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pangeanews · 5 years

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23 aprile: il giorno in cui nasce (e muore) William Shakespeare. Gita al cospetto del (brutto) monumento funebre del Bardo nella chiesa di Stratford-upon-Avon

Il 23 aprile William Shakespeare nasce, il 23 aprile William Shakespeare muore. Quel giorno è l’apice della letteratura in lingua inglese e, in fondo, della letteratura occidentale moderna. Secondo Harold Bloom, infatti, William Shakespeare è il dio del canone occidentale: Dante è alla sua destra e Cervantes alla sua sinistra.

Shakespeare, voglio dire, al netto delle sue influenze italiane – interessanti ma irrilevanti riguardo agli esiti – è ‘cosa nostra’. I nostri poeti si sono spremuti e sperimentati in Shakespeare. Esempi. L’Otello secondo Salvatore Quasimodo; Amleto secondo Eugenio Montale – traduttore, invero, così così –; Riccardo II secondo Mario Luzi – traduttore d’eccellenza –; Riccardo III secondo Patrizia Valduga; i sonetti secondo Ungaretti. Fossi un editore, affiderei, dramma per dramma, l’intero corpus shakespeariano ai poeti di oggi. Che meraviglia.

Henry Wallis, “Gerard Johnson scolpisce il busto di William Shakespeare”, 1857

Il 23 aprile gli inglesi fanno una gita a Stratford-upon-Avon, presso la Holy Trinity Church. La chiesa, edificata nel 1210, ricostruita nel tardo XV secolo in gotico sassone, contiene il sepolcro del Bardo che nella chiesa, ricordano con lauto godimento turistico – e hanno ragione – è stato battezzato il 26 aprile del 1564 e vi fu sepolto il 25 aprile del 1616. Il monumento che tutela le sacre spoglie – con avviso sopra il sepolcro: “sia dannato chi osa derubare queste ossa” – è stato creato prima del 1623 da Gerard Johnson, scultore di schiatta olandese – il papà era venuto da Amsterdam al servizio di elisabettiani e di giacobiani, esperto in arte funeraria – di cui si ricorda poco altro che questa creazione, che, secondo l’aforisma vipera di John Dover Wilson, raffigura, tanto è brutta, “un macellaio di maiali soddisfatto di sé”. Tuttavia, la sua commissione fu così importante per la patria che Henry Wallis, pittore preraffaellita, la eternò in un quadro grazioso quanto oleografico, Gerard Johnson carving Shakespeare’s funerary monument.

Sono affascinanti, come sempre, questi cunei d’ombra, il climax dell’enigma. Di William Shakespeare sappiamo quasi nulla, potrebbe essere il vicino di casa; si dubita perfino dei ritratti che gli hanno fatto; il busto funebre è quello di un borghese qualsiasi, ingrassato grazie a una attività commerciale di blando successo. Avesse avuto un Michelangelo: piuttosto, a onorare il Bardo dopo morto è un oscuro mestierante di ascendenze olandesi. Quasi che umiltà e insignificanza detergessero il genio, conservandolo. Shakespeare, l’uomo che ha tradotto il cosmo nel palmo di una mano, che ha svuotato i cieli degli dèi, che ha fatto della follia un fatto e dello smarrimento un carisma, che ha saputo scrivere il cuore dell’uomo e il centro del cosmo, inventando sentimenti prima implausibili, è davvero quel tipo biecamente bolso, con baffetti all’insù e pizzetto facile, calvizie incipiente, non fosse per i ciuffi ai lati della pelata? Pare più un notaio, quello, che il poeta più alto del mondo occidentale.

Intorno al monumento funebre di Shakespeare ha scritto un pensiero, sul Times Literary Supplement, in questi giorni di festa, Gregory Doran, regista, appunto, esperto nel menù shakespeariano e direttore artistico della Royal Shakespeare Company. Il pezzo s’intitola An altar in the name of… e specula intorno al fatal monumento e alle vetrate, precedenti, che lo circondano. Le vetrate alle spalle del monumento shakespeariano raffigurano – e questo un poco fa tremare la ragionevolezza teologica di Doran – l’episodio, narrato nel primo libro dei Re, in cui il profeta Elia, sul Carmelo, sbaraglia i sacerdoti di Baal, dimostra che il vero dio è Lui, e ne sgozza 450 (“Elia disse loro: «Afferrate i profeti di Baal; non ne scappi uno!». Li afferrarono. Elia li fece scendere nel torrente Kison, ove li scannò”, 1 Re 18, 40). Una interpretazione programmaticamente metaforica direbbe: come Elia, Shakespeare ha sbaragliato la concorrenza, ha sbaragliato i competitori. Doran offre, invece, una spiegazione intrisa di humor inglese. La citazione biblica “Con le pietre eresse un altare al Signore” (1 Re 18, 32), incisa sulla vetrata, viene sfalsata dal monumento funebre di Shakespeare, tanto che “ad ogni pellegrino letterato che si avvicina, il messaggio in evidenza è diverso, è questo: ‘Con le pietre eresse un altare a… William Shakespeare”. Briosa conclusione: “Si tratta di sovversione alle autorità ecclesiastiche? Oppure è una barzelletta postuma, intesa a stuzzicare i vescovi, consapevoli dell’incipiente successo, in termini di visitatori e di denari, della Holy Trinity Church?”. Diciamo che Shakespeare è il dio della letteratura, e non spingiamoci oltre. Tanti auguri. (d.b.)

L'articolo 23 aprile: il giorno in cui nasce (e muore) William Shakespeare. Gita al cospetto del (brutto) monumento funebre del Bardo nella chiesa di Stratford-upon-Avon proviene da Pangea.

from pangea.news http://bit.ly/2IXHG95

#news #Teatro #Anniversario #busto #Mario Luzi #Stratford-upon-Avon #Ungaretti #Valduga #William Shak

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wefallintobookland · 7 years

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Book Photo Challenge - June - Day 11

Misunderstood: Irony in Plays

Both these plays (The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde and A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare) are so funny because of the misunderstandings that happen. I read them both in school and loved the stories and humor.

Thanks to @booksforthoughts for making up the June challenge

#the importance of being earnest #oscar wilde #a midsummer night's dream #william shak #plays #book photo challenge #june #misunderstood #my photo #books #reading #book photography #booklr #bookland

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shiruviart · 5 years

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#cantumanga #newmangaka #漫画家と繋がりたい #外国の漫画家 #若い漫画家 #漫画 #baby #piccoletta #P.P #ragazzina #chedirsivoglia #bambina #shak #william #mascotte #cute #disegno #draw #mangastyle #drawmanga #williamshakespeare #loveyou #pencildrawing #disegnoamatita #disegnoamano #sketch #rosa #pink #fuxia https://www.instagram.com/p/B36jHMuinQf/?igshid=1mwdq5bvbnn5a

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nordleuchten · 3 years

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what were other friends that Lafayette made during his time in the continental army (others than hamilton and laurens)?

and also, did he pick up some/many fights with others ('cause of diferent opinions or smth) while he was in america? thank youu

Hello Anon,

sorry that it took me so long to answer you, I somewhat misplaced my draft and things went downhill from there. Thank you for our great question though. La Fayette made many other friends beside Laurens, Hamilton, Jefferson and Washington, but many of them are often overlocked. (I copied parts of a previous post that also dealt with La Fayette’s friends, so please be not surprised if some passages may sound familiar.)

La Fayette was the sort of person who made friends easily. He was not a grumpy person, being on good terms with somebody was his default mood so to speak. Some of the lesser-known friendships that he struck up during his time in America were with James McHenry, James Monroe, Henry Laurens, Nathanael Greene and Baron von Steuben for example.

James McHenry first met La Fayette when they both were members in George Washington staff. McHenry later transferred to La Fayette’s staff (March of 1781) and was one of his most trusted aide-de-camps. He often was chosen as La Fayette’s “liaison-officer”. I have three excerpts from letters by La Fayette, detailing his relationship to McHenry. The first one was written by La Fayette to McHenry on February 15, 1781, a few months before McHenry joined his staff:

My tender friendship and affectionate Regard for You, will Not lengthen this letter with Assurances from My Heart While the Heart itself must Be known to You. I intend to write You Again in a few days and with Every Sentiment of Attachement and Esteem Have the Honor to be Yours

Lafayette

The second letter was addressed to General Greene on August 12, 1781, concerning a potential transfer McHenry’s into Greene’s staff.

