#someone who works for the newspaper interviewed me and wrote an article about me

[mayumania]

mfw i open my college’s newspaper and i see an article about me with the worst picture of myself that ive ever seen in my life

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[crepesuzette2023]

Your top 5 favorite Mclennon quotes?

Hi Anon, thank you for asking! The following aren't quotes I'd construct into any kind of 'proof' (whether I'm into this or not is another set of footnotes, which I'll spare you), but quotes that illustrate that John and Paul's relationship was fascinating and intense, and puzzling to themselves and others (incl. yours truly). 1.) “Meeting Paul was just like two people meeting. Not falling in love or anything. Just us. It went on. It worked.” — John Lennon - The Beatles by Hunter Davies

2.) “Lennon had attitude, and, taking his lead from Lennon, McCartney could be similar. At times, they reminded me of those well-to-do Chicago lads Leopold and Loeb, who killed someone because they felt superior to him. Lennon and McCartney were ‘superior human beings’.” — Bob Wooler in Mark Lewisohn’s Tune In

3.) “John and Paul paired off - only to find themselves stuck together for life. For John, Paul was the boy who came to stay; for Paul, John was the song he couldn’t make better” — Rob Sheffield, Dreaming The Beatles

4.) TELL ME WHO HE IS. Early song by Paul McCartney, included in The Lyrics (2021). Written in the late 50’s/early 60’s, according to the caption. (photo of journal page)

Tell me who he is Tell me that you’re mine not his He says he loves you more than I do Tell me who he is

Tell him where to go Tell him that I love you so He couldn’t love you more than I do Tell me who he is

5.) John Lennon's word association list from 1976 New York: great Elvis: fat Ringo: friend Yoko: love Howard Cosell: hum George: lost Bootlegs: good Elton: nice Paul: extraordinary Bowie: thin MBE: shit John: great

BONUS TRACK: “I had signs that the group was gonna break up, because… I mean, I think really what it was, really all that happened was that John fell in love. With Yoko. And so, with such a powerful alliance like that, it was difficult for him to still be seeing me. It was as if I was another girlfriend, almost. Our relationship was a strong relationship. And if he was to start a new relationship, he had to put this other one away."— Paul McCartney (1985), link to interview here

PLAY IT BACKWARDS: "LONDON (AP) — John Lennon wrote vitriolic comments about fellow-Beatle Paul McCartney in a picture biography of the famed pop group, providing new evidence of the tensions between them, the Observer newspaper said Sunday. [...]

"Lennon marked almost every one of the 76 pages with corrections and comments, including one that the Observer took as an indication the group already was experimenting with drugs in the 1960s. [...]

"In an entry noting McCartney’s marriage to Linda Eastman, Lennon crossed out “wedding” and wrote “funeral”, the Observer said. [...]

"But in a final tender moment, the Observer said, Lennon wrote under a photo of himself with McCartney: “The minutes are crumbling away.” (full article.)

[centrally-unplanned]

I was listening to this cast by The Weeb Crew, with SteveM as a guest, going through some other Evangelion video and dissecting the mythical memetic tropes it buys into. Which was a lot of fun, I recommend the cast, and the video they are critiquing is a bit of a grad-bag of zombie memes about Evangelion from the 2000's, which yeah have aged poorly.

One of the ones they get into is the idea that Evangelion's TV ending was "intensely unpopular", and Anno & crew were getting like bombarded with death threats and stuff. Which happened at some level sure, but certainly wasn't the median response. The video actually sites the "emails" shown on screen in End of Evangelion as evidence:

And like, bro those emails are fake! The staff wrote them for the movie, they didn't use real death threats or fan mail, that would be a huge legal liability. Not saying they are analytically useless or anything but, you know, you need to know that.

Anyway, SteveM mentions that of course there was pushback against Eva's ending, but actually the big wave wasn't interior to the fandom - instead it was sparked by Eva "going mainstream" discourse-wise. In particular a review essay by social critic Eiji Otuska (who is also a former lolicon creator ding ding ding) that was published after the finale aired sparked a widespread discussion in the media by other critics. He links to the essay in their discussion....except he doesn't. He thinks he did, and then when they look, its just someone else mentioning it in an article in 2003:

Bitter disputes broke out on online bulletin boards, with some critical of the producers for failing to provide a clear-cut end to the story, and others who praised the finish for being "typically Evangelion-like." But when commentator Eiji Otsuka sent a letter to the Yomiuri Shimbun, complaining about the end of the Evangelion series, the debate went nationwide. "The debate that erupted over the ending went way beyond our calculations," Gainax's Sato chuckles. "Anno probably knew what was going on. He realized that media other than anime had taken notice of Evangelion."

Which triggered in me the thought - why doesn't he have it? He references it in his own work after all. As you can guess, after some searching I am pretty sure I know why; no one has it. Its never been scanned or reprinted in an accessible format! It definitely is important in the history of Evangelion - I have seen this claim in other contexts, the essay that sparked a discourse, and you can find many works about Evangelion citing Otsuki (generally later works, like an article published in September of 1996 which you can buy) But what the article article said is only discernable via the clues dropped from second-hand accounts.

So can we find it?

First of all I need to figure out what is even being referenced. Searching through contemporary Japanese sources, I dug up an extremely handy find:

A somehow-still-existing 1997 fan page by a Japanese otaku (I'm giving you this stuff auto-translated btw, what would you do with a wall of kanji?) who extensively catalogued every media mention of Evangelion. I am sure they missed some, but they didn't miss a big one like the Otsuki letter - which we know from the above interview appeared in gigantic newspaper Yoimiuri Shimbun:

This gives us three candidates; given that we know it was written after the finale aired, and that was March 27th, 1996, our most likely candidate is the April 1st essay; I was able to find a secondary source mentioning the review was "immediately" after the finale, so I think that nails it.

Which alas does not bring up anything! Try as I might I cannot find any extant blog post, or scanned image, or long quoted form. But after trying the usual methods I did realize something - unlike my average document hunt, this is Yoimiuri Shimbum, a newspaper, a big newspaper. Which means they probably have their own archive, which I might be able to access. and low and behold, they do! And my university research services actually have an account!!

Incredibly blessed by this stroke of luck, I went digging for everything containing "Evangelion" and "Eiji Otsuka" in 1996, and found it:

And it's fucking blank. If the article is scanned or anything it will have that "Japanese Text" you see on the first result, or "Scanned Image" tag or something. I swear its like the only ones not scanned, all the random ads and list of best sellers are all there, but the entire cultural essays section is just an archival void. Shot in the skull right at the finish line.

Alas I am out of ideas of this one - its a newspaper, no one is selling this on Yahoo Auctions. Though hey, at least now we know the title:

"オウム」を超えるはずが... / It should surpass Aum...", 876 characters long.

"Aum" by the way is Aum Shinrikyo, the cult terrorist group that conducted the 1995 Tokyo subway sarin gas attack. Which you can imagine really took the chattering classes by storm; it was the culmination of a series of "extremist" actions that began in the 1980's that built up a narrative of societal decay and alarm. It really isn't surprising that Otsuka linked Evangelion to Aum Shinrikyo; the apocalyptic connections were obvious, there was even an episode of the show that had to be changed due to the attacks as the production team thought the events were too similar. And additionally, if this essay was gonna spark a "societal backlash", it has to say something controversial right? I have definitely seen other critics like Hiroki Azuma discussing Eva in relation to Aum as a "social phenomenon" - I am betting Otsuka is the source of that comparison being so ubiquitous.

From other sources like people on twitter and other articles, I can pick up a few other details on what it contained; apparently he referred to Evangelion's finale as a "self-help seminar" for otaku and lambasted the idea of airing one of those on TV. And from his other writings I think you can certainly piece it together - essentially seeing Evangelion's self-involvement and hyper-introspection as a product of the same societal malaise that birthed Aum Shinrikyo, while failing to deliver a solution that could "go beyond" that. Which, the shit you said about media in the 90's, I want a hit of what he's having! But while today its quite obvious that groups like Aum were, sure, saying something about society but turned out overwhelmingly to be fringe weirdos as opposed to canaries in the mental institute coal mine, at the time this was very much the zeitgeist.

Still, I don't really care all that much what it says - its an important artifact! It started the "Eva discourse boom" that broke out of otaku circles and launched Evangelion into a cross-societal phenomenon! We should have a record of it, it should be preserved. I will ruminate on it, and see if any other ideas pop up. And meanwhile if anyone out there happens to see what I missed definitely let me know.

[kris-mage-fics]

Thanks for the tag @phenanthreneblue!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Eight 2. What's your total AO3 word count? 7,656. So far I've only published short little one-shots. 3. What fandoms do you write for? Shepherds of Haven, Scarlet Hollow, and Ebon Light. 4. Top five fics by kudos 1. Had it Been Anyone Else (Ebon Light, it's Haron angst hours lol, spoilers for the end of the game on Ernol's route) 2. A New Room (Ebon Light, Haron fluff, spoilers for the end of the game) 3. Fog (Scarlet Hollow, Tabitha angst, no real spoilers) 4. An Unlikely Engagement (Shepherds of Haven, Kyrahlise/Blade, very, very minor spoiler for Chapter 8) 5. The Best Proof of Love is Trust (Shepherds of Haven, spoilers for Chapter 3 which is in the public demo) It doesn't escape me that they are almost in publication order 5. Do you respond to comments? Always! Though sometimes it takes me a while to do so. I rarely get them so it isn't that hard to respond to them. 6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Absolutely Had it Been Anyone Else! It's literally pure angst. Though when I write for Tabitha it always ends up angsty too, so Fog and The Secret of the Greenhouse aren't exactly sunshine and roses. 7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Some may disagree, but I think The Best Proof of Love is Trust has a very happy ending! 8. Do you get hate on fics? Not so far.

9. Do you write smut? No? Yes? I've written some, but haven't published any. Smut is hard for me to write because I visualize everything, and there's a lot to visualize in a smut scene compared to a scene without much action. So it's exhausting to write. Also I suspect it's harder to keep sustained enough interest to write a full scene because I'm on the asexual spectrum. It's not something I'm opposed to, it's just harder than other writing for me. That said, there is a sex scene I really want to write, but it probably won't be very sexy, lol! 10. Craziest crossover? Haven't written any. 11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know. 12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope. 13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but it would be foolish to say it'll never happen. ;) 14. All time favourite ship? I could make a tier list, but I don't have a favorite anymore than I have a favorite food or tea or board game, lol! 15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I started a fic that's a newspaper article on Kyrahlise. It's written as a hit piece on the Hero of Haven, trying to imply she's actually a bad person. The reporter interviewed people in Ashtown who know her, but reading between the lines you figure out they didn't dig up anything and are just overly skeptical of a Diminished woman who quickly gained some fame and power. I planned to end it with a little segment from the perspective of someone Kyrah used to know, where they figure out she's now the Hero everyone won't shut up about. I still like the idea, I just doubt I'll ever finish it.

Also I started one where it's written like the reports from one of the people sent to spy on Blade. Thing is the spy knows Blade, so they see him falling for Kyrahlise and are like, "wtf?!? is she enchanting him? is he actually in love? omg he's so bad at this! wow, it looks like she actually likes him too!" Also they think Kyrah is super sus because a lot of the things she does don't make sense and aren't explained. (Full disclosure: this idea was heavily inspired by a conversation other people had on the ShoH patreon.) 16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and banter, always knowing where my characters are in a scene and what they are doing (the upside of the visualization thing), sweet/cute moments, and angst when I'm in the right mood. 17. What are your writing weaknesses? Finishing, lol! Editing, it's hard for me to let go of trying to be 'perfect'. I'll get really stuck on a sentence or paragraph and obsessively revise it even though it's fine, just because I think it can be better. I know it's not healthy or sustainable, and I'm working on it. (I can point to a particular sentence in a fic that I literally spent hours on!) Action! It's the same visualization problem I have with writing smut, it's a lot to keep in my head and it quickly wears me out. Getting the right voice for a lot of characters. My writing tends to be introspective and verbose, which doesn't work for everyone. So it's a struggle to find a balance between the character's voice and my natural writing style. 18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I think it's great, for other people to write! I'm pretty terrible at languages, and don't trust myself to get it right without consulting someone who knows that language. Given a lot of what I write for is fantasy with made up languages, that's not going to happen. 19. First fandom you wrote in? Ebon Light, in fact it's the reason I even tried writing in the first place! 20. Favorite fic you've written? I think it's a three way tie between: The Secret of the Greenhouse -- I think I did a good job getting some creepy vibes in such a short piece. It doesn't align with canon at all, but in my opinion it's my best Scarlet Hollow fic. The Best Proof of Love is Trust -- I feel like I succeeded at my goal of showing just how much thought Kyrahlise put into a big choice in Chapter 3, as well as some of her character and past. Had it Been Anyone Else -- I had the sudden need to break Haron's heart. I seem to have accomplished the mission since 100% of the comments mention it being either sad or heartbreaking.

Ngl, I don't know who to tag on this one. Because besides Phen, and one other person, I think most people I know only have one work on ao3, or none. So open tagging it is! If you see this and want to join in, consider yourself tagged, whether you are a mutual or not!

[bellewintersroe]

Hiya :) I saw your requests were open but you aren’t writing atm no worries! If you are could I please request a BoB ship?

I’m 5’1 (unfortunately lol) and I have black long hair, brown large eyes and thick lashes. I’m an ENFP, so I’m pretty happy to be around people but I’m a bit socially anxious/eager when it comes to making new friends, but when I do eventually talk to them, I will not shut up lmao! I think because I’m a bit anxious when it comes to meeting new people I definitely have a lot of introverted friends because it’s easier to be an extroverted person around them. And again, I love people but I’m not a super physically affectionate person unless someone else initiates it, but getting a hug out of me is like near impossible if we aren’t close friends or dating (I’m sure you can tell I’m a cat person lol).

I’m a huge writer, I’ve been writing for my campus’ newspaper and I wrote for my high school’s newspaper. I love interviewing new people for my articles and digging into their brains! I have a bunch of hobbies but honestly I’m really bad at consistently doing them? Like I’ll pick up painting, guitar, etc but I’m sooooo bad at doing them regularly. I do make resin book marks and I love pressing flowers for my crafts, and it’s nice to get flowers from different places and events to remember the day. One of my most consistent hobbies is reading though. I loveeee reading, from horror to historical non-fiction, I love it all!

I’m forgetting what I planned to write for this AH so lastly, I love my cat, I’m a Hufflepuff, I love femininity, I wear cardigans and love makeup, and yeah!

Hopefully that was enough or not too much info!!! Thank you!!!!

heyyy thank you so much for your request! It’s the perfect amount of information, sorry I couldn’t get it done sooner! I’m loving doing this requests atm and have a lot of free time coming up so keep requesting and I should get through them at some point !! <3

I ship you with… Joe Liebgott!!!

Call this one a bit of a wild card, but I feel like you and Joe would be sooooo good for one another! I love writing about Liebgott sm.

Okok so first I feel like you might see each other from a distance? Maybe you’re both training or working? You glance up and he somehow turns to you at the same time and it’s like IMMEDIATE breath taking- omg that other person is so attractive.

As you seem a little shy at first, I feel like you’d get all flustered and turn away, getting back to what you did before, but Joe is hooked. He’s intrigued, and as he study’s you a little more he starts to smile at how pretty he finds you, especially the way your eyes were staring through those long lashes.

let’s say Tab or somebody pulls him away without noticing he’s obviously just gawping at you, and Joe is still trying to turn over his shoulder to take another glance at you because who are you omg ???

