#The dream sequence alone in the desert was really really beautiful

[pinkopalina]

bbh angst is hit or miss for me... these fuckers just don't care and they're masters of zen and acceptance so I just don't find specific themes that they tend to struggle with in fandom like, realistic? it's such a different direction from canon for me that it doesn't sink in quite right lol

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

XIII.

(Part 3/3)

He hurried to his seat only grabbing a glass of champagne before he disappeared behind the curtains to the VIP area. Satoru was certain Suguru would be here to see you and he wanted to avoid confrontations.

Once in the privacy of his balcony he sat down and sighed, he was nervous. It wasn’t like you were going to see him and yet his heart wouldn’t stop beating erratically thinking about the fact he would be so close to you and watch you do what you love the most.

Finally after almost half an hour everyone was seated and the curtains were lifted. The story unfolded before his eyes. He has seen this piece before, you performed as Clara back in Tokyo but in this occasion you were the alluring Sugar Plum, even the part fitted your sweet personality. When you finally appeared on the stage he moved closer to the edge of the balcony, his heart melted once more and he was reminded of how absolutely gorgeous you were. He was… enamored with you once more. Your grace, precision and artistry was remarkable. You had gotten so much better since the last time he watched you perform. Satoru was speechless as you executed a sequence of pirouettes en chaîne. Followed by a pas de chat. The whole scene was spectacular.

By the end of the performance he was standing up, clapping with a huge smile across his lips. You had been perfect. He was proud of how far you have come. Regardless of how you felt about Satoru he had come to terms with the fact he would always love you and would always support your dreams. You deserved the world, even if it wasn’t by his side.

Gojo wanted to go to you and talk to you but it would not be a good idea. More than anything he was scared thinking about how you would look at him. What if the next time both met you didn’t feel anything for him anymore. Satoru wouldn’t be able to stand it if he saw it in your beautiful e/c eyes.

Sighing he grabbed the single red rose he brought in with him and warped to your changing room before the dancers came back. There was a sign with the name Ekaterina Petrova on the first door down the hall backstage. He entered it and immediately was welcomed by your smell. Costumes hanging in an open closet. Your bag, regular clothes, ballet shoes and a vanity filled with make up and hair styling tools. Swallowing hard he walked to the vanity and settled the red rose for you but before he left he couldn’t help but steal the red scarf hanging on the back rest of the rolling chair in front of the mirror.

He warped back to the balcony where he sat down and buried his face on your scarf. Your scent could not compare to the perfume he used back home on his bed. You smell was a mix of your perfume of roses but there was also hints of honey, and something else… something sweet that was part of your person. Making your aroma impossible to emulate.

Stroking the fabric he thought longingly about you. He needed to see you, just once more… once more, he promised himself and then he would leave you be. Just… one more time.

He warped to the rooftop of the building next to yours and waited for you to get home. You got out of a cab alone and then walked in. You were alone. How strange, wasn’t Suguru with you this evening? Or was he waiting at home for you? But he lights in your apartment were all out. Removing his sunglasses he couldn’t perceive the raven haired sorcerer’s energy. He wasn’t home, maybe he was away in a mission.

A part of his mind screamed it was the PERFECT opportunity to see you! There was no Suguru around to interfere this time. Satoru groaned, he promised he would leave you alone and wouldn’t try to bother you but… it was so hard, having you so close and yet so far. Would you be mad at him if he showed up at your door? Would you kick him out in the cold?

Biting his lower lip he decided just to watch you for now. Staying away was not without effort but he tried his best.

Gojo watched you go through regular routine, you went for a shower and after that you walked out with your wet hair and a set of flannel pajamas into the kitchen where you poured a glass of red wine for yourself. Once more you disappeared down the corridor and he was sad to think maybe you went to bed and wouldn’t be able to see you again but you showed up on the roof top of your building. Leaning on the edge you sighed « Happy Birthday Satoru » he heard you whisper to the wind and only then Gojo realized today was his birthday… you still remembered. You still thought about him!

Fuck it!

He warped behind you, watching you from a few feet away, he didn’t want to startle you when you were so close to the edge of a very tall building so he waited for you to turn around. When you did your eyes opened wide and your glass slipped your fingers. He caught it with his infinity preventing it from spilling and breaking in a million pieces.

Panic washed over your features and before you could run Satoru stepped in front of you not touching you but still trying to prevent you from leaving « please, don’t run away from me… y/n, I’m not here to hurt you… I just… wanted to see you. Nothing else, I promise » his tender tone and kind eyes told you he was honest « wh.. why are you here? » you asked trying to control yourself. But he could almost heart your heart racing while you looked at him “ I came to see your performance tonight…” he confessed his little secret “you were absolutely spectacular Y/N! I don’t think I have ever seen you dance like that… it was… beautiful” he added with a little smile “th… thank you” you answered with a blush.

-

What the fuck! Oh my god! What is he doing here!? Your thoughts raced through you mind a thousand miles per second.

As much as you convinced yourself you were over your ex husband you couldn’t help the reaction of your body. There was still a big part of you that instinctually reacted to his presence. You were actually excited to see him.

“How… have you been?” He asked you “I’m… alright, I’ve been….fine” you admitted “how about you?” Could this be the first steps you took to heal? Maybe trying to be civil instead of running away from him “I… uh… not as well as you” he admitted with a boyish and bashful grin taking a hand behind his neck scratching it. “You know… same old, same old” of course if you considered the fact he lived in misery, thinking about you all the time and missing you in his life like a lovesick fool. Yeah, same old. Same story since you left.

“I… uh… good, it’s good to know you are alright” you added awkwardly. How was one supposed to treat a person who was everything in your life once but now was not even part of it. There was something utterly bizarre about acting so detached with a man who had seen, touched and fucked every inch of your body for about 6 years of your life! And now you both played your part as polite acquaintances.

“Where is Suguru?” The curiosity was killing him “He had a mission in Portland, he had to leave for a couple of days” you answered honestly “I see…” Satoru didn’t want to cut his time with you but his brain wasn’t cooperating, he needed an excuse… anything to just spend some more time with you before you kicked him out again. Fuck! God! Anything! Please! He didn’t want to leave you, not yet… just a little longer. But he didn’t know what to do or say to buy himself more time.

“S… Satoru… would you like to come in for a glass of wine?” You asked shyly. It was his birthday after all. He could have been anywhere in the world he wanted in this day. Hell! He could have been partying the night away in a club in Tokyo, instead he was here. He came to watch you dance… half way across the world.

“YES!” He replied too enthusiastically “I… I mean yeah, thank you I would like that” if he was a dog he would be wagging his tail by now. He followed you inside and took a seat next to you at the kitchen table after you poured him a glass “I know you don’t really like wine because it’s too bitter but I don’t have champagne” you offered a little apologetic smile “don’t worry about that! It’s alright… I can enjoy a glass of wine here and there” he replied taking a sip with a smile. He couldn’t believe you actually invited him in, he must have died and gone to heaven!

“Happy birthday…” you say softly looking into his beautiful cerulean eyes. Satoru smiled tenderly at you and looked at you with absolute adoration “thank you….” There was no other place in the world he would rather be right now, no other person he would rather see. This place and this moment meant everything to him.

The intensity of his gaze made you blush and look away. “I… have some red velvet cupcakes… would you like one?” Gojo nodded enthusiastically “I would love one” he watched you stand up and walk to to the fridge where you pulled out a plastic container with cupcakes. You placed it on the table and offered him one. He took it from your hands making sure his fingers touched yours in the exchange. Pure thrill electrified his body when he felt the warmth of your fingers on his skin. You looked into his eyes, he knew you felt it too but the moment was broken when you pulled your hand back and hurried to sit back across from him. “Thank you…” he took a bite of his desert and moaned in delight. He recognised the flavour of your recipe. You baked those yourself. “This is amazing Y/N” he praised your cooking with a delighted moan as he finished his cupcake and then went for another. You chuckled, some things never change. Satoru’s sweet tooth was the same as it had always been.

“Thank you… I tried a couple different ingredients this time” you confess making the white haired sorcerer swoon “it’s fantastic” you were fantastic. God! He had missed you so much! Fuck… seeing you so close, breathing you in, having you at his reach was killing him. He wanted to close the distance and wrap you in his arms.

A sudden movement from the corner of his eye alerted him of something climbing on his lap. He almost jumped out of his skin before he made sense of what it was. A little meow told him a feline had decided to make him his seat “and who is this?” Satoru asked petting the chubby and cute tabby cat that was now making itself comfortable on his lap “oh! Sorry about that! That’s Kiky,” he smiled and looked at the cat who was now purring “don’t worry… you know I love cats” he added chuckling, the gesture made your heart warm. “she usually is not this nice to anyone other than me…” your little kitten was even a little wary of Suguru. Geto explained it was because of his technique, he had too much chaotic cursed energy contained within him out of consuming curses which in exchange made cats not like him. Satoru on the other hand had a more stable flux of cursed energy that was an inherent part of himself which in exchange attracted felines to him.

“Well I am glad Kiky approves of me” at least someone in your household did! That was progress… right?

After that you both talked about cats while Kiky slept on Satoru’s lap, he kept letting the animal while your conversation went well into the night. It was as if an unspoken truce have been settled between the both of you. Talking about your career and his missions, a little bit about movies and shows you both watched, connecting in an innocent way.

“It’s getting late…” you said looking at your phone which read 2:33am “y… yeah, I should probably go back to the hotel and let you rest…” he said in a deflated tone. He didn’t want to leave but he knew he had to give you your space. “Thank you for the wine and the cupcakes” Satoru said while carefully moving the sleeping Kiky to the couch “of course… you are welcome” you said walking to the door with him. Satoru stopped and turned around to look at you. He wanted to close the distance between you both and kiss you with all his might. He couldn’t do that, he had to respect you. But he couldn’t help himself when he pulled you in for a hug. You were frozen for a minute before you replied wrapping you arms softly around his waist. “Thank you Y/N” you heard him say “Happy Birthday” you whispered once more before the sorcerer pulled back reluctantly “thank you” it was the best way he could have celebrated this date. With you.

By the time he got back to the hotel he went to bed with a huge smile on his face. Best birthday present ever, he got to spend it with you.

———> Chapter 14

Tags: @sleepyamaya

@cloudsinthecosmos

@jxvajxy

@okkotsuoasis

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

@syynnaaah

@shaylove418

@coldvillainess

@vampgguk

@sukuna1stwife

@tampon-earrings

@actualdeemon

@janenks

[robininthelabyrinth]

Now I want the story where NMJ is half war god and NHS is half fox spirit, thank you so much xD

based on this tumblr post and Lao Nie’s decision to refer to WRH as A-Han in this one ficlet

on ao3

Nie Zonghui had long ago suspected that his Sect Leader was a madman, but he didn’t really know it for certain until the first time he lost the man while on a bodyguarding mission – his first, and a great honor. 

Supposedly.

“It’s all right,” his father said, looking long-suffering, when he reported back in distress. “He’s an adult, our sect leader, and this is a small city with no major threats in the middle of some idiosyncratic festival celebration for some goddess or another. How much damage can he really do before he sobers up?”

Nie Zonghui stared at his father, then turned to his mother, who was also staring at her husband with an expression of sincere incredulity.

“Lots,” she supplied. “Lots and lots and lots, and that’s assuming he doesn’t get himself killed in the meantime. Why would you even say that?”

“He’s our sect leader, have some respect.”

“I respect the boss bull of the herd, too, but it doesn’t mean I let it go wandering around the fields wherever it pleases!” She shook her head, snorting in a manner not entirely unlike a bull herself. “Well, if we’re very lucky, maybe our cousin will knock up a cow while he’s out and about rather than just breaking things. We could use a direct heir already; he’s not getting any younger.”

“We could use him being properly married is what we could use. I don’t understand why he’s so resistant – ah, Zonghui, you’re still here? Go gather some cultivators and go look for him, but don’t kick up any fuss, and worry too much if you can’t find him at once. He’ll be back to business soon enough.”

He was, if by “soon enough” one meant “after nearly ten days” and by “back to business” one meant “still drunk off his ass and waxing rhapsodic about some girl he met and possibly married”.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the sun shines out of her ass,” Nie Zonghui’s father said, his face stormy. “You still could’ve told us where you went. Look what you did to poor Zonghui, he’s been wearing down his heels pacing in worry over you!”

“Oh, heels, yes, did I mention that my gorgeous goddess had amazing legs, too?” their sect leader asked with a soppy smile and stars in his eyes, totally uninterested in any of their petty complaints. “She could kill a man with them – oh, but I would die a happy man between those thighs…!”

“Zonghui, go guard the outside door,” his mother told him. “Also, tell his younger sister that she might need to be sect leader sooner than she’d hoped, because I’m going to murder this fucking –”

-

Nie Zonghui was there, too, when ten months later his new little baby cousin was (metaphorically) ditched on their doorstep.

The entire thing was entirely too dramatic for his taste, and yes, he was aware that as a person who chose to dual wield sabers he had very little room to criticize others for being overly dramatic, however correct he might be.

They had been fighting bandits – barely disguised mercenaries, really, probably paid off by the Wen sect to harass them – in what had turned into a particularly bad situation. Three separate regiments had joined together to take advantage of a terrible thunderstorm and ambush them at all once and them with their backs against a raging river, swollen with rain to the precipice of flooding, with no way to retreat except by fleeing on their sabers, abandoning the common people they were protecting and losing all face. 

The sect leader had been raging on the battlefield, saber in hand, but even he had seen that they would need to shortly choose between death and dishonor; Nie Zonghui, close by his side, had seen how his face was split with a terrible scowl as he wracked his brain for more options.

Then there had been a terrible roar of thunder, and then a flash of light that had blinded them all.

Nie Zonghui had immediately noted the anomality of it, thunder first and lightning second, and wondered it if it was some sort of array working against them, especially when the light had not faded away but grown brighter, causing searing pain in his eyes that made him fall and clutch at his face. But he was a good soldier, loyal and true, and he forced his eyes open to squint into the night, looking to see he did not know what.

Through his sun-blindness, he vaguely thought he could see a silhouette not unlike that of a woman, ten feet tall and radiant as the sun, wearing a dress of nine colors and carrying a guandao in her hand that seemed to reach the clouds, but when he blinked again he saw nothing at all.

Or, well, he did see something: all of their enemies were headless, no matter where on the battlefield they were, their bodies dropping like a loosened string of coins where they had been standing and splattering anyone they were fighting with blood as they gawped at the sudden corpses.

Also, the sect leader was suddenly holding something in his arms when he hadn’t been before.

“What’s that?” Nie Zonghui asked, and the sect leader turned towards him. Nie Zonghui squinted, and suddenly wondered if this entire battle had been a very bad dream. “…is that a baby?”

“Yes,” the sect leader said, grinning broadly. “He’s my son!”

“He’s your what,” Nie Zonghui said.

“My son! I didn’t know about him, of course – apparently he came as something of a surprise to her as well – but anyway she thought that it would be more appropriate for me to raise him, all things considered. A baby doesn’t quite fit her lifestyle. What do you think of ‘Mingjue’ as a courtesy name? Good, yes?”

Nie Zonghui suddenly understood why his parents were always cursing all the time.

-

“I don’t see why I need another wife,” the sect leader said. “I already have a son.”

“Don’t you want to give said son a mother?” Nie Zonghui’s mother asked, her arms crossed. “One that isn’t the Dark Lady of the Nine Heavens, the war goddess you somehow managed to knock up without getting killed?”

“She never specified that she was –”

“Someone needs to be Nie-furen,” the sect leader’s younger sister interrupted, “because I am sick and tired of doing the job, and it’s a little difficult to ask a goddess to do it. So you are going to find yourself another one that’s a little closer to the ground this time, you understand me?”

The sect leader nodded and agreed, which was universally agreed upon to be the only appropriate reaction when his beloved meimei said something in that particular tone of voice.

(He did, after a suitable period of time, state that he wanted to make clear that there was no actual evidence that he had knocked up Jiutian Xuannü and that it was quite plausible that the mother of his heir was nothing more than a rogue cultivator of particular strength and possibility even immortality. If Baosan Sanren had managed it, why not someone else?)

At any rate, they brought him several pictures of women that might fit the bill and who would not be too offended at being asked to be a secondary wife – their sect leader swore up and down that he had performed bows with the mother of his first son, rendering him legitimate, and anyway no one was in the mood to see if the maybe-a-goddess would take offense to someone calling her child a bastard – but none seemed to catch their sect leader’s interest.

“Consider visiting a few brothels,” Nie Zonghui’s great-uncle suggested. “Anything to get you back in the habit of thinking about women of a less divine nature – though of course we’d prefer that she be literate.”

The sect leader scowled and stalked off to go night-hunting instead.

“I don’t like brothels,” he said to Nie Zonghui as they made their way through an especially deserted mountain valley in search of something that had murdered all the local mensfolk in the surrounding villages with especial viciousness. “Surely there’s an option in between.”

Nie Zonghui preferred his sabers to either men or women, but he obediently wracked his brain to think of where people in stories and famous songs found their wives. “Innkeeper’s daughters?” he finally suggested.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the sect leader scoffed, but the very next day, he decided to break his usual habit of staying out in the wild no matter the weather in favor of taking shelter from the encroaching storm in a small inn right at the base of an especially lonesome and nasty-looking cliff.

“We’re always happy to have guests,” the innkeeper said with a somewhat sinister smile – he was pale as a ghost in the guttering candlelight, and his lips looked very red. “My daughter will show you to your rooms.”

