Cordero has proven himself an expert ham many times over, and because the mailman is already larger than life, he’s even more melodramatic in the kids’ imaginations. Cordero sells that “shwill” with ease, but his best read is the desert monologue that goes an even deeper layer and has Steven and Connie imagining Jamie as Buddy imagining what other people would think of his quest: “‘Ha ha ha,’ they’d say. ‘What a fool,’ they’d continue.” 

The Gems get to be goofy as well, with Pearl speaking in mangled old-timey parlance, Garnet going big in her not-too-subtle pep talk, and Amethyst swinging from accommodating and annoyed. And it’s not as if Steven and Connie are serious, either. The lightheartedness is abundant, but unlike Kindergarten Kid or Know Your Fusion, it just feels wholesome. Sure, there’s snark here and there, but this is essentially two friends having fun at the library, which I’m all about.

I’ll repeat a third time that Mindful Education is incoming, and with it comes the reality of Steven’s situation. Stories are fun, but distractions only last so long, and Buddy’s Book is a wonderful way to give us a little more joy while priming us for a bigger story about when the stories we live by aren’t true. 

Future Vision!

It’s perfect foreshadowing to slip the Palanquin in with all the portrayals of places we’ve already been. Especially because Stephen’s Dream actually uses the journal as a reference point. (Also: did Connie steal that book? Because she certainly couldn’t have checked it out if it wasn’t catalogued.)

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Does it get things wrong about libraries? Sure. But this is still a fun and funny episode about research and narratives, so it’s burrowed its way into my heart regardless.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

When It Rains

Catch and Release

Chille Tid

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

No Thanks!

     5. Horror Club      4. Fusion Cuisine      3. House Guest      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

(Not sure why this one lacks promo art, considering it’s our first episode after the huge release rush of the Summer of Steven, but I love the True Buddy art from Tench.)

[therandomfics]

Strangers Pt 2

Dominick, also known as isirac, had become quite the interesting individual. He was in his 30′s, worked for the city, and was a family oriented kind of person. He was charming, polite, handsome, and articulate. He was you, but with male genitalia. That’s why he was such a person of interest - but not for your case, for you. 

On the opposite end of the spectrum, you’d met up with BHUNT03, Brendon, and were absolutely flabbergasted by the fact that one person could be so in love with their own existence. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here a little while and it just isn’t really my speed,” Brendon had said over dinner. He’d chosen a place that screamed tourist, but you didn’t want to be rude and mention that you’d lived here long enough not to enjoy the cheap thrills of I <3 NY on everything. Plus, as you’d told him several times in the past two weeks, you were from Boston. 

You’d nodded and tried to stomach the idea of anyone wanting to actually be with this guy. “Maybe you should move back to Austin?” you had suggested - harmless, but apparently offensive. 

He scoffed. “See that’s what’s wrong with all of you women up here. You all think you’re hot shit, like you’re better than someone else based on their accent or their hometown. It’s no wonder you’re 30 and single.” 

“Right. You’re 34, correct? 34 and single, and in a city that you hate. Must be a dream come true.” You had excused yourself a few moments later and left. Brendon was a prime suspect for your case now, with all of his pent up anger and lack of respect. Interesting. 

That night you went home and got on your computer to message Dominick. 

Omg.. I just had the worst date of my life. Pretty sure if I hadn’t be vigilant he would have tried to off me in the parking lot. Tell me you’re having better luck? 

isirac: Hell no. The girl I keep trying to take out on a date can’t be bothered with me. 

Surely not. Look at you, Dominick. You’re handsome and smart! Who could say no to you?

isirac: Well then let me take you out, Y/N. I won’t be conventional. Meet me for breakfast in the morning? I have to go in at 8, school starts at 8... so, 6? 

He’d remembered your lie about being a teacher. But, also, he was asking you out, and you thought you might actually like him, so the lying bit was a lot more difficult suddenly. 

Sure! Here’s my number. Text me, and we’ll plan a place to meet up, okay? 

Your phone lit up only a few minutes later. 

Dominick: How about Al Cappucino’s? 

You: Sounds good. I’ll make sure I wear a red sweater so you notice me. 

Dominick: I scarcely believe I’d miss you. 

You: See you in the morning. :) 

Who could sleep? You stayed up that night sorting through the wild abandon of Meet and Mingle, wondering how some of these men were raised, how many of them were predators in the making, and how many of them might actually not be looking for romance at all. 

When you arrived that morning at Al’s, you took a deep breath and walked inside. There he was, sharp as he could be in a pressed suit leaning against the coffee bar. Good. God. He was even more attractive in person and that was no small feat. 

“Hey, Dominick,” you called out, offering him a small wave. 

“Y/N! You didn’t blow me off! I’m shocked,” he laughed, and greeted you with a polite but warm hug. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honestly.” 

“Let’s sit.” 

You sat down across from him and studied his face for a long moment, taking in the softness of his eyes and the way that his hair was perfectly coiffed. His suit was well tailored and you couldn’t help but notice that he was noticing you, too. 

“I feel like I’ve known you for a long time,” you confessed and felt your cheeks growing red. What were you doing? This was an UC operation. You don’t fall for the potential suspects. 

He didn’t miss a beat or alienate you. “I feel the same way. You’re just really easy to talk to, and honestly after some of the things I see at work, I just want someone that I can have an honest conversation with, y’know?” 

In between bites of the food that you’d ordered, you learned that Dominick had been a life long resident of New York, was a huge fan of anything to do with New York sports, he was Catholic, he was an uncle, he was passionate about his work, and he was really, really smart. Apparently he’d wrapped up law school and was teetering on the fence between his current job, and moving on to practice law. 

“You’re impressive,” you commented, that same blush appearing on his face. “You make me look pretty lame. I teach US History and Political Systems at a school in Brooklyn. Kids these days are pretty.. what do they say, savage? They make me feel old. But, that’s besides the point. I want to know when we’re gonna go see a game together.” 

The clock struck 7:15 and you both sighed. It was time to part ways and head to work. He would go to his job with the city, and you’d go to Brooklyn SVU - or, Millennium High School, whichever. You both stood and walked to the door together, out onto the sidewalk where the city that never slept was waking up from a cat nap. 

“Call me sometime? Sooner rather than later,” he suggested, and opened his arms to you. 

You stepped into the hug and lingered there for a moment. It felt so wonderful to have the touch of another human being; one that wasn’t trying to hit you for arresting them. “I will. But, the phone goes both ways,” you reminded him and pulled away. “See you soon, I hope.” 

“There’s this guy name Brendon Hunt, he’s 34 and works on Wall Street. He’s an asshole and I’m beginning to think a tyrannical misogynist. Look into him,” you said over the phone to TARU. Maybe he’s talked to someone else and they’re missing, or worse. He’s from Austin, TX from what he told me.” You hung up the phone and began scouring through your inbox again. One message stood out among the rest. 

quidproquo: You’re very pretty. Stop dating these jackasses in suits and talk to me instead. 

What makes you think I’m dating a jackass in a suit?

quidproquo: Because I saw you at 7AM. 

Saw me where? 

quidproquo: Al Cappucino’s. 

Your heart stopped for a moment and you grabbed your phone, making a quick call back to TARU. You gave them the user name and let them do their magic, hoping for a result. On the other end of the phone you heard the clicking and typing of the agent trying to find a result for you, but they seemed to be finding nothing but dead ends. 