Talks about your goddamn eyes to the boys for weeks, is practically obsessed with you but plays it off as ‘she’s so hot jfc who is she’.

eventually Web just blurts out you’re training at Toccoa too and Joe’s eyes lighten up but at the same time he’s like ‘are you serious? You didn’t tell me this before?!”

proceeds to run off as though he’s gonna find you outside.

let’s say he finally spots you again, in the pub, a communal area where everybody is happy- Joe’s palms are sweating and he smirks when he sees you. You’re tucked away in the corner, speaking with a group of friends who seem to keep themselves more to themselves.

Joe would approach you if you left to get a drink, it’s a bit awkward at first, Joe’s humour and nerves sometimes clash, but the way he’s smiling down towards you I don’t think it would take you long to decide he’s a nice guy.

Tries to act cool.

when you start speaking more he matches the exact same energy as you. I don’t think Joe would be overly nervous, but now he’s staring at you, so beautiful, in front of him he gets all flustered and tongue tied.

doesn’t hide his feelings from you EVER. very very very open from the start and usually initiates a lot of things- apart from the first kiss, wants you to do that first so he’s not being overly pushy or weird.

probs overthinks that kinda stuff.

but no seriously, Joe can tell you’re a little nervous around new people, the two of you grow close fast and this makes him become super protective over you. Not in an annoying way, but when you sit with him and his friends he’s always ensuring you’re okay and checking up on you omfg he’s so sweet.

deffo a little more on the touchy feely side, in a good way. Once you’re comfortable I think you’d embrace it and he’s soooo attractive and gives killer hugs lmao.

maybe one time after your first date he kisses you on the cheek instead of on the lips when you were clearly going in for it- skskeifiieowodia he PANICS and literally thinks you’re gonna hate him and never speak to him again.

loooovveeessssss sex with you, I think he’s very much a one woman kinda guy, so probably gets a boner like 10x a day just thinking about you lmao.

also very very respectful, again, I think Joe would prefer you to imitate or tell him when you’re ready, he’s eager to explore more of you, but no way is he a creep or forceful or anything of that matter.

makes fun of your height- I’m sorry I think he would think you’re SO CUTE and love how petite you are, but especially at first when he wasn’t the best at communicating his emotions he constantly brings this up.

webster tried to make a joke once and Joe’s face dropped, nope.

playfully argues with you that dogs are better than cats.

you both sound like you’ve got super loyal characteristics which I think is amazing, you’d both be so secure, I think he’d be the one to get more insecure at times?

can’t express this very well so gets all moody, but you’re super patient and he literally decides your an Angel put on earth for him.

can’t keep up with your hobbies- he once said he was gonna actually read a book but three pages in he’s dropped it and been distracted. It’s not that he doesn’t like your hobbies, I just think Joe gives off CHAOTIC energy and you’re such a good balance for him and vice versa.

sulks when you’re paying more attention to a book than him.

tries to distract you, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, it depends what.

probs would bring you flowers and act super nonchalant about it but inside he’s smirking.

not the most romantic, but ALWAYS finds time for you. Takes you out for drives, walks with you- omg he also would never let you walk alone in the dark or in Europe, nope.

likes to ask Gene and some of the other men to keep an eye on you which sometimes ur like Joe I’m a grown woman but thank you for your concern???

fancies the FUCK out of you and your femininity. Look, I think it was hard to take care of yourself properly through the war, but I think you’d definitely constantly embrace your femininity and Joe would LOVE THIS.

Seriously knows how lucky he is to have the most beautiful girl on the planet.

eyes accidentally fall to your boobs- maybe if you’re running PT he stops and STARES- Sobel tells him off and he gets a weekend pass revoked- fuck!

hissy fits?? I think you sound a lot more mellow and initiative than Joe, sometimes he gets a little heated in arguments and he can say things he doesn’t mean.

Sometimes he needs space to realise this, sometimes he doesn’t, would always ALWAYS apologise and give you a massive hug. I don’t think he’d tent to make the same mistakes twice either?

If you express you’re uncomfortable or not happy about something he’d never dream of doing it again- obviously nothing major.

probs been in a fight or two over you, likes to protect you, HATES when anybody says anything weird to you ffs let me at them RN.

Golden retriever energy (most days) likes to jump on you, play flight you- if there was a stage when you two got comfortable as friends he’d love when you hugged him or swatted his hand playfully. I think he’s love language is physical touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I ship you platonically with… Shifty Powers!

Probably THE most gentle and lovable man of easy.

so SO SO SO RESPECTFUL.

Similar to you, he gets a little anxious around new people, especially girls, and can sometimes have a hard time coming up with the right things to say.

I think this could put you at ease and if you get a little nervous and talk loads he’d be relieved that the pressure has been taken off him.

Checking up on each other- both of you are very intuitive so it’s easy to see when somethings wrong.

joe gets a little jealous, but he trusts Shifty with his life and your life- soon realises there’s absolutely no funny business going on and respects him so much.

joe and Shifty are super good friends so the dynamic between you three is perfect.

Asks you about your interests, asks you what you like about them and if he’d be any good at them- he’s soooo cute.

reads books you recommend, kinda scared of the horror ones though but finds them oddly funny.

if Joe upsets you in a petty argument and Shifty see’s you upset I don’t think he’d know what to do?

doesn’t do any of that awkward back patting, would deffo try give you genuine helpful advice.

it always works.

Like you, I don’t think Shifty is that into hugs or physical touch unless it’s from a loved or super close one. There’s an unspoken agreement that the two of you would never ever do anything to make the other uncomfortable.

such a good friend, honestly.

[ugisfeelings]

An interview with Monique Truong

How did you get the idea for your book? When I was in college, I bought a copy of the Alice B. Toklas Cook Book because I was curious about Toklas' hash brownie recipe. It turned out that the famous recipe was not a Toklas recipe at all, but one submitted by the artist Brion Gysin in a chapter called "Recipes from Friends." Gysin's recipe was actually for a "haschich fudge" and was for a sort of dried fruit bar concoction "dusted" with a bunch of pulverized "canibus sativa." It didn't sound tasty to me, but I read the rest of the book anyway and found that it was less of a cookbook and more of a memoir. In a chapter called "Servants in France," Toklas wrote about two "Indochinese" men who cooked for Toklas and Stein at 27 rue de Fleurus and at their summer house in Bilignin. One of these cooks responded to an ad placed by Toklas in the newspaper that began "Two Americans ladies wish- " By this point in the cook book, I had already fallen for these two women and for their ability to create an idiosyncratic, idyllic life for one another. When I got to the pages about these cooks, I was to say the least surprised and touched to see a Vietnamese presence and such an intimate one at that in the lives of these two women. These cooks must have seen everything, I thought. But in the official history of the Lost Generation, the Paris of Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, these "Indo-Chinese" cooks were just a minor footnote. There could be a personal epic embedded inside that footnote, I thought. The Book of Salt is that story, as told from the perspective of Bình, a twenty-six-year old Vietnamese man living in Paris in the late 1920's. I have imagined him as one of the candidates who answered Stein and Toklas' classified ad.

Is there really a manuscript by Stein entitled The Book of Salt? No, I made that manuscript up. In the novel, Bình claims that Stein's The Book of Salt is about him. Stein has certainly written about cooks and servants. In Portraits and Prayers, for instance, there is a piece called "B. B. or the Birthplace of Bonnes" about all the women from Brittany who had worked in the Stein and Toklas' household. Also, two of the "lives" in Stein's Three Lives were servants. So, it does not seem improbable to me that Stein could have devoted a few words to a cook like Bình. What inspired you to include a fictionalized Ho Chi Minh in the novel? Actually, I think of the character in The Book of Salt as a fictionalized Nguyen Ai Quoc as opposed to a fictionalized Ho Chi Minh. From what I have read about him, his name changes often signaled or accompanied a significant change in the man as well. When he was in Paris, he was literally "a man on the bridge" between democracy and socialism. He eventually felt rejected by both and turned towards communism to reach his goal of independence and self-determination for Vietnam. By that time, he was well on his way to becoming Ho Chi Minh. The man that interested me was Nguyen Ai Quoc, the young man living in Paris who read Shakespeare and Dickens in the original English, who wrote plays and newspaper articles, who earned money as a painter of fake Chinese souvenirs, a photographer's assistant. In the novel, "the man on the bridge" tells Bình that he also worked as a cook. Is this based on fact? Yes, I had done some research on Nguyen Ai Quoc because someone told me that he had been a cook in France. It turned out that he was an assistant cook at the pie bakery of the Carlton Hotel in London, whose kitchen at that time was under the supervision of the legendary French chef Auguste Escoffier. As a young man, he had left Vietnam by working as a "mess boy" on a French ocean liner going from Saigon to Marseilles. I decided that my cook, Bình, would take a similar route. Many of Bình's experiences on the fictional freighter Niobe were based on or inspired by the more well-documented experiences of Ba, as he called himself then, on the Latouche Treville. Nguyen Ai Quoc's travels out of Vietnam began in 1911, and they took him to Dakar, Brooklyn, London, Paris and many other port cities around the world. From 1917 to 1923 he lived in Paris. Some time in the summer of 1923, he left Paris for Moscow to begin his full-time education and activity as a "revolutionary."

(x).

[eightyonekilograms]

tanadrin: Skinsuiting? Would be curious to hear more abt this in general, didn’t see the piece

The word refers to the practice of hollowing out an organization, then flipping completely on its stated values (generally, classical liberal ones), while claiming nothing of the sort has happened (the metaphor being "killing someone and then wearing their skin as a suit"). I trust it's not too controversial to say this has been happening to a lot of professional organizations of late, the NYT and ACLU being the ones that, personally, are bitterest for me.

Here's the relevant bit from the full essay:

And yet the Times insists to the public that nothing has changed. By saying that it still holds itself to the old standard of strictly separating its news and opinion journalists, the paper leads its readers further into the trap of thinking that what they are reading is independent and impartial – and this misleads them about their country’s centre of political and cultural gravity. “Even though each day’s opinion pieces are typically among our most popular journalism and our columnists are among our most trusted voices, we believe opinion is secondary to our primary mission of reporting and should represent only a portion of a healthy news diet,” Sulzberger wrote in the Columbia Journalism Review. “For that reason, we’ve long kept the Opinion department intentionally small – it represents well under a tenth of our journalistic staff – and ensured that its editorial decision-making is walled off from the newsroom.”

(emphasis mine)

Sulzberger is technically not lying in the bolded section (in that way the NYT does, where they technically don't lie but an incautious reader nonetheless comes away with an impression which is exactly the opposite of reality), because, as the piece explains in great detail, there is now effectively a second opinion department at the NYT consisting of the cultural critics, who are not walled off from the newsroom, and these days have more power and influence than the nominal editorial department. Which is hammered home by the very next sentence:

When I was editorial-page editor, Sulzberger, who declined to be interviewed on the record for this article, worried a great deal about the breakdown in the boundaries between news and opinion.

Sulzberger is fully aware that the NYT is a shitshow on the inside, but he won't say so and his public statements continue to insist everything is fine. See the full piece for another example of his duplicity re: the Cotton op-ed, where privately he had Bennet's back ahead of publication, but threw him under the bus when the newsroom revolted.

The full piece is quite long and touches on many different points, and as I said I won't give a full reaction, but I think it's worth noting that Bennet is pretty careful to blame the rot not (only) on "those damn millennials" but rather on cold business realities:

As I realised how different the new Times had become from the old one that trained me, I began to think of myself not as a benighted veteran on a remote island, but as Rip Van Winkle. I had left one newspaper, had a pleasant dream for ten years, and returned to a place I barely recognised. The new New York Times was the product of two shocks – sudden collapse, and then sudden success. The paper almost went bankrupt during the financial crisis, and the ensuing panic provoked a crisis of confidence among its leaders. Digital competitors like the HuffPost were gaining readers and winning plaudits within the media industry as innovative. They were the cool kids; Times folk were ink-stained wrinklies. In its panic, the Times bought out experienced reporters and editors and began hiring journalists from publications like the HuffPost who were considered “digital natives” because they had never worked in print. This hiring quickly became easier, since most digital publications financed by venture capital turned out to be bad businesses. The advertising that was supposed to fund them flowed instead to the giant social-media companies. The HuffPosts and Buzzfeeds began to decay, and the Times’s subscriptions and staff began to grow. ... This creep of politics into the newsroom’s journalism helped the Times beat back some of its new challengers, at least those on the left. Competitors like Vox and the HuffPost were blending leftish politics with reporting and writing it up conversationally in the first person. Imitating their approach, along with hiring some of their staff, helped the Times repel them. But it came at a cost. The rise of opinion journalism over the past 15 years changed the newsroom’s coverage and its culture.

Because I was on vacation and only sporadically checking Tumblr, I missed whatever discussion there might have been about Bennet's piece in the Economist about his tenure at the New York Times. So I'll stick to saying that this is yet another maddening "I'm not crazy" moment. People like me were getting gaslit for years about the skinsuiting and institutional rot there, and told it was a product of our imaginations (or our bad politics!). Only to find out from a senior editor that, actually, it was completely obvious to management years ago and they did nothing about it.

[sweetdreamsjeff]

https://tidal.com/magazine/article/jeff-buckley-lost-interview/1-85988

Jeff Buckley: The Lost Interview

In this previously unpublished conversation from 1994, captured just days before the release of ‘Grace,’ the mythic singer-songwriter pushes through self-doubt, professes his undying love for the Smiths and New York City, and interprets a dream wherein he critiqued a serial killer’s photography.

July 21, 2022 by Tony Gervino

Q: Who and what are you going to become, Jeff? A: I don’t know, just something deeper: Buckley in 1994. Credit: Michel Linssen/Redferns.

In August of 1994, I interviewed the singer-songwriter Jeff Buckley for over an hour at the New York offices of Columbia Records. Other than pulling a few quotes for a regional music newspaper profile I wrote at the time, this conversation went unused. I put the recording in a box in my closet, where it remained for a quarter-century.

I went back over the transcript a couple of years ago and realized that our conversation offered a rare snapshot of the most pivotal moment in Buckley’s too-brief career. He hadn’t yet sat for many interviews and was trying to figure out his own narrative, just before he was to leave on a national tour that would make such quiet, thoughtful introspection a luxury.

The son of folk visionary Tim Buckley, he had made his mark in New York City as a solo artist in 1993, performing a suite of original songs and genre-spanning covers with only his guitar and multi-octave vocal range. The buzz didn’t really build; it seemed as if one day no one in the city’s music scene knew who Jeff Buckley was, and the next, everyone knew.

Prior to entering the studio to record his landmark debut album, Grace, which featured his most successful single, “Last Goodbye,” as well as his transcendent rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” Buckley mothballed his troubadour set. To help bring dimension to the music swimming around in his head, he recruited the collaborative working band of guitarist Michael Tighe, bassist Mick Grondahl and drummer Matt Johnson. He wanted his solo album to sound big, ambitious and genre-slippery as he headed to Bearsville Studios in Woodstock, N.Y.

Even though our meeting was less than two weeks before the album release, Buckley was still tinkering with the mixes on Grace, tormenting producer Andy Wallace with sonic flourishes and rewritten bridges, and hoping to squeeze every bit of inspiration out of himself before the tape stopped rolling. In the pre-streaming world, this was an unheard-of high-wire act for a debut artist. But for a young musician who was signed to Columbia Records after a prolonged bidding war, it indicated a bit of acquiescence on the label’s part. From what they’d seen of him, Buckley was a can’t-miss artist. He just needed time, which, tragically, he was ultimately denied. Jeff Buckley drowned in Memphis in May of 1997, just 30 years old.