The daughter in question was inhumanly beautiful: small and graceful, with a fox’s face and dark hair that fell to her knees.

“Wow,” the sect leader said, staring at her. “You know, I think you could kill me with those nails of yours.”

Nie Zonghui took a look and agreed with the sentiment, seeing that her nails were as long as claws and looked just as sharp, but apparently he and the sect leader had somewhat different interpretations of this sequence of events and plans on how to address it.

Namely, Nie Zonghui pointed out that the lady was obviously some sort of yao or maybe a gui and that she was probably the one seducing the local mensfolk, draining their yang energy and then slaughtering them, and therefore that it was undoubtedly their duty as cultivators – and cultivators of the Nie sect in particular – to put an end to her vile deeds through the swift application of their sabers. Furthermore, he explained, they should take care never to allow themselves to be alone with her in the process, lest she seek to entrance them with her seductive magics and lure them to their undoubtedly violent deaths.

The sect leader’s rebuttal to this line of logic was limited to “I’m the sect leader and if I want to bang the probably-a-ghost, I’m going to bang the ghost and there’s nothing you can do to stop me”.

Amazingly enough, the sect leader did not end up dead the next day – the innkeeper looked just as surprised as Nie Zonghui felt – and instead announced, very happily, that he was planning on marrying her.

“You what,” the innkeeper said, staring at his very smug-looking ‘daughter’. In light of dawn, she was wearing a dress of many colors with a foxfur ruff, and her beauty was almost painful to behold.

“You why,” Nie Zonghui moaned.

“You shut up,” the sect leader told him. “I’ll have you know that my lady here is very clever, literate and well-learned, and she doesn’t at all mind being the second wife. Weren’t you one of the ones on my case about getting a Nie-furen to help managing things back home?”

“I didn’t think we needed to specify that the person in question didn’t murder a lot of people!”

“Isn’t his first wife supposedly a war goddess?” the lady inquired, her clever eyes dancing in amusement.

“Well…yes…”

“Also, all those men deserved it,” she said. After a brief pause, she added, “In my opinion as a totally unrelated observer, of course.”

“See?” the sect leader said, putting his arm around her waist. “No problem. Anyway, she’ll stick to killing bad people from now on, it’s fine.”

The lady smiled. There were many teeth in that smile, and they were very sharp.

“If she doesn’t, I’ll have my first wife discipline her,” the sect leader added and her smile abruptly disappeared.

Nie Zonghui coughed into his hand, but reluctantly admitted that maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be as bad as all that.

-

“Huaisang is a lovely name,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, being the best of them at diplomacy when she put her mind to it, although admittedly it was something she did only very rarely. “I think we were just expecting something a little different, that’s all.”

“Possibly something a little more fox related,” Nie Zonghui’s father said.

“Please,” the sect leader’s second wife said. “That would be gauche.”

They looked at her.

“…all of my suggestions along those lines got rejected,” she admitted, and glared at the small shrine in the corner as if it had personally wronged her. In this context, it very well might have.

“Is there anything we should keep an eye out for?” Nie Zonghui said, watching his little cousin carry around his even littler cousin under his arm as if he were a sack of potatoes and not a baby that hadn’t yet had its first month celebration. He would have interfered but for the fact that little Nie Huaisang seemed to be notably more in control of his various limbs than the usual infant. “A tail, for instance?”

“Oh, no,” the second lady said. “Nothing like that.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“It’s very rare for fox children to achieve a grand plot worthy of a tail in their first lifetime.” A pause. “From what I understand, that is.”

“Great,” Nie Zonghui said. “…great.”

“You’ll take good care of him when I’m gone, won’t you?” she asked, and when they all looked at her, smiled. “Not for another year or two, don’t worry, but I really can’t stay here that long. Sometimes, a girl’s got urges she has to take care of.”

“The sort of urges where we’d need to hunt down a mysteriously appearing fox yao for having murdered a lot of people?”

“I already promised to stop killing people,” she said sulkily. “Although I do think I made some plausible arguments in favor of a little bit of entirely justified murder in connection with the Jin sect and maybe the Lan sect and, oh, the Jiang sect –”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s not my fault your Great Sects are all headed by men who wrong women.”

“You’re not wrong,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, and Nie Zonghui’s father looked alarmed. “But still, don’t.”

“You’re such spoilsports. But no, as it happens, it’s getting to that time when I need to return home for a while to pay my respects to the older generation.”

“How often does that happen?” Nie Zonghui’s father asked. “Once a century?”

“A gentleman shouldn’t ask a lady her age,” she sniffed. “At any rate, my family home is rather far away and they’re fairly insular, so I’ll probably be gone for at least a decade or so. I’d take the baby with me, but, well, you know, long travel and all. He’s better off sticking with his father.”

“All right,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said. “We understand, and we’ll help take care of him as best we can.”

“I’m glad.”

“We have only one thing to ask of you in return.”

Their second lady arched her delicate eyebrows.

Nie Zonghui’s mother smiled. “You be the one to tell your sister-in-law that you’re leaving your post.”

“…you know, on second thought, maybe I can push my departure out a few more years…”

-

“Before you say anything, I want to be clear right now that I don’t need a third wife,” their sect leader said. “I’m fine.”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said, not unaffectionately. “You’re not allowed a third wife.”

“And therefore – wait, really?” he asked, a little skeptically. “You’re not concerned about me?”

“Oh, we’re very concerned about you,” Nie Zonghui’s father said. “But not in that specific respect. Some celibacy would probably be good for you, at least in terms of increasing your life expectancy.”

“…my sister is lying in wait with a cleaver to make sure she doesn’t have to take on the duties of Nie-furen again, isn’t she.”

“I’m not discounting that possibility, but don’t worry about it, it’s fine, we’ll talk to her. The Lan sect haven’t had a proper hostess in years either, we can just say we’re following their example.”

The sect leader eyed his cousins beadily. “They haven’t had a proper sect leader in years, either.”

“No, you don’t say,” Nie Zonghui’s mother said dryly. “What a coincidence -”

“You have two fine sons,” Nie Zonghui’s father said hastily. “That seems like enough, really.”

“You don’t think they need a mother…?”

“Sect Leader,” Nie Zonghui interjected politely. “While we admit that it may be within your capabilities to be able to find a mother willing to deal with one step-son who has been waiving around a saber taller than he is since he learned to walk and has a penchant for the unyielding, unmerciful and very violent application of the norms of divine justice –”

Nie Mingjue’s presence bolstered the spirit of good men, while his gaze seemed to make evildoers itch. He was the most earnestly good person Nie Zonghui had ever met, and also one of the most stiff and unbending in respect to what he believed should and should not be done.

Unfortunate that his standards didn’t seem to match up to the needs of either human law or diplomacy…

“– as well as another who can scheme circles around anyone and persuade them of anything as long as he puts his mind to it and only doesn’t because he’s too busy lazing around in the sun to bother –”

Nie Huaisang liked to file his nails down to something that looked quite normal, but they grew sharp quickly enough if he wasn’t paying attention, and he had a penchant for pranks. There was nothing quite as unnerving as running into a sudden and unexpected ambush and then suddenly hearing the shrill peal of a fox’s laughter, hidden behind a scholarly fan.

“– but all things considered, we’d really rather you - didn’t.”

His mother and father nodded fervently.

“Good,” the sect leader said, though he still looked suspiciously at them as if he thought they were hiding something. “Good. As long as we’re agreed.”

-

Nie Zonghui walked in on his sect leader pinning the Wen sect leader to a wall, murmuring something in a low voice with a very particular smile on his face, and then he turned around and walked right back out again.

The sect leader of the Wen sect might appear beautiful and young, but he was at least a generation older than the Nie sect leader. Not that that had stopped the latter from relying on their respective positions to refer to him in startlingly intimate terms – my dear A-Han, the sect leader would say with a touch of wickedness that reminded one of his second son and the tiger gall bravery of his first – and while at first the Wen sect leader had taken it as a challenge to his authority, an act of brash insolence, it appeared that they had progressed beyond that.

That the Wen sect leader already had three wives and two concubines apparently didn’t present any obstacles either – except perhaps in what those poor women might have to endure from their husband when he returned from the wretched teasing he was enduring. Nie Zonghui felt a bit of pity for them.

Shortly thereafter, he felt a bit of pity for himself. The Wen sect had long dreamed of dominating the cultivation world and sought to increase their influence with the other sects through underhanded means, with the Nie sect opposing them at every turn. Even if war was not on the immediate horizon, the wise could smell its distant approach in the air - the best estimates said that it would take another decade or two to arrive, unless the Nie sect leader took an especially hard stance.

It appeared, however, that the Nie sect leader had chosen to take a different sort of…hard stance.

Ugh.

Maybe Nie Zonghui could conspire to throw his sect leader into a cage with a live tiger in heat next time he felt in the mood. It’d probably be less dangerous.

Nie Zonghui had assumed that the first person to talk to him about what he had seen would be his sect leader, even if it was only to remind him of the general rule that the sect leader had ultimate power and therefore could exercise his own bad judgment in deciding to fuck whoever he wished, but instead it was the Wen sect leader that found him later that afternoon.

A flush had yet to fully fade from his cheeks, and Nie Zonghui raised his eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking directly at the man in front of him. 

He did not want to know. Others might, given that no one had ever complained about the looks of either party, but he himself had realized long ago that he had no interest in matters of the flesh under any circumstances; he was very content with that conclusion.

“Is there some service this one can provide to Sect Leader Wen?” he asked politely, and it was only when the sect leader flushed again that he realized belatedly that his words could be misconstrued. After all, his own sect leader had probably already made a similar offer regarding the provision of services…

“Your sect leader has a sister, doesn’t he?” the other man asked, his voice tight and his hands in even tighter fists. “I’m not misremembering that?”

“He does,” Nie Zonghui responded honestly, and not without sympathy for the Wen sect leader’s position. He was given to understand that making certain belated discoveries regarding one’s own preferences could be highly disconcerting, particularly later in life. “But she’s rather different in kind than what you may be thinking, so it won’t work out that way. It wouldn’t work even if she wasn’t already married, which she is.”

After a moment of thought, he added, “Also, consider your predecessors.”

The Wen sect leader’s eyes narrowed.

-

Really, it was the sect leader’s own damn fault that he got himself murdered.

[dbssh]

📃🎥 with trollhunters? :3

what is the plot of your hyperfixation? so at its most basic: jim lake jr is an unremarkable teenage boy who dreams of adventure, and one day comes across a magical artifact that gifts him cool magic armor and enstates him as the "trollhunter", an ancient line of heroes protecting human and trollkind from monsters and mayhem of all sorts. He's the first human trollhunter ever to be chosen, and is mentored by disgraced scholar Blinky and former-evil-soldier-turned-pacifist Arrrgh, alongside his best friend Toby and love interest Claire. he has to try to yknow, save the world, deal with highschool, solve mysteries, convince the stubborn troll society that he's even capable of being the trollhunter in the first place, fight monsters, and keep it all a secret. there's obviously a lot more to it than that, lots of enemies and allies and twists and stuff, but thats like the elevator pitch. do you have any favourite scenes? OH MAN SO SO MANY. i posted a few clips the other day and one of my favourites is the scene where blinky arrrgh and draal are playing dnd, which is just. so endearing. I also really really REALLY like the scene at the end of the grit-shaka episode where he confronts bular, and the opening fight sequence in episode one between bular and kanjigar, and the scenes in s1p2 where arrgh and vendel talk about the whole "arrgh is dying" situation it hits my right in the heart every time. i really like the scene at the end of episode six with the nomura and draal fights, and i LOVE all of nomuras scenes with jim in season 2 shes so endearing. uhm uhm uhm i could keep going forever if nobody stops me uhm. i like the bridge scene in unbecoming i like the scene where jim and arrrgh wrestle in jimhunters i like the opening of a house divided where jim is just fully dissociating i liked the exorcism of claire nunez like the entire episodei just really enjoyed i like when claire thinks jim is dead and she starts quoting romeo and juliet at him i like all the times claire says something really fucked up in her monotone peppy girl voice i really liked the scene with angor at the end of its about time i really liked the opening scene to where is my mind with stricklers vision i liked all the scenes that take place in the void and SPECIFICALLY i like the scene where jim comes out of the void and draal is giving him puppy dog eyes like "did you see my dad :pleading: did he say anything nice about me" like oh dude youre fucked up for real uhm i like when jim and draal fight in the reckless club i like that one scene where jim is imagining punching strickler in the face in front of everybody i like that shot at the season 2 finale of steve and eli with the umbrellas i think the twilight looks really gorgeous there and the organge-yellow colours are so beautiful i really liked the line "ive spent so long in the dark i'd forgotten there were stars" i like in adventures in trollsitting when blinky and arrgh are like parent bickering about how to teach the kids best i like when claire gets to come down to trollmarket for the first time i like basically every scene that usurna is in especially when she is fucked up. i like when angor rot attacks strickler that felt vindicating but i also liked seeing angor defend arrrgh and draal i thought the parallel was a little hamfisted but it was sweet to see angor get treated with some actual grace i like him i like when claire steals the shadowstaff and it cuts to angor alone in the middle of the desert with the thunderstorm overhead i like when jim uses the sword as a lightning rod to kill the stalkling i like that really fucked up scene in episode six where he writes goodbye letters to all his friends i like when claire and notenrique sibling bond i like when vendel asks blinky for something and blinky goes "yeah and i wanted reading glasses but nobody made those for me sooooo" like yeah king so true i like that arrgh gets to beat the shit out of both bular and gunmar it felt cathartic every single time i like when blinky gets to play good cop/bad cop with claire and they just start

throwing bombs at people it makes me laugh i like when he's getting ready to go fight in the eternal knight and that beautiful piano refrain is playing in front of the eclipse nd i like when jim and nomura are making fun of strickler together in the darklands i like that scene where draal blows his cover by saying bless you to claire i thought that was funny i like when blinky plays piano for no reason i like uhm uhm. basically i dont know if you can tell but i really like this show and i think it has a lot of good scenes.

[percedurza]

I HAVE ALREADY SPOKE ON LENGTH ABOUT THE PRINCE OF EGYPT BUT NOT THE WHOLE THING ONLY THE PLAGUES AND MOSTLY PASSOVER. I JUST WATCHED THE FULL MOVIE FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE I WAS A KID IM GONNA TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN BECAUSE IT WAS SO GOOD. OKAY.

okay let me first say that i was in tears within the first ten minutes of the movie. deliver us was so powerful and heartbreaking i cried BEFORE THE TEN MINUTE MARK. yeah.

when moses' mother sang her final lullaby to her son and pushed him downstream in that (blessed and very fortunate) basket my heart hurt. i cried with her. that was the last time she would ever see her baby.

when his sister sang her prayer for her baby brother, wishing for him to come back to deliver them as well, that just drove the nail in harder.

in a later scene before the banquet you can hear moses humming that last lullaby and since deliver us was just maybe ten minutes prior you remember it and realize he really did keep that final song.

and the banquet oh yeah ramesses gets appointed this big title? and he names moses as the grand architect

and theres this captured hebrew lady brought in for ramesses but shes fierce (i would be too, she was captured and brought to the people she hates the most) and so ramesses orders her to be brought to moses' chambers instead

moses goes to his chambers and suprise! she escaped! moses chases after and sees her sneaking out with her camel and distracts some guards so she wont get caught and once the guards are gone he goes after her again aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand

miriam (moses' sister) meeting him in the city streets and recognizing him, telling him he's her family and him shutting her down and calling her a slave.... it hurt. when she hums that lullaby and he RECOGNIZES and then rushes back home to have a dream about that day he was sent away (in beautiful animation designed to look like the hieroglyphs on his wall) its all so painful to watch him be forced out of nowhere to realize his life is a LIE because hes not a true prince of egypt, he's born of the slaves, and then his father the pharaoh justifies the order to slaughter innocent babies by saying "they were just slaves" and OUGH

moses kills a man. unintentional but he killed a man while trying to stop him from beating a slave. oops.

he cant live with this so he runs away into the desert. theres this scene where he collapses to the ground and sheds all of the jewelry and adornments from his life as royalty but as he takes off the ring ramesses gives him, he looks at it. and slowly puts it back on. because no matter what, he still loves his brother, and he always will.

moses falls into a well. yeah. chases off some ruffians and then basically faints and falls in. these girls the ruffians were harassing started pulling him out and SURPRISE SURPRISE the captured lady from the banquet is there and she drops him back in when she recognizes him and walks away all smug and her name is tzipporah! just an fyi (very pretty name love it)

moses basically gets adopted into the group of hebrews and moses says something about not ever having done anything of worth and so tzipporah's father jethro sings a little tune to him!

through heavens eyes is a masterpiece. i really dont know what else to say also i want jethro to be my dad hes so nice

aaanyway moses and tzipporah get married during the through heavens eyes montage! i just think thats nice

OKAY now juicy stuff the BURNING BUSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the scene in which moses encounter the burning bush and god.

god claims that he has seen his people (the hebrew slaves) suffering and cannot stand for it any longer, so he wishes to send moses as a sort of ambassador of god

and moses doesnt think hes worthy of being god's messenger, which god quickly shuts up by pointing out how he's kind of, like, GOD

and he teaches moses those big old words, "LET MY PEOPLE GO" wahoo!!!!!!

he rushes home to tell tzipporah, and shes like "but ur just one dude" and hes like "well i kinda have to also the hebrews are suffering in slavery so :////"

tzipporah and moses head on over to meet ramesses and theyre all excited to see each other and then moses is like "behold the power of god!!!!!!" and his staff becomes a snake. pretty gnarly if i do say so myself

and then the high priests are like "ok" and start basically performing and rapping the names of the egyptian gods at moses in response i really dont know how to describe it but its basically a whole lotta smoke and mirrors. not actual miracles

moses talks to ramesses and asks him to let his people go, and instead doubles the slave's workload. the slaves basically hate moses now because yeah he technically is the reason theyre getting pushed harder and even his own brother aaron seems to loathe him. miriam talks to moses and he sees ramesses' ship gliding down the nile nearby

he calls out to ramesses and he just sends his guards after him. and so moses brings the staff down and turns the river to blood.