McHenry is So well Acquainted with My Sentiments for Him that He knows My attachement is independant of whatever Steps He Might take on the occasion. He knows I am not of a temper that finds faults with the Measures of My friends, and that I will ever feel an obligation to the Man who obliges General Greene.

The last letter was written to McHenry on December 26, 1783. McHenry at this point had already retired from the army.

As an ardent lover of America I am glad to Hear of the influence You are said to Have in Congress. As Your most affectionate friend I shall Be glad whenever You Have an opportunity to display Your abilities. If Congress do not send me Any Commands, I shall Most Certainly embark in the spring. If they Have Commands for me, I would Be thrice Happy to Receive You along with them, and to Make with you french and European travels. You ought to Make them charge you with some political commission to Courts in Europe, and I would like going as a volonteer with you. [Manuscript torn; part a line missing] Your family and our friends. Most affectionately I am for [manuscript torn; several words missing].

Lafayette

I showed you this many letters for several reasons. First, McHenry deserves more attention if you ask me. Second, they show not only their emotional relationship but also their professional relationship and illustrate how convinced La Fayette was by McHenry’s merits - and lastly, I like them all and could not decide. :-) Years later, during La Fayette’s imprisonment, McHenry was among the people who tried to help him gain his freedom.

On to James Monroe. Monroe was, just like Hamilton, close in age to La Fayette (actually, La Fayette was older then Monroe by several months) and spoke French. They both moved in the same social circles during the Revolution and had some common friends. It was also Monroe, who, with the backing of Congress, invited La Fayette to visit America once more in 1824/1825. La Fayette received the rights to some land during this visited and later gifted some of this land to Monroe so that Monroe could start paying off his mounting debts. Here is what La Fayette wrote to Monroe on December 19, 1784:

My dear Sir

I Have Received your letter to mr jefferson, and shall very Carefully deliver it. Our old friend Gibbs will give you a Bundle of papers for McHenry which I Beg you will keep for Him untill He Comes to Trenton. To morrow morning, My dear Sir, I set out for Europe, and Before I go, it is pleasing for me once more to assure you of the value I Have By Your friendship, and of the affection and regard I Have the Honor to Be With My dear Sir Yours

Lafayette

(I may or may not have chosen this letter because McHenry also makes an appearance.)

Another friend was Henry Laurens. Laurens was the father of John Laurens and the president of the Continental Congress for some time. He and La Fayette first started corresponding when La Fayette was recovering from his gunshot wound. He wrote Laurens on December, 1777:

I am indeed very importune to wraÏt so long a letter. You'l find me very troublesome, and I make haste to put an end to it by the short assurance of the eternal friendship I am with - Dear Sir Your most obedient servant

(La Fayette had a moment of self-realisation right here.)

Another very dear and very close friend of La Fayette’s was Nathanael Greene. There is a letter from La Fayette to Greene from November 10, 1780 that perfectly captures his feelings. La Fayette wrote:

My dear friend (…)For My friends, My dear Sir, I have No different feelings from those which I experience for Myself. I therefore feel for you, as I would do on My own account was I the Commander of the Southern Army. (…) But Whatever Might be hereafter the Case, Whatever Bad chance (and in our profession chance is Some thing) a Malignant fortune Might throw in Your Way, Be Certain, My dear Sir, that My friendship as well as My esteem for you are founded upon Such a Bazis As Cannot be shak' d By Any Run of Good or ill luck which May subject You to the praise or to the Blame of Common opinions. In all Cases, My Good friend, I am heartly willing to have My fate united to Yours, and By this junction of Stars to have My little share in Any thing Good or Bad that May happen to the troops Under your Command. I Beg you will present My Best Compliments to Your family and Most affectionately have the honor to be Yours forever

Lafayette

In the same letter to Greene, La Fayette also described his feeling for Henry Lee, a member of the prominent Lee family and someone La Fayette met through the army. He wrote Greene:

As I am Sure that My friend Lee will apply for being attach'd to me, I Beg leave to Support the Motion of that officer whom I Love, and on whom I Greatly Confide Both for Advice and execution.

The Baron von Steuben (what a legend) was also counted among La Fayette’s friend. The two of them spend a lot of time together during the Campaign in Virginia. La Fayette wrote to von Steuben on July 16, 1780:

I received, my dear baron, the letter you had the kindness to write me, and I am infinitely appreciative of the token of friendship you give me. (…) The confidence I have always had in your friendship and the new proof of it that you have just so graciously given me, my dear baron, assure me that you will be willing to make efforts and use your influence and authority to get first-rate men. (…) In a word, my dear baron, I put my interests in your hands and, counting on your friendship, I am utterly at ease. (…)I hope I do not need to assure you of my tender affection

This list is by no means exclusively but I think these were the most important friendships for La Fayette. Others friend that could be mentioned was Joseph Reed, William Heath and William Carmichael … now on to the “picking fights part”. No, La Fayette was nobody to pick fights. That was simply not his style. There were disagreements of course, mostly over military and army matters, but these could either be dissolved or La Fayette acknowledged that he was for the most part the more junior and inexperienced person in the disagreement. He was however somebody who was not afraid of letting his opinion be known.

There are for example Generals Gates and Conway, two officers who were involved in what was called the “Conway-Cabal”. There is a bit of a discussion nowadays about the true extent and nature of the “Conway-Cabal” but for people back then, for people like La Fayette, it was a very serious affair. Previously he had been on quite friendly terms with both Generals, even trying to form a deeper friendship with Gates, but after the “Cabal”, their relationships soured. La Fayette wrote the following about Conway in a letter to Henry Laurens on January 26, 1778:

Amongs All the men who could be sent under me Mr. Connway is the most disagreable to me and the most prejudiciable to the cause. I Confess you that love and friendship have alwals been my duties. This last sentiment I feel to the most perfect degree for General Washington. How can I support the society of a man who has spocken of my friend in the most insolent and abusive terms, who has done, and does every day all his power to ruin him, who tries to spend the fire in every part of the army and the country?

La Fayette also manged to almost get into a duel while in America - but not with an American but an Englishman. The British had sent a peace commission to America to probe the possibility of a peace treaty. One of the people they send, Lord Carlisle, insulted France in an open document. La Fayette felt offended on behalf of France and challenged Carlisle to a duel in late September of 1778 - Carlisle refused. The Marquis noted of the event in his memoirs:

In a public letter, signed Carlisle, the French nation was taxed with a perfidy too universally acknowledged to require any new proof. With the effervescence of youth and patriotism, M. de Lafayette seized this opportunity of opposing the commission; and the first impulse of M. d'Estaing was to approve of his conduct. A haughty challenge was sent from head - quarters to Lord Carlisle: the answer was an ill - explained refusal, and the impetuosity of M. de Lafayette was attended with a good result, whilst the prudence of the president was ridiculed in every public paper.

Roughly two decades later he wrote in his mauskripts:

Lord Carlisle refused, -- and he was right.

I hope that I could answer your question and I hope that you have/had a fantastic day!

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cheesyficwriter · 4 years

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hey there! I cannot express my love for your work (Isolated and lost in translation were *chef's kiss). Could you please write #75 for Romione? Thank you so much, I hope you have tons of cheese:)

Hi @shybrunettepainter! Thank you so much for reading and for your kind words 💜 what a fun prompt that definitely challenged me a bit! Just to preface, I am not well-versed in Shakespearean language, but I figured neither is Ron, so I definitely channeled him here 😉 hope you enjoy!

Prompt #75 - Speaks in a terrible Shakespearean/Elizabethan style to woo/make the other laugh.