I’ve edited this interview for length and clarity and removed some passages where I thought Buckley’s sarcasm could be misinterpreted, or where it spun off into tangents that ended with Buckley impersonating everyone from Paul McCartney to the French poet Baudelaire. He had the nervous energy of someone about to embark on a long journey, uncertain of its destination, and I wanted to ensure his answers would properly reflect not just his wit but his wisdom.

*****

How does it feel to have to do interviews?

Well, at the outset I guess I figured why would anybody care? But I’m smart enough to know that people would want to talk about my music. I just didn’t think anyone would for a publication. But at this point the fatigue hasn’t set in, and no question is a stupid one.

It’s still early.

[laughs] Mainly it’s helpful because I’m getting some ideas out about exactly what I think about some things. And the important thing in doing interviews is not to have any pat answers. That would make it unenjoyable for me. Like a … a murder suspect or something, in terms of having your story straight.

Have you finished mixing the new album?

No, I have one last day in the studio — one last gasp of creative breath before I have to go away. I’m totally pissed. Absolutely.

Did you write in the studio, or did you go in with the songs ready?

One of them was completely organized in the studio. But that was still prepared beforehand. A lot of stuff we’d done at the last minute because I was trying to get the right people to play with, and it took a while before I found them.

But that was only three weeks before I’d gone up to Woodstock to record and we hadn’t known each other that long, and the band material hadn’t developed as much. Some things were completely crystallized, and some things needed care, and they got it. I’m still not satisfied.

Let’s see: I get to go into the studio on Wednesday, the day before I leave and the night after I perform at [defunct NYC club] Wetlands. So I have one, two, three, four, five precious days to [work on the music], along with all the other stuff I have to do. I have to shoot some pictures, possibly for the album cover. Then at night I’m free to get these ideas together, and I’ll still have one last shot on two songs in particular. The producer [Andy Wallace] doesn’t even know what I want to do to this one song. [laughs] He’ll be horrified.

Have you played it out?

Uh-huh. There are just things I want to crystallize about it.

Is figuring songs out onstage a conscious effort on your part to fly or fail?

Yeah, because I love flying so much. But, really, it’s still a kind of discipline. I guess it’s an engagement. It’s not like having “song 1 to song 6 and then a talk.” I don’t know anybody who really does that. I know a lot of performers talk about not being so structured. … Sometimes you can see bands that have a set of songs, and that shit is dead. That … shit … is … dead.

When I perform, I’m working off rhythms that are happening all over the place, real or imagined, and it’s interactive. It’s got a lot of detail to it, so I can’t afford to tie it up in a noose, and put it in a costume that doesn’t belong on me. So yeah, it’s free but it has its own logic, and sometimes it completely falls flat on its face. But it’s worth the fall, sometimes. Because that’s life.

To me it makes sense to do things in that manner, because that’s really just the way life is when you step out of it and see that, like, your car has a flat and somebody smashed in your windshield and then, shit, you’re walking home and all of a sudden you run into somebody that turns out to be your favorite person for the rest of your life. It’s always … unfolding. You just have to recognize it, I guess. And that’s my philosophy, that I haven’t really thought about until you asked me.

Have you been a solo performer out of desire or necessity?

Both. I did it to earn money to pay rent in the place I was staying, and bills, and my horrible CD habit, and failing miserably all the time, always playing for tips and always just getting by — by the skin of my teeth.

To get this sound in order, you can have a path laid out in front of you, but if you don’t have the vehicle to go down the road you’ll never get to where you want to go. So I guess I was building the parts piece by piece or going through different forms, reforming them and trying out different ideas and songs.

How long have you been building these parts?

Some of them I wrote when I was 18 or 19, and some of them I wrote weeks ago, and some of them I’m still writing. [laughs] The rest of this album is kind of a purging, because the rest of the albums ain’t gonna happen like this. [points to chest] You’ll never see this person again.

Who and what are you going to become, Jeff?

I don’t know, just something deeper. Nothing alien, just something deeper. I’m just not satisfied. I’m really, horribly unsatisfied. Cause I kind of got an idea of where I want this thing to go. It’s still gonna be songs. I think about deepening the work that I do, and other problems I try to solve, like, “If I go to see this band in a loft, or if I went to see this band in a theater, and I wanted to be very, very, very enchanted and very engaged and maybe even physically engaged to where I’m dancing or where I’m moshing, what would that sound like? If I wanted to be cradled like a baby or smashed around like a fucking Army sergeant, what would that sound like?” I daydream all the time about it. And that’s sort of what I work toward. It’s more of an intimate thing.

In America the rock band is not an intimate thing, but in America soul bands are very intimate and blues bands are very intimate, like way back in the day, when people who invented blues were doing it. It’s all very interdependent and it’s all very … people had to listen to make the music. And it comes around in a lot of different ways. Things I’m doing now are pretty old-fashioned: I’m going on tour to little places to play small cafés. [He lays his itinerary out in front of us.]

What do you expect the reaction to be? You play New York City and, by now, the people here know your deal, but there are some cities where they’re not going to know.

That’s OK.

Will you tailor your performance to different tour stops? Does it change the way you perform?

Every time I perform it’s different.

How long have you been in New York City?

Three years. But I’ll always be here. I’ll always live here.

What is it about New York?

Everything. You know all the clichés: It’s the electricity, it’s the creativity, it’s the motion. It’s the availability of everything at any moment, which creates a complete, innate logic to the place. It’s like, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t have this now. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have the best library in the country, and there’s no reason why the finest Qawwali singer in all of Pakistan shouldn’t come to my neighborhood and I’ll go see him, and there’s no reason that Bob Dylan shouldn’t show up at the Supper Club.

There’s no reason that I can’t do this fucking amazing shit. And if you have a certain amount of self-esteem, it’s the perfect place because there’s so much. It’s majestic and it’s the cesspool of America. And there’s amazing poetry in everything. There are amazing poets everywhere, and some real horrible mediocrity, and an equal amount of pageantry. There’s also a community of people that have been left with nothing but their ability to put on a show, no matter what it is — whether it’s a novel or a performance reading on Monday night at St. Mark’s Church for 20 minutes.

Where do you do the bulk of your writing?

Everywhere. You know what? Mostly it’s in 24-hour diners, on too much coffee. That’s an old Los Angeles thing.

How much does the location affect the writing?

To me music is about time and place and the way that it affects you. There’s just something about it. There’s just some spirit that somebody conjures up and then it floats out at you and helps you or hinders you throughout your life. It’s either Handel’s Messiah or it’s “All Out of Love” by Air Supply.

Music is just fucking insane. It’s everything. Music is like this: It’s always seemed to me to be one of the direct descendants of the thing in the universe that’s making everything work. It’s like the direct child of … life, [of] what being “people” is all about. It’s incredibly human but it touches things that are around us anyway. [pauses, then quietly] It’s hard to explain.

Give it a shot.

It gets into your blood. It could be [the Ohio Express’] “Yummy Yummy Yummy” or whatever. It gets in. It’s not like paintings and it’s not like sculptures, although those are really amazing and powerful. But I identify with music most.

And is live music the next degree of intensity?

Oh yeah, if they’re singing to me. You never hear it again, but you never forget it. I mean, you never forget it. It’s like the first time your mother cries in front of you. But I like making [music] and … I want the music to live live, even be written live, so it’s always forming, it’s ever unfolding.

The king of improvisation is [the late Qawwali singer] Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan — the most I’ve ever been filled with any performer’s energy. I have over $500 of his stuff. And I never got to see Keith Jarrett, but there was a time when he was my big hero for the same reason. Big, huge improvisation. Improvisation is something that I identify with.

Which of your new songs is your favorite? Is there one that you can’t wait to get to in your live set?

Not yet. I give each song pretty much the same attention, and I have the same reservations and the same carefulness about making sure I bring out its best. No favorites.

Just days after this conversation, Buckley gigs at the storied NYC club Wetlands. This performance was immortalized in a posthumous live release.

Credit: Steve Eichner/Getty Images.

What’s a song by another artist that you wish you’d written, that completely devastates you?

Most of Nina Simone’s songs completely devastate me, although she didn’t write [most of] them. A lot of things that Dylan did are so impressionistic, even though his originals are supposed to be folky. Like “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”: If I was a woman and he sang that to me, I’d be like, “Whatever you want, Bob. You want casual sex whenever you want it and still be with your wife? I don’t care.”

I’d like to write something like “Moanin’ for My Baby” by Howlin’ Wolf, and I’d also like to write something like [Gerry and the Pacemakers’] “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” I have schoolgirl crushes on a lot of songs that never seem to go away. Lots of Cocteau Twins. That’s somebody I got to tell exactly what I thought of them.

Where were they playing?

In Los Angeles, a long time ago on the Heaven or Las Vegas tour. I’m immensely in love with their originality, their shyness. … But … um … the Smiths! [stands up abruptly, then sits back down] I wish I’d written half the fucking Smiths catalog. There are so many: “I Know It’s Over”; I wish I’d written “How Soon Is Now?” I wish I’d written “Holidays in the Sun” by the Sex Pistols. I could go on forever, and I know you don’t have forever.

Maybe sleep on it. I’m curious, do you sleep a lot?

No, I don’t.

Is your mind constantly racing? Are you always just … fast forward?

Have you ever seen those film montages when a guy’s going crazy, and it just gets faster and faster and…

Yeah, sure, that’s exactly what I mean.

It’s exactly like that. It’s like, I don’t want to miss a thing, and [I get the] feeling that I will miss something. But usually I’m wrong. [laughs] But when I do sleep, I sleep hard and have the best dreams.

Do you remember your dreams?

Sometimes, and they become the basis for a lot of my learning. That comes along with my development as a human being. Lately I’ve been having a lot of killer dreams — like a killer is coming after me or I have to confront a killer. And when a killer is coming after me, what am I going to have to do? To kill him.

Interesting. What do you think that means?

That something in me is going to be murdered. That a psychic killer is coming. Actually, I met him. Sometimes I meet people inside of me that don’t like me; sometimes I meet people inside of me that want to make love with me more than anything; sometimes I meet the most bizarre animals and am in the most bizarre situations.

One dream, I met a serial killer who lived out in a small town in, like, Virginia. A small suburban town, very nice, white picket fence. And he lived in the town in a church with the pews taken out. And he was an artist.

You remember this much detail?

Just wait. He was a very short young man, probably about 28 years old with thinning black hair that I think he was ashamed of. He also had all of these photos of these people mangled beyond belief, carved up, dissected alive. They were still alive in these photos, and there was a wall of all of these seductively beautiful, textured, processed black-and-white photos. One man had been made into a basket. One man had been totally deboned but still kept alive, and his skin had been made into a basket upon which his head stood, looking straight into the camera. And right before he died, this snapshot was taken. And this is what this guy’s job was. And my task in the dream, I was the person that saw this amazing horror and this amazing pain. The photographs were screaming, and all of this madness, all of this waste at the hands of this person with a warped soul.

The irony of the dream was that his self-esteem was nothing, and he was saying, “This sucks. This is horrible. I don’t even want to show you.” I was so afraid of him and wanted to keep him in the same place long enough for the police to get him and take him away — while not being killed myself. Obviously. [laughs] So in order to be cool I had to ultimately be compassionate and point out the details in the picture where I felt there was brilliance and really good workmanship — all the while feeling that I would vomit any second, all the while so scared I thought I would cry. And that was the dream.

Sometimes I have really rhapsodic dreams, and sometimes I have little bits of memory … but lately it’s been killer dreams, and the police almost don’t come in time, although they do come in time. And then I met a woman inside me that hates me. I met the girl, I met the person that doesn’t like me, and then I met this person who was so lascivious sexually that she masturbates publicly all of the time, like she’s fixing her hair. And she looks beautiful doing it and really great, but everyone’s around her and she’s practically naked.

I’m pretty transfixed by [dreams]. I link them to the way I perform. I don’t see any separation, because when you sing there’s a psychic journey that happens.

Do you write a lot of poetry?

I garner my songs from my poetry. If anything looks like it’s vibrating, yeah. But it’s a raw thing.

Was the Live at Sin-é EP, released in November of ’93, supposed to hold people over until the album comes out?

No, it served that purpose, but no, it’s just because I love that place.

How often have you played there?

I’ve played there a lot. I played there for over a year. At first I couldn’t get a slot. Shane [Doyle], the owner, had too many demos to listen to. I gave him a demo and a review, which is something I never ever, ever fucking do: pay credence to any one journalist’s opinion. But this was a good review. [laughs] Some positive, some negative. Mainly the negative stuff was my fault.

So I thought that maybe I could get a gig at this little place because I wanted to play in little places to establish my sound and do the work and learn how to sing the way I wanted to sing. Because I didn’t have any teachers. There were teachers around Sin-é to teach what I needed to learn, but Shane couldn’t be bothered.

Then somebody crapped out on a bunch of Monday nights and my friend Daniel Harnett got me in. He said, “I’m doing one, and so you can do one too.” I was like, “Wow, thank you.” As it turned out, that was it. Bang! I really worked my ass off to get that gig and get others and to make money.

How did you hook up with Columbia Records?

They came to me. I didn’t intend for them to. I was just making music.

Were they the only label that came to you?

Nope. I met Clive Davis. Shook his hand. I met Seymour Stein. Seymour’s at Sire; Clive is at Arista. A lot of people were interested. I met somebody from RCA. Peter Koepke at London.

Were they in the audience at your shows? Then they’d come up to you afterward?

Yeah, and I didn’t really like it. I didn’t like Clive showing up in a limousine on the Lower East Side, in a fine suit. Poor guy — it was so hot in that fucking room.

This was Sin-é, right?

Yep, you were there — like a fucking furnace. In the middle of the fucking summer. I had my shirt off; the guy’s still in his work clothes ’cause his life is fully air-conditioned.

Did you have any misgivings about signing?

Of course I did. Being brought up around the music business in Los Angeles, you see the turnover of people being signed and dropped day after day after day, and it’s all written off as a tax loss. To the company, it’s no sweat off their nose.

But here in New York it’s more about the work, and you don’t get anywhere without the work and that’s what I was doing. But I had misgivings about the size of the places. I had misgivings about my deservedness, about how good I was. I had misgivings about who they thought I was and what they thought I was. And how I wasn’t what they thought. At all.

Which is? Don’t record companies think that every male solo performer with a guitar is the New Dylan?

No, they thought I was the second coming of Tim Buckley. [quietly] That’s what I thought they thought.

Is that a recurring worry of yours?

It was that as a child. But now I’m totally immersed in what I do. If someone asks a question about it, I just tell them as much truth about things as I know. I had no misgivings once I saw my first and only liaison to Columbia Records, [former head of A&R] Steve Berkowitz. He was there from a pretty early stage, just listening. Which is what he does. Because he loves music. And he’s smart. And he’s smart enough to work this fucking gig at Columbia and to do a good job. The personnel here [at Columbia] are what really changed my worries, but I’m really worried up until, like, now.

How would you describe your sound?

I can’t explain it because I’m actually confused. It’s not really a tremendous literary feat to describe it. It’s just an amalgam of everything I’ve ever loved and everything that’s ever inspired me. I’m using that now.

How do the Columbia folks describe you?