THEN THE REST OF THE PLAGUES ENSUE!!!

theres this specific part of the plagues scene in which ramesses stands between two statues of egyptian gods and glances at them as if to ask why the fuck arent they doing anything about the LITERAL hellfire and general havoc being brought down on the city. just thought that was a really cool detail.

AND OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH passover. i really shouldnt get excited about talking about an event that killed a whole heck ton of kids but its like fnaf at this point who cares ANYWAY THE DEAD KIDS

i already talked about the passover scene but what i didnt include (i think) is how when god's spirit or whatever idk enters the palace, it passes over a statue of ramesses and you just think, oh fuck wait RAMESSES HAD A SON.

and sure enough, that son is dead. moses walks in as ramesses pulls a sheet over his sons dead body and ramesses finally, after all of the plagues, tells moses he can take the hebrews and leave.

as moses walks away you can see ramesses glare at moses because he may have said he was done but. hes not. of course.

moses and the hebrews are leaving with yet another beautiful musical sequence (when you believe) and you can see the hordes of former slaves walking to the sea.

AAND just like i said RAMESSES WASNT FINISHED! he brings a whole bunch of soldiers on horseback and chases the hebrews, and god literally rains fire on them again this time in the form of a flaming tornado that sweeps across the sand, making a big old wall of fire that the egyptian soldiers cant get through

which gives moses the time to do the famous parting of the sea. he brings that staff down in the water and DOES GODS WONDERS!!! yay!!!

watching them walk on the seabed was beautiful. with some lightning strikes you could see the silhouette of some kind of shark swimming in the water (looked it up there are sometimes whale sharks in the red sea this is accurate)

and the fire tornado recedes into the earth, the fire fades, the soldiers chase on at ramesses' orders. the water sweeps them away just as the hebrews make it to the other side and it later cuts back to ramesses, alone on the rocky shore, screaming out at moses. hes completely alone, soldiers presumably dead, and no family to speak of. his side of the sea is cloudy and gloomy, still stormy, but when it jumps back to the hebrews in celebration, the sun shines bright and happy. the hebrews are free.

the movie ends with moses walking down the mountain sinai, ten commandments in hand, while the last snippet of deliver us plays once again.

only one other movie has evoked this much of this kind of emotion in me.(the one movie is klaus LMAO klaus made me ugly cry) there was not a single second of watching this that i didnt have goosebumps.

the movie itself just looks pretty. all of the characters have unique and neat designs. (its also nice to see a movie with only poc in it like im just saying)

the musical scores and numbers are so expertly made. my favorite has to be deliver us but through heavens eyes is a very close second. through heavens eyes made me feel better about myself, in a way. the entire movie was like some healing experience.

all in all, this is an S tier movie, and i BEG BEG BEG anyone who hasn't seen it to watch it. just pirate it or something (i did lol watched it on an illegal streaming site)

if you're not religious and havent seen it, think of it as a chance to learn more about abrahamic faiths. if you are religious and havent seen it, well hey! here you go!!

[angeltears-writing]

The Brother’s and movies

Lucifer

v  Lucifer tells anyone who asks that he enjoys serious, dramatic movies set during the wartimes the type that get Oscar nominations but are quite intense and a little dull.

v  Lucifer however holds a dirty little secret that his prideful nature will not allow him to outwardly share.

v  He LOVES Christmas movies.

v  The end of year holiday movie’s just alleviate all the stress in him. He is so happy while watching that he can barely keep the grin off his face.

v  DO NOT watch Home Alone with him and Mammon. Lucifer every 2 minutes is mouthing off against Mammon stating that HE is the Kevin of the family.

v  His favourite holiday movie is the Santa Clause.

v  The holidays are so special to him and the movies just capture the atmosphere and joy he feels.

v  He loves Christmas because he finally gets a break from his duties, he can have a fun little party with his beloved brothers and friends, he receives and gives meaningful gifts and even Satan is nice to him on Christmas.

v  When you come to the Devildom you bet Lucifer is watching Love Actually with you and every single romantic Christmas movie so he can feel enjoy the warm fuzzy feelings assiociated with his favourite holiday with his beloved Y/n.

Mammon

v  Before you came the Devildom Mammon solely watched hardcore triple X action movies. Unless on movie night with his brothers, then he’s forced to watch some boring artsy flick or some anime junk movie .*cough cough Levi*

v  He was a total dudebro and loved PointBreak.He owns the full collection of the Fast and the Furious. What’s not to love with the live fast, die hard law breaker lifestyle?

v  The man also lives for heist movies, Oceans 11? He has it memorised! He thinks about how HE would be a huge asset to the team and dreams about pulling off some high action super cool heist with you.

v  When Y/n comes to the Devildom it is like a flip of a switch for Mammon.

v  He says he can handle horror movies but you both know that’s a big fat lie so only insist on watching them if you wish to torture him.

v  He will complain and insult your choices of chick flicks and romantic comedies but he is enraptured.

v  HE LOVES it, he watches a couple of them in secret and daydreams about you and him as the main couple.

v  This man wants to pull a Heath Ledger and serenade you to “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” in front of his brothers, Diavolo, RAD, heck even the whole Devildom.

v  He is living for these romantic comedies and constantly tries to recreate his favourite cutesy moments with you. (Did he get you “special wishing sparkles” and told you to close your eyes and make a wish? Did he then give you a shy blushy kiss when you opened your eyes and say wish granted? Who knows that’s between you and him.)

v  Oh and you bet he’s crying when the couple’s fight and cheering so hard when they finally get together. He can’t help it he’s a secret romantic. Don’t be so loud about it Y/n! He has a tough guy attitude to maintain.

Leviathan

v  Anime movies. Need I go on?

v  He has the Blu-ray special editions of Studio Ghibli movies and he loves watching them on rainy cold days snuggled under a blanket with you.

v  He loves Ponyo for obvious water and fish related reasons. You guys have defiantly done cosplay photo shoots, he was Ponyo, you were Sosuke and Henry was the fishy sisters.

v  Other than anime movie’s Levi is a 80’s movie aficionado. He has seen every 80’s movie. He particularly relates to the high school movies for the theme of the awkward nerdy guy getting the super cool, popular girl of their dreams.

v  He does enjoy the nerdier comic book, big budget action movies, like Kick-Ass. He and Satan have faced off against each other regarding whether DC or Marvel movies are better. (He prefers the funny antics associated with Marvel plus he’s a Peter Parker fanboy)

v  He also is a huge fan of any Edgar Wright movie since seeing Scott Pilgrim vs. The World. (He let out a Woaahhhh when he saw the comics)

v  May Lord Diavolo have mercy upon you if the movie is a book or tv show adaption because Levi will not shut up during the movie. (He will pause the movie he’s not THAT inconsiderate.) You will not have a moment of peace after the movie has ended. He simply must share every single thought he had on what the movie did right and what the movie did wrong. Then he has to show you his fan casting list of who would better fit the roles and then just when you think it’s over he pushes you to re-watch the movie with him to listen to the director commentary.  

v  Levi will generally save his commentary for after the movie if you got to the movie theatre with him. Something about the change of atmosphere and the excitement that comes from the movie watching experience just puts him in a calmer less frantic mood and you can enjoy a simple quiet movie date for an hour or 2 before your ear will be talked off.

 Satan

v  DO NOT WATCH BOOK TO MOVIE ADAPTATIONS WITH HIM! HE IS WORSE THAN LEVI AND TWICE AS BRUTAL IN HIS CRITICS.

v  Now that that fact is out of the way Satan is a mystery fan. He enjoys the cheesy who dunnit type movie’s especially if the detective solving the mystery is very cool and charismatic with a fun catch phrase.

v  One that caught him of guard and quickly became his favourite was Knives Out. A clear mystery with a wacky bunch of characters all with misleading facts and motivations. Additionally he was thrown for a loop on the ending so he really enjoyed it for its unpredictability.

v  Of course Satan enjoys DC movies I mean he and Levithan read the comics and he is a clear believer that the serious tone and consequence from DC makes them the far superior super hero franchise.

v  Contrary to popular belief Satan does not like documentaries, he gets restless and bored watching them, but you keep putting on those boring long documentaries because it leads to a very steamy make out session with a slightly huffy Satan who had been complaining that his movie choice would have been much more enjoyable. Hush hush Satan we are not watching the Blue Planet to sate our curiosity of the inner workings of the environment but rather to quiet your adorable little tuts and huffs with soft sweet kisses and gentle touches.

v  The double edged sword that comes from picking a documentary is that Satan will indeed make you suffer by making his pick a terrifying horror movie since he thinks you are oh so adorable when you’re frightened. He thinks it’s really cute when you ask him to walk you to the bathroom because you’re afraid of the big scary monsters and it’s even cuter to him when you throw your face into his chest and refuse to look until the scary scene is over. Haaa he cannot resist and must pat your head and give you a small peck.

Asmo

v  When one watches a movie with Asmo, one does not simply see it, one lives it.

v  Asmo loves 90s and early 2000s movies about the pretty popular girls because he lives to see their fabulous closets, outfits and their dewy supple skin. He’s a huge fan of Clueless, Legally Blonde and Bring It on.

v  He also simply dies for those cult classic like, Mommie Dearest, Troop Beverly Hills, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Marie Antoinette, Death Becomes Her and many more. You guys put on face masks grab a couple of tasty cupcakes and start reciting the movies line for line bursting into giggles every time, that’s how many times you’ve seen them.

v  Asmo gets the appeal of campy movie’s that have not been appreciated for their odd charm so when you come along you bet he’s going to be shouting out his favourite one liners and you fire the responses right back. He’s in love.

v  What he loves most about the campy movies is the fabulosity and authenticity that comes from the movie’s just wanting to tell a great story and celebrate the oddities and dramatics of the characters. His favourites are the ones with drag queens particularly Priscilla Queen of the Desert, To Wong Foo and The Birdcage. How is he not meant to simply adore the beautiful wigs, costumes, the attitudes of the queens and the sharp, dry, witty humour.

v  Big blockbuster wise Asmo is inclined to see any musical, and yes for 3 weeks straight he will sing the songs of the musical, much  to the displeasure of his brothers but to the delight of you and Solomon who cheer him on and request encores. (Yes you all went to see Cats together, yes you dragged Satan along. Yes everyone but especially Satan was traumatised and yes Asmo did drape himself across every available surface in the House of Lamentation and belted out Memory for practically the whole Devildom to enjoy. Enough with the questions!)

v  Asmo’s favourite musical is Rocky Horror Picture show, you have monthly viewings where Asmo dresses up as Frank en Furter and performs…well not for you more on top of you.

v  Movies with Asmo are always fun treats, you both have a great time with each other and walk away from the movie’s feeling more emotional and closer with one another.

Beel

v  Beel’s taste in movies is similar to his taste in food he is not picky and enjoys a wide variety.

v  He enjoys mafia movies of any variety He likes the familial bond and the trust between members but does not enjoy the double crossing, it makes him feel sad.

v  Other than that he lives for the lively mood, the Italian food, the dramatic situations and the action sequences.

v  He has seen a few animated movies and his favourite is Brother Bear, it reminds him of him and Belphie and makes him soft.

v  He does actually does like twin movies because the plots are always outlandish and funny to him at least.

v  When it comes to movies where food is central to the plot, do not get him started. The amount of times you had to pause Ratatouille so he could get his 20th snack in the last 10 minutes was astonishing. He get’s extra hungry watching the movie but generally enjoys chatting to you about the food making process of each dish rather than paying attention to the plot. (You: Would you prepare food made by a rat? Him: Well I ate Solomon’s cooking once so even a rat’s cooking would be better than that)

v  He loves to ask which dish would you eat when restaurant scenes come up because he’s curious of your taste while watching the movie and sometimes he’ll stop paying attention the movie and instead just watch your reactions.

v  Generally speaking any movie suggestion he’s fine with as long as he gets to spend time with you and can binge on delicious movie snacks.

Belphie

v  The total opposite of Beel, Belphie is a total film snob and will harshly berate your movie choice and say ‘You really made me stay awake for this crap fest.’

v  He doesn’t mean to be mean (yes he does but he doesn’t like making you sad) he just has a very particular taste for movies and if he’s going to extend the effort to stay awake and pay attention he wants it to be worth his time.

v  He is actually the one in the house who does enjoy documentaries. What can he say some habits die hard and he’s still a total Earth nut even though he human-phobic.

v  Not to mention the gentle voice of David Attenbourough soothes him until he is just barely awake so when he finally drifts off he dreams of the wonderful parts of Earth and the miracles or nature.

v  He is a fan of Shakespeare movies particularly the rich dark one’s that are a bit more violent. The atmosphere surrounding them just fits and the plot is a classic so why watch a cheap knock-off of what he has dubbed perfect writing.

v  This man is an emo so of course he’s going to watch the slightly pretentious movies with poetry, his favourites are Dead Poets Society, The Crow and V for Vendetta.

v  On movie nights he is selfish! He insists that you watch his movie first then he immediately falls asleep after it ends. He feels no shame over this.

v  He hates twin themed movies, he thinks they’re cheap and over use the same gag of ‘Whoa they’re twins.’ (Sorry Mary-Kate and Ashley Belphie does not like you guys at all)

v  He watches brother themed movies with Beel and gets really soft because he loves his twin so much.

v  If you truly force him he will relent and watch your movie with you but he will make fun of it and bully you every second he is awake and the only way to silence him is to cuddle up close, let him lay his head on your chest or shoulder, massage his head or give him tons of kisses.  

v  Generally speaking a bad movie buddy but a great cuddle buddy for movie nights.

[legalvinyl]

Epitomizing Classic Rock Lead Guitar

Half the fun of being a musician is trying to look like, sound like, and play like your heroes.  While this path often leads to expensive sessions on websites like eBay and reverb searching for that next magical piece of gear and alternating between moments of joy and frustration as you get a little closer to playing like your idols but then realizing the closer you get just how much better they are than you - regardless, chasing this dream is a lot like chasing the dragon; it probably isn’t possible but you’re going to try anyways.

In the world of guitar playing, which is a world I’ve proudly inhabited now since the single digits in age, the unfailing chase for ‘that tone’ is something that comes as a universal qualifier once someone gets comfortable enough to rip a pentatonic scale with a little bravado and confidence.  While I love rhythm guitar playing and think it’s one of those areas that truly makes a great guitar player (especially when playing with others or in a band setting), my heart rests in the beauty and magic of the solo and melody in lead guitar playing.  There’s something so expressive, like a direct link from your emotions and your soul to the fretboard that creates a special bond and demands full attention from not only yourself, but also your audience.  It’s a spotlight moment, and as much as it presents an opportunity to sound like a cliché poser, it can also bring a strong moment of glory that feels so gratifying after rehearsing and practicing licks repeatedly until one can play them from muscle memory alone.  This compilation of songs demonstrates some of my favorite and most influential guitarists at the top of their game.  I hope it can serve as inspiration for aspiring guitar players and entertains some rock music fans who just want to groove along with players that make the connection between the instrument and the individual seem more like a spiritual illumination than just a guy pulling on some strings on a dead piece of wood.  

Starting with the most classic rock sounding classic rock possible, we have Paul Kossoff ripping his Les Paul into a cranked Marshall stack (the true epitome and peak of rock n roll) in the song I’m A Mover from the Free Live! album.  That crunchy guitar tone makes up the vast majority of the left pan of the mix, so listeners can hear every detail and nuance in his playing clearly.  And boy does he use that space to good use.  Kossoff combines some tasteful but not overly exaggerated riff-based rhythm playing with opportunities to launch off into vibrato heavy solos all the while keeping a perfect understanding of the timing of the song and the rest of the band.  It’s a tight song that gives the lead player just the right amount of ‘free’dom without getting lost in excess.  Kossoff doesn’t try to use too many notes or pull the song in his direction entirely; he stays central to the bluesy message of the song and lets his fingers do the talking with impactful and purposeful words with every note.  

Next, we’ll move to my two favorite guitarists of all time (which I could’ve used as examples for probably over a hundred songs of lead mastery) starting with Eric Clapton.  This recording is unique for a variety of reasons, but mostly because it features such an incredible all-star lineup called the Dirty Mac which features (get ready for it) John Lennon on rhythm guitar and vocals, Keith Richards on bass, and Mitch Mitchell on drums.  And for you guitar nerds out there, Clapton rips his signature cherry red es-335 into a fender stack that conjures up serious undertones of Clapton’s biggest influencer, the great B.B. King.  The tone is a little thin and snarly for Clapton during this stadium-playing Cream-era time of his guitar career, but I love it as a deviation from his usual sound that also informs his playing and almost shows his personality more in a lot of ways than his typical Marshall stack sound does.  And Clapton is really at his best here soloing over the entire 4-minute song with all the soul and character that made countless guitar players in the late 60’s gush over.  Just watch the video, these are all legends in rock music having fun and absolutely killing a great Beatles cover.