Thee Maketh Me Happy

Hermione closed and locked her trunk, just as a knock on her bedroom door sounded. Hermione grinned and practically ran to open the door, revealing a beaming Ron on the other side. He had just arrived at her parents' home, with his father, to pick her up for a visit to the Burrow. They were two weeks away from starting their sixth year at Hogwarts and Hermione would be staying with the Weasleys for the remainder of the summer.

“Hiya, Hermione!” Her stomach flipped wildly as she took in Ron's appearance. How was it possible that he had grown even taller in the last month or so since she had seen him? Despite the fact that he towered over her, he seemed to be filling out a bit more and she could make out his increasingly muscular frame under his tight shirt.

They stood there awkwardly in the doorway for a mo, both unsure of what to do next, until Ron finally let out a strangled chuckle and opened his arms, inviting her in for a hug. She eagerly wrapped her arms around him tight and sighed.

"I've missed you," she heard him muffle into her hair.

"I've missed you, too."

Ron released his grip on her, but Hermione noticed he didn't step back. "Well, are you all packed and ready to go? Wait...it's you. Of course you are," Ron teased.

Hermione swatted at him but gestured him inside her room. "Yes, I could probably use some help with my trunk."

When she turned around, she found that Ron wasn't listening, instead his eyes were raking curiously across the shelves of books she had lined up against the wall.

"What is Shaks-spar?" Ron inquired as he retrieved a dusty and tattered hardbound book from the shelf.

"It's pronounced Shakespeare."

"Fine, then. What is it?"

"Not what, who. William Shakespeare was an extraordinary muggle playwright and poet, who has written some of the most beautiful works of English literature out there. I mean Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth…"

"Who's Romeo? Who's Juliet?" Ron asked, confused.

"They’re characters from one of his plays. A tragic love story…"

“Hold on a second, tragic? What’re you doing reading this depressing shite?” Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust, holding out the book at arm's length.

“It’s a work of art, Ron!” Hermione responded, exasperated.

"Yeah, well, not interested if it's intent is to crush my soul."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "I didn't realize you were interested in books."

"Ha, bloody, ha," he stuck out his tongue at her playfully. Hermione couldn't help but smile before pointing to the cover,

“That book contains a list of Shakespeare's most timeless quotes, as well as provides English translation.”

"It's in another language?"

“Shakespearean -- otherwise known as early modern English. Most of the words are still used today in standard English.”

"I bet you a galleon that I can make you laugh with this rubbish." He sent her a challenging smirk that made her weak in the knees. Yet, she firmly held her stance, not willing to give in to the blasphemous retorts spewing out of his mouth.

"It is not rubbish, Ron! It's a work of art!" She repeated, almost stomping her foot in irritation.

"Let's see, then!" Ron cleared his throat dramatically, as he flipped to a random page. He planted his finger on a quote and began reading, "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate." He squinted his eyes at the page he just read from. "What the bloody fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione sighed heavily. Her visit with Ron was going well so far. Sarcasm intended. "It signifies long-lasting love, that goes beyond a single season."

"Then why doesn't he just say that?"

Because it's poetry," Hermione responded curtly through gritted teeth.

He only hummed in response and kept reading. "All that blisters is not gold."

"Glitters. All that glitters is not gold."

"What? That's not what it says!"

"Yes it does. You read it wrong."

Ron pursed his lips as he reviewed the text. "Oh, well, bugger me. Here's another -- what's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet...Rose. That's a pretty name, I guess."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, it is."

They locked eyes for a moment before Ron shook his head and returned to his reading. "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown...if I had a crown, I'm not sure I would feel uneasy but that's just me…"

Hermione exhaled loudly, clearly fed up with his sarcastic comments. "It's simply saying that being royal comes with a lot of responsibilities and having those responsibilities can be daunting."

"Off with his head!" Ron shouted with vigor.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Oh Hermione, I know I am. And just to prove my point further, let's see if I can make you blush, yeah?" He flipped to the section with word translations and spent a few moments deciphering, his eyebrows scrunched up adorably.

"Okay, here's one to start with. I like thy...curly hair?" Ron kinked an eyebrow up at her expectantly.

"Acceptable." Hermione remained neutral with her face but secretly gushed inside at how Ron has just outwardly admitted he liked her hair.

Ron's eyes lit up. "Brilliant!" He went on to search for more.

"Uh...thy eyes art like chocolate…do I detect a smidge of color on your face, Miss Granger?" Ron's blue eyes sparkled back at her as he studied her face.

"What? N-no...just keep going!"

"Thee art...the smartest...wench...in the whole land." Ron paused in between words as he checked the book.

"Wench?"

"That's what it says right here!" He pointed to the translation of woman on the page.

Hermione crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, almost daring Ron to try again.

He obviously took the bait as he offered one more, leaning in close, "Thee maketh me happy." Ron smiled brilliantly at her and Hermione thought her heart might possibly explode.

"What are you saying, exactly?" Hermione breathily whispered, not able to contain the flush of pink that crept onto her cheeks.

"Aha!" Ron pointed a finger in her face to triumphantly show victory. He clearly had forgotten her question, so Hermione brushed him off.

"You did not win, you were just standing so ridiculously close to me…"

He looked down at the book one last time before cheekily stating, "The lady doth protests too much, methinks."

"Oh, honestly!"

#romione #writing #love #fanfiction #romione fanfic #ron x hermione #writing prompt #shakespeare

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

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Thurs[day] 18 September 1834

7 25/..

11 50/..

very good one last night ver[y] fine morn[in]g br[eak]f[a]st at 10 F[ahrenheit] 62° at 10 50/.. – No[te] fr[om] Mr. John Wat[er]h[ou]se

jun[io]r to pay my 2[n]d £50 for the new museum ‘on or bef[ore] the 30th inst[ant]’ – ab[ou]t 12 1/2 s[e]nt off the yellow

carr[ia]ge dragg[e]d behind the cart to Pickford’s wareh[ou]se at H[alifa]x (w[i]th no[te] to Mr. Booth the b[oo]ksell[e]r to help John and Geo[rge]

Joseph to see it pack[e]d) to go in the sa[me] way to Huddersf[iel]d and th[en]ce by one of th[ei]r vess[e]ls direct to Lond[on]

to ‘Mess[ieu]rs Pearce Baxter and Pearce c[oa]chmakers 103 Long Acre Lond[on]’ to arri[ve] on Tues[day] –

A- [Adney] and I off at 1 50/.. al[on]g the walk to Hipperh[olme] my 1st call on Mrs. Bateman – dress[in]g to go

out to din[ner] at 2 1/4 and left my na[me] on A-‘s [Adney] card – call[e]d and sat 18 min[ute]s w[i]th Mrs. W[illia]m Priest[le]y –

Mrs. Hartley w[i]th h[e]r – she (Mrs. WP- [William Priestley]) held out h[e]r to A- [Adney] b[u]t n[o]t to me – yet talk[e]d civ[ill]y to us b[o]th – of

course I shew[e]d no sign of hand-shak[in]g on com[in]g away – th[e]n at Cliff Hill at 3 25/.. for 1 1/4 h[ou]r –

Miss W- [Walker] ver[y] civ[i]l – so[me] hope of h[e]r at least seem[in]g less cross w[i]th and at us in fut[ure]? – th[e]n to Crownest

in A-s’ [Adney] wine-cellar fr[om] 4 50/.. to 5 50/.. – took an acc[oun]t of the front rows of bot[tle]s – the wine w[a]s

val[ue]d at £500 – din[ner] at 7 – coff[ee] – I won 1 gamm[o]n ag[ain]st 1 d[itt]o and 5 hits – w[i]th my a[un]t 1/2 h[ou]r

till 10 20/.. – fine, warm, muggy day. F[ahrenheit] 56° at 11 10/.. p.m. – the 2 sewers ag[ai]n – and Mallins[o]n set grate in the tent-room

d[i]d n[o]t s[e]nd tool box and foot pails and rug –

s[e]nt w[i]th carr[ia]ge 3 y[ar]ds stuff like lining + 2 old cush[io]n

covers of the sa[me] – large front pock[e]t – imper[ia]ls – cap case

2 seat and 2 boot boxes – slipper and dragstaff – 1 key of imper[ia]ls and cap case

and carr[ia]ge door key lock[e]t up in the boot -

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leanstooneside · 1 year

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Prepare to defend yourself or someone you love