“It’s coming from an Internet Cafe in Queens.” 

“I haven’t been to Queens in fucking ages,” you grumbled. “Okay. Alright, thank you. If you find anything else out, let me know please. Thank you, again.” 

Hiding out in Queens? What a shame, I heard that place is a slum. 

quidproquo is not receiving messages at this time. 

You tried to click on his profile, but it was suddenly deleted. You screen shot the messages and emailed them to yourself, copying Captain Walker, before shutting your laptop and taking a step back to clear your head. Maybe it was Brendon? Maybe he was mad that you’d gone out with someone else so quickly - but, then why would he be following you? Unless, of course, he had hacked into your profile, which wouldn’t be too surprising if he was as crazy as you suspected. 

Against your better judgement, you opened your laptop back up and went to your inbox again. You had three new messages waiting for you from the past two days, and you knew it was important to keep going until you found the person you were looking for. 

bklawyer06: Sorry you’re so lonely. New York isn’t for everyone, but it looks like we both live in Brooklyn so maybe sometime we’ll run into one another. Maybe sooner rather than later. 

You’re sweet to say that, thank you. Yes, it is pretty lonely but, I can’t imagine why you’d be lonely. A single lawyer in Brooklyn? You’re like a unicorn. 

bklawyer06: Hahaha yeah i guess so but that’s because my office is in Manhattan and the girls there really aren’t my type. All i see are courtrooms, clients, and pretentious women who wear knock off YSL like no one knows. Gotta love Manhattan. 

Lol I feel you there. I avoid the place if I can, really, which is easy bc I work and live here in Brooklyn. Easy commute, too!

B: What do you do, if you don’t mind that I ask? 

I teach US History at Millennium. 

I graduated from MBHS. Does Mrs. Frazier still work in the front office? 

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to ask those kinds of questions. After a quick google search, you found that she had retired last year. 

No, she retired, but it’s a small world isn’t it? I bet we’ve passed by one another before and didn’t even realize. 

B: Next time you pass me by, let me know. You look pretty hot in your pictures so I’d like to see the real thing some time. 

The day’s early. I was planning on going for a run later, maybe you’ll be out? Brooklyn’s kind of large, though. 

B: Take a run through Bennett Field. I was gonna take my dog out around 6. Oh, my name is Daniel. 

Okay, I’ll look for a cute guy with a dog. That’s like, impossible to find. I’m Y/N. See you in a while. 

Did you usually run? No. Were you going to tonight? No, you’d probably jog into the open area of Bennett Field and then stop. It wasn’t that you weren’t in shape, but usually you ran to chase someone down, and you hoped it wouldn’t be that way tonight. You holstered your service weapon in your shoulder harness and slipped your jacket over it, concealing your real reason for the visit, and headed out the door. 

When you arrived, you slowed your pace and jogged idly around the park for about ten minutes before you saw a some-what familiar face. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he called out, his dog jumping wildly in excitement. 

“Hey, Daniel. Nice to see you in person.” You stood a few feet away from him and crouched down to invite his dog over. “Who’s this?” 

“That’s Molly. She loves new people,” he commented and let his eyes wander up and down your body. “You’re prettier in person.” 

You laughed and stood up. “Thanks. I guess I can’t say you’re pretty because that’s too feminine but, you are attractive. Molly, though, is totally gorgeous.” 

Daniel was nice, you decided, although a little forward. It was obvious that he was nervous and wanted to make a good impression somehow, and you just didn’t have the ability to tell him it wasn’t worth the anxiety. He practiced Family Law - he was a divorce lawyer - and had been for two years. He graduated from Baylor and moved back home after college. You made up your story as you went and tried to remember key details of your facade. It went well, and he asked to see you again. 

“Yeah, that would be great,” you agreed. “Should we.. trade numbers?” 

He nodded enthusiastically and handed you his phone. “Put your number in.” 

As you pretended to type, you quickly pulled up his contacts list and looked for the names of the two girls you’d found weeks before. No luck. You typed your number in and handed the phone back. “I’ve gotta get back, but text me sometime and we can get together. Maybe something more formal.” 

After you got back home and showered, you checked your phone to see if you had any news from TARU. You didn’t, but you did have a new text from Dominick. 

D: How was your day? 

You: Hey. I was just thinking about you. It was good, can’t complain much. You?

D: Not bad. I just got home a little while ago. Cleaned up and ready for bed. Is 9PM too early for bed? 

You: Absolutely not. My bedtime is 9:30, don’t feel bad. 

D: What are you doing this weekend? 

You: Grading papers, wishing I had won the lottery. What’s up?

D: Idk nothing, I just wanted to see you. 

You: Okay. :) I think we can make that work. 

You wanted to tell him about your mysterious message from earlier but you knew that it would raise red flags. Why would anyone stalk a teacher? Plus you didn’t want to alarm him, either. Maybe it was just someone being an asshole. You’d find out more tomorrow, hopefully. 

[tedfashionski]

Reality Patch

 (3393 - long read, messy, technically ‘unfinished’ whatever that means)

There was a little bubble of interest in the Miu Miu pre-fall collection in the twitterverse a few weeks (months? years?) back – it seemed torn out of time. Made in the winter, shown to press in January? Viral in the early summer? To be bought..… sometime? Part of the issue is the term ‘pre-fall’. Pretty certain that’s summer. This collection feels like it doesn’t exist. I guess if I ever went shopping, it would make more sense? But as a broke hut-dwelling internet denizen, I’m lost. It’s this money-spinning side to fashion commerce that’s the ‘real’ collection, but it’s named after a non-existent season. The pre-fall/resort problem lies in that it’s the collection that gets the least press, because not normally presented in a show, but also functions more solidly as merchandise. Certain agitators want to eliminate these non-events, and revert to twice-yearly seasons. It’s a fucking mess. What even is this?  The fashion calender is broken and illogical. I’m going to write here about the Marni AW 20 ‘Alice in Wonderland’ collection alongside Moocher’s pre-fall thing, because I’ve got queries about patchwork and they play well together.

 I have …complicated… feelings about the patchwork. We’re probably going to see more and more of it and I’m not sure we’re asking the right questions of it. How do we avoid it becoming just ‘aesthetic’ (in pop speak = empty), rather than a manner of process that informs continual work going forward and results in an un-replicable feeling, a new angle on reality (an….. aesthetic). How to stop it becoming something we all get bored of? Because, the only guarantee in fashion is boredom.

 Patchwork collage

��Miu was a solid offering – it maintains a certain quality, obvs – and is good in its own way according to its own logic as Miuccia’s offerings usually are. A vision of commerce, yes, but also a kaleidoscopic frozen moment of girlhood that wants to aid us in our navigation from then to there, the ‘there’ being an upcoming un-season (A/W/S/S?) and maybe a sense of maturity. Now, there’s no point in me complaining about low quality info from the establishment on their dealings then failing to engage thoroughly with work when it is delivered in detail on multiple fronts (written aspect, full campaign, video that I can’t find anymore but remember seeing unless it was a hallucination, and look book – many angles).