My second favorite guitar player, Mick Taylor from The Rolling Stones, is rarely mentioned in debates of sensational lead players for very strange and inscrutable reasons.  Simply listen to his lead work on Hide Your Love and you’ll get goosebumps at Mick’s ability to combine difficult sequences with endless amounts of taste and feel.  This classic blues song lets Mick showcase his chops in the background during the entire song, and Jagger even shuts up every once in a while, to let him really steal the show.  There’s this sense of control and expertise that comes across in this track that only a true master could convey, and I really think this represents unbeatable guitar work no matter who would try to challenge him.

The passionate, almost violent guitar sound from Jeff Beck’s Let Me Love You is unique and gutsy in all the best ways.  Another very bluesy track from another English group, this track demonstrates how fighting with your guitar can feel like a bluesman at the crossroads who’s truly battling with the devil.  The tone is unique, the playing is inflamed, and the notes are all creative and expressive in a manner that would make a lot of guitar players scratch their heads and think ‘how the hell did he do that?’.

Another angry song from a player who needs no introduction, Tony Iommi’s playing on the track Jack the Stripper / Fairies Wear Boots is genre defining and innovative to say the least.  The song’s introduction almost has a jazzy feel; it’s free-flowing and loose, but the unity between guitarist, bassist, and drummer is so tight that the listener never feels lost and the track never seems directionless.  Although this track isn’t one big soloing showcase like some of the others, I challenge any guitarist who thinks they know their chops to play along with this in perfect time and with the same refined rage that Iommi musters.  It’s a killer track with a distorted metal tone that takes its roots from more bluesy and latin-flavored backgrounds, and it shows that heavy rock and metal sounds can come from fewer notes played with fervor rather than haste.

The last track ends this list like a sweet desert.  Blue Sky by the Allman Brothers is a masterclass of taste and self-command.  Two guitars trade solos that feel exactly like a warm summer sun, and the notes seem to radiate out from the guitarist’s souls rather than their fingers.  Almost as if Jerry Garcia had grown up on a peach farm, the solos are melodic and don’t feel like standard pentatonic runs or played out blues riffs.  Every note is purposeful and connects the phrases together with a real naturalness that somehow makes the listener feel like they’re in the middle of a field on a beautiful day no matter their setting or time of year.  It’s a song that captures a vibe unlike any other, and the guitar playing is so perfect for the track that you can’t help but smile.

Obviously not an entirely exhaustive list as I’ve had to omit a few guitarists that certainly deserve your attention, as well, but I hope this gives the classic rock guitarist a wide range of sounds and playing styles to learn from and appreciate.  Every guitarist mentioned in this list has other great tracks in their catalogue, and I strongly encourage you to invest yourself into their playing even more to discover further inventiveness that should provide countless hours of learning and inspiration.  Cheers and enjoy!

YouTube Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeFwaWFTGYU

Mick Taylor Photo: https://sfae.com/Artists/Dominique-Tarle/Mick-Taylor-Recording-in-the-Basement-Studio-Nellc

[charliejrogers]

Under the Skin (2014) - Review

For a lot of science fiction movies, I find myself enjoying the ideas of the film more than I think I actually enjoyed the film. It’s what I’ll refer to as the Annihilation-syndrome, named after the 2018 movie that I found to be an absolute bore while also being an exceedingly intellectually stimulating discussion about the nature of cancer, mutation, and biology in general. The film I am reviewing now, 2014’s Under the Skin, honestly is nowhere near as unenjoyable as Annihilation, but I mention the film because I think much of this review will focus on the really interesting ideas this movie brought up which might make you think I thought this is a masterpiece. It’s not. It’s good, very good even, but not as good as its theme and ideas.

A lot of my restrained enthusiasm has to do with the fact that the film is purposefully cryptic and full of esoteric imagery. While there are spoken parts, I don’t think much would be lost if we couldn’t hear what was being said. That is to say, the dialogue doesn’t do much to make sense of what we are seeing displayed on screen.In fact, there are large sections of characters interacting without any dialogue, yet everything is understood.

To its credit, what we are seeing is largely very beautiful from a cinematography point of view. Much of the film takes place in the city of Edinbugh, Scotland and it captures well the urban grit of the city and how our protganoist fits well within that urban environment. The way the red lights of Edinburgh’s traffic lighst cast a foreboding, menacing band over the protagonist’s eyes as she drives about town on the hunt for men to ensnare in her trap shows that this dangerous character is right at home in the anonymity of the city.

The protagonist is played by Scarlett Johansson, who spends most of the film alternating between being the pinnacle of seduction in the eyes of the heterosexual male gaze and being a lifeless void. That’s because Johansson plays an alien (I think) or at the very least a humanoid being who seems to have the sole purpose of finding lonely men, taking them back to her lair, and trapping them in a sunken-place-like void where ultimately everything but their skin is extracted from them. I’ll henceforth refer to this character simply as “the humanoid” with she/her pronouns for clarity. We never learn the humanoid’s motivations, but we know that she’s not acting alone. She’s supported in her ventures by a (presumably) humanoid motorcycle gang who also double as agents who will clean up her messes.

At the beginning of the film, the humanoid appears to have no free will or consciousness. When she comes across her first dead body, she is more interested with the ant crawling along the body than the woman who used to inhabit that body. She simply steals that woman’s clothes, and begins acting out what seems like a pre-designed course for finding and trapping men. As soon as she has completed an interaction with a human, all of the emotion drains straight out of her face. Johansson’s face takes on a scary lifelessness on par with Billy Skarsgård’s Pennywise the clown from the It movies. There’s a scene where the humanoid, in the process of attracting a new victim, stumbles across an infant that has been abandoned at the beach and is screaming out. Perhaps the director is toying with audiences’ biases that the humanoid, appearing as she does as a human woman, will “naturally” want to reach out and save this baby. That she doesn’t seems to signal to the highest degree that this “woman” is no woman at all, but a cold, merciless something else.

Yet, somehow, by the end of this movie, I found all my sympathies lying entirely with this decidedly inhuman killing machine who makes her living preying on people just like me. This is because something happens that changes the humanoid about midway through the movie. Up to that point, it would be easy to classify the film as a feminist revenge fantasy, where men’s penchant for objectifying women and their aggressive desire to “conquer” women is met with a dish that is served so very coldly. It’s oddly satisfying to watch men who will blindly get into a car with a complete stranger and follow her into a creepy house just because they want to fuck her, end up being exposed as little more than skin around a bag of meat.

But then the humanoid comes across a man whose face deviates greatly from the norm due to some unnamed medical condition. It very much resembles the face of the protagonist from The Elephant Man. He is out an a walk at night to the grocery store. The humanoid doesn’t see him like the rest of the world does. She doesn’t understand how insensitive her genuine question about why he shops at night might be to him. In a darkly ironic sense, she’s the first person in his life to truly see him as a man and not a hideous monster. He has none of the arrogant sexual bravado like the humanoid’s prior victims. He’s sexually innocent, a virgin. When she offers to take him back to her place, he doesn’t take pride in any successful conquest. We see that he’s pinching himself just to prove that he’s not dreaming. It’s a heartbreaking sequence. Whereas we may have been on board, at least symbolically, with the humanoid’s cool takedown of the patriarchy, this particular abduction flips the script. Our sympathies lie more with the man than the “woman.”

Why he doesn’t succumb to the same fate as the other men is not clear. Notably, he’s the first we’ve seen that isn’t fully erect despite the humanoid ardent attempts at seduction. Secondly, he’s like the first to take some stock of the fact that he’s been lured into some black void from another dimension. He obviously finds Johansson attractive, but it’s almost like he is more amazed by what is happening, his penis “disarmed” so to speak, compared to those who came before him who were “armed” to conquer. And in lacking their sexual aggression, he was deemed to have a “lighter”, purer heart, preventing him from sinking into the deep of her trap.

This seems to change the humanoid. It’s as if she questions her whole purpose in life up to that point. Maybe all those men who had come before were as gentle as sweet as this one. Or maybe she yearns to be more than a monster.

Previously we had seen the humanoid stare at women from her car in much the same she looked at men, yet we never see her take women as a victim. It’s more like she was curious by these creatures, like she didn’t know they would be there. She shows the same curiosity towards her own body. She stares at it, hugs her curves. Just after her encounter with the man with the dysmorphic face, she looks long at her face in the mirror and then at a fly stuck to a window. It’s as if she’s looking at how she looks to others (humanoid) compared to what she really is (more like a bug, an alien). As the film goes on, it’s almost as if she’s trying to convince herself the skin is not a farce, that it’s really her, that she’s real, and that there’s nothing else under the skin. There’s an ironic beauty in the dysmorphic man wanting to be seen for what’s on the inside where she wants to be seen for her outside.

We subsequently see the humanoid undergo something of a coming-of-age as she flees into the more rural surroundings of the bogs of Scotland, presumably to avoid her motorcycle-driving allies who don’t want her to veer off course. The camera work in this part of the film highlights her as a stranger in this strange land, with her hot pink sweater standing in stark contrast to the drab Scottish milieu. And truly from the rocky/pebbly beach below the impossibly high bluffs at the ocean to the Mars-like desert shrubbery of the bogs, Scotland has never made Earth look so alien. Yet it’s in this foreign land, far from the trappings of the dirty city that the humanoid experiences the pleasure of being a human, or more specifically being a woman. For a few days she is even one man’s princess, and I think it confuses her so much that she enjoys it.

The genius of this film is the way it makes you forget that the humanoid isn’t actually human. In the latter half of the movie we celebrate her cautious steps towards humanity. There is a love scene that is among the most intimate I’ve seen filmed. Yet, we also fear for her and feel sorry for her when her fantasy comes crashing down and it is revealed to her and to us that her initial approach to men proves was much more appropriate.

This is a slow film that rewards patience, but ultimately it doesn’t do much to excite. There are abstract sequences of light and color accompanied by discordant sounds of chanting that seem straight out of the Jupiter sequence from 2001: A Space Odyssey. These do little more than confuse, and sometimes bore. And even if the lack of excitement is deliberate (perhaps intended to deconstruct female seduction) that doesn’t make it anymore enjoyable. Still, it is a beautifully shot picture that provides a stunning condemnation of our male dominated society. It would manage to make even the most bitter-hearted viewer feel sympathy for a humanoid who just a half-hour ago was on a cold-blooded murder streak. Still, even if it doesn’t introduce any hard-hitting questions about humanity like the best sci-fi, in the end it revels in a different dominant theme of sci-fi: no matter the monster man meets, man is always the ultimate monster.

 *** (Three out of four stars)

[thesmilingfish]

MARCH 26

I didn’t clean anything today except for a plate of breaded chicken and brussel sprouts. It was pretty yummy.

Spellbound (1945) - This movie hasn’t particularly aged well. Gregory Peck is beautiful, the Salvador Dali designed sets in the dream sequence are stunning and it’s got a nice little twist ending but a lot of the movie is slowly paced and overall it’s pretty misogynistic. The love story felt silly to me and if you can’t buy into that, since it’s the main thrust of the movie, then it isn’t going to work.

The In-Laws (1979) - I reluctantly saw the 2003 remake when it came out (it was on a double bill with X2: X-Men United at the drive-in) and much to my surprise thoroughly enjoyed it. I somehow never got around to seeing the original with Peter Falk and Alan Arkin. OMG WHAT WAS I THINKING? This movie is hilarious.  I was laughing to hard at several points that they could hear me in the house. Serpentine!

Castle Keep (1969) - I didn’t know what to choose next so I just sort of closed my eyes and picked one. I still had no idea what I chose because I can’t remember why or where I got this movie. I’m fairly convinced someone gave it to me as gift but I can’t figure out who or why.  It feels like an anti-war WWII movie but sometimes it feels like it’s pro-war; it’s laced with surrealism and fixated on art. It’s got a cult following now but it was a bomb when it came out.  I wanted to share this bit from a NYT review of the movie when it was released because this was my favorite moment in the movie - Late in the film, there is another especially vivid scene in which the major (Burt Lancaster), atop a beautiful white stallion, rides through the chaotic lines of retreating soldiers and tries to lure them to the defense of the castle. "You're on a white horse and you want me to fight for a castle," says the battered lieutenant who, without further comment, continues on his way. I don’t know if I recommend this movie or not but if you’re a fan of Peter Falk then you might want to check it out for him alone.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2009) - I watched the Swedish original and just wow.  It’s not an easy movie to watch, very strong themes, but it’s simply superb.  I watched it with subtitles and was riveted from beginning to end.

The Desert Rats (1953) - I was really enjoying it but about half way through (right during the big raid!) the disc started being funky and eventually I had to surrender.  I’ll see if I can check it out from the library when this whole thing blows over.

[stainedglassgardens]

Favourite woman-directed films I saw in 2018

It’s funny because when the year started I thought I could never watch 52 films by women, considering that I usually barely watch fifty films a year, total. Then I watched 306 new-to-me films, out of which 105 were directed by women.

I saw so many good woman-directed films that I thought it would be hard to choose ten to make this list, but then I realised that I only had to include those films that absolutely blew my mind, and bam! Ten already.

Winter’s Bone (Debra Granik, 2010)

On Body and Soul (Testről és lélekről, Ildikó Enyedi, 2017)

We Need to Talk About Kevin (Lynne Ramsay, 2011)

River of Grass (Kelly Reichardt, 1994)

The Midnight Swim (Sarah Adina Smith, 2014)

Raw (Grave, Julia Ducournau, 2016)

M.F.A. (Natalia Leite, 2017)

Daisies (Sedmikrásky, Věra Chytilová, 1966)

Always Shine (Sophia Takal, 2016)

Revenge (Coralie Fargeat, 2017)

Very broadly speaking, these ten can be divided into three categories. There’s gorey, imaginative, feminist genre -- Revenge, M.F.A., Raw; there’s visually and/or narratively boundary-expanding cinema -- Daisies, Always Shine, The Midnight Swim, We Need to Talk About Kevin, On Body and Soul; and then there are the indie stories about marginalised people, which might be my favourites of all -- here, River of Grass and Winter’s Bone.

When 2018 started I had only seen one film by Kelly Reichardt, and none by Debra Granik. Now they’re both among my favourite filmmakers. When I saw my first Kelly Reichardt film, years ago, I thought Wow, some people do make films about actual people. I’ve seen all of them now, and I liked all of them, but it wasn’t that hard picking River of Grass for this list -- there’s something so Carson McCullers, so Flannery O’Connor about the story, and visually it is so dreamlike.

I put Debra Granik together with Kelly Reichardt because their stories feel similar in many ways (and both feel similar to Agnès Varda’s), and seeing Winter’s Bone I was just completely blown away. It’s one of those films I would unreservedly call a masterpiece, and recommend to absolutely everyone. What places it above Leave No Trace (which I put as my number one new release of 2018) is the plot, and the ending especially, both completely surreal and mundane, like a cherry on top of spectacular acting and visuals worthy of Dorothea Lange .

Another slap in the face was We Need to Talk About Kevin. Together with a few other films in this list, it made me ponder what film can really do in terms of creating intricate, media-specific experiences that ultimately serve to provide a more rounded understanding of reality and what it means to be a person. We Need to Talk About Kevin was the first of these and probably had the biggest impact on me. Lynne Ramsay really is one of the few people with a completely unique vision.

I put Daisies, Always Shine, The Midnight Swim and On Body and Soul in the same category, although they don’t have a lot in common with each other, because they all have this aspect of visual and/or narrative boundary-pushing. It is so incredible that Daisies still feels like that to a first-time viewer today, even though it came out more than fifty years ago.

I saw Always Shine and The Midnight Swim around the same time and keep associating them in my mind for the nods to David Lynch, indie feel, and non-linear storytelling. Probably The Midnight Swim impressed me more, because it was the first time (and only, so far) that I saw a first-person narrative that looked quite like that.

On Body and Soul belongs in the same area of this mental map mainly because of the dream sequences. Before I saw it I probably would have found it impossible to talk about dreams in a way that didn’t feel recycled, but this managed just that. The juxtaposition of the wild forest animals at night with the cattle in the slaughterhouse during the day walks such a fine line between surrealism and social commentary, and the slaughterhouse sequences are all filmed with such incredible tact -- which only serves to make them more shocking.

Then there are the great genre films. Raw was fantastic, in part because it is so rare for a French person such as myself to find a French film to her liking, but also because everything about it felt so different -- it is firmly set in the horror genre, but it also draws from such a wide range of influences. M.F.A. and Revenge mirror each other in many ways, because they’re both rape-revenge films, a sub-genre I am incredibly glad and grateful that women are tackling in such interesting and challenging ways. I liked M.F.A. better, maybe, because it felt more real, and the ending better-thought-out, but if anything, I’d recommend a double-feature night to watch both.