◊ 124 GAY: Fables

◊ 409 POPE

◊ 140 SHAKS

◊ 145 SHAKS

◊ 412 COWPER

◊ 271 SHAKS

◊ 285 POPE

◊ 201 SHAKS

◊ 139 SHAKS

◊ 204 BEAUMONT

◊ 392 SHAKS

◊ 240 WILLIAM

◊ 363 YOUNG: Love

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watching-pictures-move · 3 years

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Put On Your Raincoats #15 | Rainbows in the Dark

To the extent that a porn director crossed over to the mainstream, Gregory Dark would be it. Certainly, there have been directors who did one or two porn features early in their careers, like Abel Ferrara, William Lustig and Wes Craven, but they're known almost entirely for their mainstream work. There are also porn directors who did maybe one mainstream movie, like Gerard Damiano, but their careers were relegated to porn for the most part. Dark is the rare director who was prolific on both sides, so to speak, starting with massive hardcore hits like New Wave Hookers, moving on to directing softcore, thrillers and softcore thrillers with some regularity and eventually becoming a popular music video director. My initial plan was to explore the full gamut of Dark's career. I wanted to get a sense of each phase of his work and to see what elements of his style translated across them. Essentially I wanted to understand Dark as an auteur. But then something miraculous happened. I got lazy. (Also I had a muted reaction to some of his movies and became more interested in another director in the meantime.) So I decided to limit my exploration to a few of his early movies and call it a day.

The first one I watched was New Wave Hookers, his best known hardcore title and considered a classic in the genre. What I expected going in and what worked for me can be deduced from the title. Dark's visual style very much brings to mind the "new wave" in the title: big hair, fog machines and neon lighting, all of which are first seen in the opening credits, in which the female talent almost ritualistically present themselves to the camera. There's some stylistic precedent in the work of Rinse Dream AKA Stephen Sayadian (the artist I got more interested in as I delved into Dark's work), but Sayadian's aesthetic feels culled from the art underground. (Dark reuses a few of Sayadian's actors in some of his films.) Dark's style feels more commercial, almost packaged for MTV. (Dark intended his film as a reaction to hardcore porn features of his era, although I'd argue that his choice of camera angles still feels in line with other films of the era.) This is a movie that looks good and, thanks to some choice music courtesy of the Plugz (whose song "Electrify Me" accompanies the opening credits) and the Sockets (who provide the theme song), sounds good too.

What I gelled to much less was the sense of humour. The movie opens with two buddies played by Jamie Gillis (wearing a tie over a t-shirt) and Dark regular Jack Baker shooting the shit and watching another Dark production. ("That fuckin' guy looks exactly like you. Is that you?") Baker starts expounding on his thoughts about pimping and "programming" women to fuck with music. Baker also notes, "a pimp calls a chick a bitch". They doze off, and when they wake up they find themselves inexplicably in an office. Baker is wearing a yellow tracksuit, Gillis is sporting an East Asian accent, and there's a guy on the floor substituting for their phone. (Gillis asks: "Why do we not have a regular telephone?" Baker explains: "He got the power, the second sight.") As the movie proceeds to make good on its premise, wherein women have sex after listening to new wave music, we're treated to a steady stream of racial taunting. Baker grouses about black music being ineffective for their purposes, dropping the N-bomb. Gillis continues with his accent. The two get into racially charged arguments. A middle eastern client is served in a tent and barks like a dog after he's finished. At one point, Gillis wants sushi and is served by Kristara Barrington while East Asian style music plays on the soundtrack. I recognize that a lot of humour from the era is extremely politically incorrect and has aged poorly, but there's something about Dark's use of racist and misogynist humour that feels especially confrontational. I admit I was a bit bothered by all of this.

Still, there are moments of humour that did work for me. One of the headsets that the characters use has dildos protruding from both earpieces (pointing outwards, of course), and the production design, while not always stylish, is at least endearing in its blatant cheapness. To their credit, Baker and Gillis have undeniable chemistry and do sell the material as well as they can. (I laughed when Gillis, when confronted by the vice squad, drops his accent and exclaims "I used to work in your fuckin' office, and now I'm rich, I'm satisfied, and I'm Chinese, you assholes." Am I a bad person? Probably.) And in terms of how it meets genre expectations, I do think Ginger Lynn and Kristara Barrington have a real magnetism in their scenes.

Given the racial content in New Wave Hookers, it probably won't surprise anybody that Dark was a pioneer in interracial pornography. I am not a sensitive enough writer to begin unpacking all the implications of the concept, but I did watch one of his movies in the subgenre, Black Throat. This was a shot-on-video effort and looks considerably cheaper and uglier than New Wave Hookers, but shares some other qualities. It opens and closes with a punk song that references that film as well as Let Me Tell Ya Bout White Chicks, Dark's first interracial feature, and to be honest, the song is pretty fucking catchy. The movie follows Roscoe, a man who wears yellow sunglasses and both a polo and a Hawaiian shirt and his friend Mr. Bob, a talking rubber rat. He's searching through the garbage while arguring with Mr. Bob over what to eat when he finds a business card. "Madame Mambo's House of Divine Inspiration Thru Fellatio!" (All of the characters pronounce fellatio differently. Mr. Bob says "fell-uh-tee-oh" and calls Roscoe a "fuckin' honky", to which he responds "Fuck you, Mr. Bob!")

Roscoe insists he has to find her. "If I don't find her, I'm gonna die!" (When asked why, he responds, "I dunno, it sounded kinda dramatic, I guess.") Mr. Bob enlists the help of a "young urban professional pimp" named Jamal, played by Jack Baker. (He prefers the term "flesh broker" and describes upgrading his diet, clothes and investments.) Roscoe, Mr. Bob and Jamal go from scene to scene, watching other characters having sex in different racial combinations, asking them where they can find Madame Mambo. (Sometimes they ask the characters directly, other times they talk to their private parts.) The best of these scenes, in my humble opinion, is a light domination flavoured sex scene featuring Christy Canyon. Perhaps because of the dynamic, there's an element of actual acting involved here, and because Canyon is, uh, pleasingly proportioned and has a certain magnetism, I found this scene more engaging than the others, at least until it turns into a regular sex scene.

Eventually they go back to Roscoe's place and find a voodoo ritual taking place where a black woman with multicoloured hair (think the George H.W. Bush rainbow wig from the Simpsons, but straight, not curly) is jumping on their bed while a bunch of white dudes in hats, capes and sunglasses jack off around her. This of course is Madame Mambo and at this point the movie makes good on the title while drumbeats and funk play on the soundtrack. Given the premise, this movie proved (thankfully) lighter on racial humour than I expected going in. There is an element of racial critique in Baker's character, and Madame Mambo is certainly exoticized, but the racial content otherwise is limited to the interracial couplings and doesn't overload the dialogue. However, this is a fairly ugly looking movie, shot on video, featuring unimpressive camerawork and lighting as well as extremely cheap looking production design (although the movie does mine this for laughs). I also found the sex scenes overlong and the music a bit repetitive. I imagine if you were jerking off to this back in the '80s it was easier to get through, but trying to watch it now as an actual movie, despite some decent humour throughout, proved a bit of a challenge.

The next one I watched was White Bunbusters, which despite the first half of the title is not particularly racially charged. The theme song here, crooned in the style of early '60s rock'n'roll, explains that the movie is about anal sex, as the second half of the title suggests. We begin with Tom Byron thrusting into his wife Shanna McCullough (while wearing his glasses) only to be disappointed by her refusal to take it in the butt. The next day at the office (decorated by construction paper all over the walls, drawers sketched in magic marker and a crude sign with their business' name "Acme Proctology"), he hears an ad for the "A-Busters", an enterprising duo who will convince your wife or partner to let you put it in their butt. We cut to the A-Busters office and see them in yellow shorts, lime green suspenders and orange baseball caps, fiddling with their hi-tech instruments (which include an "anal listening device"). Soon we see them go to work on Jack Baker's girlfriend, taking a cash payment after the fact.