 Embellished bodices/check check/white fuzzy tights/nice shiny heels/19th c take on afghan jacket very good/prairie psycho/much boring merch – (awkward stances suggest candid, ambivalent)

   Miu look book Collage

Our press release ponders:

 ‘When was the last occasion you lived in an enclosed world, where time stretched out, seemingly endlessly, in front of you? When was the last time your interior world felt as important as the exterior one, where you were free to imagine and to contemplate who you might actually want to be? Chances are it was when you were a teenager, with all of the triumphs and trepidations that entailed, particularly if you were a teenage girl.’

 Well, it sure sounds like it sucks to be a real adult who gave up on their dreams. When was the last time I felt free in my internal playground? Every day of my life, bitches. I’m your anomaly, Prada copy-writer. But, point taken. Work sucks when you’re doing it for other people, and we’ve all had times when you feel caught and pinched and empty in our creative attempts. And now, we’ve all been grounded by our stupid parents for the last few months. Stuck in our rooms. Some by choice, some not. And if we’re allowed out right now, the second spike is coming and we’re all depressed about the limits we have to live under in order to reduce advancing death.

 ‘A dream-like, interior world is conjured through Douglas Irvine’s photography to match the external, magical manifestation on display in the clothing. A blur of florals and glittering visual embellishment, diaphanous drape and ecstatic movement belie the strict foundations for both the images and garments.’

 campaign collage

  So far, so wordy and detailed. A world is glimpsed. One with blurs but strict foundations. A real world made hazy. We have classic codes walking in a trepidatious vein. Miu Miu girl is testing out the limits of her horizons, playing with her identity through her clothes and thinking to herself, how much do I want to give away? What will I keep? But the text continues:

 ‘Wearing a clothing collection that splices the utilitarian with the formal, the everyday with the extravagant, delicate artisanal embellishment is contrasted with and applied to a notion of the sturdily homespun. Here, nineteenth century literary heroines, both fictional and actual, are channelled, the sources of teenage-girl bedroom revolutions in both style and substance, yet worn by a new generation of everyday heroines with all of their contrasting clothing choices.’

 We lose track here. Not sure this collection actually feels ‘artisanal’ or ‘sturdily homespun’. there’s the late 20-teens pop refrain of dark psychedelia’s fixation on moth-eaten fin de siècle grandness, the upending of 19th C avant-garde in the counter-culture’s looping democratisation. We have an eclecticism, a thriftiness, a carelessness with the past symptomatic of isolated children playing with a mish-mash of pieces born of hemmed-in theatrics.

 3 MIU PICS

 MORE – CAMPAIGN/POSES/FACES/DESCRIBE CLOTHES – here comes what night?. Colour, focus. Don’t really like the clothes, wouldn’t wear any of this tbh.

 CAMPAIGN PICS coll

  As for Marni’s Alice in Wonderland, I have languishing notes which seem as old and tired as the idea of 2019. I was practising twitter threadiness, and got as far as notes on Milan before the covid freeze set in my mind. I like mixed responses, it’s the only thing that feels fair, but with those Milan collections I couldn’t achieve any sort of resolution or clear point. I didn’t know how I felt anymore. I’m unresolved in how I feel about criticism. It should be functional, but not necessarily constructive, if I feel the need to tear something down, as a critic that is within my job description. I’ll write a proper bit on the perils of fashion criticism from a distance, but in short I feel that it’s unfair to criticise a designer’s work from afar, especially negatively, but that until the fashion community realises the value of a public culture of critique (criticism being the only process by which you can hope to form an art system), real critics engaged with honestly parsing the strengths and weaknesses of fashion practice in service of public health will have to criticise from afar. This will impact the quality of the work, but it is hoped the audience can accept the pinch of salt required of virtual critique of a virtual fashion experience. The subject of the criticism here isn’t the clothes. I’m not asking questions of fit, of quality, I’m asking whether this is good fashion communication, as a time-dependent media phenomenon.  And, yes, I know I’m late on this one. Temporal fashion stress must take a rain check at present.

 Marni –

“collaged from the beginning to the end—from macro to micro to fractal. It’s about putting together remnants.”

 cut velvet woven by hand in a factory in Venice on looms that were originally designed by Leonardo da Vinci—a vanishing, time-consuming craft that Risso understandably wants to “protect and exalt.”

 “Are we in a psychedelic world and we need to be more grounded, or are we in a caged world and we need to be freed by psychedelia?”

  THREE MARNI

 risso Quotes:

“Finding beauty in the leftovers,”

“There’s a beauty in the past. I was kind of upset lately, thinking about people on their phones -- what about these objects that take hours to make, like these Venetian tapestries?”.                          mosaic of the remnants.

new, conceptual territory,

remnants of the previous collections

“It’s a celebration of DIY, Alice in Wonderland, and it’s about her spirit, her searching and questioning,”

the Cheshire Cat’s “We’re all mad here” mantra, as he talked about mandalas and allowing time for ideas to grow.

“Her spirit is within each creature, always wondering and questioning,”

“Making this collection has been the strangest mystery,” he confided. “It’s almost as if it regenerated itself – recreated itself – like an insatiable mosaic.”

 THREE MARNI

  At their best they’re the insatiable fractal mosaic he speaks of – something that situates you betwixt density and freedom. Was patchy – moments of clarity, moments of aimlesslness.. Appreciate the fashion-as-curious-adventure methodology. Ties and openness and rotation were true to Marni.. Materials – twisted tradition meeting rational plain cottons hit the mark. Gold rings, like they’ve melted through from another dimension. They were scattered over the body, but I was left wanting to know more of this motif – what if it become structural, like a portal to another plane? Patchwork that doesn’t feel done in good faith. Like a trick. None of these shapes are done in the spirit of patchwork, like the wrong kind of luxury. Too much care is given to appearing careless, but a reach for dizzying angles in effect sidelines affect – it feels tidily resolved, and then mussed around at the end. I’m probably wrong on many fronts about the reality of their process. But what I’m feeling right now is that if all you’re aiming for is the ‘look’ of patched pieces rather that the ‘ethic’ or process of thrift, then you’ll just get trapped in an endless empty labyrinth of false choices. It’s not about the look, it’s about shiftinG your total parameters of design decision making going forward. Additive.

  I’m still figuring out how I feel about this. Both these collections suffer from a neat, pat resolution of the question of the deadstock aesthetic that avoids the hard work of engaging with the limitations of that mode of work. Where is the tension? Where is the sacrifice? The loss of freedom in thrift must be acknowledged. If you’re telling me a story about a lost girl in a crazy world that makes no sense, why do her questions of her physical environment feel so impersonal? Many designers are going to turn to patchworking, out of both necessity and fashion gameplaying. Each designer is going have to work their way to an individual conversation with the difficult questions of recycling while avoiding the traps of the easy way out. Both teams failed at this test, in these collections. Sustainability isn’t easy, or anywhere close to being properly engaged with by our establishment figures. (Viktor & Rolf are a good example of recycling feeling right and thought about and cared for).

 Viktor&Rolf samples

  I’m reading Lolita at the moment. (CAN YOU TELL?)  I’m not a good reader. (CAN YOU TELL?)  A.D.D., I guess. I get bored and drift off to fantasyland. But here’s a stab at some fancypants analysis: The far-off subject, Lolita herself, is overlooked by the narrator’s masturbatory myopia. Her exploration of her own girlhood/womanhood is reduced and flattened by her abuser who needs her to be something else, something thing-y. A two-dimensional being. The tension between predation and autonomy, her wounded rebellion and navigation of self are so distant in the book you can’t help but want to reach out to her, through her abuser’s hideous twisted lens. Humbert’s POV colours everything, Lolita isn’t permitted her own take, everything she does is ridiculous and gazed down upon, he feels he’s permitted to just take her, to prioritise his own long-abated lust without thought of the consequences to her sense of self.