Great films that didn’t quite make the cut, in no particular order:

Addicted to Fresno (Jamie Babbit, 2015): best sex comedy about actual grown-ups

I Think We’re Alone Now (Reed Morano, 2018): best post-apocalyptic “everyone is gone from the surface of the Earth but us” film

Ginger & Rosa (Sally Potter, 2012): best Cold-War England drama

Meek’s Cutoff (Kelly Reichardt, 2010) : best contemplative Western

Into the Forest (Patricia Rozema, 2015): best post-apocalyptic survivalist feminist film

Vagabond (Sans toit ni loi, Agnès Varda, 1984) : best film shot in my area of France

Khadak (Peter Brosens and Jessica Hope Woodworth, 2006): best science fiction film that takes place in Mongolia

Over time, I’m finding it easier and easier to watch more woman-directed films, both because I know where to look and because I’ll find it easier to relax and get into any genre at all when I know there’ll be infinitely less chance of rampant misogyny ruining an otherwise perfectly good film. It seems barely believable, now, to think that five years ago I didn’t know one single woman director, when clearly the quality and the variety are there, the work is there, and it stands so tall on its own.

Full 105-film list under the cut!

The Bad Batch (Ana Lily Amirpour, 2016)

Gas Food Lodging (Allison Anders, 1992)

Red Road (Andrea Arnold, 2006)

American Honey (Andrea Arnold, 2016)

A United Kingdom (Amma Asante, 2016)

Addicted to Fresno (Jamie Babbit, 2015)

The Selfish Giant (Clio Barnard, 2013)

Novitiate (Maggie Betts, 2017)

Bird Box (Susanne Bier, 2018)

Blue My Mind (Lisa Brühlmann, 2017)

Daisies (Sedmikrásky, Věra Chytilová, 1966)

The Kindergarten Teacher (Sara Colangelo, 2018)

Valley Girl (Martha Coolidge, 1983)

Palo Alto (Gia Coppola, 2013)

Lick the Star (Sofia Coppola, 1998)

The Beguiled (Sofia Coppola, 2017)

17 GIrls (17 Filles, Delphine Coulin and Muriel Coulin, 2011)

The Edge of Seventeen (Kelly Fremon Craig, 2016)

Bombshell: The Hedy Lamarr Story (Alexandra Dean, 2017)

Madeline’s Madeline (Josephine Decker, 2018)

Desert Hearts (Donna Deitch, 1985)

Raw (Grave, Julia Ducournau, 2016)

On Body and Soul (Testről és lélekről, Ildikó Enyedi, 2017)

Mustang (Deniz Gamze Ergüven, 2015)

Revenge (Coralie Fargeat, 2017)

The Spy Who Dumped Me (Susanna Fogel, 2018)

Deidra and Laney Rob a Train (Sydney Freeland, 2017)

Twinsters (Samantha Futerman and Ryan Miyamoto, 2015)

The Trader (Sovdagari, Tamta Gabrichidze, 2018)

The Lifeguard (Liz W. Garcia, 2013)

Lady Bird (Greta Gerwig, 2017)

They (Anahita Ghazvinizadeh, 2017)

Tig (Kristina Goolsby and Ashley York, 2015)

The Deuce of Spades (Faith Granger, 2011)

Winter’s Bone (Debra Granik, 2010)

Leave No Trace (Debra Granik, 2018)

Casting JonBenet (Kitty Green, 2017)

Fast Times at Ridgemont High (Amy Heckerling, 1982)

Axolotl Overkill (Helene Hegemann, 2017)

The Firefly (La Luciérnaga, Ana Maria Hermida, 2015)

Beach Rats (Eliza Hittman, 2017)

The Fits (Anna Rose Holmer, 2015)

The Land of Steady Habits (Nicole Holofcener, 2018)

Slums of Beverly Hills (Tamara Jenkins, 1998)

Private Life (Tamara Jenkins, 2018)

The Quiet Hour (Stéphanie Joalland, 2014)

Cameraperson (Kirsten Johnson, 2016)

By the Sea (Angelina Jolie, 2015)

Sweet Bean (あん, An, Naomi Kawase, 2015)

Lovesong (So Yong Kim, 2016)

I Feel Pretty (Abby Kohn, 2018)

Radius (Caroline Labrèche and Steeve Léonard, 2017)

Irreplaceable You (Stephanie Laing, 2018)

The Feels (Jenée LaMarque, 2017)

Breathe (Respire, Mélanie Laurent, 2014)

Galveston (Mélanie Laurent, 2018)

Octavio is Dead! (Sook-Yin Lee, 2018)

M.F.A. (Natalia Leite, 2017)

Aloft (Claudia Llosa, 2014)

The Loss of a Teardrop Diamond (Jodie Markell, 2008)

A New Leaf (Elaine May, 1971)

Dude (Olivia Milch, 2018)

The Dressmaker (Jocelyn Moorhouse, 2015)

I Think We’re Alone Now (Reed Morano, 2018)

Woodshock (Kate and Laura Mulleavy, 2017)

Girl Asleep (Rosemary Myers, 2015)

Tout ce qui brille (Géraldine Nakache and Hervé Mimran, 2010)

I Am Not a Witch (Rungano Nyoni, 2017)

Ginger & Rosa (Sally Potter, 2012)

Beneath the Harvest Sky (Aron Gaudet and Gita Pullapilly, 2013)

Angels Wear White (嘉年华, Vivian Qu, 2017)

Cargo (Ben Howling and Yolanda Ramke, 2017)

We Need to Talk About Kevin (Lynne Ramsay, 2011)

You Were Never Really Here (Lynne Ramsay, 2017)

River of Grass (Kelly Reichardt, 1994)

Old Joy (Kelly Reichardt, 2006)

Meek’s Cutoff (Kelly Reichardt, 2010)

Night Moves (Kelly Reichardt, 2013)

Certain Women (Kelly Reichardt, 2016)

Into the Forest (Patricia Rozema, 2015)

Before I Fall (Ry Russo-Young, 2017)

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World (Lorene Scafaria, 2012)

The Riot Club (Lone Scherfig, 2014)

Cracks (Jordan Scott, 2009)

Everything Beautiful is Far Away (Pete Ohs and Andrea Sisson, 2017)

Waitress (Adrienne Shelly, 2007)

Laggies (Lynn Shelton, 2014)

Outside In (Lynn Shelton, 2017)

Berlin Syndrome (Cate Shortland, 2017)

Lipstick Under My Burkha (Alankrita Shrivastava, 2016)

The Midnight Swim (Sarah Adina Smith, 2014)

Buster’s Mal Heart (Sarah Adina Smith, 2016)

The Lure (Córki dancingu, Agnieszka Smoczyńska, 2015)

Always Shine (Sophia Takal, 2016)

Shirkers (Sandi Tan, 2018)

Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong (Emily Ting, 2015)

Kedi (Ceyda Torun, 2016)

Cléo from 5 to 7 (Cléo de 5 à 7, Agnès Varda, 1962)

Vagabond (Sans toit ni loi, Agnès Varda, 1984)

Love, Cecil (Lisa Immordino Vreeland, 2018)

Jupiter Ascending (The Wachowskis, 2015)

Mr. Roosevelt (Noël Wells, 2017)

Woman Walks Ahead (Susanna White, 2017)

Khadak (Peter Brosens and Jessica Hope Woodworth, 2006)

Salesman (Albert Maysles, David Maysles and Charlotte Zwerin, 1969)

[winter-and-little-brunettes]

For the fic questions, #1 and then #3 & #10 for "The Power of Faith", please and thank you

Oof babe thanks

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your favourite and why?

Well, I have to say, of all of my fics, PoF does have to be my favourite since I’ve been working on it for over a year and a half now. BUT, I am particularly fond of my oneshots “Berceuse” and “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)”. They’re both super super soft and filled with the boys just absolutely cherishing each other and that’s the sort of stuff I adore writing.

Lance and Keith are soulmates, alright?? And if I can only make them as happy as they deserve in fics like this, then I’mma do it!!! I really should do more fluffy writing… I don’t do enough of it

3. Which part of The Power of Faith was hardest to write?

I’d have to say that the dream sequence in chapter 13. Slumbering Power was the most difficult to write. I consider myself a very descriptive writer, and I consider my best writing to be my scenery scenes. I tend to be very descriptive, and thrive when describing the vibrant and beautiful environments in PoF specifically. When I’m playing Breath of the Wild, I’m always absolutely blown away by how beautiful everything is and even after playing it for over 1000 hours, I’m still speechless at its beauty. And if I can showcase that in my writing? Then I’m doing it justice.

But man, the haziness of that dream sequence???? That scene alone took me over a week to write, and even when I thought I was done it, I kept having to go back and make it more, y’know??? Of every fic I have ever written, I have never struggled so much with a scene. It’s important to Lance and the stage he’s at in trying to access his sealing powers, but also important because it’s the biggest foreboding of the Calamity strike. It had to be perfect, and I’d never written a scene like that before.

I think the main reason why I struggled so much with it is because it was so hazy. Normally, when I’m writing, I can clearly see in my mind’s eye what’s going on. But I couldn’t see the scene unfolding in Lance’s dream. It was more of a general idea of what I wanted it to be. Normally it’s almost like I have to yell at Lance and Keith to slow down in my mind because I can type fast but not that fast. The dream sequence? None of that.

10. What are some facts readers may not know about The Power of Faith?

Hmm, well, there are a lot of little things about myself or my life that I insert into the fic. For example, almost all of the side characters that are mentioned once or twice are actually people in my own life, people that are important to me. For example, a character we meet early on when Lance and Keith are leaving the desert? Colin is based on my first friend I made at university. Or, the woman in the kitchen that took Keely in? Sandra, or ‘Sammy’, is based on my grandma. Or even the guy who owned the stable Everest was kept at! Michael is someone I’ve known practically my whole life, and may or may not have had a crush on at some point.

Point is, there’s a lot of little tidbits in PoF that reflect me. I’m honestly not really sure how else to describe it. But, know that if my soul could be found in anything I’ve written? It’d be in PoF.

questions came from here! feel free to ask me something

[averagemovieg0er]

Captain Marvel Movie Review Spoilers

Captain Marvel introduces a new character into the already well established MCU and struggles to be a character people care for.

While Captain Marvel is a badass superhero who does some serious ass kicking, she lacks any empathy people could feel for her. While I’m myself a very emotional movie goer who cries at virtually every minor human conflict in every movie there is, Captain Marvel only managed to make me tear up on one occasion. While that’s a very subjective assessment it does say a lot about the movie. The movie has a rather weak opening, compared to the recently released DC Superhero Movie Aquaman it doesn’t capture the audience from the very beginning but rather leaves them hanging waiting for the feeling of having arrived in her world. The audience is waiting for the ‘I’m about to go on an adventure’ moment for essentially the whole movie. I never got to the stage of being completely invested in her story which usually happens at least at the end of the first act of a movie. Aquaman is a good example of a very immersive opening scene by opening Aquaman’s journey with a loud bang of a window blind slamming against a wall during a heavy storm. American Animals is another good example of a completely immersive opening, where over the course of a couple minutes the moviegoers are immediately captured by the story and intrigued. At the end of the scene the audience has arrived in the world of the protagonists and thereon begins the adventure. 

Sadly Captain Marvel doesn’t do that to the point that I barely remember how it begins and I left the theater roughly 3 hours ago. The opening sequence is interrupted by her waking up and revealing that she just had a bad dream. She then continues to look for Jude Law’s character Yon Rogg and their first interaction already tells you what kind of Character Carol Danvers is, she’s kind of sarcastic and has a dry humor I would say which I normally prefer and can relate to. However the first words she said  didn’t do anything for me and most of the audience members and I thought it was very bland and uninteresting. This conversation sets the tone for the rest of the movie. It’s not that she’s not funny or annoying or a bad person, but she has nothing distinctive to her. Anyone could’ve said these things, they’re not unique to her character. I know that it was only two lines but my point is that that’s how it continues. She does get funnier and more charismatic when she interacts with Fury and I do think that these scenes make her likeable and give her a certain edge, however these moment are quite rare and any other dialogue she has or decisions she makes are simply boring and almost predictable. I did enjoy that she feels like more of the girl next door type of character, as opposed to Gal Gadot’s Wonderwoman for example,which would make her more relatable, but somehow it doesn’t fit the story. They try to give her a backstory and some motivation but the scenes where they do try are never paid off. We see a couple flashbacks over and over again where she fails at go-karting or rope climbing, and they are supposed to be symbolic for her being human and never giving up, but the audience doesn’t feel that. To me it just showed that she fell down a couple of times and got up again but there’s no real plot twist in that narrative. They show a man in the Airforce telling her that she can’t control her emotions and therewith won’t ever be any good as an army pilot, but that moment is never paid off. In the first act they push the story line of her not being able to control herself because there’s more to her than being a fighter, like emotions and a moral compass, they just don’t bring that across. The pay off for all these scenes is the moment where she stands up to the higher intelligence by accepting that she’s human and therewith unlocks her full powers. It sounds great on paper but in reality the scenes didn’t do anything to the spectators. The person she stood up to has almost no significance, and it just continues the repeatedly shown narrative of her getting back up after she’s been down but we still don’t really understand her motivation. Also she doesn’t face any obstacles of trying to unlock her powers, she just does so by using them to its full extent. The idea of her humanity being the main hardship she has to battle with isn’t shown in an emotionally investive manner, she just says it. They showed her struggle with coming to terms with who she is in a way better sequence when Maria Rambeau tells her that she’s there for her and emphasizes on their strong friendship in the past. Maria Rambeau is the best written and most human character in the movie in my opinion. I truly feel for her and because she’s such a great character her words towards Carol have such a big influence that she is able to benefit from them and show her vulnerable human side, but unfortunately that’s the only thing where we see it because the climax just uses dialogue without any emotionally investing background. That was also the only moment that made me tear up because you could feel the confusion and hopelessness Carlos must’ve felt the whole time, discovering she was  brainwashed for the past six years and missed out on this great connection with Monica.

Another reason why the movie feels a little shallow are the stakes, who are basically non existent. I know that a lot of people say there aren’t ever real stakes in a Marvel movie which I fundamentally disagree with, BUT in this one there really aren’t any. She is already super powerful at the very beginning of this movie, and we’ve seen in the trailer that she can fly. Even without seeing the trailer they tease from the very beginning that she’s even stronger than we see in the first parts of the movie because characters like Yon-Rogg continuously tell her to hold back. Her ‘opponents’ don’t really seem to have any superpowers and she can easily overpower them mostly even in hand to hand combat. She’s never in any real danger which wouldn’t really be a problem if there were other obstacles she has to overcome but as I already stated her back story doesn’t really work and doesn’t prevent her from kicking ass at all. There’s no real inner or outer conflict. The big enemy Ronan just flees the scene upon seeing her powers, which is kinda cool at first glance and symbolizes how powerful she really is but it’s also insanely underwhelming. It’s very atypical for these powerful characters to just give up that easily. Imagine the Avengers just fleeing the scene everytime they see someone more powerful than them . Every Avengers movie would result in them giving up. I know that there’s more complexity in Avengers’ motives of why they keep fighting even in hopeless situations, but Ronan giving up that easily just seems like lazy writing and he’s only being used to demonstrate how powerful Captain Marvel is supposed to be, which just makes him a disposable plot device. The moment where she discovers her true strength comes as no surprise and there’s not even a visually satisfying scene of her coming into her full powers, other than the one we’ve already seen in the trailer countless times and a short cool scene of her falling, her eyes lighting up and realizing that she can fly. Also her powers aren’t very well established I still don’t know what her powers actually are, they seem boring and that thing she did which resulted in Ronan leaving was very abstract and not really a tangible concept to grasp, which I do realize sounds ridiculous because it’s a Superpower, but it still leaves me kinda confused of how she would for example try to defeat Thanos. I don’t know the full scope of her powers, other than people outside of the movie telling me that she’s supposed to be the strongest Avenger.

Talking about the visuals is also important when reviewing this movie. They’re just kinda bland. The only visually pleasing scenes are of her flying into space and preventing Ronan’s bombs to hit earth, but it’s too short and the badassness and the seriousness of her powers and that moment are taken away by her screaming about how much fun she’s having. Now it is a fun character trait to include her acting like that but it seems out of character, because she’s never seemed like the ‘screaming because of happiness’ type of character. Also in comparison to Thor in Ragnarok, who became this really funny goofy character, he doesn’t squeal of joy when he unlocks his full powers on the rainbow bridge. It’s a serious moment, it’s life or death for his people, but these stakes and the seriousness is never present in the third act of Captain Marvel.

To add another comparison of these two movies, Captain Marvel doesn’t really have a tone. It has semi grungy visuals but that’s it as far as that goes. Certain parts of the movie are too dark, like the very first Starforce mission and Captain Marvels battle against the Starforce at the end of the movie. The music isn’t special but a rather obvious choice and sometimes doesn’t go with the scenes at all. For example when Carol has to fight Yon-Rogg and the Starforce on Lawson’s Ship. The music and the seriousness and badassness of the scene don’t go together at all. The visuals alone can’t carry the theme of the movie and much like in the first Thor movie they chose a location that’s rather bland to begin with, which is parts of Los Angeles where you don’t see any landmarks and then somewhere in the desert. The switch from a beautiful outer space civilization to the plain desert hasn’t worked in Thor and didn’t work in Captain Marvel either. On top of that the space station of Dr. Lawson felt like an unfinished set piece in my opinion. It was just a room with space ship looking like walls and a couple of artifacts from earth randomly placed in the room, it again didn’t have a distinctive feeling to it, nor did it set any specific atmosphere for the scenes.The MCU has stepped up its game and knows what it’s doing with essentially every movie but Captain Marvel doesn’t portray that and feels very forgettable. If that was the first superhero movie I’ve ever seen I would’ve been amazed but only because of the visuals and because she’s a superhero and that’s always exciting. But we’re long past that. We live in a post Infinity War era, where Superhero movies have exceeded their genre and they tell the most human and grand and mind blowing stories in cinematic history. At first it might just be unfair to expect such a standard from an origin movie, but then I realized that I can still go back to Dr. Strange or Black Panther and be just as excited for their story as I was when I watched them the first time and they totally hold up even in the face of Infinity war, so Captain Marvel really has to step her game up, other heros have done it too. I really wanted to see the movie succeed considering Carol Danvers is going to be part of the MCU for a while now but I was disappointed. It was still an entertaining movie at times and I don’t regret going to the movies to see it but at its best it’s just mediocre which no superhero in the MCU deserves at this point. Captain Marvel is going to join the Avengers in Endgame and I hope that she’ll be ‘Russo’d’ just like Cap, Spider-man and Thor. I still believe in Marvel to make the right decisions to bring a glorious end to the first 10 years of the MCU. The clock to Endgame has begun !