Meanwhile, Byron's friend Greg Rome hears about his woes and offers to let him fuck his wife Keli Richards (Rome is named Bob and Richards is named Bobette). Of course Byron takes advantage of Rome's generous offer, but later gets annoyed when Rome insists it was a "one time deal". They're interrupted by Jennifer Noxt, who asks about a secretarial position for the law office next door. Rather than correcting her, which would be the right thing to do, they have sex with her, which is absolutely not the right thing to do. ("So do I get the job?" "We'll call you later, baby.") We go back to the A-Busters, who go to work on a pornstar warming up for her first anal scene (the movie is called Hershey Highway to Hell). Eventually, Byron decides to make use of their services, and in the climax, when he's having a nice dinner with his wife (complete with plastic cups and paper plates), they crash the party and get to work. After it's all over, Byron thanks the A-Busters and shakes one of their hands, only to promptly wipe it off on his suit.

This is as lo-fi as Black Throat, and features a lot of raunchy humour, but thankfully no real racial content outside of the title. Perhaps because the focus is on a specific set of acts (threesomes, anal sex, double penetration), the execution seems more consistently energetic. The ratio of the threesomes is a little off from what I prefer, but I was not unmoved by the scenes involving Keli Richards, Jennifer Noxt and Shanna McCullough. I realize there are more dignified ways to spend one's time than watching in its entirety and singing the praises of a movie called White Bunbusters, but sometimes the lizard brain takes over. I feel compelled to report the facts, and the facts are that this is good at what it does. As an actual movie, there isn't a whole lot to this, but were I to rate this on the Peter-Meter as the filmmakers intended, it would fare respectably.

Where Gregory Dark's style and the sum of his provocations really worked for me was in The Devil in Miss Jones 3: A New Beginning and The Devil in Miss Jones 4: The Final Outrage, a two-part odyssey through hell. (Attentive viewers may note that the original Devil in Miss Jones takes place before the heroine is sentenced to hell, but this is not a direct sequel. There is also a second part by Henri Pachard and later sequels directed by Dark that I did not see. The narrative in the third and fourth entries feels pretty self contained.) The movie begins with close-ups of our heroine, played by Lois Ayres, taking a shower while "A Christian Girl's Problems" by the Gleaming Spires plays over the soundtrack, her interiority hinted at with an astute song choice. (It's worth noting that this was not an original song made for the movie.) The structure intersperses her story with a series of interviews with those who knew her: an ex-boyfriend who "had a disagreement about the relationship" (he slept around); a woman speculates that Ayres was "a closet lesbian" and that "she probably went to live in one of those lesbian islands in the Caribbean"; a girl who knew her as a prude back in high school, a priest with a thick accent who offers a eulogy; her brother, who speaks in new age euphemisms and resents that she was the favourite growing up; and a blind ex-boyfriend who claims she was the loveliest person he knew "after Helen Keller". (This last character describes his sex life as very "normal": no peeing or dogs, wouldn't fuck pizzas, etc.) All these people knew her, but they didn't really know her.

The actual story follows her after she breaks up with her boyfriend (over the phone, as he shaves another woman's pubic hair while feigning innocence). She heads for a bar, brushing off a stereotypical black pimp played by Jack Baker who mistakes her for a prostitute, and promptly orders a "taco" (a draught beer, a Bloody Mary, and a draught beer in three separate glasses). Beside her is a man asleep on bar in tuxedo, who turns out to have been stood up at his own wedding. They hook up, leading to a sex scene scored by a blaring saxophone that I assume was practice for Dark's softcore work. The scene ends when the heroine knocks her head against the headboard and wakes up in a pitch black space near a grave. In comes Jack Baker, riding atop a woman, to tell her what the situation is. "You are dead, you got no clothes, and this is hell!"

The rest of the movie follows them going through different rooms, the heroine being unable to comprehend her fate, as they watch the different punishments endured by the denizens of hell. There's the room full of "peepers", virgins doomed to only watch sex for all eternity. (One of them explains: "I showed my tits to a guy to get a Gucci purse. He went off an overpass.") There are characters doomed to fuck until their genitals wear out or are ravaged by venereal disease. Baker gives Ayres a raincoat "to keep the come off", but the moment she forgets about it she finds herself getting gangbanged and promptly has to be rescued by Baker (okay, not that promptly, we get to enjoy this for a few minutes). Along the way we're led to believe from the interviews that the heroine might have a fetish for black men, and the conversation between Ayres and Baker grows increasingly heated and racially charged. This idea culminates in a trip to the "racist room", where a white man with a swastika armband is having a threesome with two women of colour while a white woman is sucking off two black men in tribal makeup. Ayres and Baker have a final confrontation on the subject.

"What about all the black racists?"

"Look bitch, when a black man hits a white man, we don't call it racist!"

"What do you call it then?"

"Smart!"

"That's ridiculous, there are plenty of black racists!"

"No dig, you stupid ass white bitch!"

"Look, you're even one of them, calling me a stupid bitch and a white bitch!"

"We'll you're stupid, you're white and a bitch, so what is your motherfucking problem?"

"You're crazy, negro, and you're one of the sickest people in here!"

"That's right, I'm a crazy negro! I'm so crazy I'll eat my own arm!"

This is a deeply uncomfortable scene, and what follows is even more disturbing, as we learn the true nature of the heroine's relationship with her father, a reveal that Dark plays for maximum shock value in depicting "The Ordeal of the Taboo Breakers".

In some ways this isn't all that different from New Wave Hookers, but Dark's direction seems more purposeful here. The stylized depiction of hell, with its black backgrounds and harsh neon lighting, imbue a real sense of menace into the proceedings. With the exception of two scenes, the sex isn't all that outrageous, but Dark's mise-en-scene has a way of rendering it almost as horror. It's not exactly scary and probably still "does the trick" if you're watching this for those reasons, but there's an undeniable charge here. Likewise, the dark humour and the racial content seem to work in tandem here, and Ayres and Baker really sell their adversarial chemistry. (It's worth noting that even by the standards of the video vixens that appear in Dark's movies, Ayres has an amazing hairdo.) Dark may not have entirely thought out his thesis along these lines, but the movie is provocative in its handling of this content, and unlike New Wave Hookers, not in a way that hurts it. At a combined 2+ hours, this probably runs a bit too long, but it does shape the usual procession of sex scenes into a structure that carries an uneasy momentum that matches the heroine's trepidation. We might not like what we're seeing, but we also can't help but keep looking.

#film #put on your raincoats #movie review #gregory dark #new wave hookers #black throat #white bunbusters #the devil in miss jones 3: a new beginning #the devil in miss jones 4: the final outrage

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magic5ball · 4 years

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Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (5)

Chapter 5: He is the One Called Sailor Silverstein

It was definitely ol’ Shelly Boy, though he’d changed a bit since I saw him last. Specifically, he now more a miniskirt with long red boots and carried a staff that reeked of cheap Chinese plastic.

One second slowed to five as my mind tried to put together what, exactly, the hell I was looking at.

Shel posed dramatically. “Watterson Tostig! You have escaped the Underworld without a permit. In the name off the powers vested in me by the Archangels of Thune, I will punish you. B!tch!”

Well, I went and did what any wayward soul with even the slightest lick of common sense would do: I started climbing like the dickens. Just when I thought I had a chance of getting away, lightning shot out of Ben Franklin’s eyes, exploding the ledge above me into a million pieces.

Shel laughed maniacally. “Just as my Tako Shak fortune cookie foretold! Do you see this, Tostig?! This is your DESTINY!”

For a moment, I considered jumping back down (keep in mind, this is back before I knew gravitational velocity was a thing.) But even if I could jump a hundred feet down without shattering my ankles, Shel already had that base covered. The courtyard opened up, revealing a fiery inferno right out of, well, the Underworld.

“For your sins, Watterson Tostig, it is no longer sufficient to send you to the Underworld! Now, you must blacken in the darkest pits of Ultra Hell!” Lightning flashed dramatically from Franklin’s eyes, just barely missing me.