 This vibe I’m analysing here, the bruised and fuzzy self-discovery of Miu Miu and the lost-play of Marni, kind of feels like it hasn’t really shrugged off the top-down, hidden, extractive gaze of the cornered, self-pitying male power player. Maybe the viewer is Humbert. Maybe I’m Humbert. Maybe you’re Lolita. Maybe vice versa. But he’s there, in the corner, or taking the picture. Someone’s always taking it in, and jealously building a crypto-fantasy version of the girl, even as our self-birthing adolescent is feeling towards a way to fight it off.

 campaign

 Spring 2020 was a fucking twisted, disorienting, stretched moment. Tough times for fashion practitioners, not just in terms of lost profits or mob moralising (pppeoppllle arree dyyinnnngggg howww daree you talkkkk aboutttt fashioonnnn) but in the nuts and bolts of fashion practice – if the role of the fashion designer is to collaborate with their wearers in plotting a path to the future, when a world-re-orienting catastrophe occurs, it rapidly recontextualises their attempts at constructing a scaffold around the unknown. The idea that the future can be planned for and known through schedules and aesthetic anticipation gets rumbled. The foundation of that building site got a bit cracked during this Spring’s quake. Mapped onto ongoing structural issues in, what I guess in this analogy is a renovation of our historic temporal orientation casino, basically fashion collapsed in its usual confidence along with the economy (economics being fashion with numbers and no fun so it’s respectably masc. vom). Who knows who’s going to go out of business. There may not be a Miu Miu or a Marni or whoever in the future. Names we take for granted are just going to die. That’s a loss for the art aspect. Cus these guys are creative, mad geniuses who deserve a healthy context for their vision. (OTOH: die, fashion industry, die! I dance in the glow of the flames of your destruction with gleeee). These two collections actually speak to me across the span of the last six months, which takes some doing. They succeeded in the criteria that we should actually apply to fashion practice: satnav for the social soul. As sense of protection from the twists of time. A hand to hold. Someone to talk to. And time is super twisty rn. Good job holding on as we fall through the looking glass, random Italians! Now, to work.

 COLLAGE

 Colours – piecework – slippery glistening rainbow lensflares – Marni, FR places himself as an agent of chaos, someone with a hidden explanation refusing to submit to logic and set ways, a spanner in the works of Alice’s complacency.

 Patchwork, rhizomatic? (????, what is that. Idk, just sounds funnnn), no beginning and end, things relating to one another in disjointed, flexible ways. FR gives is little hints at the instability that patching offers, the early looks in Miu are far too comfortable. In the cut, sheets are formed out of set shapes – traditional, in the spirit of that half-remembered literary heroine – but neat, very very neat. Happy patchwork . Not patchwork that’ll prompt you to any alternative engagement with your world. FR is poking holes, even burning them out with molten gold, playing with the limits of ‘traditional’ or easily molded pieces. There’s skirts that feature block pieces - an armhole, a curve that any dressmaker will recognise, but set elsewhere, surrounded by other pieces so that the shaping becomes as redundant as Alice’s desperate attempts to right her upside down world. That ordered, shaping impulse is pawed at in the Marni work, but indulged in by Miu Miu. Our Miu Miu heroine feels more like an only slightly misunderstood brat, but Marni’s Alice is strung out and barely even human anymore. I’m disappointed in both approaches, but Marni, as the radically abstract collection that’s pushing concept on us, is the one that actually fails in its aims. Mrs Prada & Co are aware of the limits of commercial offerings. They’re happy to speak when permitted, in the lulls between commerce. It’s pragmatic and unadventurous, romantic within set bounds. It’s a walk in the park, where Marni is a clumsy trip through an open manhole cover.

 COLLAGE

 I said at the beginning of this that if we’re only going to see more patchwork as a process we actually have to grapple with it, and there’s a risk at this point in fashion that the fashion people (c’est moi aussi, mfs) are going to go ‘oh, been there, done that, on to the next thing’ without ever actually engaging with it as a means of creating fashion. What does (BRANDNAME) recycling look like, what makes it (BRANDNAME) in a way that become part of a lexicon long term rather than another sticky-plaster? Patchworking is many things, but what are its fundamentals? It’s a way of forming textile surfaces that accepts that which is available. It’s humble and more concerned with ethics than end result. The small squares/triangles in traditional American quilting are ways to systematically optimise waste pieces and merge them with other pieces. This in its own turn creates more micro-waste, perhaps to be used as stuffing, but forcing scraps into legible grids is very strict and imperial, the grid being an easy way of organising a surface from above. Grids and precise geometries are more like things overlaid, not bubbling up from beneath. They’re simple and readily comprehensible. There’s other forms of merging irregular pieces: think of rag-rug like textiles, crocheting with strips, or applique. Certain aesthetic choices can be made when you’re actually working with the idea of recycling waste material, rather than looking for an end-result before you even started. A cut piece has an end but with patchwork it can become endless. There’s kind of something anti-hierarchical about it. Waste pieces formed out of negative space can relate to each other not in the sense of ‘this looks pretty’ but more in the sense of ‘spontaneity rules’.

 I’m realllly self-consciousness about existing in the purgatory between between fashion and theory. Theory thinking of itself as ‘too serious’ for fashion and fashion of itself ‘too fun’ for complex discussion (sidebar: can we stop talking about showstudio as if it is in any way innovative? I can’t watch those videos. I have classic fashion goldfishitis. Where is my colour and jazziness and silly nonsense. Why tf do fashion people think ‘oh, critique! must be unfashion. Must sit in room being boring with no cuts or editing. Here, watch a fucking zoom call, fuck your need for beauty.’ The motherfuckers are working against us. Hate, Hate, Hate, you fucking jerks). So, my difficulty lies in how to dodge the hierarchical perception of theorising, people assuming you’re talking down rather than across, when they’re often dyslexic or disinterested in this kind of stuff because they’ve been taught to think it’s ‘beyond’ them or it’s just some bullshit they’ve found boring/embarrassing/trauamatizing. There’s nothing wrong with finding something boring when it’s engaging in elitist and hierarchical perceptions of ‘intellctualismsm’ or ‘quality’. There’s so much work to do, so much rubble to excavate. I’m not writing about Deleuze & Guattari’s analyses of patchwork for a reason here: I haven’t read them. I attempted A Thousand Plateaus in undergrad, gave up, and since then have really struggled with this feeling of being caught between modes of being - visual/verbal/temporal. Fashion zonked, theory enraged. I have a deep respect for the communicative power of dress and fashion media, paired with immense frustration at the slight engagement with complexity in the culture. Theorizing can be colourful, can be fun, can be bright. Fashion doesn’t need to abandon these wonderful things in order to have some self-respect. In fact, its self-respect will only be assured when it learns to push forward towards aggravating, complex dialectics in its own styles of discourse that fashion people actually want to engage with. I expect at some point within the next decade I’ll find a way to develop my self-confidence in reading beyond wikipedia and want to return properly to the topic of quilting and patchwork in relation to rhizomes and abstract post-structural philosophy, but I’m not there yet. Maybe there’s nothing there in D&G, just hot air, or maybe fashion isn’t worthy of theorising. Both suck in various ways. I’m not confident enough in the theory realm to interact with any self-assurance in a way that computes in both worlds. I’m only just learning to piece myself back together after trying to work within fashion’s established methods and failing. I’m here slowly feeling my way towards engaging properly as a dedicated reader and a dedicated fashion practitioner. But the responsibility to push forward and make fashion practice sufficiently rigorous, self-reflexive, critical and engaged with other fields while playing to its own strengths as discipline that actually brings something to the table, without the solidarity of peers engaged in the same questions, it gets a bit disorienting sometimes.