They don’t know. At a recent convention I played in Boca Raton for A&R folks at like 11 in the morning, the guy that introduced me said, “We really don’t know what this is. We don’t know what kind of record he’s gonna make. We just know he has to make it.”

… a.k.a. “Introducing the boy genius…”

I’m not a boy genius. I’m neither one, actually. But I’m aware that these people have to move units. I’m aware that this company, by inertia alone, has an agenda. That it can function without me, and I can function without it. But there’s a certain thing that I can’t have without it, and that’s making little plastic discs and traveling the world and being a musician, and they seem to want me. A lot. And I feel that where I’m going is worthwhile, that maybe when I get there this all will have been … whatever crappy shit I’ve ever done will be redeemed.

Do you think you’ll ever get there?

Sure. Or you’ll find me swinging from somebody’s dressing room [laughs] with a big blue arm holding a Jam tape.

More: Read a heartfelt tribute to Jeff Buckley by Juliana Hatfield.

CONVERSATIONS / JEFF BUCKLEY / ROCK / SINGER-SONGWRITER

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Tony Gervino is TIDAL’s executive vice president and editor-in-chief of programming and editorial. He was previously editor-in-chief at Billboard, SLAM, NBA Inside Stuff and HOOP magazines.

© 2022 Aspiro AB

[causeiwanttoandican]

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.��

I replied that she might want to consider buying ��one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

[remuswriting]

INTERVIEWS; OIKAWA TOORU

Oikawa leaves a terrible first impression on Y/N, Seijoh’s newspaper editor, when the volleyball team gets to be featured in the paper.

TAGS: Meet Ugly; Journalist! reader; Getting Together; Male! Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,812 words

Notes: Erasing the note from 2020 to say that this is the edited version of this fic, which is far better than the original that I wrote before getting my creative writing degree.

People avoided going to the Newspaper Club because of its “dictator editor” L/N Y/N. This didn’t stop anyone from reading it though, because it had changed since they had made him editor-in-chief. Stories were voted on and always extremely well written, and the old boring format was now in the form of a magazine layout. It was something completely different since he listened to his club mates and did research, unlike editor-in-chiefs before him.

“Hey, L/N-senpai. The boys’ volleyball won this issue’s sports poll,” Sakura, a first-year student lifestyle writer, said as she placed the poll on his desk. He glanced at it before he put his face in his hands.

“That means I have to interview that brat Oikawa,” L/N groaned, and Sakura tilted her head at him. He looked up at her. “He’s the absolute worst at interviews, from what I've seen. But there’s also the possibility he just gets shitty questions.”

Masaru, head editor for the editorial section and managing editor, walked over and smiled at Sakura. “Thank you so much for bringing the poll results, Sakura-san. I’ll take it from here.”

Her eyes widened a little when she looked at Masaru. L/N said all the first years in the club were in love with Masaru, which Masaru denied every time L/N said it. Sakura nodded and hurried back to her desk to get back to work.

Masaru looked at L/N, who leaned back in his chair as he stared at Masaru. They both knew why L/N didn’t want to do the interview, because, from a journalistic perspective, interviewing Oikawa could make the article not as strong as the other sports articles had been.

“Maybe I should just interview Iwaizumi-san,” L/N said before he let out a deep sigh and shook his head. “But then Oikawa-san would just complain about not getting to be in the story when he’s the captain.”

“Y/N-san, you could always just have someone else write the story,” Masaru said, and L/N chuckled before putting his face in his hands and screaming. Everyone looked over at them before realizing it was just another L/N breakdown.

L/N looked back at Masaru. “I can’t since I’m the sportswriter and I’m the only person here that understands volleyball.”

“Oh yeah, since your older brother played volleyball, right?” Masaru asked as L/N grabbed the poll on the desk. L/N read over the percentages for everything and it made sense for people to want volleyball since it was getting down to only a handful of club spotlights. He just didn’t want to do it.

L/N pressed his cheek against the side of the desk and looked up at Masaru, whose cheeks turned a gentle shade of pink, before looking away. Whatever that was about, L/N didn’t care enough to question it.

“I’ll talk to their head coach tomorrow to see if I can go to one of their practices for interviews and then get some photos in the photography room,” L/N said as he lifted his head off the table. He looked at Masaru straight on and let out a chuckle. “Guess that means you’ll have to hold down the fort, even though everyone works independently.”

“Okay.” Masaru ruffled L/N’s hair. “Now, get back to work, Mr. Editor. We’re all carrying your slack right now.”

L/N rolled his eyes. “You really piss me off sometimes.”

Although Coach Irihata agreed to everything L/N asked, L/N didn’t know how he was going to do everything. Sure, he had done most of the other sports clubs, but this one had Oikawa Tooru, the guy who had been in magazines before and had way too many fangirls for a high schooler. If L/N even barely made Oikawa look bad, then all those fangirls would be out to get him.

L/N walked to the gym with his bag filled with the things he needed when doing an interview: two notepads, two pencils, a tape recorder, a camera, and his phone, just in case he needed to call someone to bring him something.

Masaru always told him he looked ridiculous, but Masaru didn’t write the type of articles L/N did, so he didn’t listen to what Masaru said. The sound of squeaky shoes echoing in the gym made L/N stop. Had practice already started?

It would be a lie if L/N said he didn’t want to watch them practice. He knew they were good from seeing their matches: practice and official. Maybe it was because he loved volleyball so much that he wanted to watch them practice. Or maybe he just loved how he felt when he watched volleyball.

“N/N-chan is here!” Oikawa called out, and L/N wanted to strangle him for the stupid nickname. Coach Irihata looked over at him and stood up from his seat.

“Okay, everyone,” Irihata said as he clapped his hands. Everyone immediately looked at him. “L/N-san is going to interview a couple of you, but everyone else is to practice while he does so.”

“I’ll also be taking photos while you practice,” L/N said, and now everyone was looking at him. “I’ll be like I’m not even here while I do that. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be taking photos of everyone in the photography room before practice. You’ll be wearing your uniforms and it shouldn’t take but maybe 30 minutes.”

“What’s this for?” Kindaichi asked, and L/N smiled slightly.

“The team’s being featured in the magazine for this issue. So, you only have to deal with me for two days, and then I’ll be gone.” L/N looked over at Oikawa. “I’d like to interview you first.”

Everyone nodded before going back to practice. Oikawa walked over to L/N, who was looking for somewhere they could go for an interview. This was his first time in this gym, seeing that he had never been athletic and didn’t plan on joining a sport. When he looked at Oikawa, Oikawa was smirking in a weird, flirtatious kind of way. L/N’s brows furrowed when he noticed.

“Is there somewhere we can go that’s quiet?” L/N asked, and Oikawa said nothing but took him out to the hallway. “This is great. Thank you.”

L/N pulled a notebook, pencil, and tape recorder out of his bag. Most of the members of the newspaper club used their phone to record interviews and told him he was old-fashioned. He didn’t mind since he wasn’t using storage on his phone when he used an actual tape recorder. Masaru found the concern of using storage on his phone funny, since L/N’s phone only had notes for future story ideas and a couple of pictures.

“Are you okay with me recording this?” L/N asked as he looked at Oikawa, who was already staring at him.

“Of course. You can record anything we do, baby,” Oikawa said, and it was clear he was trying to flirt and failing. L/N forced a smile as he told himself that it wasn’t worth getting suspended just to punch Oikawa. He only had to deal with him for two days.

“Great, now where’s somewhere I can sit? I’ll have a hard time taking notes if I’m standing, and I want to make sure I don’t mess anything up.”

“You’re free to sit on my lap.”

L/N bit into his lip as he closed his eyes. He couldn’t scream right now because he wasn’t in the clubroom, where people were used to it. All he wanted to do was do an interview for the article, and Oikawa was making it painful. So, L/N chanted in his head that it was just one interview and it would be over soon.

“No, thank you. I’d rather sit on the floor.” To prove his point, L/N sat down and put the tape recorder next to him. He motioned for Oikawa to sit down across from him. “It won’t pick up your voice if you’re standing.” Oikawa sat down with a small huff. “Okay, let’s get started. What got you into volleyball?”

Oikawa looked like he was actually thinking of a meaningful answer, which gave L/N hope that all of those interviews had just been stupid questions. If that was true, then L/N may not end up punching him.

“Sports uniforms attract cute guys like you,” Oikawa said, and L/N’s jaw clenched as he forced a smile.

“We’ll come back to that question after you’ve had some time to think it over.” L/N marked a star next to the first question to remember the answer had been garbage. “Why did you pick Seijoh?”

“It’s close to home,” Oikawa said, and he leaned back on his palms. “It also has you.”

Another star next to a question.

“What’s your favorite part of volleyball?”

“It led me to meet you,” Oikawa said, and L/N slammed his notebook on the ground between them.

“Are you serious?” L/N yelled, his voice shook from anger. Oikawa reluctantly nodded. “Is this all a fucking joke to you? I’m taking time out of my day when I could be editing articles my staff have been working on, and your responses are this?” L/N let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe I should just have Iwaizumi-san be the primary focus of the interview section. I imagine he’ll take it seriously.”

Oikawa looked at L/N with wide eyes and his mouth parted slightly. L/N had never spoken to him before, but Oikawa had always found him attractive and compassionate when walking by the newspaper clubroom. Sure, he knew about the rumors of L/N being a dictator, but Oikawa hadn’t believed it until right then.

Oikawa looked at the ground and mumbled. “I’m sorry.” He looked up at L/N, who still looked angry. His voice was louder when he spoke again. “I’m just used to questions like what I want in a girl and my favorite food.”

“I understand it can be tricky figuring out how serious to be, but please actually try to answer these questions,” L/N said before letting out a deep breath. “What got you into volleyball?”

“I went and saw an exhibition match between Argentina and Japan in Sendai with Iwaizumi when I was in elementary school,” Oikawa said, and L/N was jotting things down as he looked over to see the tape recorder was still on. “When Argentina put Blanco in, he just made everything work.  He brought balance back to the team.”

“Blanco is a phenomenal player,” L/N said, and Oikawa looked at him, confused. Most people didn’t know who Blanco was. “Do you want to bring balance to your team like Blanco? You know, make everything work?”

The thought of being like Blanco made Oikawa smile. “Yeah, I really do.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Setters are the ones who can restore balance to their team if they do everything right. I just hope I’m doing that for mine.”

“I think you are,” L/N said as he smiled at Oikawa. “Now, that sort of goes into this next one, but if you weren’t a setter, what position would you play?”

“I’d love to be a libero. They’re pretty cool, but I don’t think I’d be good at it.” Oikawa paused as he tilted his head slightly. “I’d probably be a middle blocker since I have the height and I know I’d be good at it.”

“Liberos are badass. My older brother’s a libero, and he’s really a badass.” Oikawa wanted to ask who L/N’s brother was, but L/N spoke before he could. “I think that’s all I’ll ask you. I know there were other questions, but I don’t want to take people away from practice for too long.”

Oikawa watched as L/N turned the tape recorder off, and Oikawa didn’t want this to be over. He knew after this, L/N would go back to not acknowledging his existence."

“Let’s go on a date,” Oikawa blurted. L/N looked over at him with a confused expression. “We go on a date and then start dating.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not really looking to date anyone right now.” L/N stared at him. “And even if I was, I wouldn’t date someone who doesn’t take the things I do seriously.”

Oikawa stared at him and his heart was pounding. He had never been rejected before since he was used to getting the confession. L/N wasn’t going to confess to him, which made Oikawa want to cry, just a little. Instead of crying, he continued to stare at L/N, who was now standing.

“Just think about it.”

L/N offered a hand to pull Oikawa up, and he took it, hoping that maybe physical contact would make L/N want to be with him. They were so close that Oikawa felt L/N’s breath on him. L/N took a step back and smiled awkwardly.

“I probably won’t, but you can always grab Iwaizumi-san for me when we get back to the gym,” L/N said in such a sweet voice that Oikawa wanted to bang his head against the wall.

The sweet voice L/N used was only for those L/N wanted to punch. If any of his staff members were there, they’d be trying to save Oikawa. Instead, if Oikawa said one more thing that pissed L/N off, then he’d probably lose it.

“Okay,” Oikawa said, and L/N smiled at him. “Are you sure you want to interview him?”

“Yes. I wish I had interviewed him first.”

It was silent between them as they walked down the hallway to the gym opening. Oikawa kept looking over at L/N, who was on his phone. Masaru had texted to ask if L/N had killed anyone yet, and L/N responded that he almost had.

“When you’re ready for that date, just tell me,” Oikawa said, and he went to get Iwaizumi. L/N wondered if he should’ve killed him and begged Masaru to help him cover it up. It would make the article so much easier.

L/N’s fake smile dropped, and he closed his eyes. Hopefully, this next interview won’t be as painful. When Iwaizumi approached him, he could tell Iwaizumi was trying not to laugh. L/N raised an eyebrow at him, which made Iwaizumi laugh a little.

“So, you rejected Shittykawa?”

“Yes, is there a problem?”

“Not at all. It’s actually pretty funny.”

When L/N entered the gym the next day, it was to get the team. He had mostly set up the photography room, Masaru was there to finish so L/N could go get the team. It wasn’t likely for them to see each other until the photoshoot was over, so Masaru told him to avoid getting into fights or killing anyone.

Iwaizumi, Kindaichi, and Kunimi were in the gym lobby, and they were all wearing their uniforms. L/N looked around to see no one else there.

He looked at his watch. “Where is everyone?”

“In the clubroom. Oikawa-senpai wanted to make sure everyone looked nice,” Kindaichi said, and L/N laughed into his hand. Iwaizumi, Kindaichi, and Kunimi looked at him with confused expressions since he hadn’t been like this yesterday.

“Can you take me to the clubroom?” L/N asked with a soft smile. “I don’t want to take you guys away from practice for too long. You have Interhigh coming up in a month.”

Iwaizumi nodded and took L/N to the clubroom. There was some tension between them, and all L/N could assume was it was from L/N yelling at Oikawa yesterday. L/N doubted he could say something to make the tension go away.

When Iwaizumi opened the door, L/N saw Oikawa messing with someone’s hair. He looked over his shoulder at L/N.

“Hey, we really need to get started with these photos,” L/N said, and they all straightened their posture. They probably thought he was mad, which he wasn’t. There wasn’t a reason to be mad, since Oikawa just wanted everyone to look nice. “You guys can continue fixing your hair in the photography room.”

“Oh, okay,” Oikawa said, and he stepped away from Yahaba, whose hair definitely looked better. “We’ll do that then. You know, finish in the photography room.”

L/N smiled. “Thank you, Oikawa-san. I’ll be at the gym waiting for you guys.”

Once L/N left, Watari spoke. “Who was that? I don’t remember meeting that person yesterday.”

“He just wants to make sure we don’t miss practice since he promised coach we’d be quick,” Iwaizumi said, and he looked at Oikawa, who looked lovesick. “What’s with the stupid expression, Shittykawa?”

“Mr. Editor didn’t yell at him,” Hanamaki said and chuckled. “Can’t even function anymore.”

“I mean, L/N-san was kind of hot yesterday when he got pissed,” Matsukawa said as he put his jersey on. “He was so intense when he interviewed me.”

Oikawa looked and pointed at Matsukawa, almost like he was ready to fight him. “Don’t you dare try to take him away from me!”

Iwaizumi laughed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, dumbass. Let’s get going.” Everyone left the clubroom until it was just him and Oikawa. “Now, stop pouting. Sure, you didn’t give a great first impression, but that’s normal for you. Just try making it up.”