“Really?” I said “Ultra Hell? What kind of name is that?”

Shel’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato “The afterlife has a crappy R&D department, okay?! For your sass I will now take the pleasure of mutilating your pathetic frail body, starting with your- HEY!”

Let me tell you about these self-important pricks: once you catch them in a ramble, they tend to have a real hard time getting out. Heck, you could replace your body with a- I dunno- Native American statue, and they still wouldn’t notice! And during this rant you could, say, hypothetically, climb to the top of a city hall in a very important city capital (if you’re fast enough) and pickpocket the greatest Quaker who ever quaked.

Fun fact about Penn: his coat has a lot of pockets. Not so fun fact: I searched nearly every single one of them finding the gold dust. The whole time, that turd Silverstein kept trying to zap me with Franklin’s eyes, which didn’t exactly calm my nerves. Only at the last possible second, right before Silverstein would have roasted my soul for good, did I realize where Penn, like all esteemed English gentlemen, kept his yellow dust: right in the ear! The problem, of course, was getting there. Even with my experience on the school’s monkey bars, it would take one heck of a jump to get from Penn’s coat to his head! And I probably wouldn’t have made it either, if I didn’t remember a little trick I’d learned from Super Mario Bros.: letting go of Penn’s coat, I lunged feet first at the floating Ben Franklin head, startling Shel just long enough to ricochet right off the forehead right onto Penn’s shoulder. Sure enough, the moment I reached into Penn’s ear, I found a small satchel of fine yellow powder.

Just in time for a bolt of lightning to strike inches from my face. The satchel flew open, a wave of powder fluttered in the air, and then. A bit of the legendary powder whooshed into the air, and then…

William Penn started to move.

“Hey, kid, what are you doing with my gold dust!? Don’t you know I got that from the Indians?!”

I jumped, only for grinning-like-a-lunatic Silverstein to grab my falling body by the wrist, snatching the satchel right out of my hand!

“Fear not, Governor! I shall deal with this ruffian!” he boasted, dangling me over the Hell Pit.

A moment later, I was freefalling to a fate marginally better than a Hannah Montana concert.

Or was I? Because some of that gold dust had stuck fast to my fingers, right as I passed the statue of a none other than a bald eagle.

So what do you think I did? Go on, guess.

. . .

Riding an eagle is a bit like riding a roller coaster, except there’s no seatbelt and you could fall into a mass of traffic at any given moment. Using the power of the dinosaur tongue, I guided it over to the Franklin Institute (harder than it sounds: We passed the Academy of Natural Sciences and I was really tempted to see the dinosaurs.). But the second we flew over the steps, the eagle suddenly went stiff, the gold dust wearing off, sending me flying through the glass doors and right into the feet of America’s greatest founding father. I put my hands in front of me, hoping to soften the blow of crashing into Ben Franklin’s marble feet. Worked about as well as you’d expect, leaving me sprawled on the marble floor in pain.

Penn and Silverstein crashed in just moments later, the former wearing a pair of taxis like roller skates. Silverstein descended from his bronze mount, grinning triumphantly as thunder boomed in the distance (or maybe it was just the ‘Wonders of Electricity’ exhibit).

“You thought you could just outrun fate like that, Tostig?!” He boasted, smug grin plastered across his bearded face. “Now, you shall be banished to the darkest recesses of the afterlife, where you shall spend the next hundred years watching reruns of BARNEY THE DINOSAUR!!!”

I screamed for help, but it was late at night and the museum was closed. Also, I was a soul, so it wasn’t as if folks were gonna see me.

“Now do you see what happens when you cross Shel mother*king… mother*king…”

Something rose, casting a shadow over both Penn and Silverstein, making them gaze up in awe. All slow like, I turned my head around. Big Ben Franklin had gotten out of his chair, shaking gold dust off the tips of his shoes.

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #philadelphia #william penn #ben franklin #shel silverstein #hell #franklin institute

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loki-hargreeves · 5 years

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Loki x Reader - Secret Rendezvous

Summary: As a Prince, Loki isn’t really allowed to join plays in the common Asgardian theatre. Some rules aren’t to stop the god of mischief, who sneaks out to join you at practice. Only you knew the talented actor was actually Loki. The two of you share a passion for theatre and often end up in some tricky situations. Then one day, Loki doesn’t show up to rehearsals and you decide to find him. He never misses rehearsals. Author’s Note: Screw the Marvel canon! This is before Thor 1 and Loki is happy. That’s it, enjoy this and if you do, please leave some feedback. Thank you :D Word Count: 4,3K Warnings: fluff, angst, vulgar language, more fluff

Your POV

“William Shake-speare? Shakes-peare? Shak-es-peare?” Loki tried to read the name of the man whose name was on a black book he was holding. We were on a little trip down on Midgard and we ended up in a big, beautiful library here in England. We weren’t in our Asgardian wear, of course not. We blended in with our coats and other common Midgardian attire. No one suspected a thing when two Asgardian gods just walked in here. Honestly, Loki and I loved the thrill, perhaps he did more than me. Loki was my friend and a damn good actor - which only I knew about. He used magic to disguise himself as a whole other person when we were at the theatre.

That’s why we were here. We wondered what Midgardian plays were like and now we were between large bookshelves, scanning them in search for something mildly interesting. And I was just happy to spend more time with my favourite god...

“William Shakespeare... A midsummer night’s dream. Do you think it’s good?” I read the title out loud. Loki was looking at me with a sweet smile on his pale face. It was hard not to focus on his beauty instead of the plays. Honestly, it sounded intriguing but it was written by a mere mortal. How great could their imagination get? I wasn’t expecting much so I could get surprised.

Loki opened the page on which the first act was on. “I don’t know. I say we take it,” he suggested with a naughty little smile. Well, it wouldn’t be the first book we took with us as a souvenir from Midgard. Some would call it stealing, we considered it borrowing.

“I agree,” The words left my mouth quietly but you could hear the mischief in my voice. Something that Loki strengthened in me, definitely. With him, I had more fun than ever before. We found ways to bend the rules without necessarily breaking them. He brought excitement to my life and he told me I brought excitement to his. He was a prince and I was just an actress.

After an hour or two later, we got outside and asked Heimdall to bring us home. We didn’t bother using the secret loopholes between worlds that Loki had discovered because Heimdall probably knew about this already. Thankfully, for Loki, Heimdall didn’t have the right to tell Odin that his son was sneaking out every other night to the common folks’ theatre.

We were in Loki’s chambers now. People were busy making appointments with Thor and Odin because they had been discussing that perhaps it would be time for Thor to be king. It wasn’t written on paper yet but there were speculations. I could tell it bothered Loki but he hadn’t talked about it much. I wanted to take his mind elsewhere and so far, I believe I was doing an alright job. We had some snacks and tea here and all the books we ‘borrowed’. We had Romeo and Juliet, Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf, A Doll’s House and Betrayal - to name a few. Loki sat on his extravagant emerald green chair that had gold legs and small golden details all over the seat. I was on his bed because it was truly soft and comfortable. There was a pile of books on one of his desks. We were supposed to be practising our scenes for a play next moon. Truth be told, we remembered our lines well enough so we thought it would be alright to have some fun. Besides, practising at the royal palace wasn’t a good idea. No one could know Loki’s secret.

“I must admit, this is actually quite well-written,” Loki broke the silence that had lingered around us for a while. We both had our noses up in the books so it was easy for the silence to stay. His voice caught my attention and I placed my finger on the sentence I was reading so I could look up and not get lost. Once I set my eyes on Loki, I felt happy. He was truly focused on what he was reading so I had a little moment to just admire him. Could anyone get any more elegant? He was everything and a bit more. If only we could make our play embraces and love recitements reality.

“We should pay him a visit,” I said after a while. We had done such things before and it was fun. Messing with humans was probably not allowed but showing them something that wasn’t supposed to be was worth it. Their expressions were always priceless!

Loki finally faced me and it nearly caught me off guard. “We might as well bring flowers and light orbs, love,” he explained to me. “This was written in the 16th century. I doubt there is a 400-year-old man going by the name William Shakespeare there any more.”