[kat2609]

Need a Little Christmas (1/most likely 3) - A GFSS fic

SANDRA!!!!! You must have guessed it was me who was so super late at posting your GFSS present. I tried so hard to be timely but life and muses and holidays conspired to make that impossible. But finally the first part of your gift, my lovely @laschatzi - a bit of banter, a bit of humour (I hope), some silly outfits and hopefully a tiny bit in the gutter direction eventually :-) 

(PS - I had a go at the world’s simplest heading banner thingy. The visuals helped in writing, hopefully they will help in reading too!)

Need a Little Christmas

There were a number of things that Emma Swan did not enjoy about Christmas.

Untangling herself from the myriad of fairy lights her sister-in-law insisted on stringing across her apartment; finding new and unusual places to hide slices of Granny’s rock-hard fruitcake; avoiding handsy Uncle Leroy any time she found herself under the mistletoe.

There was, however, one notable exception...not that she would ever, ever admit it.

As far as her friends were concerned, Emma’s choice of Christmas wear was 100% a political statement on the ridiculousness of holiday consumerism, or the wasteful nature of Christmas decorations or whatever other tenuous link to a cause she was able to create on the spur of the moment.

In reality, however - Emma Swan loved the kitschy glory of a truly awful Christmas sweater. Adored the scratchy feel of acrylic, the garish reds and greens accented with the tackiest of tinsels. It was everything that she wanted to think of Christmas as being - fun and whimsical and joyful - and everything her actual memories were not.

But somehow, regaling the gathered Christmas crowd with sad tales of your childhood in the foster care system did nothing for the ambience around the dinner table - so half assed political statements it was.

Tonight’s offering was particularly spectacular, if she said so herself; an especially potent shade of green, offset with clashing red patterns and finished with a dainty Peter Pan collar, embroidered with holly. Only a tiny sliver of garish green had alerted her to its presence - but that was all it took for Emma to know she had found a prize. The internet was awash with ugly sweaters these days, she knew, but there was something about the hunt, the methodical search and recover operation of finding the perfect item in a thrift store that appealed to Emma’s determined soul. Emma Swan always got her mark - in work and in holiday festivities and that wasn’t about to change because #uglyxmassweater was now a thing.

Throwing aside a collection of hand knitted scarves, she reached for the trophy, only to find herself engaged in a tug of war with a man on the other side of the bin. Tugging the sleeve towards her sharply, he lost his footing, tumbling slightly before letting go of the sweater and steadying himself against the metal cage. Long fingers grasped the metal, a silver ring on his thumb catching her eye as he righted himself.

“Steady on,” he huffed, eyes following the green acrylic as Emma slid it subtly towards herself. “No need to injure a man over a pullover, love. I’m sure you can find one equally as hideous elsewhere.”

Ignoring the unexpected jolt of attraction she felt at the soft cadence of his accent, Emma tangled her fingers in the sleeve of the sweater, staking her claim unequivocally, and raised her eyes defiantly to his. Dark hair framed a pair of stupidly blue eyes, one eyebrow quirked up in question as he stared back. There was the briefest moment when Emma was sure he had heard the tiny catch in her breath as she took in the soft curl of his lip and the dark scruff that covered his jaw - a tiny second of regret that she had come across him here in broad daylight and not in a dive bar late one night where the options for proceeding were far more varied.

But Emma Swan was Emma Swan - and meet-cutes were decidedly NOT a thing she did.

“Yeah, well, possession is nine-tenths, buddy,” she snapped, reeling in the sweater and stuffing it under her arm. “So looks like you’ll be the one looking elsewhere.” She paused, all but daring him to respond. “And I’m not your love.”