L/N’s photography skills weren’t as strong as his editing skills. The photography club knew that and set up the backdrop before he and Masaru came to set up the lights. They had also set the camera on the correct beginning settings. He hoped he didn’t need to fix anything. As he stood there with the camera in his hands, he tried to think about poses and positioning. It was always easier to know what he wanted once the photos were taken, but they needed to be taken first. Sometimes he wished all he had to do was graphic design for this. Someone else could take the photos for him.

“We’re doing individual shots first. If we have time, then we can take other kinds of photos if you want,” L/N said once everyone was in the room. “I really need you guys to cooperate because I’m not the photographer for the magazine.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Kindaichi asked, and Kunimi hit him upside the head. Kunimi yelped slightly and rubbed his head. “I’m just curious.”

“I take all the photos for sports since I edit the sports graphics. It's hard to explain exactly what I want since I don’t always know what I want until I start editing,” L/N said as he found some tape for a marker of where to stand. “Also, there’s no need to hit anyone over that. It was a valid question.”

Kunimi looked at the ground, and L/N shook his head with a small smile. It didn’t matter if this wasn’t his area of expertise; he still felt more comfortable here than in the gym. This place was like his home from how often he was in it, and he assumed the team felt the same about the gym.

“We’re going in numerical order, so Oikawa-san will be first,” L/N said, and he looked over at Oikawa. “You guys brought a volleyball, right?” Yahaba handed Oikawa the ball, and L/N pointed to where Oikawa needed to go. “I marked where to stand when it’s your turn. We’re just going to be taking photos of everyone in simple poses.”

Oikawa nodded, and L/N looked through the viewfinder of the camera. This was his least favorite part, having to figure out how close or far away he needed to be from the players. It really didn’t help that several of them were taller than L/N. He had to take a step back from Oikawa.

“Okay, so our first pose will be holding the ball with two hands on your abdomen,” L/N said, and he chuckled. “It’s my brother’s least favorite.”

The mention of L/N’s brother made Oikawa want to ask about him. There seemed to be a special smile reserved for the mention of L/N’s brother, and Oikawa wanted to know all about it. He tried to behave and pose how L/N told him to.

“Give me a smile,” L/N said as he continued looking through the viewfinder. “I don’t want everyone to look too serious. It doesn’t seem like how your team is.”

“I just have to think about you to smile,” Oikawa said, and he didn’t know why he said that. He was planning on behaving. Why had he said that?

“Okay, I think the smile was a little too much, so try smirking instead.”

“My attraction to you isn’t too much,” Oikawa said, and he didn’t even sound like he usually did when he flirted. He didn’t know what was happening.

L/N opened his mouth, most likely to snap, when the door opened. Everyone looked over to see Masaru, the managing editor. Or that’s what Oikawa had learned since he spoke to L/N the day before and saw L/N with Masaru after practice.

L/N lowered the camera. “Masaru-san, what are you doing here?”

“I know you’re busy, but there’s a question that needs answering,” Masaru said, and Oikawa noticed the paper in Masaru's hands. “Himari-san wrote this article and asked for it to be looked over. She wants to finish another story today, and we all know you’ll start editing the graphics after this.”

“Bring it here,” L/N said as he extended a hand. Masaru hurried across the room and handed it to him.

“Sorry, guys. This is the hard part of having a small newspaper,” Masaru said, and he looked over at Oikawa. The way he looked Oikawa over before looking back at L/N made Oikawa uncomfortable.

“She needs to format the quotes differently,” L/N said as he pointed at something on the page. “I can’t read all of it right now, but it seems that the quotes aren’t formatted correctly and there’s weird filler right here. If a story isn’t going to make it to word count, then it needs to either be scrapped or written a different way.”

Masaru nodded. “I see what you mean. I mentioned the quotes, but I wasn’t sure about the filler or word count.”

L/N smiled at Masaru, and it felt intimate to see. Were they together? But L/N had said he wasn’t dating.

“Now leave so I can take pictures,” L/N said as he shoved the article into Masaru’s hands. Masaru laughed slightly and waved bye to everyone before he left. “Sorry about that. We have several first-years who need more guidance than others. Anyway, where were we?”

“Oikawa-san was going to awkwardly flirt with you,” Hanamaki said. L/N bit his lip, and Oikawa couldn’t tell if L/N was trying to not laugh or not freak out.

“Okay, then I’m going to be making the rule that you have to shut up or else I’ll butcher only your photo,” L/N said, and he brought the camera back up to his eye. “Now, hold the volleyball out in front of you with one hand.”

Oikawa stayed quiet, upset that he kept embarrassing himself in front of L/N and that Masaru had taken all of L/N’s attention. He wanted to talk to L/N normally and become friends, but it was hard when L/N was cute and Oikawa wanted his attention.

After a couple of other poses, L/N lowered the camera. “Thank you, Oikawa-san. Since we’re going in numerical order, number two is up.”

Iwaizumi hit Oikawa upside the head, which L/N acted like he didn’t see. There was no point in getting on to Iwaizumi, because L/N had watched Iwaizumi hit Oikawa before over the last three years.

Oikawa amused L/N, but he also made things harder than they needed to be. It all came down to the fact that L/N hated being inconvenienced.

The recent issue of the magazine was finished two days later. The newspaper club always took copies of the issue to those who were in it, so L/N was at the volleyball gym with about 20 copies. He had established they would take copies in person, because it felt more personal that way. Everyone was warming up when he got there, which was what he had been hoping for. A couple of players stopped and looked at him when he came in.

“Hey, I thought I’d drop these off for you guys!” L/N called out so everyone knew he was there. He smiled when he looked at the magazine. “I think the graphics and article turned out pretty good. So, here are copies for you guys and for your parents.”

“Thank you, L/N-san,” Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa saw L/N with magazines when he entered the gym.

“L/N-san! You have the magazine!” Oikawa squealed with a huge smile, and L/N laughed a little.

“Yes, and you get to read your interview and see your face as many times as you like,” L/N said as he handed a copy to Oikawa.

Kunimi tilted his head. “You seem happier than usual. Did something good happen?”

“Oh, my brother called earlier. We don’t get to talk much, so it was nice to hear his voice.” L/N chuckled. “I mean, I was in a pretty shit mood before that, so be glad it happened before I got here.”

Oikawa looked away from the magazine and at L/N. He noticed that L/N wasn’t wearing a uniform, but a blue T-shirt and black jeans. It looked good but was strange.

“Alright, I have to go. I have other places to stop by to discuss next week’s issue.” L/N put the rest of the magazines on the floor. “Have a good practice!”

Kindaichi picked up a magazine and flipped to the volleyball section. His expression changed from neutral to one of excitement. None of the team had read the school magazine before since there wasn’t anything they were interested in, but the sports section looked cool.

“The article is so long!” Kindaichi said, and Iwaizumi took Oikawa’s copy.

“He put all of our scores from Spring Interhigh along with our interviews,” Iwaizumi said, and he flipped to the next page. “I wonder how hard it was to find all of this.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if he goes to our games seeing that he mentioned his brother plays,” Hanamaki said, and he looked over Iwaizumi’s shoulder at the graphic. “Mr. Editor made me look good, unlike he did Shittykawa.”

“Hey! Don’t call me that!” Oikawa said with a pout.  “It’s so mean.”

“Wow. He made Oikawa seem like a decent person,” Matsukawa said as he skimmed the article. “How embarrassing. He used me as a quote for you. I’ll read out your part, anyway.”

Oikawa Tooru is this year’s Aoba Johsai High boys’ volleyball team captain and is going above and beyond the responsibilities of what a captain should be. He motivates his team to be the best they can be, and they motivate him back. His passion for volleyball is so intense anyone can feel it if around him long enough, especially his passion for being a setter. “I went and saw an exhibition match between Argentina and Japan in Sendai with Iwaizumi when I was in elementary school,” Oikawa said.  “When Argentina put Blanco in, he just made everything work, you know? He brought balance back to the team.” Oikawa’s goal is to bring balance to Aoba Johsai High’s team like Blanco does to Argentina’s team. He accomplishes this time and time again during matches and practice. When asked about why the team chose Oikawa as their captain, most had the same answer. “Why wouldn’t you pick him for captain?” Matsukawa Issei, vice-captain of the team, asked. “He cares about the team and loves volleyball with his entire soul. If someone has an issue, they aren’t afraid to go to him about it. He makes volleyball fun, and it wouldn’t make sense if he wasn’t captain.” Other players had similar responses. Oikawa’s love and passion for volleyball fuels others to love volleyball and have a passion for it. In a sport, having a captain who makes the sport fun when it may not feel like it is important.

“Wow, you’re right, L/N-san made Oikawa sound like a decent person,” Hanamaki joked, and he grabbed the magazine. “Wait, he wrote more about you? I thought you only answered two questions?”

Oikawa ignored them as he read the article. “I didn’t think he’d write about me so highly.”

Iwaizumi hit him upside the head, which made Oikawa yelp. “He’s the editor-in-chief, so of course he’s going to write about you highly. Why do you think he got pissed at you when you were being annoying?”

“Editor-in-chief?” Hanamaki asked.

“Yeah, that’s why L/N-san is,” Iwaizumi said, and Hanamaki stared at him. “I got curious after Saito-san came in there. There’s a lot that goes into newspapers. It’s a little intimidating, honestly.”

Oikawa stared at the article, and didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t expected for L/N to speak so highly of him in the article because articles never highlighted him like this one did. They were all obsessed with superficial things, while L/N wanted people to know who Oikawa and the team were.

“I’m a real jerk,” Oikawa said, and Hanamaki laughed.

“You sure are.”

Oikawa found L/N on the rooftop during lunch the next day. L/N had a concentrated look on his face as he watched something on his phone with his headphones in. As Oikawa got closer, he realized L/N was watching a volleyball match. He couldn’t tell who was playing, though.

“Fuck, they could’ve blocked that if they had just fixed their stance,” L/N mumbled, which Oikawa found slightly adorable. “Good thing he received it.”

Oikawa sat down next to L/N, who handed him a headphone without even looking at him. Oikawa took it and noticed L/N had paused the match. L/N spoke. “It’s UPCN San Juan vs Lomas Volleybal.”

He started the game again, and Oikawa watched carefully but couldn’t help but wonder why L/N was watching an international match.

Oikawa let himself watch and noticed how the libero was doing most of the work. The libero was the one bringing balance to the team, not the setter. It was insane watching him receive everything that came his way and even things he had to run after. After a couple of minutes, Oikawa looked at L/N.

“Your brother is L/N Yuki,” Oikawa said, and L/N paused the video before looking at Oikawa.

“I thought you already knew that,” L/N said, and he smiled a little. “He actually went to school here, which is why I came here.”

“Do you know how cool it is that he’s your brother? I heard both Argentina and Japan national teams want him,” Oikawa said with bright eyes. “He can receive anything. I bet he could even receive Ushiwaka’s spike.”

L/N looked at his phone and then back at Oikawa. He realized Oikawa didn’t have great people skills unless he was excited or knew the person. There was nothing wrong with that, since L/N was the same. Although he was getting better with the newspaper club, the only people he was good with were his family and Masaru.

“I remember when he was in Panasonic Panthers and there was that setter on Osaka Blazer Sakai that was obsessed with setter dumps but didn’t get one successful dump because of Yuki,” Oikawa rambled.  “I remember wanting to be a libero just to upset the setter, but then I thought I could be a setter that upsets liberos with my setter dumps.”

“Let’s go on a date,” L/N said, not ashamed of cutting Oikawa off.  “Tell me about your favorite volleyball moments on a date.”

“Are you being serious?” Oikawa asked, and L/N nodded. 

“I realize you just don’t know how to talk to people outside of trying to be charming,” L/N said, and Oikawa flinched. “But you’re passionate about volleyball. I imagine you’ll be able to talk to me better the longer we know each other.”

Oikawa looked at him with wide eyes as mouth parted slightly. “So, you really want to go on a date with me?”

“Yes.” L/N raised an eyebrow.  “You’re making me reconsider, though.”

“No!” Oikawa screeched as he waved his hands around.  “Don’t do that!”

“Okay, then don’t ask me if I really want to go on a date with you,” L/N said, and he clicked out of the video before going to contacts. He handed Oikawa his phone. “Put in your number and I’ll text you. We’ll figure out our date later.”

Oikawa put his number in, and he was shaking slightly. L/N looked him over before putting a hand on his arm, making Oikawa jump. “Hey, don’t be so nervous, Oikawa-san.” L/N laughed a little. “If anyone should be nervous, then it should be me. Your fangirls might kill me if they find out.”

“I doubt they’d kill you.”

“Whatever you say, captain. But I’m pretty sure they would.” L/N reached out for his phone with an impatient expression. “Now, give me back my phone. I want to keep watching it.” He paused. “Do you want to watch it with me?”

“Of course!” Oikawa said. “When’s it from?”

“Yesterday,” L/N said as he put his earbud in and looked over at Oikawa with glimmering eyes.  “UPCN San Juan won, but I didn’t get to see it because it was so late here when it was on.”

“You spoiled the ending!” Oikawa shrieked, and L/N laughed so hard he pressed his forehead on Oikawa’s shoulder. 

“Well, we can’t watch the entire hour and a half right now,” L/N said, and he gave Oikawa the other earbud.  “You also have practice later.”

“I don’t,” Oikawa said immediately.  “We don’t have practice on Monday, so we can watch it later together.”

L/N smiled at him and took the earbud away. He looked down at the black screen on his phone, and his cheeks felt hot. He looked at Oikawa with a smile.

“Let’s watch UPCN San Juan kick ass later, okay?”

Oikawa let out a shaky breath as he smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

My Silver Screen, My Misery, My Love, My Defeat

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write something with Billie Dean for so long but didn’t know where to start. This lady intimidates me. I don’t know what this fic is worth, and I’m so nervous about posting it - I know it’s not particularly nice, but it’s the most personal fic I ever wrote so please be kind. 

Title is from “Pacific Coast Highway In The Movies” by AWOLNATION. This song haunts me. x

Word count: ~ 3 000

“Dear me when will my life begin?” you sighed dramatically as you gathered your things.

“Bitch, I never want to see you again,” your boss growled, pointing an angry finger at you.

“Goodbye, asshole!” you called over your shoulder as you walked out of the room.

You had never cared about that job. You didn’t seem to be able to care about anything at all. You were so bored.

Real life lacked passion and colours. You were constantly hungry for a sense of wonderment. No emotion was worth feeling if it wasn’t extreme. You wanted to know how it felt to love so deeply you would faint in the dining room like the heroines of old, drive your car off a cliff, smash the heads of your lover’s suitors. When had the world and love become so boring?

You had come to believe you would never be able to fall in love with anyone. Fiction had ruined your life. You wanted beauty, you wanted glamour, you wanted passion and murder, tears shed under the stars, diamonds on the bed. You wanted a lover who would come down the stairs in a white silk gown with lace as the music and the lighting made love to her. Cherry pink lips and wavy hair, glitter in her eyes. How could anyone settle for less?

You walked into the bright sunlight and let the flow of pedestrians sweep you away.

**

You scanned the press room and sighed. Bored, you were so bored. Luckily the couches were comfortable, and the tea was good.

You worked for the local newspaper – nothing serious, nothing you were passionate about, but you had been struggling to make ends meet. You and another journalist were covering an annual festival celebrating “everything mystical and magical!” Bollocks, as far as you were concerned. But you loved festivals, you always had. There was something almost surreal about them, how time seemed to slow down, and space to narrow. A bubble would form, a dome, a world only a few were let in. Real life would stop for a while, and you loved that, because real life was boring.