Right. It wasn’t 1597 on Midgard anymore. I believe they were already at 2000-something. “Oh, I always forget how short their lives can be.”

“It’s humanity’s true tragedy, wouldn’t you say?” Loki played with theatrical words which made me roll my eyes playfully. He always knew what to say.

“Perhaps. But longevity can be a curse too.”

“Just like in our play,” Loki caught my hints. The play we were in was a tragedy about an Asgardian who was in love with a Midgardian. Loki actually has the part of the Asgardian man who is cursed to live thousands of years and I have the part of the woman who only lives a segment of her lover’s life. Loki had to play a part even at practice. He was disguised as a ginger Asgardian and he called himself Yormar Leifson.

“Which reminds me of, don’t we have rehearsals tomorrow?” I pondered as the thought surfaced in my mind.

Loki nodded, “At noon. We’re finally getting the costumes fitted.”

“I can’t wait!”

Next day at noon, I found myself at the street corner where I was supposed to meet with Loki. People were passing by from every direction and some stopped to say hello. That was nice, especially when they recognized me from my plays. Most Asgardians were nice, happy people. I didn’t mind chatting but I was a bit tense because Loki wasn’t here.

I just waited and waited...and waited, until we were twenty minutes late. It was probably not a big deal, but Loki never missed rehearsals, let alone arrived this late. It would still take five minutes from here to the theatre. Gosh, I already knew we would be yelled at for being late. Oh, Loki, what was he up to now?

Screw this, I thought. I knew I had to find Loki, even if it meant we missed rehearsals and costume fitting. Sure, we had the lead roles but they could do just fine without us - for now.

By using my magic, I got to the palace much quicker. I used teleportation which Loki had taught me. I wasn’t that good at it but I got there much quicker than what I would’ve by walking, and in one piece! The guard recognized me and allowed me to go inside. Although I could’ve found Loki’s chambers easily by myself, a guard walked me there for safety reasons, making sure the prince wanted guests and that I wasn’t there as a bothering pest. We arrived behind his door and the guard knocked on it before speaking up, “Prince Loki, you have a guest.”

It was quiet for a while. Then all of a sudden, the door appeared to be underneath a green film of magic and it opened, revealing a dark room. Why didn’t he have any lights in there? It seemed gloomy. I wasn’t sure what it was but my gut told me something was really off. I hoped he was good, that he just forgot but I knew it wasn’t like him.

“Who is it?” Loki called out almost angrily.

“It’s me, Loki!” I made my presence clear, probably annoying the guard but I couldn’t care less.

Silence.

The few moments were enough to make my heart beat harder and my palms to get sweaty. What if he told me to leave? I couldn’t just barge in there with the guard next to me. I would probably be banned from the palace!

“Come in.”

Thank gods!

The guard nodded and let me off the hook, walking away as I entered the room. Before I could close the door myself, Loki did so with his magic. Once the door was shut and the green glimmer of his magic vanished, it was dark again. Frankly, it took me a moment to get used to the dark, but when I did, I saw Loki standing by his window that was covered by a heavy, emerald green curtain. He didn’t face me. I saw his soft, raven black hair resting on his back and shoulders softly. It had grown a lot lately and it began to curl up at the ends. He was wearing his green cape with his black casual outfit with some pieces of his golden armour. Of course, his presence was majestic but I sensed that something was wrong. He tried to hide his feelings from me by not even looking into my eyes. Was he ashamed?

“Loki, are you alright?” I began with a stupid question because obviously, he wasn’t alright. By now, I felt like I had already pushed his buttons and I was jittery, but I wasn’t going to ignore him if he was hurting.

“It’s true, Y/N,” Loki told me with a low voice. It only raised even more questions. What in Valhalla was he talking about?

“What’s true?” I pushed him a little bit in ought for answers. Slowly but surely, I walked closer to him. As I did, I saw the side of his face. His cheeks were flushed, almost like he had been either yelling out of anger or even crying. He turned around and looked at me, revealing what I feared. His beautiful eyes, a mixture of green and blue, were glossy and full of broken veins. Something or someone had truly resented him. Seeing him like that hurt because I wanted him to be happy. Loki had gone through enough. I wanted to do everything in my power to wipe away those dried tears.

“Thor...he’s- our father is making him king,” Loki let me know what was upsetting him. The second I heard his brother’s name, I already knew. My heart sunk and I genuinely felt bad for Loki for numerous reasons. I couldn’t imagine how hopeless he felt right now and I understood very well why he hadn’t shown up earlier. Loki had fought ten times harder than Thor to prove his worthiness but Thor was still ahead of him - for reasons unknown!

“Oh, Loki-” I attempted to speak so I could comfort him, but he wasn’t in the mood for that quite yet.

All of a sudden, that sadness morphed into rage. “He doesn’t want to be king!” Loki yelled, probably loud enough for it to carry further than his chambers. It surprised me but I wasn’t startled. I expected him to let out all those bottled up emotions sooner or later and I was happy to be here for him. Once he had yelled, spat and hissed enough, he would need a shoulder to lean on. Sure, seeing him like this made my heart ache. I couldn’t understand why he was left in the shadows. Loki was a great prince, intelligent too. No one saw that.

“That buffoon only knows how to fight wars and other nonsense things. What does he truly know about ruling? Planning battles? He just sees the enemy and flies towards it, head first like a fool!” Loki continued complaining, his voice staying loud as he trashed his brother’s name. At the end of the day, Loki spoke the truth. No one could claim those statements to be lies, no one. Although Loki didn’t say it, I knew he was thinking about it. He probably thought people saw him as someone even worse. I wish I knew how to convince him and the people of his greatness.

“All my life, Odin had told me that one of us will be king. I don’t understand why he’d choose Thor, a warrior, not a king. Am I really that worthless to him? Does he truly not see that I am at least just as alright as the mighty son of Odin? Or am I actually the prince living in Thor’s shadow?” Loki pondered deeply and stopped yelling. His emotions began to surface more and he hurried to face away from me again. He didn’t want me to see his face when he struggled to keep it straight.

My heart hurt in my chest. How could I let Loki believe he was less great than Thor? It was so wrong that anyone would believe that but the sad truth was that Asgard did forget about the other Prince quite often. I could never. Words were spinning around my mind but I couldn’t find the right ones in the heat of the moment, so I closed the distance between us and put my hand on Loki’s shoulder gently, attracting his attention. He was breathing heavily and all his muscles were tense. He froze when I touched him but he didn’t push me away. After a while, he sighed and relaxed a little bit, allowing me to wrap my arms around his waist. Loki didn’t mind it when I hugged him and nuzzled my face against his chest so I could hear his untamed heartbeat. Soon enough, I felt his arms safely around me and he leaned against my body a little bit, seeking comfort. Holding him felt good but now I had to make him feel better, one way or another. I wanted to do that.

My hands drew simple patterns on his back, underneath his cape that was now around me too, thanks to him hugging me. It was a nice warm contrast against Loki’s cool body. “People don’t know just how great you truly are. It’s a shame, Loki. I wish I could enlighten them but sadly, the gullible, hot-headed fools tend to gain the attention of those who only look at the surface.”

“I wish our father could see us as equals, if no one else, at least him. It’s all I bargain for,” Loki whispered to me quietly. These words were familiar to me. During our long friendship, I had heard this so many times but now I heard the rawest emotions of it. Loki was heartbroken and no one could see that. I held him a little tighter. I noticed that Loki’s body was trembling slightly. He was trying to hold himself together so desperately but I could literally feel him crumbling in my arms. I didn’t wish to push him but I knew he had to experience and deal with these bags of pain.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve ruined rehearsals and loathed in self-pity, I..I just-”

“Loki, don’t worry about. Hey-” I stopped so I could look at his face. He had a few silent tears on his cheeks which made him the opposite of the picture he put up of himself; he was vulnerable with me. “It’s alright,” I promised him. It’s like those two words were like music to his ears. He bit his lips together and had to sit down on a couch near his fireplace, dragging me with him. As I sat down comfortably, Loki just melted into me. He put his weary head on my lap and allowed me to play with his hair - which I had learned calmed him down. His arm was draped over my lap and his fingertips reached my ankles. Slowly but surely, I felt him relax. He stopped quivering and he breathed slowly, relaxing his muscles with each breath. We were surrounded by a comfortable silence which I assumed he needed right now.