Before he could utter another word, she turned on her heels and made for the register, all but throwing five dollars at the unsuspecting cashier in her haste to escape.

~~~**~~~

The near radioactive gleam of Christmas lights left no doubt as to where the evening’s festivities would be taking place. Emma hesitated as she reached to press the doorbell, unsure she wanted to hear which Christmas standard was set to be butchered by the chimes this year. Sighing, she pressed the button.

Good King Wenceslas, it seemed.

She supposed she should be grateful that David answered the door promptly, despite his loud snort of amusement as he greeted her.

“Classy, Em, even for you,” he said as he ushered her inside, taking her coat and hanging it behind the door. “I especially like the way not one of those patterns match.”

She smiled knowingly at David, picking an imaginary fleck of the checkerboard section of her top. “As you should know by now, David,” she replied, “It’s not about matching. It’s about the…” Emma faltered, distracted momentarily by a sudden memory of just how she had come to own this particular item.

“The all-encompassing consumer machine that is holiday festivities?” her brother finished with a grin.

Saved by her own cover story, she thought. “Exactly.”

Following David into the living room, Emma looked around at the assembled crowd. After several years, the actual ugly sweater part of this annual gathering had lost some momentum - in no small part, she suspected to her own loud rants on the futility of the subject - but there were still one or two guests in various degrees of festive finery. Before she could make a frank assessment of just how superior her own sweater was to all the others in attendance, she was enveloped in her sister-in-law’s arms.

“Emma!” Snow cried as she hugged her as tightly as her heavily pregnant belly would allow. She leaned back, taking in Emma’s outfit and giggling, straightening the white collar. “You’ve done it again,” she chuckled, “I think this is the best one yet. And not a natural fibre to be seen I imagine?”

Emma shook her head, unable to keep the hint of pride out of her eyes.

Snow narrowed her eyes at Emma. “For all your anti statements, I sometimes think you secretly love these hideous things,” she said suspiciously. Emma stood her ground, her face neutral as her sister-in-law studied her closely for several minutes. It was a close won battle of wills, but eventually Snow turned away, though with no less suspicion in her eyes.

Somehow her innate hostess sense always won the day - a fact on which Emma relied quite regularly.

“You need a drink,” she said, looking back at Emma over her shoulder as she weaved through the guests, acknowledging this one and that with a look or a soft touch on the arm or shoulder. Emma followed silently, smiling at the odd familiar face, but with none of the social grace of her sister-in-law. As they reached the kitchen, Snow called to her husband. “David! Have you got a drink for Emma?

“Sure thing, honey,” he replied, his smile soft as he met his wife’s eyes. “Let me just get this beer for Killian.” It would be nauseating, Emma thought, if they weren’t so damned perfect about it, but it was times like these her adopted status came sharply into focus. David’s capacity to love and be loved was in stark contrast to her own “love ‘em and leave ‘em” approach to life.

But she was not allowed to ponder her inadequacies for long.

“Oh yes,  Emma,” Snow gushed, her violet eyes twinkling ominously. “We have to introduce you to Killian.”

“You really don’t…” Emma started, but to no avail. Snow had already grasped her by the elbow and maneuvered her towards the end of the counter, with barely a chance to take the beer David thrust at her. Whoever Killian was, he was slouched at the end of the island bench, his back to Emma and Snow as they approached, his form-fitting black jeans enough of a distraction to keep Emma from disappearing into the crowd when Snow wasn’t looking.

He was clearly another of the Christmas sweater set, the bright green of his top unmistakeable for clothing of any other kind despite the way it pulled tight across the breadth of his shoulders - not that Emma noticed - a fact that was confirmed as Snow called his name and the buck-toothed reindeer head that adorned the front came into view.

Emma’s immediate thought was that she finally had some competition...until her eyes scanned up to meet his and her thinking went suddenly somewhere very different.

“Emma Swan, meet Storybrooke Elementary’s newest staff member, Killian Jones,” Snow chirped, clearly so certain some kind of rainbow magic true love flash was about to wash over them she failed to notice the colour drain from Emma’s face.

Or the smirk on Killian’s.

“Ah, but Emma and I have already had the pleasure,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving Emma’s face. “And I must say, love, your tactics may have been underhanded, but the whole effect -” he waved a hand at her sweater - “it’s nothing short of spectacular.”

No amount of sheer will could force down the red flush that Emma could feel creeping up her neck as she tried to look anywhere but at her two current companions. She wasn’t sure which was worse - Killian’s amused smile or the curious yet decidedly smug grin on Snow’s face.  

“Well I’m not sure what we’re talking about,” Snow chuckled, “but it sounds like you two have some catching up to do, so I’ll leave you to it. Bye.” She was gone with a twinkle of her fingers and an air of smug self-satisfaction, leaving Emma to stand gaping at the newcomer.

If he had been attractive in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the thrift store, he was quite something else among the twinkly lights and Christmas decorations of Snow and David’s apartment, despite the huge cartoonish reindeer taking up residence on his chest. Flecks of ginger in his beard caught the soft light and his blue eyes sparkled mischievously, giving Emma little doubt he was completely aware of the effect he was having on her.

“Still not your love,” she managed to respond, the harsh edge to her voice a futile attempt to deny the very real urge to launch herself at him; an urge lessened not at all by the way his tongue swept his top lip as he watched her.

And then, unexpectedly, he changed the subject; the heat in his gaze melting into something very different. Something relaxed and open and somehow far more frightening than blown pupils and quickened breaths.

“Well, Swan,” he said, with an easy smile that Emma couldn’t help but return, despite her unease at this sudden change in the temperature of their encounter. “It’s fortuitous you won our battle, it appears. I’d failed to notice that fetching collar and I have some doubt as to whether I could have carried that look off.”

This was new; this casual charm that made Emma feel comfortable and confused all at once. Heat and raw animal attraction she understood, she knew how to scratch that itch and move on. But this? This felt like more than a prelude to a quick fuck against a wall somewhere and that was terrifying in so many ways.

Sarcasm and snark had always proved effective in the past - why should now be any different?

“And you decided a big ugly reindeer would be what? Super masculine?” she said sharply.

Killian chuckled, clearly nonplussed by her abrasive responses. It was a rich, warm sound that made Emma want little more than to hear it again. “I don’t know, Swan. I thought he was rather dashing myself.“

She arched an eyebrow at the word choice and he laughed again. “Sorry?” he said in a tone that suggested he was anything but.

Taking a long swig of her beer, Emma looked across at a Snow and David, both in an animated conversation with a small group of friends. She envied them their natural ability to do that - to melt seamlessly into a group of people and feel at home. Unlike her, always looking for the other person’s angle and making sure she was gone before they inevitably screwed her over.

The fact she was still standing next to a ridiculously attractive man, having a normal conversation with no sign of impending hook up, was some kind of Christmas miracle in itself.

“Swan?” Jolted back to reality by his hand on her arm, Emma realised Killian had been speaking to her.

“Sorry, what?” she said, kicking herself for the stab of disappointment as he withdrew his fingers.

“Just pondering what type of person adds that collar to a pullover that is already such a visual delight.”

She breathed a sigh of relief - they were still in comfortable territory; frivolous, possibly flirty banter about knitwear was doable, especially if she managed to avoid the way his smile lit up his eyes as he looked at her. As long as they were nothing more than two ships passing in the night, there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of a ridiculously handsome man at least for a little while.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me who added it,” she said, fingering the white fabric at her neck. “But when is a Peter Pan collar ever wrong?”

Emma wasn’t sure what reaction she expected to her challenge - but it was definitely not the flash of pain that she saw in his eyes. It passed in mere seconds, almost too fast to be sure it was real.

“Ah, well, if that is its name, all the more reason it was meant for you rather than myself,” Killian said softly.

Emma scrunched her nose in confusion and he raised the arm that had been hidden from her view, leaning on the countertop. Instead of the long, slender fingers with their heavy silver rings that had rested on her arm only minutes before, this arm ended instead in a silver hook prosthetic.

“Funnily enough, Swan, I have something of an aversion to references to that particular tale these days. A little close to home, you might say.” He chuckled darkly, none of the light and warmth that had drawn her in before evident in the sound. He took a long drag from the neck of his beer, and with nothing she could think of to say, Emma followed suit.

The noises of the party were suddenly very loud in Emma's head, her mind swimming as they stood side by side in silence. Wishing desperately once again for the social skills of her sister-in-law, or even her slightly less tactful brother, the words flew from her mouth before she had considered their potential result.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He laughed drily once again. “Not even a little bit, Swan. And I suspect you have no desire to do so either.”

The squawk of protest died on her lips, the expression on Killian’s face making it clear he had all but seen inside her very thoughts. “Don’t think I didn’t see that moment of panic in your eyes, love. You’re something of an open book.”