The press secretary – Leo? Theo? who cared; he was uninteresting and badly dressed – waved at you from across the room. “She’s here,” he mouthed, meaning the medium you were to interview. You gave him a thumbs-up and sighed as soon as he turned his back to you. Notebook, pen, Dictaphone. Cup of tea - empty. Another sigh. You signaled to the old lady behind the counter at the far end of the room for another cup. She pretended not to see you.  

“Asshole,” you muttered between gritted teeth. Someone on the couch next to yours – Steve? Pete? he had introduced himself the day before, he worked for a national TV channel, you couldn’t remember which one – laughed loudly at something someone else had said.

Your attention was suddenly drawn to the door. The press secretary was ushering a group of people in: a young man wearing jeans, a girl clutching files to her chest, a woman who walked in as if she owned the place, high-heels clicking, smile flashing.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Pete (Steve?) point at her. “Man, that’s Billie Dean Howard,” he said in a breath.

“Who?” asked his companion.

“Oi, Miss Howard!” someone called – a photographer, jumping to his feet with his camera in his hands.

She glanced at him, offered him a polite smile; tilted her head on one side as she took a pose.

You gazed at her.

“Make sure the lighting is good,” she told the photographer.

The young man in jeans was buzzing around her, almost shoving a notebook into her face, muttering something about a timetable and how they were running out of time. She leaned away from him, holding out a perfectly manicured hand – pale pink acrylics, thin silver rings – to bat the notebook away. You saw her mouth twist in an annoyed kind of way, and then the press secretary nodded at you, and she turned, and her eyes met yours.

Her brow pushed up as a smug smile crept up her lips – plump, glittery beige lipstick. “Are you here for me, babydoll?” she called.

And just like that you were done for. For the stars were singing, and your heart was finally. Admiring. Entranced. Alive.

Oh thank all the freaking Gods, she had finally come.

**

You turned on the Dictaphone and grabbed your pen. Your hands were sweating.

“Ur,” you said. Billie Dean crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee, smiling.

You had prepared for this interview, vaguely, but she had stolen all the words from you. Kidnap me, was what you wished to tell her. Ravish me. Take me away with you from this grey world and fill my mind and heart with wonderment. Make me your co-star.

“So, what do you think of the city so far?” was what came out of your mouth. You could have died of embarrassment.

Fortunately for you, Billie Dean loved to talk about herself, so you didn’t have to rack your brain for interesting questions.

You told her you had waited for her your whole life. You told her you meant it. She looked genuinely surprised, but then she smiled, a smile that seemed to suggest she had already forgiven you for that mistake. You realized that, probably, your passionate childishness was very funny to her, as were all those who had succumbed to it before you.

“The scariest spirit I’ve ever met?” She leant back on the couch, eyes staring up at the ceiling, lips curling into a smile. “I don’t get scared easily,” she quipped, and her smile turned into a smirk.

“Are you planning on staying here long?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Depends if I can find a cozy bed to sleep in and a pretty girl to smooch.”

Damn her, damn her – you were about to lean in and kiss that smug smile off her lips when the press secretary – damn him, damn him – appeared out of nowhere as in an uninspired script, squeaking “Time’s up!” as if time mattered, as if time hadn’t stopped the minute you had met Billie Dean’s eyes.

The young man in jeans pressed a cup of coffee into Billie’s hands. “Cathy’s waiting for you in the VIP room,” he said nervously. He glanced at you over the rim of his glasses. “You’re done here?”

“I – “You cleared your throat. Billie Dean was standing up, rearranging her hair, ready to leave, ready to forget already –

“You’ll have us read that article before you publish it, alright?” the young man was saying.

“Oh whatever happened to the freedom of the press,” Billie retorted. Her eyes flicked to you. “Don’t mind him.”

“I have a very cozy bed,” you heard yourself say.

For a second or two, you could have heard a pin drop.

**

Billie held your face between her hands as if you were made of porcelain, the first time she kissed you. You gazed into her eyes as if you were dreaming. “Who are you?” you whispered.

She laughed indulgently. “Don’t forget to breathe, darling.”

A breath in. She smelt of cigarette smoke and sage and something else, something like… you didn’t know. There was no word for it. She smelt like Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars.

**

Billie Dean raised a toast to you and to the sun and said she couldn’t possibly live without either of you. You scoffed, rolled your eyes at her as if that wasn’t the kindest thing anyone had ever said to you. She noticed your reddening cheeks, and let out a chuckle.

“What? It’s a sunburn,” you lied, fighting a smile.  

The midday summer sun was beating down on the Mediterranean, a soft breeze blowing and carrying the scent of the sea. You were spending the week in Monaco, a gift from Billie for your first anniversary. You closed your eyes, breathed in happily. The waiter brought your order, a bistro salad with warm goat cheese on toast for you, a slice of salmon and French fries for Billie. She flashed a smile at him, and his eyes sparkled.

“He’s in love,” you teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“With me?” Billie assumed an innocent expression. “Why, I could not possibly believe that.”

You scoffed again. She smiled, pinched a thick slice of lemon between her thumb and index.

“We should come here every summer,” she said in a singsong, drizzling lemon juice over the salmon. “I love it here.”

“Ghost-free?”

She laughed. “I wish. But you look so beautiful with that sunburn.”Her eyes glanced up at you mischievously; you cleared your throat. She smirked, put the slice of lemon on the side of her plate, dried her fingers with her napkin.

“You and I, lost in a foreign country,” she said.

“Luckily for you, I took French lessons in college.”

“Oh is that so?” Under the table, Billie rubbed her bare foot up and down your leg. “And how do you say ‘kiss me’ in French?”

You leaned towards her, beaming. Your gaze flicked to her lips. “Embrasse-moi.”

“Atta girl.”

She took your breath away, every day. You bent over the table, meeting her lips halfway, smiling into the kiss.

**

“I love you,” she whispered. Her eyes smiled. “Forever.”

You pressed the pad of your thumb against her brow. “Um, you can’t know that.”

“Know that I love you?”

“Know that it’ll last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

She pouted, shifted slightly on the bed. Your thumb slid on her skin. The light streaming through the windows splashed the walls of the hotel room yellow.

“Don’t be so mean at 8 in the morning,” she whined.

You rolled your eyes at her, planted a kiss on her lips. Her skin was hot and clammy. You nuzzled your nose in her neck, blew some air to tickle her. She raised one hand to fan herself – coral acrylics, no rings.

“Call room service,” she said, stretching lazily. “I want some ice cream.”

You snorted.“Ice cream for breakfast?”

“It’s too hot.”

You reached out for the telephone and sat up, making sure your bare breasts were exposed. “Lemon?” you asked Billie. She nodded, gaze on your chest. You made a face. “I don’t understand how you can stand the taste of lemon, it’s so sour – oh, hello. Yes, could we get some lemon ice cream, please? Ice cream, yes. Room 108. And you know what, a bottle of champagne as well. Yes.” You grinned at Billie, who, face half buried in her pillow, was laughing happily. “Thank you. Muchas gracias. Yes. Bye!”

**

“Miss Howard, please.”

“Oh babe, call me Billie.”

“A little further to the left, please Billie.”

“Who’s that with you, miss Billie?”

“Be a doll and fetch me my shawl, will you darling?”

The girl – Lucy? Lily? – nodded in awe and hurried off.

“A little further to the left, Billie.”

Someone turned on a projector. You squinted, gave Billie’s hand a squeeze.

“Miss Billie, who’s that charming young woman with you? Is she your date? Miss Billie, who’s –“

Camera flashes, everywhere. You felt Billie’s lips, feather-light, brush your ear. “Relax,” she whispered. “You look beautiful.”

All around you, you could make out dark shapes, nondescript, unimportant. Spectators of the show. Come to see her, come to see you.

“Miss Billie who’s that charming –“

“Paws off!” Billie laughed. She pulled you closer, hip bumping yours. “She’s all mine, gentlemen.”

You beamed at her, brighter than the projector. Camera flashes, everywhere. To capture the moment when Billie nipped your ear lobe and you threw back your head to laugh, one hand on her arm, in love, so in love.

**

“So what are we doing this weekend?”

You glanced up at her. “Aren’t you busy this weekend?”

Billie flashed you a smile as she sat down on the couch beside you. She laid one hand on your bare thigh, nails gently grazing. “Production’s delayed. I’m all yours.”

With a wince you removed her hand from your thigh. “I’m sweating,” you whined.

Her smile faltered, just a bit. “Aren’t you happy?”she asked. And then she relaxed and shook her head. “Oh, I’m stupid. You made other plans.”

“I’ve nothing to do at all.” You stretched and winced again. “I don’t know. I’m so bored.”

**

It happened again. And again.

You caught yourself looking at other faces in the crowd. No one held a candle to Billie Dean, you knew that. But still. You scanned the crowd.

You pretended not to notice when Billie held out a hand for you to hold.

**

The glamour was fading. The twinkle of the stars was being swallowed up by the morning light.

You had once visited a house. The wallpaper was peeling off, leaving ugly streaks of dirty grey or brown. The landlady’s nail polish was chipped.  

**

Billie’s eyes were wide and rimmed red. You had never seen her look so sad.

“Wait,” she pleaded, her fingers – pale pink acrylics, vintage ring with a red stone – closing around your wrist to hold you back. “Surely we can talk – “She tried to smile, but it looked too broken, too scared.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Billie,” you said, avoiding her gaze. You hesitated. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Her face fell. “But surely – “

“Are you here for me, babydoll?”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip and a tear rolled down her cheek, but you didn’t wipe it as you usually would. For this was how things always went. People left each other. Staying alive meant getting bored of the people you once loved. The credits roll. The movie ends.

You planted one last kiss on her lips as a sob pushed out of your throat. “Gosh but I loved you so much,” you cried. “I hadn’t been alive before you came. You taught me how to love and now I’ve died again and I’m lost without you. I’m forever lost without my love for you.”

You kept one of her scarves. It still smelt of cigarette smoke and sage and that something else – Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars.

**

Colours faded to grey. You sank back into routine. Monotonous. Soporific. Boring. So very boring.

A year ago you would have expected the world to stop turning the minute you walked out of Billie Dean’s life. It didn’t. Days followed days, a succession of yesterdays and todays and tomorrows. Life went on, mocking you.

**

The smell of salmon filled the kitchen as you dropped the thick slices onto the burning pan. You smiled as Julie – a one-night stand that somehow had become more – made an appreciative noise. She was sprawled on the sofa, watching TV lazily, muttering “Boring” every time she changed the channel.

“Boring,” – another channel, “Boring,” – another channel, “Bo – oh hello there! Y/N, look, I spot a milf!”

You looked up as the anchorman’s face twisted into a fawning smile. “I’ve got Muriel here on the phone, from Portland, Oregon. Muriel sounds pretty worried. She wants to know if ghosts stay forever as ghosts or if they ever get to find peace.”

The camera cut to his guest – coral acrylics, no rings. The salmon’s grease sizzled on the pan.

“Nice pair of legs,” Julie was saying. “Come on, cameraman, don’t be shy, show us more!”

You shushed her.

“… some of them have been dead for a very long time, I’m afraid,” Billie Dean answered with an affected nod of her head.

Your eyes were wide.

“And what about love?” the anchorman asked.

Billie quirked an eyebrow. “Love?”

“Do you think it’s eternal?”

**

“I can’t believe we’re leaving tomorrow!” your friend Henry moaned drunkenly. He tapped his foot on the pavement like a pouting child. “Couldn’t we buy a house on one of those hills and live here? I wanna live here. I don’t wanna live anywhere else.”

“I know,” you giggled, pulling on his arm. The night was full of lights. You hadn’t expected less from Los Angeles. You hadn’t quite been able to find the angels in the sky, though. You kept an eye out for them.

“The world isn’t fair because we’re poor.”Henry walked up to the nearest streetlight and hugged it. “I’m staying here. I’m not leaving.”

You giggled again, stretching your arms as if you were about to break into dance. The air was warm. For the past few days your heart hadn’t been quite so sad.

A car honked nearby, making you jump, and just as you were about to curse a woman shot out of the hotel on your left in a flurry of yellow and blue and nearly smashed into you – “Shit, look where you’re go – “ – brown eyes, gaze terrified, shoes in her hands, cheeks pink and – “Billie?”

She slammed back into your life like the female protagonist of a Hitchcock movie, running from danger in the moonlight with her hair disheveled and her dress billowing in the wind.

“Billie?”

You caught hold of her wrist and tried to meet her gaze. “Are you alright? What – what happened to you? Did somebody hurt you? Are you alright?” You poured questions onto her as if you couldn’t stop. Her eyes focused on you, and she ran a hand through her hair, and let out a nervous laugh.  

And just like that you were done for. For the stars were singing, and your heart was once again. Admiring. Entranced. Alive.

**

“Never again,” Billie groaned into your mouth. She was holding your head firmly between her hands, devouring you, shivering, panting. “Don’t you dare leave me ever again.”

“I love you,” you moaned. You pushed her down on the bed, eyes flashing hungry and predatory as you took in the sight of her, all flushed and ready for you. “Forever.”

And as you dived in you could almost forget the taste of that one lie.

**

“What about love?” the anchorman asked. “Do you think it’s eternal?”

Billie’s smile faltered. “I’m not sure,” she answered slowly.

“Aw, poor chick got her heart broken,” Julie mocked.

“Lemon?” you asked her.

“Uh?”

“Should I put some lemon juice on the salmon?”

“I hope so,” Billie’s voice said. “I’m not sure – but I hope so.”