“What have I done to deserve you, Y/N? Why do you stick with me even when I throw these tantrums? Even when you know how restricting my life can be,” Loki wondered. He had time to think of this and now he sought answers. Before I could answer, he sat up straight and really looked at me, as if he was studying me. I just smiled.

“Loki, you’re perfect just the way you are. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend,” I admitted to him. Yes, he was my best friend but I wanted more, so saying it was always slightly uneasy for me. It was a reminder that we were just that, friends, but we could be so much more. I always assumed that we had been friends for so long that any chances of us ending up together were already up in ashes. He needed me as a friend and if it made him happy, so be it.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. I could tell he wanted to say something but he was holding back. Then he let out a frustrated sigh.

“You believe in me when no one else does. Thank you for that, truly. I don’t know where I would be without you,” Loki admitted and finally cracked a smile that honestly lit up my world.

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

Loki chuckled now, hiding all traces from his meltdown. “More like partners in crime, I think,” he corrected me. Partners in crime, I loved that. It didn’t have the word friend which was a reminder of reality to me. Besides, partners in crime sounded much better.

“That’s more like it,” I chirped and playfully tapped his shoulder. Loki grabbed my wrist gently before I could pull it away and his touch sent shivers down my spine.

What was he doing?

He noticed what he did and let go, looking at my hand for a while as he seemingly fell into his thoughts again.

“Don’t you think partners sounds, well, rather astonishing?” Loki asked me out of the blue. It’s like someone turned on a switch on him and he got courage from somewhere. I didn’t want my mind to go to different realms but what else could he be hinting?

“What are you saying?”

Loki locked his eyes with mine and I swear to the gods in Valhalla his gaze was warm, inviting, loving. He still had flushed, rosy cheeks from earlier but now he smiled. He was so calm, like the calm after a storm. “Be mine, Y/N. You’re my rock, my best friend, my partner in crime. I know it might be wrong but when I look back to my good and bad days, I see you. I might be pushing it but I honestly think we could do this partnership, don’t you?”

My heart jumped to my throat and I could feel the heat on my cheeks radiating.

I studied Loki’s face and I genuinely couldn’t see a sign of regret. He meant every word he said. I don’t know what made him reveal that now but whatever it was, I was happy about it.

That’s when I nearly pinched myself to see if I was awake or asleep. Did Loki just say all that?

“Loki, are you for real?” I had to be sure, although I doubted he’d pull a trick this mean on me.

“Would I lie to you?” That was a very good point. As the god of mischief and lies, Loki did his best to be honest with me at all times. He even told me about his actor disguise when he started it because he went to the same theatre as me. “There’s no one else I can picture myself with through the hardest times and the good ones. I’ve liked you for a while now, I understand if this seems rushed-”

I couldn’t let him loathe in self-doubt anymore. The courage it took for him to say that must’ve been great and he was probably growing nervous. To convince him I was on the same page, I decided to let my actions speak louder than words. Loki saw it coming as I neared him. Gently, I grabbed his perfectly sculpted face and stopped as our noses brushed against one another’s. Loki drew in his breath and I felt how he touched my waist, carefully, as if I was a flower. Then we kissed which was something I felt we both had wanted for years. The moment our lips moulded together like liquid gold and magic, I forgot about the world around us. There was only me, him and the sparkling sensation pulsing throughout our bodies from the passionate, long-awaited kiss.

“We’re not supposed to be together, my love!” Azeyn,, the character Loki was playing, said right into my face with raw desperation and pain in his voice. We were on stage in front of a full theatre on opening night. Our play was reaching its peak and I could feel how everyone’s attention was on us. Even our co-actors’ gazes lingered on us either from on stage or backstage.

“But we’re meant to be! Can’t you see? They can try to pry us apart as much as they want but they can never separate our hearts!” I replied, mimicking the pain in his voice but I tried to sound hopeful. Our characters, Azeyn and Olivia, were in the middle of a war. The Asgardian soldiers, including Azeyn, were on Midgard to defend humanity from frost giants. Azeyn and Olivia met in battle because he had to save her from danger. Now the battle was frozen: the Midgardians, the Asgardians and the Jotuns were watching as the two were fighting for their love. The Asgardians didn’t want them to be together, the Midgardians were in shock and the Jotuns tried to cheer them on. It was up to our characters to mould their destiny, which could be happy and shortlived, or tragic without each other. Although we were acting, I had tears in my eyes. This play meant a lot to us.

“Time is our enemy. We can forget our people’s opinions but nevertheless, in a few decades, which is all eternity for you but only a moment for me, we will be separated!” Azeyn explained which made the play even more tragic.

I walked closer to him and grabbed his wrists, making him drop his sword. Our eyes locked. It reminded me of our kiss we shared a while ago, only Loki was in his disguise as a cute ginger warrior.

“Would you rather live your entire life without me or be happy during the time we have together? Each second we spend debating our future, we lose of the time we could enjoy, the time we should use for loving!”

Azeyn sighed and gave me a painful yet longing gaze.

This was it.

The moment that would make the play a tragedy

with a happy ending

“I know it’s against others’ wishes but I must put my own first. I’d choose a second with you over a decade without you. I love you, Olivia,” He revealed dramatically and proceeded to cup my face. I had fake blood on my cheek that transferred onto his palm and it spread as he touched me, which was intended to make this kiss dramatic, raw yet hopeful. We were bloody, tired and left alone but we still had each other.

Then we kissed. Little did the audience know the passion was real. Loki’s lips felt like heaven on mine and I knew it looked too good to be true. I heard cheering all around us. People were happy with the end result.

Our lips stayed together for a bit too long. As we parted, Loki looked at me. I knew it was time for us to turn around and bow and curtsy to the audience but for some reason, it felt impossible to look away from him. It’s like we had actually just experienced the things our characters did. Now we were just looking at each other, as if we had fallen into a trance, in front of thousands of Asgardians, even Loki’s family that were invited as guests.

“Oh, to hell with it,” Loki whispered so quietly that I only heard him.

“What?” I pardoned, confused by his behaviour. That’s when he did something I never could’ve foreseen. Loki lifted his magic, transforming into his true self. The ginger hair turned back to raven black, his skin got paler, his true features popped out again. He was completely, fully himself, in front of everyone. Loki just revealed his big secret and I was in shock. But damn, I was proud of him. He was himself for once and it was a big ‘screw you’ to the rules that had led him into a disguise in the first place. Now Asgard knew that their prince was a brilliant actor. If I wasn’t so shocked, I would’ve probably noticed the silence and few gasps from the people in the first row.

“I love you, Y/N,” Loki confessed to me and returned to my lips. My heart was racing in my chest and I could almost feel the adrenaline and dopamine in my system. It was almost overwhelming in all the good ways! Loki’s bold attitude was contagious and I didn’t hesitate as I kissed him back just as fiercely. Our true kiss made the audience erupt into a new fit of cheers. I could only picture Odin’s face now. If Loki’s lips wouldn’t have been so addictive, I would’ve turned to look, but I preferred to smooch him in front of the people to show that we were a thing.

Once we parted and people were applauding both the play and Loki’s big reveal, I smiled at him. “I love you too, Loki.”

“Let all of Asgard know that.”

Author’s Note: I obviously write fluff-ish stuff rarely but I tried! This was heavily inspired by Shakespeare and norse mythology. In this fic, I tried to bring forward a more vulnerable Loki, before Thor 1 when he was still kind of hopeful and a bit more innocent.

If you liked it, I would love to hear your feedback! Thank you <3

#Loki #Loki fanfiction #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki X Y/N #Loki imagine #Loki Odinson Imagine #Loki Laufeyson Imagine #Loki Laufeyson x Reader

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