“Am I?” Emma asked, unable to keep the genuine curiosity from her voice. Or to curb the tingling sense that he wasn’t being quite truthful when he said he didn’t want to talk.  

“Quite,” Killian replied. “Forced introductions to random strangers, for instance, are not your chosen way to spend an evening.”

It was Emma’s turn to laugh. “Are they anyone’s?”

“Typically I’d agree with you, Swan, but I must say tonight I am seeing the appeal.” The catch in her breath was involuntary. If his words weren’t enough to bring her to a halt, the sincerity of his tone certainly was. This was dangerous territory now - too perceptive, too honest, too many feelings she was one hundred percent not going to act on.

There was only one thing for it.

“I think I need another drink. You?” she asked. Denial - denial and alcohol - both viable solutions and potential exit strategies.

She hadn’t counted on Killian Jones.

“I have that covered, love,” he said, reaching under his sweater and extracting a small, silver flask. A practised flick of the thumb had the stopper out and he offered it to her. “After you.”

She sniffed at the neck of the flask before taking a delicate swig. “Is that rum?” she asked, the liquid warming her throat as she passed the flask back to him.

“Aye.”

Emma snorted as Killian took a significantly longer draught. With one eyebrow quirked in question, he looked curiously at her as she held back the urge to chuckle. “Yeah, great job on avoiding the Peter Pan references. Next you’ll tell me you have a ship stashed away somewhere.”

He looked sheepish, passing back the flask and scratching nervously at a spot behind his ear as Emma took another quick sip.

“You do, don’t you?” she said incredulously.

He said nothing, only nodded and drank again from the flask before looping the stopper back into the neck and securing it with the curve of his hook.

“You are not even trying. You may as well get the perm and a twirly moustache and be done with it. In fact, I think I’ll call you Captain from now on…” She trailed off, wondering just how potent that rum had been to loosen her tongue so significantly. Struck suddenly by the insensitivity of her patter, she looked at him cautiously, her teeth worrying her lip between them.

He was grinning.

“Sorry, Killian, I…” she began, but he cut her off.

“No apologies necessary, Swan,” he said quickly. “And I believe you intended to call me Captain?”

Emma laughed, throwing him a mock salute as she leaned back against the counter. They stood in silence for a few minutes - a comfortable silence that was somehow becoming less frightening and more reassuring the longer she spent in his presence.

And that should have been scary enough to send her out the door and into the night.

But instead she stood alongside him, so close their acrylic-clad arms were almost touching, the spark of something that might have been static electricity, and yet might not have been, between them and just let the first thing she thought of break the silence.

As did he.

“I’ve always wanted to go on…”

“Perhaps you’d like to…”

They both stopped, laughed, and gestured for the other to go first...until Emma heard her name called across the room.

David appeared out of nowhere, his phone at his ear as he stepped up to them. Concern on his face, he finished hit the end call button and spoke to Emma. “Fight broke out at the Rabbit Hole,” he said. “Sorry to ask this, but I hope that sweater of yours is up to some police work? Wrangling Will Scarlett might be more than a one man job.”

There was a tinge of regret in her expression as she turned to Killian. “Duty calls, I’m afraid,” she said. “Scarlett had better not damage this sweater, or there will be no Merry Christmas for him.”

Killian grinned. “Feel free to leave it with me, love. I’ll take good care of it.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, Emma smoothed her hands across her sweater protectively. “Nice attempt at plundering, pirate, but I’ll take my chances. See you round, Captain.”

There was laughter in his voice as he answered. “I’d imagine so Swan. You’ll be hard to miss if you dress like that on a regular basis.”

She was smiling as she turned and walked away.

[katesdailyscramble]

Mentor Report - Or, A Conversation with a Friend

~ My first night in Shibuya - (L-R) Kaho (kind student we met), Me, Madeline, Natalie (two of my friends on the trip), and Mari      I have known Mari since 2017 because we took the latter two years of classes for our Japanese major in the same tight-knit class of students - we were together for each term except for when she studied abroad at Aoyama Gakuin University in the spring and summer of 2018. I met her on my first day as a transfer student at North Central, and I have always liked her bright, fun, and real personality and have been impressed by her smarts and ability with Japanese. To be honest, her interactions with Japan and Japanese culture have influenced me a lot, and I look up to her. We shared one memorable experience in particular on the D-term trip last December where she showed me and my friends around Shibuya. She was not on the trip, but staying with a friend in the area, and met us to introduce us to her city. After getting off the suffocating train at 5:30 on a Friday night, we popped out of the Hachiko entrance and were wowed by the neon lights, advertisements, and sheer number of people bustling about the square. Mari guided us across the famous Scramble Crossing, gave us a personal tour of the 109 fashion mall, and led us to an izekaya (Japanese bar/pub) she recommended, all while telling us about her life in the city. Her sense of fashion – bold, punk, and clearly influenced by the street vibe – was something I adored, and seeing Shibuya through her eyes made me fall in love with it. Upon hearing that Aoyama was only a five minute walk from the main crossing, I was more attracted to the area than ever. I met with some Japanese students in Shibuya later on in the trip when we went back to Tokyo, and the amazing time I had with them further emphasized my love for it. I think it was then that I knew I might want to study abroad, that I was capable of doing it, and that I had a good idea where I might want to go.

~ Shibuya 109  (November 30th, 2018)      By the last term of my Japanese class, nearly all of my classmates had studied abroad in different parts of Japan, so I had heard a lot of stories, both good and bad, about living in the country and what it was like. Still, even though I had heard Mari's stories more candidly during throughout the year, it was interesting to interview her in a more concrete way about Japan. She confirmed that it is much like its ratings on various scales labeling it as collectivistic, high-context, and hierarchical – people are very much oriented toward thinking about the group, thinking about how their actions will affect the group as a whole, and how to best proceed so there is the best possible outcome for the group. There is a lot of context from the language based on what is not said in a conversation being more important than what is actually said, and hierarchies between people are honored with degrees of bowing and the level of diction or types of words used to address people (formal language is known as keigo, or respectful language). However, she said there is a big difference between what it is actually like versus how it is portrayed by the media and news. Popular media tends to display 'cool' or 'weird' things from Japan which are extremely technologically advanced or fun, and it becomes defined to the Western world as a magical land where people are all in harmony, live interesting lives, and few things go wrong. In reality, there is a lot of group-behavior and not a lot of conflict, but the lack of conflict and constant focus on efficiency can make it so a lot of people lose their voices and become a number in a swarm of people.      There is also a dark side to the country, specifically with its working culture, which Mari labeled as the thing which surprised her the most about living in Japan. Being out late at night, she would frequently see salarymen stumbling down the road, drunk, or simply passed out on the side of the street from exhaustion. The commute to work may be so hard and the work week so long and demanding that it is simply easier for some to sleep in the middle of road rather than going home only just to leave early in the morning to return. It is the same thing for them everyday, and Mari described seeing all of their faces with neutral expressions, not so much from the politeness and apathy we are conditioned to think of, but simply because they are too tired. These adverse working conditions, demand for loyalty to companies, and difficulty in going home on time due to hierarchy-based social rules makes the Japanese average working individual have a very hard life, and this was something Mari was not expecting to see so starkly during her time in Japan.

     In terms of differences found between Japan and America, Mari named some things that I was aware of and a few things which surprised me. In terms of differences, she mainly discussed how people tend to handle expressing themselves and showing who they truly are. In America we are very open about our emotions, how we feel about certain people or activities, and who we are as individuals. Someone may talk a lot and share very personal things without even being prompted, and this may make others either feel more intimate with that person, or very uncomfortable. I think our eager display of ourselves both has to do with individualism and our need as a low-context culture to always be stating our opinions aloud. Contrastingly, Mari talked about how people in Japan are far more private, specifically citing the Japanese concepts know as tatemae and honne. Tatemae (建前 - composed from the words 'to stand' and 'front') refers to the face we show to the public that does not know us; it is the face which is polite, properly in line with customs, and generally blends in with the rest of the population. Honne (本音, 'actual sound') is our true self who only we and perhaps our most intimate friends and family can ever know. In terms of Jungian theory, tatemae could be comparable to a persona, while honne refers to the self.