[dinosaurtsukki]

BSD x university au hc’s | pt. 2

part 2 of the university au hc’s !! i am obviously a slut for chuuya and fyodor so don’t mind me. i hope you guys like this !!

check out pt. 1 here

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Akutagawa Ryuunosuke:

i love akutagawa ryuunosuke my angst child but i’m just like ‘hmmmmmmm’ when it comes to what his course would probably be

after extensive research aka reading his character page on wiki i feel like maybe he’d be a history major because,,,, he likes antiques?

well his clothes do seem very dark academia-esque and i can see him liking something as cool as history

akutagawa’s probably into something like war history but he’s not weird about it he just finds it really cool how different strategies work or analyzing what exactly makes the winners win

he absolutely HATES the fact that he keeps having to read the Iliad for class

he’s also that classmate who INTENSIVELY DEFENDS achilles for being a bit of a little bitch (but he fully agrees that patroclus and achilles were gay af ok this was random moving on)

akutagawa has practically no social life. he doesn’t go to parties, he doesn’t talk to his roommate, he doesn’t even like to eat in the dining hall

BUT he absolutely loves being in debate team because WINNING

he’s such a nightmare to work with though but he just delivers so well when it’s time for him to speak. like, if he’s on a negative and it’s time to hash out rebuttals, just prepare to get MURDERED

other debaters: “esteemed scholars and adjudicators...”

akutagawa: “you, sir, have no idea how wrong you are.”

that is until dazai decided to randomly show up at a debate tournament all ‘la di da da’ like and completely crushed akutagawa along with his ego

from then on he started stalking dazai and just SOMEHOW managed to end up in his circle of friends

even though he’s antisocial in real life, akutagawa 100% runs a dark academia aesthetic blog on tumblr i’m right and i don’t accept criticism

it’s actually really good he has a ton of followers and even does requests for moodboards if someone asks nicely

atsushi was the one who actually found out about it but he’s nice so he didn’t tell akutagawa about it

kunikida probably follows that blog

Chuuya Nakahara:

if this part sounds like i’m just thirsting for chuuya then you’re absolutely right i love wine man

don’t get mad at me but i can ABSOLUTELY SEE HIM MAJORING IN FASHION DESIGN I MEAN LOOK AT HIM

he’s just always had such a good eye for fashion and he’s veryyy meticulous when it comes to snipping and putting together clothes

chuuya also carries a sketchbook full of designs and his drawings look amazing and he isn’t afraid to just show them off

that said he doesn’t dress like a tired uni student at all, like he just always looks so on-point and unbothered by his five million deadlines

dazai: chuuya, i said this was a CASUAL LUNCH

chuuya, dressed in what looks like silk pajamas: THIS IS CASUAL

tbh if he just wore a white t-shirt and jeans i would die maybe he’s actually saving us from this ordeal

he has so much talent though as a designer he’s probably had several internships with design companies all throughout his years at uni

i feel like chuuya’s also really active in extracurriculars and has been in leadership positions in some of them (he probably runs the student org for fashion design)

chuuya in a student band though oh my gosh i can’t breathe i can’t breathe him as a VOCALIST?? and wearing torn jeans and eyeliner and that same hat in concerts ican’t brEATHE

okay in all honesty he would thrive being in a band chuuya loves the attention and the creativity of being able to design their whole look and write songs

tbh i don’t know if he’d have a roommate chuuya’s probably the type who’d rather have one of those single rooms or just rent a flat for him to stay in even after graduation

because his social life is super vibrant, he does have a lot of friends and he does make an effort to get to know all of them individually 

but he’s more open around those who he’s been friends with for a really long time and as much as he’d like to say dazai isn’t one of them, he is

also chuuya is definitely the type to party hard during the weekends and has more than once crashed in someone’s house after drinking too much (dazai drew on his face on more than one occasion)

Oda Sakunosuke:

i love this man SO MUCH you guys have no idea i would literally die for him

100% this guy majors in creative writing because this is supported by FACTS and not just me wanting to be coursemates with him in this fictional world

super serious and diligent with his work especially since he’s passionate about writing. he loves to read in his spare time and is such a fan of classic novels about social realism or philosophy

oda spends 99% of his time in second-hand bookshops that the owner probably knows him by name at this point

he’s super old school when it comes to writing though, like he still keeps and writes in a notebook before typing it up on a laptop and no matter how many times dazai tells him its impractical, oda just keeps doing it

lmao whenever workshops come around he’s super nice with his critique. i bet a lot of his fellow classmates like sending their writing drafts to him

he draws smiley faces and always adds ‘nice work’ on people’s drafts omg i love odasaku

he’s such an old soul, he probably doesn’t do a whole lot of partying but he likes more quiet, private social events like drinking with close friends or just hanging out and talking at other people’s houses

he and dazai probably met when dazai decided to take an intro to creative writing class and wrote a long poem about double suicide on his first day that kind of put off everyone in the class from wanting to sit with him

odasaku was the only one who wasn’t exactly bothered but he did give dazai some comments to help him with his poetry and dazai instantly wanted to be his friend

in terms of extracurricular life, i can definitely see odasaku joining a writing organization and even the campus newspaper. he does find joy in interviewing students for newspaper articles

he’s also pretty into photography and uses a really old, second-hand camera that he bought at an antique store and fixed himself. at one point he won a prize in a contest

odasaku would be the best roommate. he’s super sensitive to when you have a bad day and will invite you to sit on his bed and hug his pillow and talk about your problems

scratch that, everyone talks to odasaku about their problems and now your room is like a therapist’s office

Edgar Allan Poe:

i swear this was the only gif i could find other than actual edgar allan poe

ANOTHER CREATIVE WRITING BUDDY AHHH I WOULD LOVE TO BE BESTIES WITH HIM AHHH

well actually i feel like since he’s super ambitious and already has a fixed idea on the stuff he likes to write, he’d probably double major in something like forensic science because he’d use it to write his mystery novels

omg that’s where he meets ranpo and now pretty much every main character poe writes is slightly based on on ranpo

it’s a problem. his professor brings it up more than once during his classes but it’s poe’s Thing now

he also has such an unending passion for gothic literature and he wears those white, long-sleeved blouses and waistcoats on a REGULAR BASIS

chuuya probably saw him once and was like ‘hmm, i could pull that off’

poe’s daily route is just going to the library and to class and then go home and that’s about it

he ended up working as a student assistant at the library because he’s just super familiar with the book collections and it’s a job that’s peaceful and quiet 

more than once though, he’d just be really in-deep with his writing to the point that he doesn’t even notice that the library has closed or that he hasn’t eaten the entire day

that’s alright though because ranpo always passes by the library at night to check on his friend and (reluctantly) give him some snacks

also since poe’s pretty much a recluse, he doesn’t go to any social event UNLESS it’s a halloween-themed one

he loves going all out with his costumes because he’s a Drama Queen like that but the problem is he keeps dressing up as gothic novel characters and nobody gets it

dazai, trying to guess his costume: umm,, Two-Face from Batman?

poe: IT’S DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

there was this one time when poe took it upon himself to host the halloween party and it was EPIC

he basically designed it as a murder mystery night wherein everyone who came pretended to be guests at a house and then a murder happened

the only problem was that ranpo was conspiring with poe and it was pretty much unfair

except for the fact that ranpo was frustrated at how bad everyone was at deducing that he ended up solving the mystery for them

Fyodor Dostoevsky:

one of my favorite scenes of him in s3 was of fyodor playing the cello because god damn that is beautiful and therefore i am hc-ing him as a music major and you can’t tell me otherwise

fyodor is an absolute music genius and he was definitely scouted by the university’s music program and then he was granted a scholarship (because in this ideal university, the arts are valued)

he purposely decided to go to a university rather than a music conservatory because he’s also interested in learning a bunch of other things

aside from his music classes, he ventures into comparative literature and philosophy, even a bit of computer science at some point

people always assume that since he’s a music major he probably wouldn’t do well in other subjects but SURPRISE BITCH

anyway, fyodor’s a genius because god clearly has favorites

aside from attending class, he’s even part of an official orchestra and has even landed a few solos 

that said, he’s quite busy and very preoccupied in his own work to actually have a social life either

you’ll often find him rehearsing by himself in an empty classroom for hours and hours on end (someone pls bring him food he’s also the type to forget to eat or even drink water)

if you are able to catch him perform at an orchestra or just practice by himself, it’s quite a mesmerizing sight. his eyes are often closed so he could focus on the sound alone and his fingers move so elegantly along the neck of the cello

(sorry i just love people who play any form of stringed instrument)

fyodor also takes such good care of his cello. also he would probably kill you on the spot if you touched his bow

he has a fairly small group of friends and they like playing chess together (even though fyodor is better than all of them) and just talk about um,, idk philosophy and stuff (whatever it is smart people do idk i’m not one of them)

i have a feeling he actually follows akutagawa’s dark academia blog and loves his content, even to the point of requesting ‘cello player moodboards’

also because he’s a cello player he needs to take care of his fingers so he wears gloves a lot (idk why i find this hot)

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taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist): @waitforitillwritemywayout @tpwkatsumu @laure-chan

[lag1995-fics]

Hey can I request a fanfic for Evan's character kit walker and song a turning page from twilight?

I hope you like it thank you for requesting. ❤️

Turning Page

Song:Turning Page by Sleeping at Last

Pairing: Kit Walker X Reader

Warnings: some cussing

Words: 2010

Summary:Kit’s highschool sweetheart waits for him

Song Fic Masterlist

////::::////

You and Kit Walker had been high school sweethearts, he was your first love; and if you were being honest he was your only love. You guys had mutually broken things off after highschool when you had gotten into an out of state college.

When you came back the first time after getting your degree, you found out that Kit had moved on and married a woman called Alma. You weren’t jealous, a little disappointed maybe, but you were genuinely happy for them. Kit was a good man and you had always known he would make a good husband. You couldn’t put yourself through watching them though, you had never given up on your relationship with Kit. He had ruined you for other men. You had other boyfriends during school but the longest relationship had only lasted a month.

You decided to move back to Boston leaving your small town life behind. You loved a relatively happy life in the city, distracting yourself from the life you wished you had. You had gotten a degree in education, so you threw yourself into teaching children.

You had been happy to hear that they had apparently apprehended the serial killer, who went by the bloody face moniker. Well you had until they said it was Kit Walker, you reasoned with yourself that it had to be someone else named Kit Walker. Your Kit would never be able to do something as heinous as what they claimed Bloodyface did. Your Kit was a gentle soul, who would do his best to bring happiness and peace to anyone he might meet.

When you saw his face flash on the evening news that night you had broken down and sobbed. Kit was being framed for a murder he hadn’t committed. He wouldn’t even kill a spider much less the woman he married. You had started making calls trying to get on as a character witness. That whole town was racist and this stunk of a town coverup.

They wouldn’t let you be his witness though, they claimed you hadn’t spoken to him for over six years. You had screamed and cried even harder when they rejected you. You had never stopped loving Kit even if it had to be one sided from afar. You wrote him letters trying to convey to him that people still believed in him. That you would always love and believe him.

He never wrote you back. The guards at the prison who checked his mail had scoffed thinking of you as some loon and had trashed them. When he was committed to Briarcliff Asylum they too disposed of the many letters.

When you hear of Kit’s death you fall into a dark depression. You’re barely hanging on, when you happen to skim a blip in a newspaper. You almost choke when you see his face. He’s a bit older, but it is unmistakably Kit Walker. The article however was not a happy one: the man’s wife Alma had murdered a woman that lived with them in a fit of apparent hysteria.

Without preamble you packed a suitcase and began the trip back home. Kit would need you, not as a lover, that ship had sailed but he would need you as a friend. He was almost entirely alone now and with two toddlers to boot. You couldn’t help but feel the joythat he was alive even though it was steeped in sadness at his tragic loss.

Alma had been a sweet girl from what she could tell. She had never met her in person but if Kit married her it was apparent that she was a good person. She had been missing for so long though, she had been traumatized and snapped. It wasn’t her fault that bad things had happened and lord knows that the country's mental health system left a lot to be desired.

It had taken you almost all day to find the farmhouse that Kit lived in. It was dusk and the sun was starting to set. You took a steadying breath hoping that you weren’t overstepping any boundaries. You had flown out of the house with barely any thought, relying mostly on instinct. You hadn’t been able to help Kit when he was accused of being Bloodyface but you could certainly help now without the government involved.

You eased yourself out of the old Buick you were driving and shut the door. You began to make your way to the door but it opened before you got the chance to knock. There he was, he was still handsome as ever, but he had lost that carefree air he had when they were young. You supposed you had probably lost that too.

“I already told you I’m not doing an interview, leave my family in peace!” His voice was angry and you were now unsure if you had made the right decision. Then as if he hadn’t really been looking at you before, his eyes widened.

“Y/n?” He asked questioningly the anger had drained from his voice.

“Oh Kit I heard what happened I needed to make sure you were okay,” you explained trying not to cringe. You probably seemed like a crazy person showing up at your highschool sweetheart’s home after his wife had murdered someone.

“I thought you lived in Boston?” He questioned, still surprised at your arrival.

“I do, I hopped in my car as soon as I heard, I thought you might need some help. If I’m imposing I apologize… I can leave,” you were rambling, it was something you were prone to when nervous.

“No! Uh I mean no, you could never be an imposition doll. Come inside, I didn’t think anyone cared about me anymore,” he lamented, meeting her halfway on her way to the house. You got a better look at him up close. He still had beautiful brown eyes but there were dark bruise like bags underneath them. You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping well, and really who would after something like this happened.

You followed Kit inside his home, it still smelt of the bleach they used to get up the blood, but it was warm and cozy. You looked over and could see the two toddlers playing together on a rug with some blocks.

“This is Julia and Thomas,” he said, gesturing to the kids who barely spared them a glance.

“They’re precious,” you commented.

“Yeah they are pretty great, must take after their old man,” he bragged teasingly but it was half hearted.

“Kit,Are you okay?” You asked, laying a hand on.

“I will be,” there was a determination in his voice this time looking at the children playing happily unaware.

“If you need anything at all just tell me” you begged, hoping he would take the help. This trip wasn’t entirely unselfish, you had missed Kit the moment you left for college and the feeling had never left. It hadn’t faded with time like these things are meant to do, you had never stopped loving Kit and you would wait a thousand years if that’s what it took. You didn’t expect any romance, you knew that ship had sailed, but you would be there for your dearest and oldest friend.

“Don’t you have a life or a lover in Boston, surely you don’t want to spend time with someone as pathetic as me.” His self deprecating comment made you jerk him by the arm so he was facing you.

“You listen to me Kit Walker, you are one of the most gentle humans I’ve ever met. You are an incredibly good man and you deserve all the love and help in the world. Let someone help you, you don’t have to go through this alone,” You declared, staring directly into his brown eyes with your own y/e/c ones.

He only nodded before taking you into a friendly hug holding you close to his chest, his head buried into your shoulder. You felt a shuddering sob wrack through him. You only held him, you didn’t know how much time had passed as you held him close letting him sob. When he finally pulled away you could see the gratitude in his eyes.

****

Days bled into weeks and weeks bled into months as you stayed with Kit. Things for the most part remained platonic apart from a few lingering glances from each other. You didn’t want to put any pressure on the relationship. You had meant what you said when you told him you were here to help him. You would love Kit however you could get him be it romantic or platonic. You would always wait on him.

When he had come home one day in tears you had just held him. Alma had died that day and Kit had lost his wife for a third time and the children had lost their mother’s.

More time would pass and things became increasingly comfortable between you two. You had taken a teaching position at the elementary school the next town over and Kit continued to work as a mechanic.

It had been a day like many others when it happened. Kit had come home covered in a layer of oil and grease and you had been making dinner. After he had showered, he came into the kitchen to watch you cook and help Julia and Thomas with their homework. It was really quite domestic.

After dinner you had wrestled the children into bed and retired to the living room to watch television. You had felt the burning of Kit’s eyes on you and you turned to look at him pulling a face.

“Why did you stay?” He asked with a puzzled look on his face, “Your help has been indispensable, but it’s a year now and your still here. Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

“Oh, I can start looking for an apartment. I never wanted to overstay my welcome. I guess I just got comfortable being around you and the twins, is like breathing air” You rambled hiding your burning cheeks. He wouldn’t take that though and he grabbed you by your shoulders making you look at him.

“Doll I’m not kicking you out, you can stay forever if you want. I just don’t understand why you would want to stay with me,” he said and you gulped looking into his eyes.

“Oh Kit you’re the best person I know. Did you not get that with the hundreds of letters I sent to you in prison and while you were at Briarcliff” you joked trying to lessen the tension. You had never brought up the letters before you were honestly pretty embarrassed by them.

“What letters!?” He pulled back looking hard at you.

“I wrote to you everyday up until they announced your death” you explained cheeks filled with liquid fire.

“Fuck! He cursed getting up and pacing.

“I never got a single letter, y/n” he said and you not knowing what to do approached him opening your arms. He fell into your embrace burying his face in your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked unsure of what to say.

“Don’t be sorry doll, but it still doesn’t explain why you want to be around me” He started in again and you couldn't help the anger that spilled forward. You took your fist and hit his chest.

“Because I love you dummy, I never stopped,” his eyes went wide at your declaration.

“What?” He asked dumbly, his limbs going numb.