Overall score: solid 5/10 

Quick complaints and thoughts:

(Goose’s eye-scratching scene should have happened at a different time in the movie, it felt kinda forced and short cut, but I liked the idea)

(The Avengers Initiative being named after Captain Marvel felt a little disrespectful to all the other heroes we’ve been with for the past 10 years, just didn’t feel deserved)

(Coulson was way underwritten, but I liked him more than I did in The Avengers)

(Did they have to release Captain Marvel before Endgame because they needed to introduce Goose as a Flerken in order to use her dimensional pockets to defeat Thanos ??)

[gffa]

I AM READY TO CRY ABOUT STAR WARS IN APPROXIMATELY A WEEK FROM NOW, so here in the meantime have some crying about fic because, oh, I REALLY LOVE THESE SPACE NERDS. STAR WARS FIC RECS: ✦ The Dark Path Lit by Sun and Stars by A_Delicate_Fury, obi-wan & anakin & luke & leia & han & ahsoka & cast, time travel, 27.7k wip    After a disaster on the cosmic scale that Obi-Wan is still trying to wrap his mind around, he finds himself back in the early days of the Clone Wars, Commander Cody loyally at his side, Anakin at his back, and Sidious plotting against the Jedi at every turn. He’s been given an unasked for chance to do everything over again. And with the Force as his ally, he intends to set the galaxy on a brighter path than the one it’s currently on. ✦ Equinox by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 59.4k wip    During the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan and Anakin crash on a remote planet and take shelter in the ruins of a grand estate only to find they are not alone. ✦ Time To Go by light_mantled_albatross, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, 35.2k wip    A version of the “Anakin doesn’t find Ventress at the end of season 5, with the result that Ahsoka gets Dramatically Sentenced To Death” plotline. Obi-Wan makes choices, Anakin freaks out, the Jedi Council behaves somewhat questionably, Darth Sidious behaves completely reprehensibly, and Ahsoka is generally her bad-ass self. ✦ untitled by stonefreeak, anakin & rex & mace & cast, 2.3k    “General Skywalker, we have an incoming transmission from Coruscant,” Rex says, standing straight and with his arms crossed behind his back—stiff and formal. Anakin’s eyes narrow; that kind of posture generally means a transmission from the Council… ✦ Lose Myself Tonight by sinosei, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, mild d/s, sith!obi-wan, 1.5k    Anakin cannot help but test Obi-Wan. ✦ To Stand Before the Council by Raven_Knight, depa & mace & yoda & cast, 3.7k    This is the story of how Mace Windu and Depa Billaba became Master and Padawan. ✦ Rescue on Stygeon Prime by BarbaraFett, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & luminara, 4.3k    When Ahsoka Tano uses her newfound freedom as a Force spirit to explore obscure corners of the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker will have to confront a nearly-forgotten piece of the Sith’s legacy of darkness. ✦ River at Dawn by Lalijinx, obi-wan & padme (& background anakin), 1k    Obi-Wan goes to confront Padme about Anakin’s location. Instead, his emotions get the better of him, and everything spills out. ✦ A striking resemblance to the embers of the past by victoria_p (musesfool), luke & leia & rey & finn & kix, 3.6k    Leia insists Rey have a DNA test to make sure she and Finn are not related. The results are not what anyone was expecting. ✦ a gift with a price by wreckageofstars, obi-wan & anakin, 1.8k    Miscommunication is the soup of the day, and Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn’t fully understand the power that he holds. ✦ Tumblr Prompts by Darlings (FromDreamstoEmpires), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 3.8k (collection of prompts)    A collection of prompts that I’ve filled on Tumblr. ✦ Starrunner by rinzukodas, obi-wan & jedi & oc, 17.3k wip    n what would have been the year 17 BBY, Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine is found slumped over his desk, dead to rights and emitting a foul odor. The coroners declare the body victim to a heart attack and the smell a result of a lack of a timely embalming—a bit of bowels humor, the head coroner says with a nervous laugh when interviewed by the Galactic Enquirer. ✦ Sanctuary by shadowsong26, anakin & rey, 3.1k    Rey wants to find her place in all of this. When she finds a reference to Mortis in one of Luke’s books, it seems as good good place as any to start looking… ✦ Talking Points by victoria_p (musesfool), luke & rey, 2k    Rey knows there’s a connection between them–something more than the Force, more than destiny. ✦ this is unexpected by MarbleGlove, obi-wan & palpatine & cast, 4.4k    a self-indulgent response to the many, wonderful time-travel Star Wars stories that send a more experienced and more knowledgeable Obi-Wan Kenobi back in time to change the many tragedies to come full details + recs under the cut! 

✦ The Dark Path Lit by Sun and Stars by A_Delicate_Fury, obi-wan & anakin & luke & leia & han & ahsoka & cast, time travel, 27.7k wip    After a disaster on the cosmic scale that Obi-Wan is still trying to wrap his mind around, he finds himself back in the early days of the Clone Wars, Commander Cody loyally at his side, Anakin at his back, and Sidious plotting against the Jedi at every turn. He’s been given an unasked for chance to do everything over again. And with the Force as his ally, he intends to set the galaxy on a brighter path than the one it’s currently on.    Oh, this fic is so gorgeous and wonderful and beautiful already! It’s everything I could ask for–the characterization is spot on, it has a lot of plot and worldbuilding that grabs from canon and builds something really cool with them, and MOST IMPORTANTLY it has satisfying resolution to some things (while other things are just kicking into gear) that has me absolutely hooked. What I mean is–the plot and the fallout of this are just getting started, there’s still the whole future looming over them, but we’ve also gotten some reunions that left me with that happy, satisfied, emotionally touched feeling. Obi-Wan and Luke’s first meeting here is absolutely everything I could have asked for from it, it’s one of those that could have been glossed over too much and I would have felt cheated, or it could have been overdone and I’d have felt like the fic was trying too hard. But instead every moment of it absolutely worked for me, it found the balance it needed to find, where shit’s still happening around them, but there’s this gorgeous moment of stillness between them, this gorgeous moment of meaning and connection, that just reminded me of every single Obi-Wan & Luke feeling I’ve ever had.    But there’s more! There’s an escape off a desert planet where they have to go Full Jedi Of Old and seeing it from Luke’s point of view, getting to see the Jedi as they were is so incredibly satisfying, it takes a fun action sequence and gives it emotional resonance. It’s got incredible Obi-Wan characterization, as he struggles with what to do about all this, but also is so kind and warm, that it’s these little touches with Luke, the way he leaves his hand out if Luke wants to touch him, the way he makes himself available for Luke to lean against his side, the way he doesn’t get bothered by these scared kids being kind of snappish at him, because he has an idea of what they’re going through. As much as I love everyone here–Han and Luke and Leia’s are all SO GREAT, Ahsoka is BEAUTIFUL AND PERFECT, Asajj actually gives me FEELINGS, especially the way Obi-Wan treats her–for me, Obi-Wan is the real star of this show.    Which isn’t to say the plot part isn’t interesting, because I am so here for how it happened, what it means with Palpatine’s fingers digging into everything, the use of the Force that’s mixed up in all this, the way OH MY DARLING ANAKIN is talked about in Obi-Wan’s relating what he knows, the way Obi-Wan feels a little spun around, because he’s both his clone wars self and his future self, it’s a bit of deja vu, which isn’t a tack I’d seen taken before. All of it is just really, really a great read already! ✦ Equinox by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, 59.4k wip    During the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan and Anakin crash on a remote planet and take shelter in the ruins of a grand estate only to find they are not alone.    Chapter 11: This is an update rec and will focus on this chapter rather than the fic as a whole. This is the aftermath of the Shadow (or whatever it is) having sneaked in and curled around Obi-Wan, which I still find to be an intriguing choice, that the one that has the strongest sense of balance and surety of himself is the one that it also pulled whatever from and I love the use of that, because it shows so much of where Veris comes from, while not taking away that Obi-Wan Kenobi truly is a good person with such a strong sense of self. And this chapter follows up on that, where the fic does this really great thing of playing around with the different interactions, how these different versions of the same person are running around, so it’s both a character piece and a relationship piece, that it’s all about highlighting things that are true down to the foundations of Obi-Wan and Anakin, whatever form they take. Not that the Sith versions are them, per se, because they’re not, but that they’re small, tiny aspects given life, which means that it’s like staring at part of yourself, but alsosomething different, which isn’t always a fun thing when looking at yourself–but when looking at the person you love? Suddenly the undercurrents shift.    Which is illustrated so well for me in the Obi-Wan and Isten scene, where Isten may be a Sith version of Anakin, but he’s still Anakin, an Anakin who will always love Obi-Wan, in whatever form he’s in, and so when the Shadow passes by them in a dream/vision/whatever, of course he turns his face to Obi-Wan and hides it, of course Obi-Wan shelters him and pulls him close and takes on the heavy weight of watching this terrible thing, because that’s what Obi-Wan does, whenever he can, for Anakin. I loved the Veris and Anakin scene as well, the groundwork that’s being laid for Anakin to see just how much this man with Obi-Wan’s face, who is connected to Obi-Wan, but isn’t him, loves his own version of Anakin, how he can be polished and smooth, but also at the same time the cracks in his shell are all about Anakin, Anakin, Anakin. The need to work together, to touch minds, the way this prickles at Anakin and yet will obviously linger with him is so much fun to watch! But, oh, that scene with Obi-Wan and Isten. It really was the standout for me–but, then, just about anything with Isten is a standout for me in this fic, because he’s so perfectly written. Wild and fey, yet settled in his skin. Bratty and arrogant, yet there’s something that is almost calm. And you can see that it’s because of Obi-Wan, that trust he has and how much he’s able to not have to worry about things. It’s such a good complement to every single other character in this fic! I will gleefully read about him with ANY of the other characters!    But, then, there’s the Shadow and whatever it’s doing and, oh, the scene with the party was so creepy. Like, it’s almost a bit understated (while also being very directly horrible), like there’s this shimmer of glitz and elegance over the terrible thing that’s happening, and that makes it so much worse, the feeling of body horror as the Shadow takes over the people and hurts them. The way the sense of something large and looming is moving through the space around Obi-Wan and Isten, how it could so easily see them and would rip them to shreds. It’s such a lovely character piece, but also SUCH A GOOD HORROR FIC, TOO. But also!! Isten waking up and, oh, the way Veris just seems to calm and you really get to see how much he loves this version of Anakin, that the actual Anakin sees this and of course we cannot help but compare and find the parallels between the two! And such good cliffhangers! And I have NO IDEA where any of this is going! And yet I’m so, so engaged! Just, ugh, what a wonderful, perfect fic. ✦ Time To Go by light_mantled_albatross, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & cast, 35.2k wip    A version of the “Anakin doesn’t find Ventress at the end of season 5, with the result that Ahsoka gets Dramatically Sentenced To Death” plotline. Obi-Wan makes choices, Anakin freaks out, the Jedi Council behaves somewhat questionably, Darth Sidious behaves completely reprehensibly, and Ahsoka is generally her bad-ass self.    Chapter 7: This is an update rec and will focus on this chapter, rather than the fic as a whole. It’s been a long while since I read the previous chapters, so I can’t judge how much it does or doesn’t get the Jedi, but I remember thinking that a lot of it could be down to the point of views of the specific characters and the places they’re in (since this is during The Wrong Jedi arc) and I mention this only because it’s a thing I almost always mention, and also because I love this fic. The author just absolutely, utterly nails the banter between the characters, all three of them are a scream, but especially Obi-Wan and Anakin who just cannot stop bickering, in really sharp and genuinely funny ways! Like, read this fic for that alone! But I do enjoy Padme when she shows up here (and that she doesn’t care about Anakin’s approval for what she’s going to do!), I enjoy the way Anakin uses the Force, I enjoy that the writing is really smooth and I very much want to know what happens, I enjoy that the author is really good at building up a plot, a mystery that I want to know how it ends up! But, seriously, read it for the banter, it’s so much fun. ✦ untitled by stonefreeak, anakin & rex & mace & cast, 2.3k    “General Skywalker, we have an incoming transmission from Coruscant,” Rex says, standing straight and with his arms crossed behind his back—stiff and formal. Anakin’s eyes narrow; that kind of posture generally means a transmission from the Council…    Note: This is part of a series that should be read in order by this point, but this rec will focus on this fic in particular. Ahhh, it was so hard to finish this one, because now I want more immediately and I just want to read 100k of this all in one sitting! But I love this piece, I love Anakin’s panic attack and how it builds and builds and builds until he can’t breathe, because he just connected wtih Obi-Wan again and now he found out that his Master might die, might be dying right that minute, and, oh, it really just makes me feel so much for the character. Mace understanding that Anakin needs more gentleness right now, him having the reserves and room to be able to give that, is spot on and so wonderful. For all that this is an angsty piece (in an absolutely delicious way) it’s also a really good and kind one. ✦ Lose Myself Tonight by sinosei, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, mild d/s, sith!obi-wan, 1.5k    Anakin cannot help but test Obi-Wan.    Oh, this was such a good read! It’s one of those that’s both well-written andhits every iddy button I have–that Anakin is impatient and cannot help testing Obi-Wan, that he wants the reassurance, wants the attention, while also wanting to be taken seriously, while also wanting that heavy hand to come down on him and keep him in place. That Obi-Wan is gentle with him, is kind and caring with him, but also will not be disobeyed, is perfect here, that it’s what Anakin responds to and thrives under, that he’s turned on by it when his Master and his Emperor tell him how to dispaly himself. And, oh, the sex was so good, it was beautiful in the way Obi-Wan had him stretch himself while watching, that he’d been so insolent that he would only get his Master’s hand today (and, of course, he’s so beautiful and perfect that eventually he gets to ride his Master’s cock anyway), that it’s about the dom/sub relationship in how it gives Anakin structure and works for him so well. And is scorchingly, ridiculously hot when Obi-Wan won’t let him otherwise touch himself, when Obi-Wan tells him that he loves him, that Anakin is his, that Obi-Wan ordering him to sit on his dick was used as a way to show that unbreakable connection and love between them. And so, so ridiculously hot, that Anakin can’t touch himself while he’s touched and is so spread open and willing for his Master, so content in this place where he has no questions. I maybe kinda lost my brain a little to this one! ✦ To Stand Before the Council by Raven_Knight, depa & mace & yoda & cast, 3.7k    This is the story of how Mace Windu and Depa Billaba became Master and Padawan.    Oh, I just practically wanted to wrap myself up in the adorable warmth of this story, how absolutely cute it is, as little Depa stands before the High Council to try to deliver a message she wants to tell them, but can’t quite get the words out. I love the building of Jedi traditions (since canon gives us almost nothing! I need more!) and that the Council takes the time for Depa to gather her courage, to help explain themselves to her, to encourage her, to find her adorable, how likable everyone is in this. It’s one of those stories that puts a warm smile on my face to have read, I love the thought and care given here, I love how I can just picture all of it, too. Such a fun read! ✦ Rescue on Stygeon Prime by BarbaraFett, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & luminara, 4.3k    When Ahsoka Tano uses her newfound freedom as a Force spirit to explore obscure corners of the galaxy, Anakin Skywalker will have to confront a nearly-forgotten piece of the Sith’s legacy of darkness.    It would probably help to have read at least The Apprentice Returns Homebefore this one, to understand why everyone is where they’re at, but also you could probably just know that Anakin helped Ahsoka become a Force Ghost and know they’re wandering around the universe and fixing stuff. I am so very into how good everything is there, that Anakin and Ahsoka have returned to the Jedi, but that their journeys weren’t without their narrative weight and importance, that they can still be something a little different, even as they’ve found their way home again, I guess is what I’m feeling more than anything. That they go to help Luminara here, that they put something right, that I get to see my favorite Jedi being good and happy and at peace in their afterlife, was like being in a nice, warm bath all over again. ✦ River at Dawn by Lalijinx, obi-wan & padme (& background anakin), 1k    Obi-Wan goes to confront Padme about Anakin’s location. Instead, his emotions get the better of him, and everything spills out.    I really enjoyed this fic for doing exactly what it set out to do–have Obi-Wan’s reserved nature break because Padme wasn’t believing what he was telling her about what Anakin did. It works for me because I have a lot of really intense feelings about Anakin’s actions at the Temple and this fic really gave them the weight they deserved, that it wasn’t just turning to the dark side, but the actions he did were truly monstrous and should be given this kind of narrative weight. It was cathartic as hell and I enjoyed it for being so! ✦ A striking resemblance to the embers of the past by victoria_p (musesfool), luke & leia & rey & finn & kix, 3.6k    Leia insists Rey have a DNA test to make sure she and Finn are not related. The results are not what anyone was expecting.    Oh, I love fics like this, that take an interesting theory about Rey’s background and give me a fic that shows the immediate fallout of it, that reveal that I’m looking for (I love reveal moments!) and some great build-up tension to that reveal, plus some really lovely, touching character moments. The highlight of this fic is the way Luke and Leia look at Rey once they discover who she is, the weight and legacy she carries just because of her birth, the struggle that they allface because of it and to find out what it means. It’s poignant and painful and, most of all, hopeful. And that is exactly in the spirit of Star Wars! ✦ a gift with a price by wreckageofstars, obi-wan & anakin, 1.8k    Miscommunication is the soup of the day, and Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn’t fully understand the power that he holds.    This was such a good, cute fic! Obi-Wan and Anakin early days are some of my favorites and I love how much Obi-Wan reaches out to Anakin, even though he’s been through so much shit lately himself, that he cares very deeply in his non-effusive way, that that’s just how he is. And the fic is really good-hearted and kind, there’s something almost a little sweet about it, that Anakin this being sick will get him sent away and Obi-Wan and everyone care so much about the little moppet and of course Obi-Wan reassures him that that’s not going to happen, but it’s so hard to reach through all those layers Anakin has even back then, but it’s still so good here, that Obi-Wan finds a compromise that moves them forward, and then hugs!!! It’s one of those fics that gets me right in the feelings place in the best way, but then was also like slipping into a warm bath, which is my favorite. This was wonderful and so lovely to read. ✦ Tumblr Prompts by Darlings (FromDreamstoEmpires), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 3.8k (collection of prompts)    A collection of prompts that I’ve filled on Tumblr.    I’ve recommended at least one of these on tumblr before and I’ll probably continue to rec them individually in the future because a) it’s my blog and I do what I want and b) because wow do they hit my id straight on and I want to flail about that! And I love this collection because it really does hit those iddy wants just perfectly, it embraces them whole-heartedly and clearly enjoys the hell out of itself as it does. Anakin getting fucked while being ordered to watch himself in front of a mirror, a fantasy AU where they can’t be together and it embraces the quiet angst, and then a modern AU where Anakin wears lingerie and is a bratty sub who wants to get bent over the desk and fucked. Like, SIGN ME UP, it’s just pure fun and sexy times that know what they’re about and are having a blast writing them and are great for when you just want some lightly kinky porn that’s full of love and care and everything is soft and sweet and loving and all of it hits that OTP place hard. ♥ ✦ Starrunner by rinzukodas, obi-wan & jedi & oc, 17.3k wip    n what would have been the year 17 BBY, Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine is found slumped over his desk, dead to rights and emitting a foul odor. The coroners declare the body victim to a heart attack and the smell a result of a lack of a timely embalming—a bit of bowels humor, the head coroner says with a nervous laugh when interviewed by the Galactic Enquirer.    I have two brief caveats before I begin–the first is that I felt like this fic sort of dropped me into the middle of things in a way that I went to look and see if I was missing an earlier story (this is the only one the author’s written, though!) and that sometimes the sequence of events/context for them is a little unclear, especially when dealing with an OC that we don’t know much about. The second is that I don’t have a good feel for whether or not the fic is going to go the attachment = any kind of love thing that doesn’t work with the canon Jedi, because most of it is really, really great at showing the Jedi, but there have been a few moments that have made me wonder. But also I’m hypersensitive, so take it with a grain of salt! OKAY THAT SAID I fucking love this fic, it’s so sharp and good, the characterization of Obi-Wan is absolutely fantastic, he’s perfectly his canon self! And I really enjoy the OC, she’s got her own personality and she’s got narrative weight, but the fic doesn’t try to make her exactly like everyone else in their snark. She has her moments, but instead she’s more quiet and reserved, but with deep care and kindness and quietly delightful. She feels like she fits with the canon!    There’s a plot brewing here–she and Master Kenobi are tasked with investigating the Chancellor’s death, one that’s genuinely interesting to me and has new characters being brought in in a way that, again, feels like it fits with canon, with genuinely good storytelling! And there’s such great banter, like it’s so very easy to picture Obi-Wan in my mind’s eye, it’s so very easy to imagine everyone here! And, oh, the life this breathes into the setting it uses, that this is a living, breathing world it inhabits, that there’s history between Master Che and her patients, that there’s details about the Jedi life/culture and their Temple, it feels very much like this fic loves the characters and world that it’s writing, that there’s this warm glow of affection through the whole thing, that combines with the legitimately sharp writing, so that I tore through the whole thing and will look forward to future chapters. ✦ Sanctuary by shadowsong26, anakin & rey, 3.1k    Rey wants to find her place in all of this. When she finds a reference to Mortis in one of Luke’s books, it seems as good good place as any to start looking…    Rey finds herself on Mortis and winds up having a conversation with a spirit there and, oh, it’s such a lovely, engaging read for it! It captures that sense of how weird Star Wars can be at times, especially a place like Mortis, but the conversation between her and Anakin, the weight of the history there, but also that it’s Rey’s story going forward, that this touches on what came before, that the journey of Star Wars has led us all here, but it’s hers going forward, is really well done. And I love this more reflective Anakin who may still be angry in some ways, but has gained so much balance, has come back, has gained so much wisdom. It’s a perfect little fic as a point on the journey to wherever Rey is going and I loved it. ✦ Talking Points by victoria_p (musesfool), luke & rey, 2k    Rey knows there’s a connection between them–something more than the Force, more than destiny.    I really enjoyed reading this, there’s something so warm and lovely about every single moment of it! It’s a collection of smaller moments with Rey and Luke during her training, just all these quiet little touches that form a more detailed picture between them, and it’s just so good, everything feels hopeful and bright, even in the greater darkness of the galaxy. It felt like this is the core of who I see these characters as and what I want for them, the best for them without breaking SW to do it. And that made this a treasure to read! ✦ this is unexpected by MarbleGlove, obi-wan & palpatine & cast, 4.4k    a self-indulgent response to the many, wonderful time-travel Star Wars stories that send a more experienced and more knowledgeable Obi-Wan Kenobi back in time to change the many tragedies to come    This was a delightfully cracky piece with a few serious moments! I admit, I almost turned around at that Obi-Wan wouldn’t train Anakin, but then Anakin had stars in his eyes for Obi-Wan, who was basically playing chess with Palpatine and wiping the floor with him, sure, it’s not how things would seriously go, but it has that sharp sense of gleeful fun, it was so satisfying to the id, that I had a smile on my face the whole time and it was a great read!