     Mari also brought this up when describing the most important thing I should know about Japanese culture – the need for privacy and distance between others (this so vital that I noticed even the kanji for 'I' - 私 - means 'private'). Interactions between cashiers and customers are practically robotic, while here we may compliment someone or strike up a light conversation. People in Japan do not share private information unless they are particularly close, and sharing those types of things can indicate that the sharer feels intimate with the listener. If the listener does not see them in the same way, they can become very stressed from learning this information, which puts pressure on them due to the other person's expectations about the relationship. It seems to be like when you learn someone views you as their best friend when they are only an acquaintance to you. Although this is not directly being said, the Japanese would interpret sharing information of that level as a declaration with equivalent meaning. Mari talked about how Japanese are constantly thinking about what they share affecting others, and so most tend to share minimal or fanciful things that don’t really have substance from a Western perspective. She described it even as being “fake” sometimes, so you may never know what someone actually thinks about you. A person may agree to meet you somewhere, knowing they are not going to go – then, Mari said, they cancel at the last minute, but do not feel bad since they never intended to come in the first place. This seems to be a form of high-context communication where it is easier just to not show up and make an excuse rather than simply telling the person they do not like them or that they do not want to go. They are communicating their message still, but in a very indirect way. I can imagine this being very difficult to handle, especially when making friends, so I will be wary when I go to Japan. I do not want to be suspicious of or think badly of people, but I will try not to get my hopes up too high if plans somehow fall through.

     Along that same line, she discussed how the night life and drinking culture may make it easier to establish relationships – in an informal setting, with your system slightly inebriated, it is psychologically easier to let go of the strict norms on privacy and become yourself. I imagine this is why bosses will go out to drink after work with their employees; it is very much a social monopoly of the worker's time and another part of the job (which isn't the best), but it functions as a way to get to know their coworkers more so than any functions occurring in the actual company building. I have heard from her and other Japanese students that Aoyama especially has a big drinking culture, and so while I don't want to be socially pressured into drinking, I realize I will have to do so (or at least hang out with the students at bars with a glass of water) in order to make closer friends at the school.

     When finding similarities between America and Japan, Mari found it a bit harder to answer, but she eventually decided upon Japanese youth. Although the older generation is very focused on tradition, respect, and all other things typically Japanese, the younger generation is very progressive, open-minded, and ready for new ideas to incorporate into the culture. I think this must have something to do with the globalization of the world through the internet, and while this can be true wherever you go, I think it is particularly interesting in a country like Japan. America is generally (hypothetically, at least) about liberty, free thinking, individuality, and the idea of being able to do whatever you want if you work hard enough, based on the American dream. Older adults (especially baby boomers, nowadays) are more conservative when it comes to things like LGBTQ+ rights, abortion, and other topics, but in terms of ways of thinking about liberty and individuality, I do not think they are incredibly different from millennials – that is, in comparison to the gap between the younger and older Japanese. Japan is so deeply ingrained with tradition, specific ways of doing things, and going along with the collectivist views of the group that I feel young people are jumping a wider gap to get to progressive ideas about individuality and expressing themselves without having to abide by all of those rules and constraints. Mari said these contrasting perspectives belonging to the younger generation will make a great difference for the country in the future, and I am inclined to agree. I see this happening everywhere eventually, but I think Japan will alter greatly within the next few decades as new people come into power. I had not thought of this similarity before, but I still really agree with Mari's thoughts regarding this.

     Although I have gained the same basic classroom education as Mari for the Japanese language since we had our last two years together, meaning that I didn't have much to ask her in this regard, she was able to give me one great tip – don't be afraid! She said that when she first got to Japan, she was terrified of using her Japanese, leading her to not speak it at all. Eventually, when she realized that she was never going to get better if she didn't try, she made an effort to speak it as much as possible, regardless of her fears, and that made all the difference. She advised me to try to speak as much as possible even if I don't know the right words – I should just try to get by and convey as much as I can, making a good effort without being worried about potentially offending anyone. I will get some free passes as a foreigner, and so I should simply try my best at all times. Mari has claimed frequently that the greatest influence on her improvement in Japanese abroad came from talking with people and interacting with others in the city, not from the daily language classes at school, and so I want to imitate that by getting past my introverted fears and really trying to interact with others. Still, she did express that this may be hard at times, especially in terms of how Japanese people view Americans.

     Mari said they have a lot of misconceptions about Americans, generally viewing them as loud and obnoxious (true?) and all about football, McDonalds, and obesity. While she didn't experience any discrimination specifically for this, one interaction she often described was being spoken to in English by employees or cashiers when ordering, and then being complimented on her 'amazing Japanese' after responding back with a simple sentence in the language. Sometimes she would even ask questions in Japanese for them to reply “no English,” which she understandably found exasperating. I think it will be harder for me to just begin speaking Japanese when people try to converse with me in English, but I also know that this is the only way I will improve. Although I think this has more to do with me being foreign and white rather than specifically American, it is an assumption that will usually be placed upon me, one I need to be careful of as I try to live in Japanese society and speak the language. Being a foreigner, I also assume they will think I do not know the rules (which I generally do not), so I am glad that Mari gave me a few pointers there, too. I already knew about actively listening (aizuchi) while others are talking, as well as the social shaming for eating and walking at the same time, but she reminded me of these taboos and social behaviors to follow, so I will reinforce them in my brain before I go.

     In discussing school and Aoyama in general, one thing Mari mentioned made me a bit more sure of myself and my decisions as far as living arrangements. She shared her story of how she was actually supposed to study abroad for a whole year, but once she arrived in September, where she had rented her own personal apartment, she felt incredibly alone, overwhelmed, and needed to come home after just a little while in Japan. Reflecting upon it, Mari advised me to not overestimate myself as she had done – she thought she could live all by herself in a new country without any kind of support system in place. She felt it was better for her to stay in the dorm upon returning to establish that community of international students, so I am happy that I am choosing to live there rather than on my own or in a sharehouse. I can get some privacy with my room, but I am still in a community. The only issue here she raised was that the international students can become clique-y and tend to only speak English with each other – because she really wanted to improve on Japanese, Mari removed herself from them more and more, eventually coming to treat the dorm as an apartment as she gained more Japanese friends outside of school. I do not want to get stuck in a comfortable bubble of only being with other international students, and so while I know I may not be adventurous as Mari or able to put myself out there, I want to make an effort to socialize in other places so this doesn't happen to me. I really want to improve my Japanese skills, and I can't do that if I keep speaking English.

     In terms of Aoyama's school work, Mari described it as very light, with only a midterm and final exam, or equivalent papers. The Japanese language classes are a bit more difficult, but overall it is much less demanding than school in America. From what I know about the Japanese education system, everything is focused on getting into a good university, and as long as you graduate, you will be taken up by a good company where you can earn a nice salary. Job preparation does not really happen in college – once you are in the company, they will spend time training you to do your job. Depending on the quality of the college you go to, the company generally assumes that you are capable of doing the work they ask of you. Thus, one's time in college is typically referred to as ‘the spring break of life.’ Mari said we would be fine and not stressed whatsoever, but I am still a bit skeptical. I am extremely focused on my schoolwork at all times since I associate it deeply (and unhealthily) with my self-image and worth as a person, but I hope that I will be able to change this perspective a bit in Japan. While I do not want to neglect my grades, I am more worried about neglecting the country, cultural experiences, and friendships I will have right at my fingertips. I don't want to be holed up in my room studying each night, and especially since this is my last term as an undergraduate, I want to be able to have that spring break experience as well. As I described before, Mari learned the most Japanese from being out in public with real people, and I want to take advantage of that opportunity as much as possible

     Overall, I really enjoyed my conversation with Mari. There were some things I knew, some I didn't, and some on which she gave me a new perspective, so I am very grateful I got to talk with her. I am not sure if she'll be returning to Japan any time soon, but I would love to meet up with her there again if I could! She's helped me prepare just a bit more for my journey in the spring, and so I am grateful to her as a mentor and as a friend.