“I love you Kit and I’ll always be there for you if you need me. If it’s only as a friend I can live with that, at least I get to be with you,” Your cheeks burned for the third time in what seemed like an hour.

Kit not knowing what to say decided to act on instinct. He gathered you in his arms and pressed his lips against your own in a searing kiss. You clutched at each other desperately the tension finally snapped.

“I love you too Doll.”

Requests are open drop a song or a prompt in my ask box ❤️

[perfectlymarilynmonroe]

Hey babe, I had a q about your last photo caption. The bit about Marilyn refusing to be a kept woman is somewhat misleading to me- didn't she live with Johnny Hyde for a time, and didn't his influence grant her favorable notice during casting for films like The Asphalt Jungle? Maybe I'm not remembering correctly, but I don't think their relationship was precisely sexual even if he clearly doted on her for a time. Obvi she got further on her own merit, but I do think that's an oft unexplored moment in her life that was definitely instrumental because of her choice to link up with him. Just wondering about your thoughts on this! Love the blog <3

Hi! Thank you for your sweet comments about my blog :) Sorry for the delay in response, but I wanted to give a thorough response to this. I’ve actually received a couple of comments on Instagram lately regarding this, and I don’t mind addressing this confusion.

*Disclaimer to everyone reading: This is based on the research I have done and is to address a number of issues. This isn’t to glorify Marilyn or deny any flaws or imperfections, but to state the facts. I’m publicly sharing this so I can later refer back to it. It’s a longer response to answer any follow-up questions I may get but, of course, you can still ask any you may have. ♡♡

--

It can be deceiving, but I think the bigger concern is what she took for what she got, rather than vise versa. If she was looking to be a gold-digging, role-stealing actress, she would have married Hyde the minute he asked her to. She would have inherited his millions and could have bought her way through Hollywood. For a young woman with hardly anything, she chose herself and said no. 

Just before she met him, she was getting help from John Carroll and Lucille Ryman, so when she said, Johnny was the first to believe in her, that isn’t entirely true. Due to her lack of a father-figure as a child I think that when she saw the belief in her from a man like Johnny, at a reputable agency, who was willing to do anything for her, she latched on to it.

Hyde’s co-workers at William Morris later reported being furious with him because he slowly began to abandon his other clients and focused only on helping her. In the case of The Asphalt Jungle, since you asked, it was actually the help of both Hyde and Lucille Ryman that she was given an audition. However, director John Huston later said she didn’t get the “role because of Hyde...she got it because she was damn good.”

In my personal opinion, based on the facts, whether did not sleep with Johnny - some historians even refuse to believe they were ever sexually involved - it was never for roles, auditions, etc. As I mentioned, if it were, she would have married him, taken his money, and used that to her advantage. She actually stopped seeing him - both  personally and professionally - by Fall 1949 because she was so sick and tired of being called, “Mrs. Johnny Hyde” by him and hearing from colleges that he was calling her his wife. 

When it came to being a “kept” woman, she was referring to the large number of “casting directors” or studio execs, etc, who faked an upcoming film to lure her into their office and attempt to seduce her, or held their hand on her thigh while she auditioned, almost forced her, etc... and each time she managed to walk out. 

She wrote an article entitled, “The Wolves I’ve Know” that was published in a number of places like Motion Picture in 1953, The New York Daily News, and more. When she met with Ben Hecht for her autobiography interviews, she also spoke of them and it was published in a London newspaper in August 1954, and in Australian magazines in 1955.

He did leave his family and move into a bigger place and invited her to live there, but she never officially moved in. She did spend quite a bit of her time there, but by early Spring she was living on her own and was very low on rent. This is why she posed nude on red velvet in May 1949. She admitted to thinking of asking men she knew for money to help her, but felt she wouldn’t have been able to forgive herself, and it made her sick to even think of it.

For everyone reading this, remember, she was twenty-three. She was still a very young girl and had grown up with little guidance in her life. She was abused, and was in and out of so many school and homes, she was never taught how to do things. She figured it out on her own, and of course, like anyone in that situation, maybe didn’t always make the best decisions or have the best thoughts.

--

I know this answer was very long, but I felt I needed to address a number of points because things are rarely black and white - especially for Marilyn Monroe, who is the subject of much scrutiny, then and now - and there are many things to consider in regards to a sensitive subject like this! 

I hope I’m not missing anything, but I hope it answers your question! xo

--

Below is a list of various quotes said by Marilyn that I hope everyone will find helpful :)

From “The Wolves I’ve Known” published in The New York Times:

The first real wolf I encountered should have been ashamed of himself because he was trying to take advantage of a mere kid. That’s all I was and I wasn’t suspicious of him at all when he stopped his car at a corner and started to talk to me.

He looked at me all over and then came up with that famous line: “You ought to be in pictures.” That was the first time I’d ever heard it, so it didn’t sound corny to me.

He told me he had an office at the Goldwyn studio and said why didn’t I come and see him and he would get me a screen test. It sounded pretty good to me because I was crazy to get into the movies.

I was modeling at that time and I asked the people who ran the agency where I got my jobs what they thought of his offer. The manager called the studio but never was able to get in touch with my would-be benefactor. However, the wolf called the agency and I made an appointment to go to his office on Saturday afternoon.

I didn’t know then that the producers and other movie officials don’t make Saturday afternoon appointments. I found that out later. I also found out that he didn’t really have any connection with the Goldwyn studio but had borrowed a friend’s office.

He was fat and jovial and, of course, drove a Cadillac. He gave me a script to read and told me how to pose while reading it. All the poses had to be reclining, although the words I was reading didn’t seem to call for that position.

--

Of course, there are other ways a girl could survive until another studio came along. A starlet could take on a lover, usually a well-heeled married man who could pay her bills, or she could become the mistress to an old man and through his connections help advance her career. Believe me, there were and still are many starstruck girls that do get by that way. But for myself, respect is one of life’s greatest treasures. I mean, what does it all add up to if you don’t have that? If there [is] only one thing in my life I [am] proud of, it’s that I’ve never been a kept woman.  

And believe me, it wasn’t because there weren’t opportunities to become one. I think I had as many problems as the next starlet keeping the Hollywood wolves from my door. These wolves just could not understand me. They would tell me, “But Marilyn, you’re not playing the game the way you should. Be smart. You’ll never get anywhere in this business acting the way you do.” My answer to them would be, “The only acting I’ll do is for the motion picture camera.” I was determined, no one was going to use me or my body—even if he could help my career. I’ve never gone out with a man I didn’t want to. No one, not even the studio, could force me to date someone.

You can’t sleep your way into being a star. It takes much, much more. But it helps. A lot of actresses got their first chance that way. Most of the men are such horrors, they deserve all they can get out of them!

The one thing I hate more than anything else is being used. I’ve always worked hard for the sake of someday becoming a talented actress. I knew I would make it someday if I only kept at it and worked hard without lowering my principles and pride in myself.

[thadelightfulone]

All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 2

November 15-19th, Part 2

Erik Stevens’ office phone rang incessantly, even after he told his assistant to hold all calls. When it finally quieted down, he stood up to stretch the stiff muscles of his neck, shoulders and arms. He moved in front of the floor to ceiling window that makes up the back wall of his office. Taking a few deep breaths, he rubbed his temples when the cell phone in his jacket pocket started to ring.  

“T. Can I breathe? We have been working on this project all morning.” Silence greeted him on the other end. “Hello?”

“My bad. I figured you would be at lunch right about now. It’s after 3 over here.” The voice spoke. 

Erik looked at the contact on his phone and started laughing, “Damn man, I’m sorry. My cousins and I have been working on this project and -- let’s just say I am ready for a vacation.”

“It’s ok. I get it man. I have about 4 students preparing to defend their dissertations next month. I am nowhere near ready.” 

“That’s right, Dr. Oubre, preparing our future doctors of science and research. So, what’s up?” 

“Well, I just spoke with Dr. Giacomo and she said someone came around asking about you.”

“Really for what?”

“Yeah, I guess they came across one of your papers and decided to find you.” 

Erik rolled his eyes, “So, why would they go to her and not just reach out to me directly?”

“Look, I don’t know. I am just letting you know what was relayed to me, but I wanted to reach out to you before I gave out your information.”

“Bruh, give them my email and get off my phone.” Erik laughed at how silly Marquis was being. 

“Aye, you can never be too sure. I’m just looking out for you.” Marquis whispered into the phone.

Erik walked over to his desk and leaned against the edge, “Quis, man what is really going on?”

“I don’t want to send you another stalker.” Marquis sighed before laughing.

“HA, man. No one could have seen that shit coming.” Erik began to laugh as well. “I definitely lucked out when she graduated before us. Who knows how bad that could have gotten?”

“True, true.” Marquis cleared his throat, “By the way, Serena asked about you. She wants to know when you are bringing yo black ass back to Louisiana? You know to see us, your friends and extended family?”

“What else? I know she didn’t stop there.” Erik retorted. 

“Oh, the usual. Has he found anyone yet? When is he gonna settle down? Yada, yada, yada.” Marquis shot back. 

“Of course, she did.” Erik sighed out. “I definitely want to take some time off, so I can come and see you both, including my nieces and nephew. I just don’t know when that will be.” 

“Alright man, I understand. Look, I just wanted to give you a heads up about the contact. But I gotta run to class now.” Marquis rushed out.

“Yeah, I’ll hit you up later this week.” Erik said before hanging up. 

Setting his phone down on his desk, he closed his eyes. Arms crossed over his chest, he relaxed into the moment. Alternating between short and long breathes, he felt himself calming down from the morning and the call from his best friend and brother. 

They met in undergrad and were as thick as thieves instantly. You never saw one without the other anywhere on campus. And then, while they were in grad school Marquis met Serena, who would later become his wife. 

Laughing to himself, Erik recalled being jealous of what they had and continued to build together. It reminded him of his parents’ relationship and the love they had for one another. He rolled his eyes as his mind started to wander. Serena wasn’t the only one asking those kinds of questions lately.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he decided to focus on the reason for Marquis’ call. Someone from Southern University was looking for him, that’s very interesting. He hadn’t thought of his alma mater much since returning home to Oakland, about 10 years ago. Outside of Marquis and his family, who he kept in touch with; he never needed to think about it. He had written plenty of papers due to his current research and his studies while he was working on his doctorate, so it does make sense. Well, whoever it is will be reaching out to him soon enough. 

---

It’s been three days since DeeDee learned that her mystery man was connected to a current faculty member on campus. She walked to his office and knocked on the open door. 

“Hey Dr. O.” DeeDee said to get his attention.

“Come in, DeeDee.” 

DeeDee walked into Dr. Marquis Oubre’s office and took a seat in front of his desk. She pulled out her notebook and set it down on her lap.

“So, how are things going?” Dr. Oubre asked as he walked over to the chair next to her. 

“They are going, but it could be better.” DeeDee answered as she fiddled with her fingers.

Marquis sat down and crossed his leg at the knee. “What’s bothering you, DeeDee?”

“I’m nervous about how all the interviews went. I mean they were all in September and October, and I have not heard anything.”

“What did I tell you when you left for the first one in San Diego?”

DeeDee sighed and rolled her eyes, “I will know if they are a great fit for me and not the other way around.”

“That’s right. Besides, you visited about 6 schools over a 2 month period. Those are on-campus interviews and that number is unheard of DeeDee.” Dr. Oubre looked at her, “I didn’t even get that many.”

“Really?” DeeDee looked at him in disbelief. 

Dr. Oubre discussed his entire experience of applying for a tenure-track position. DeeDee listened as much as she could manage, but in the back of her mind, all she could think about is the fact that her doctoral mentor knew her mystery man. She wanted to blurt it out when she first walked in, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. But now, she is reminded that the man can talk and couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Dr. O?” DeeDee interrupted his current train of thought.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you about a former student?” She picked up the notebook, pulling out a printed out black and white newspaper clipping. DeeDee handed it to him.

He took it from her, looked at the image and laughed. “It’s you?” 

DeeDee looked at him in confusion. 

“You know people talk around here and I am friends with a lot of folks in Computer Science. Dr. Giacomo told me that someone was looking for Erik. I guess I just wasn’t thinking it would be you.” He continued to laugh. 

“Oh. Of course, she would.” DeeDee huffed out as she scooted further back into the chair.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh.” He reached for her notebook, “May I?” 

DeeDee handed him the notebook. Dr. Oubre pulled the ink pen from his dress shirt and wrote on the first blank page he found. He handed it back to her. 

“That’s his email. He said that he is fine with you asking him anything.” 

“Wait. What? He is expecting to hear from me?” DeeDee fumbled with the notebook when Dr. Oubre handed it over.

“Yes, he was surprised that you didn’t just search for him using the information on the article.”

DeeDee silently chastised herself, remembering what she told the other professor the other day. “About that, I didn’t even think of it. I saw Southern University and that was all she wrote.” She nervously laughs. 

“No problem. I’m sure he’ll be able to answer whatever questions you have.” Dr. Oubre stood up. “So, how’s your unnecessary prepwork going?” 

“It’s not unnecessary. I just want to be prepared, Dr. O.”

“DeeDee, you have been studying this stuff for the last 4 years. You know it and your 150 page dissertation shows that.” He moved around behind his desk, “They are only going to ask you about what is in there and what work you want to do with the information from this study.” 

“I understand that, but --” 

“Look, you have nothing to worry about. It is more a presentation then an actual defense. And I wouldn’t stress about the lack of response from those other universities about your interviews because I know you have applied to others. You got this.” 

DeeDee took a deep breath before responding, “You are right, Dr. O. I have applied to about 5 other places, but those were all in my top 2 tiers.”

“And about your upcoming defense?” 

“Right again. I know it like the back of my hand. So, I will try not to stress about it anymore.” DeeDee stood up and grabbed her things.

“Glad to hear it. Oh, by the way, you do know Dr. Bell is retiring at the end of the year?” 

“Yeah, they told all of us last week. Sounds like the annual department Christmas party will be her retirement party.” 

Dr. Oubre handed her a small flyer, “That’s right. Here’s your invitation. Hope to see you there.”

DeeDee looked down at it, “I’m there with bells on.” She laughed at her little joke.

“Nope, you gotta go.” He pointed at the door, while trying not to laugh. “I don’t think we need to meet next week, unless something comes up and you want to talk.”

“I agree.” DeeDee stopped at the door and held up the notebook, “And thanks again for this, Dr. O.” 

“You’re welcome, DeeDee.” He sat down and watched as DeeDee left his office. 

---

Sitting at her home office desk, DeeDee stared at the blank message box on her computer screen. The only thing typed out was Erik’s email address. She picked up her glass of water and took a sip. 

She spent the last hour looking up information on him. Found out that he’s back in Oakland and not even active in the science field anymore. He was the Director for one of the Wakanda Outreach Centers. It was fascinating what she read and found out about the work he was currently doing. 

And just like that, she was afraid to move forward. It should be simple. Send him an email about finding the little note in an old textbook. The end. He could do whatever he wanted with the information. But DeeDee’s mind was playing out possible scenarios like stuff she had seen in her favorite sappy romantic movies. And while the thought excited her, it also freaked her out at the same time. 

Things like that did not happen to women like her. Sure, she was kind of pretty and low maintenance, but most guys did not find her interesting enough to have a relationship with. And because of that she just didn’t try to pursue them, which is much different than what her friends believed about her. There was no message in a bottle type romance or love for her. So, why even bother?

She closed the email and decided to let the matter go. At least, she found out who wrote the note. Curiosity piqued and answered. Now, time to focus on her future and career.

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