[ill-will-editions]

OPEN LETTER TO BONG JOON-HO

Dear Joon-Ho,

Snowpiercer, your latest film, has been the subject of countless analyses. Defenders of a planetary Malthusianism see it as an illustration of their common sense. Marxists regard it as an invigorating painting of the class war - despite a shameful sequence of anarchist conspiracy. Liberals see it as a criticism of totalitarianism, “from all sides." Other rather surprising articles have highlighted the gnostic background of the case, seeing here a "political fable" offering "disturbing conclusions about the future", hampered by its "hectic pace" and "cartoony imagery.”

If we choose to add our voice to the cacophony, this is because we see your film not as discursively "political", but as simply revolutionary—we see it as a work which, like many others, tries in groping fashion to find a way out of the impasse of the present, to live different possibilities, different figures, passages, with a host of worries and strategic recommendations concerning the organization of our party. It is not the first time. Your other movies announced the color. But Snowpiercer is your manifesto. We wanted to share some of the reflections it inspired in us.

It’s always exciting to find a friend. It's also a very good movie.

I.

Shortly after the beginning of the offensive towards the front of the train, having ingeniously blocked the doors, killed the policemen and the screws, the ragged insurgents arrive in a room still dark—the train crosses a tunnel—which is revealed to have windows. The rear of the train was deprived of them. The tail-enders, the rebellious inhabitants of the tail cars, had not seen the light for 18 years. The train leaves the tunnel, rejoins the bright of day, and the insurgents, some for the first time, contemplate the still frozen world. They stop their irresistible assault on the front of the train, go quiet and look to the side. The race towards the Sacred Engine, towards the seizure of power, along the backbone of the social body, no longer seems so important. Another possibility appears, briefly—to return to the world, which, although it is a desert of ice, remains beautiful and striking. In the meantime, their leader Curtis arrives, who is indifferent, and sees them diverted from their purpose by the world that has revealed itself. He proclaims: we’re not there for that. We’re not here to find the world, but to control the train.

The entire tragedy of the story is summed up in this brief scene. The insurgents do not yet know that the train itself is the catastrophe from which they must be freed, that the harm done to them in the rear does not exhaust the perversions the machine is capable of. Still, the two possible lines of rebellion are revealed in the cold light of the train car: either go forward, or to the side. Reach the Sacred Engine, or get off the train. You are not afraid to plant your foot squarely in the dish, and an hour later, the alternative will take the following form: the big door of Power, which blocks the entrance to the locomotive, or the small innocent door to the side, which restores access to the world. That the two doors are side by side is not the least of your strokes of inspiration. Although the tail-enders are traversed by a contradictory desire for both possibilities, they predominantly embody the first way, which forms the major line of the revolution. It falls to the two strange Korean prisoners to give shape to the second way, the minor line, that of those who have not forgotten the world.

It is useless to reproach the insurgents at the rear of the train for not really paying much thought to a world of which they, more than anyone else, have been deprived. Heaped upon themselves without any windows, condemned to eat the same food every day, subjected to the most arbitrary police brutality, they think only of moving forward. Their position on the train predestines them to take the major path toward taking power, to once again reproduce the hierarchy of which they are the worst victims. Because far from being the negative residue, they are in reality the lodestone. After all, why keep the inhabitants of the rear of the train alive? Only a few of them, particularly the children, actually end up working, becoming slaves to the Sacred Engine who replace the defective parts before becoming too big and useless. Most of them are not even proletarians, as no activity is required of them. They’re purely supernumerary, only there to suffer. But their suffering, their life of integral suffering, hunger and promiscuity, cannibalism and public executions, which is known in secret by all the inhabitants of the train, is not in vain. Supernumeraries exist to make the lives of others bearable, by the measureless cruelty of their existence, which gives the luxurious nightmare of the front of the train an air of privilege. The pure negativity that emanates from these inoperative, policed, malnourished bodies, lacking all memory or history, is not what will end up overthrowing the system; on the contrary, it justifies its most violent, most police-like aspects; it feeds the system, because the latter nourishes itself on death. Their condition does not point to a fundamental contradiction in the system, but to its perfect way of folding back upon itself. Their extreme position, at the rear of the train, is the position that binds all the other inhabitants of the train to their position, their car, their function. It is the special basement of hell that allows the latter to present itself as a paradise. It is the glue of the social body.

You put your finger on the tragedy of Marxism: the most wretched of the lumpen-proletariat are not the class with the exclusive capacity to explode class society, to free us from our own cars, but on the contrary the one that hooks each of us up to our own proper class positions, and not without a sigh of relief. "Check your privilege.” And if such a proletariat is doomed to perpetuate itself, it is not so much for economic or scientific reasons, nor is it because "capital" is fundamentally a producer of "inequalities". It's for moral reasons. Somewhere, someone must suffer more than us. If this is necessary, it is so that, in the rest of the train, there is really no reason to revolt—or the reasons are too futile to warrant being taken seriously. From here on, the principal element of the tragedy rests lies in the recognition that the desire driving tail-enders towards the front of the train is so impoverished, so elementary, so detached from the world of which they have been deprived that it alone can not undo the orderly arrangement of the train. The trap is ready, already laid out beyond the great door of power, the cry of the stomach converting itself into a dream of control. Where survival forms the central concern, the train will always be the best option.

Still, tail-enders can surprise their own destiny. They release two Korean prisoners, a father and his daughter, who do not come from the back of the train. The father is the engineer who built the safety system regulating the doors of the train, his daughter an idle junkie. We never really know why they landed themselves in prison, but once released, they make an alliance with the tail-enders and open the doors, car after car. They embody another revolutionary figure: not the proletariat in arms, but the class traitor. Junkies, hackers, psychics (the girl sees behind the doors); they are familiar with the front of the train, they have lived there, and therefore know it for what it is—a hell from which a door must be blown open. They pay attention to the signs, the texture of the snow, indices of the return of animal life, they watch for the slow melting of the ice, for the moment when the world will once again become habitable.

You know, a lot of people have neglected the presence of these two characters, laughing at the superficiality of the “American" insurgents from the back of the train, the clumsy thread of the intrigue, with its heroic moments of sacrifice leading up to the final conclusion that everyone can see coming. We don’t think this superficiality is an error or concession on your part. It’s you who ironically tells one of your characters that the revolution led by Curtis is "a real blockbuster, with a devilishly unpredictable plot." You know exactly what you’re doing. You side with your compatriots, and ridicule the major line: you would follow the other line, the one that seeks to find the world, which flees positions of power and dialectical reversals. And certainly, these two Korean characters leave the rest of the American cast looking more than a little clumsy, having only one word on their lips: forward. But behind the obvious snub to the codes of Hollywood cinema, we have the setting-in-motion of these two possibilities. Above all, you understand the necessary alliance, and the confrontation that it makes possible. The little and the big door are placed side by side. Without the two Koreans, the insurgents would not arrive at the threshold of the Sacred Engine. Without the insurgents, the prisoners would remain in prison, where they have languished in expectation for years—not to mention the sizable number of fascists that need to be taken out along the way. Without the power and ingenuity of tail-enders, the lost world remains lost. Albeit in a simplified way (given that what is in question here are conceptual personae), you paint the fundamental heterogeneity of our party.

II.

Once the revolutionary alliance is sealed, this strange bicephalous force undertakes a singular venture across the social world, from caboose to locomotive. At this point Snowpiercer informs us of our enemies—of Empire, more so than of Capital. Prisons, butcher shops, factories, classrooms, nightclubs, medical offices, hairdressers, swimming pools, bars and sushi-bars, buffets, saunas, greenhouses… The train looks familiar to us. Car after car, we see existences in distinct forms juxtaposed, each wisely remaining in its little compartment, while feigning mutual ignorance. The old wealth regards us with suspicion, the wealthy youth with contempt. The familiar blackmail of ‘catastrophe’ is repeated to the point of saturation, from the mouths of repressive officials to that of a teacher at ease with her propagandizing of infants. The most idle of the citizen-nightclub morph casually into a fascist militia. The exterminators speak French, and the repression shines by the excellence of its staging, as much as by the endurance of its nihilism. The train is animated by the same senile desire of eternity—eternity, rather than history—i.e., the reproduction of oneself. An immense machine to be replicated, whose luxurious decor makes no effort to hide the violence underwriting it. An artificial cocoon wrapped around an uninhabitable planet, like a parasitic plant around the trunk of a tree, fleeing the devastation it carries within, in an endless quest to survive itself. In the very words of its conductor, we govern by maintaining "a satisfactory level of anxiety, fear, chaos and horror.” We live better when endowed with a strong dose of madness. It lets us enjoy the happy countdown and the approach of a new year.

The interest of the film lies not so much in a condensation in linear form of the various facets of contemporary sadness, as the interesting and unconventional genealogy of which it offers. Complex images are offered to explain the filiations of this imperial misery that we know well—the aquarium, and especially the Sacred Engine. Empire is first of all cybernetic. It is managed in a subtle way, as one manages a closed ecosystem on itself. When our heroes pass under an aquarium, the metaphor becomes explicit: the population must be carefully controlled in order to maintain a balance between different species of fish, between different classes. Number, count and measurement are the guiding principles of government.

This aspect is symbolized by the sinister administrator dressed in yellow, measuring everything she can so as to find a place for it in the machine. At the beginning of the film, she measures the children who will be used to replace the defective parts; in the end, face to face with the homemade bomb that will destroy the train, rather than turning it off or defusing it, she whips out her measuring tape. Who knows, perhaps this negativity—so pure, so unequivocal—can also be reintegrated somewhere, through measure, through the art of management. The entire infrastructure of the train is a closed circuit, where precious and scarce resources (water, energy, food) are re-injected permanently, skillfully distributed between the wagons to produce, where necessary, an artificial comfort or a groundless misery—in each case accompanied by a constant feeling of anxiety at the cruelty of nature, and a menacing entropy. It's about maintaining an island of civilization trapped up in a universal death. To govern after the end of the world. To feast on the end of history. Memory is lost. The insurgents have no idea how long they have been on the train. Even revolutionary violence becomes a question of feedback: a too-high mortality at the front of the train will generate feedback, by means of a compensatory reduction of the population at the rear. Delay the imminent implosion by channeling negativity into a renewal of the system. And life repeats itself.

These aspects are obvious. But upon them, you superimpose an older form of power, the medieval Christian empire, conquered in Europe by the emergence of modern states and capitalism, and which returns, in a cybernetic and paranoid form, when these latter begin to decompose. The Christian empire is based on the simple idea that all light and power comes from God. He pours his influx from heaven to earth, through the very movement by which he creates the world. But the sin that our spheres of existence bear by their nature always jeopardizes the diffusion of this divine life.

Hierarchy offers a solution. Empire is nothing other than the political edifice designed to best distribute this influx issuing in any event from the first cause of all things. The political standing assigned to the various creatures He creates—from God to angels, from angels to the pope, from the pope to the cardinals, from there to all the clergy, from the clergy to the whole of society through the administration of the sacraments—is there only to ensure uninterrupted circulation of the divine light, which is life, knowledge, and salvation. Without this, the world would not be uniformly and continuously irrigated by the blessings of God, His goodness always at risk of being lost and scattered in the meanderings of the world. The order of things, like the government of the world, functions like the maintenance of a highway. Power, light, speech, energy, goodness, love, wisdom, knowledge: all these things issuing from God must be arranged in their vertical flow so as to maximize the perfection of creation, to beautify what He has already done.

Hierarchy is not there to divide society; it is rather an operator of continuity. Because it orders the world, it guarantees that the latter opens without obstacle onto a universal circulation. And with respect to this circulation, all are servants, since all are creatures. From the upper rungs of the angels to the lowest peasants, all perform the same operation: to receive the divine illumination and transmit it, according to hierarchical rule. The difference that exists between the lower or higher positions has no actual content in itself: what matters is that everyone has a position: the world is built around an axis that no one escapes. The difference between the ranks serves only to attach each to the vertical axis, to the great weir of the Good and the True. From this point, the body metaphor is never far away. From Christ's head to pleb’s feet, it is one and the same body, one and the same circuit, one and the same humanity. The difference of the members changes nothing as to the fundamental imperial requirement, namely, that there be only one body, of which fragmentation forms the first guarantor.

Two elements betray this theological substratum aboard the Snowpiercer: the rigid hierarchy that orders the cars, and the Sacred Engine. The positions are "preordained" by the ticket purchased on the train, just as existences were predestined back when God ruled the world. The machine room has something surprising about it, formed not of piles of cables and gears, but by a simple living room. At its furthest extremity is nothing other than the First Principle, circular, eternal, silent, slowly turning on itself, dispensing movement, life and energy incidentally and indifferently. "The Sacred Engine" is like an embodiment of the immobile Aristotelian first mover—a kinetic God, the primary cause of all self-centered movement, that thinks itself, that is absorbed in its own contemplation. Its center is empty, its power is nothing political. Faced by its eternal neutrality, Curtis do nothing but collapse.

As Mason, the spokesperson for the train driver, states, "all things flow from the Sacred Engine". Water flows. The current flows. Heat and movement are transmitted. And this order, which is the real barrier against icy death, is transmitted from wagon to wagon by the concern that everyone has to stay in its place. “All things in their place. So it is.” This is the meaning and direction of Gilliam's “treason", sent from the conductor to the rear of the train, and which foments insurrections to give a pretext for the reduction of the population. As in the 13th century, feet and head are in solidarity, working together. And if Wilford the conductor is so anxious to cede way to Curtis, the former cannibal from the back of the train, it's because deep down, no matter who's leading, only the function matters. Everyone is a servant, even the highest of masters; and the lowest of the servants is the best candidate to become the highest of the masters—he will never forget his humility.

Faced with God, we are all basically equal in our servitude, and we invent an artificial inequality the better to assume it. Just as, in the face of the placid rotation of the Sacred Engine, we are all merely maintenance agents, relays of the neutral power of the machine. The latter is silent, demands nothing, and never replies. When Mason calls to the conductor to address the tail-enders, we hear only the white noise of a radio over which no one speaks. When we enter the heart of the machine, we see only an empty circle. It is this desperate submission to neutrality that leads the extreme suffering of the tail-enders to be forgotten. It is the sadness of living motionless on a train that never stops that we must be avoided at any costs, by recourse to the spectacle, the class war, or by outright repression. All the divisions, all the contradictions, all the tensions, all the negativity are, in the end—and on purpose—recycled in continuity, unity, universality. This is the fundamental imperial operation. It was accomplished yesterday by the celestial and ecclesiastical hierarchies, today by measurement, surveillance and feedback.

The superimposition of these two empires forms the paradoxical symbolic structure of the train: a government of the world become infrastructural, a desire for eternity satisfied by technology; a hierarchy become horizontal. The Snowpiercer is to Empire what Leviathan is to the state: its recap.

What about the end of your film? For us, it has the beauty of something simple and uncompromising. Of course, as you must know, many laughed at it. Some, because they are too jaded, others, too civilized. All because it's easier. It must be admitted that the return to the world does not seem obvious. It's hard to look it in the face. The animals do it well, but still, they are lucky. It doesn’t take much effort for them, since their animality is already given. We are the only animals that have to learn our own animality. It’s the only difference between them and us. You do not seem to know more than us about how this learning will take place—but who can blame you? You already say a lot. Everything is worth more than the train.

Sincerely yours,

Some passenger friends. May, 2015

PS : Since only the final destruction seems to bring a semblance of hope to humanity, would train sabotage be the revolutionary act par excellence?

[forthelulzy]

Past, Present, Future

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Pairing: Cullen/F!Trevelyan; past Cullen/F!Surana

Rating: T (disturbing dream sequence)

Summary: The Hero of Ferelden arrives in Skyhold, threatening Cullen and the Inquisitor’s fledgling relationship.

Notes: 7.7k words. Written for @cullenappreciationweek, day 2.

It is a gray day in Cloudreach and less than a week out from Alistair’s funeral when the Hero of Ferelden’s letter arrives by crow.

The bird is not one of Leliana’s, and when it tries to land in the rookery it is to a great cawing and ruffling of feathers from the other crows. Cullen hears the cacophony clear out from his office and thinks little of it, but later, when the Spymaster calls them all to council, he connects the two together. Leliana herself doesn’t look the slightest bit perturbed that her birds got into a melee, though her gloves have several new tears that she did not have the time — or thought — to mend. What she does look like is ecstatic, which is a very strange emotion to connect to her, in his opinion.

Leliana gestures with the folded parchment as she speaks, detailing the encounter with the foreign crow. “And imagine my surprise when this is attached to it!”

“What is it, then? Why are we here?” Irene snaps. She is still in her nightclothes, decidedly rumpled and grouchier than usual at being woken up not an hour into her rest.

Cullen represses his smile. She would not appreciate his humor at the moment, and he doesn’t even know why her frazzled state is so amusing in the first place. Perhaps because today his head is mercifully clear for the first time in what feels an Age. No less work to be done, but a better mind for it.

His good mood grinds to a halt, wobbles, then shatters when Leliana announces her news: the Hero of Ferelden is coming to Skyhold.

Maker’s breath. His past is coming back to haunt his present, again. The last time he saw her he was so angry and hurt, and the time before that he had been a fool. Both times, he had been a fool. She always brought that out in him, the foolishness, but it was his own fault. It is easy to remember her face, as if it were not over a decade ago, as if he has not been trying to forget. She is the Hero of Ferelden, and reconciling that with the razor-witted, assured mage he had known before she became a Warden is hardly difficult now. Years ago, it had been. What will she think of him now?

“Cullen?” The Inquisitor’s voice brings him out of his racing thoughts, and he knows that his face has been showing all of them. He wrestles it back into neutrality, or as close to neutrality as he can manage. Josephine is confused, Leliana is smirking — and he doesn’t look at Irene long enough to determine her expression. Another headache is creeping in behind his eyes.

He asks instead of answers. “When is she expected to arrive?”

“The day after tomorrow, and she’ll likely be here a week. You should know, Josie: she won’t expect or appreciate any fanfare on her behalf, especially not if it takes away from Alistair’s funeral. Oh, and she has a dislike for titles, especially ones that she’s willingly forfeited.” Leliana is back to business, and he breathes a sigh of relief that her knowing smile is gone. Not that he expects the issue to drop entirely — from her or Irene. Neither ever could leave well enough alone.

~o~O~o~

To his surprise, Leliana just winks at him before she and Josesphine head off to their beds, after a few minutes more of hashing out the details. Irene glances his way, as if she is about to speak, but for once seems to lose her nerve. Ultimately she nods at him in farewell and turns around.

“I loved her.”

She stops, shoulders going stiff as his voice — his voice — rings out, too loud in the quiet war room. He wishes he could snatch the words out of the air before they reach her ears. He wishes he could make her forget he had ever said them. He wishes a lot of insane things, in that moment before she turns around.

“The Hero of Ferelden?” Her voice is soft, softer than he’s heard before.

He nods, but she’s not looking at him, not quite. “I knew her as Vera Surana, in another life.”

“That would mean you’ve known at least three movers and shakers of Thedas within the last decade or so?” Her gaze flicks towards him, and though there’s a note of rare humor in her tone, her face gives nothing away.

“I… I saved the best for last, of course.” He comes around the war table, thanking the Maker that she isn’t inclined to interrogate him over his outburst. Their relationship is delicate, in the early stages, and though she hasn’t shown a hint of a jealous nature before, that doesn’t mean it won’t appear if he messes up during the visit.

She makes a faint, amused noise at his flattery, but her cheeks darken in the dim light. He has found that she is unused to compliments and wary of people who give them too often, so he has fewer opportunities to make her blush. “What was she like back then? All I’ve heard are the tales. Varric-style stuff.”

Cullen pauses. He can’t begrudge her the question, though he wishes she had asked Leliana. Leliana had actually traveled with Vera, had seen the legend in the making. But maybe that was the point — their Spymaster hadn’t known Vera before. Before she became a Grey Warden. Before she was conscripted out from under the brand. He has to suppress a shudder at that thought. When Kinloch fell, one of the recurring torments then and since were visions of a world in which Warden Duncan had never come. During Kinloch it had been Vera, blank-eyed and soul-dead, that haunted him after he proved resistant to temptations.

“Cullen?”

He coughs. “Forgive me, I… She was always destined for something. I knew it even back before her Harrowing. Maker, I think everyone knew it, even her. Perhaps especially her. She was always so confident. She knew I had this ridiculous crush, and she never missed an opportunity to needle me about it. I think I just loved her more.” He hadn’t meant to say so much, but he feels a bit better now that he has. Irene isn’t running or yelling yet, either, which is a nice bonus.

“Her confidence? Don’t tell me that’s all that attracted you to her.” She crosses her arms and cocks a hip, but she’s also smiling, and he’s just that little bit lighter because she’s smiling at him.

“I, uh… It really was, at least at first. I was a starry-eyed recruit back then, she was this fiery apprentice ready to take on the world. She didn’t rebel, but she could talk circles around me. She did, regularly.” She never had to so much as raise a finger; perhaps if she had, he would have known what to do. But her verbal acrobatics? He couldn’t do anything but gape. “She was pretty though, I suppose.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on that, even as he feels every ounce of blood in his body rush to his cheeks. Make up your mind, Rutherford. After a moment, though, she grunts thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised she became such a hero, then. It’s been over ten years since you last saw her?”

“Yes. We did not part on amicable terms,” he says stiffly. “I said things I regret still.”

She smiles again, and it is lopsided for lack of practice in such a gentle expression. “If she’s expecting you to be the same person you were ten years ago, she’s a fool. No matter her heroics.” Her fingers brush against his arm, fleeting but deliberate. From anyone else, it would mean little, but she rarely touches anyone with unguarded affection, so he clings to this feeling, and her words. He wants to kiss her, wrap his arms around her and her arms around him and never let go. Vera Surana was pretty, but Irene Trevelyan is beautiful.

~o~O~o~

He’s alone in the tower.

The mages and templars are gone. The demons and abominations are gone. Wind howls through deserted hallways, scatters notes left by long-gone apprentices. He picks one up.

It’s a love letter, and it burns his fingers. When he drops it the parchment crumbles to ashes, blows in his face. It smells like perfume. Not hers, but a more subtle, earthy scent. (She’d been so proud when he went off, her determined eldest son. He never saw her body, or his father’s. He only sees them in dreams.)

He knows. As soon as he knows, the dream shifts, like a scarf fluttering on the edges of his perception. He’s still in the tower, but Senior Enchanter Wynne hangs in the doorway, her neck at an unnatural angle. No, perfectly natural. The rest of it isn’t natural. Wynne was lucky; she had the steady hand needed to decide her own fate. And the last of the rope. The others, though, are scattered like the notes left by the apprentices. An arm here, a foot there. Carroll’s head is on the windowsill, his hair ruffling in the breeze. He’d been trying to leap.

He drifts out of the room, past Carroll, past Wynne, past the piles of parts that he can’t attach to names or faces. Up countless stairs that stretch and warp under his feet, pitching and rolling like a boat on a stormy sea. Light spills from the cracked door at the top.

He’s not alone in the tower.

The ancient wooden door sighs and opens, an invitation, as he nears. His tread carries him onward, over the threshold, even as he tries to stop.

There’s something here that he has to see. There’s nothing here that he wants to see.

Vera kneels in the center of the room, in the center of the sunburst pattern that also shines, still bleeding at the edges, on her forehead. Her lips form the Chant, but her voice, when it reaches his ears, is far from holy.

"Blighted are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. In their blood the Maker’s will has been written.” She opens her arms to him, hands curling inward. Beckoning. He does not want to go to her, but when has what he wanted ever mattered?

For want of the Wardens, her soul was lost. For want of her soul, the Wardens were lost.

She smiles, and it is Irene’s smile.

Cullen bolts up so fast the world tilts. When it rights again, he is on the floor, legs still on the bed and tangled in the sheets. The wood is cool against his fever-hot back, and through the jagged edges of the hole in his ceiling the light of a moon filters through a cloud. A rain so light it is better called mist settles against his face and chest.

Another nightmare. His mind knows this, has known it for some time, but it still takes an age for his body to catch up, for his heartbeat to slow, for the organ to stop spasming against his ribs and the dizzy rush of oh Maker, it’s over to dispel. His legs are numb, the sheets bunched from his thrashing. No matter how many terrors he faces in the night, no matter how well he thinks he has prepared himself for them, the immediate aftermath is the same. He is helpless.

He closes his eyes and focuses on his breath and the rain. When he opens them again, when he no longer feels like he had leaving Kirkwall so many months ago, like the floor is dropping out from under him and he is plunging into an abyss over and over (which happened every time the ship ducked into the shadow of a wave, so every other second or so on the worst days), the moon is emerging from behind its shroud. It is framed nicely in the broken beams of his ceiling. He wishes, absurdly, that he had a talent for poetry.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow the Hero of Ferelden arrives. The Inquisition is ready, but is he? A few hours has never seemed so short or so long.

~o~O~o~

Every arrangement has been made for Vera, and he has given himself the same pep talk over and over. He has told himself to snap out of it, you’re a grown man every time the thoughts come crowding in, bringing the nausea with them. (He bolts for the safety of his office only once, and he is pathetically proud of himself for it.) But it’s a lot harder to inspire himself with a few well-placed words than his men.

Irene’s words repeat in his head almost as much as the Chant of Light, now. But, as with the nightmares, there is nothing he can do to prevent his stomach from flipping over and flattening itself against his spine when the sentries blow the signal horns. Rider spotted in the pass. Vera.

He is roasting alive, standing as he is in the direct path of the late morning sunlight on the stairs into the keep. The sky has cleared overnight, it’s the warmest day thus far in the year, and what few snowbanks are leftover from months before stand little chance. After the winter they had, he’s glad for it. The escape from Haven alone almost ruined his natural Fereldan predisposition for cold. But not quite, and now he regrets praying so fervently for the sun to return. Serves him right, really.

Irene, front and center as Inquisitor, never takes her eyes off the courtyard before her, but she shifts slightly and her hand brushes against his. He can’t feel her skin through his gloves, doesn’t even realize the movement is deliberate until she does it again, lingering a few extra (precious, precious) seconds this time.

To his right, Leliana’s mouth lifts at the corner, though her eyes stay on the gates. Damn her, must she see everything?

The signal horns blow again. Rider approaching the bridge. The portcullis is already raised, allowing them and the rest of the gathered people (a far smaller contingent than welcomes the Inquisitor back from her missions, as the majority of Skyhold has been ordered, pointedly, to stay at their regular duties) to see the exact moment when Vera’s horse appears from behind the guardhouse and starts over the bridge.

She is alone. Cullen frowns, and beside him, Leliana cocks her head. Vera’s letter hadn’t mentioned any companions, being very short and to the point, but the Spymaster had told them someone by the name of Zevran had been with the Hero when she left on her journey. Leliana had been scant on the details, but apparently they were lovers or at the very least intimate friends. All of them had assumed the two would arrive together. Cullen has a vague impression of a grinning elven rogue who was there when the Circle was retaken (he remembers very little specifics from that time, though whether it is from forcing himself to forget or something else he cannot say), and Leliana’s briefing informed him that this was the very same Zevran, one-time Antivan Crow.

He’s not sure how he feels about Vera taking an assassin to her bed, but it doesn’t matter as it isn’t his business.

She slows her horse, a sleek dapple-gray courser, to a walk at the halfway point on the bridge. Cullen can’t pick out much of her face, not from such a distance, but it is tilted upward — she’s probably looking at the fortress as it looms over her. A black cloak hides the rest of her body from view, but she sits well in the saddle, and he wonders when and where she learned to ride so well. It is, after all, not a skill taught in the Circles.

She’s not been in a Circle in ten years.

Vera kicks her horse into a trot again, bringing her into the shadow of the battlements and, a few moments later, through the gate and into the courtyard. Irene steps forward, pulling her hand gently from Cullen’s loose grip (he’s only dimly aware that he grabbed it during the agonizingly long time it took for Vera to admire Skyhold’s walls) and crosses into the open space while Vera pulls to a stop and slips from her mount’s back. She murmurs something to the stablehand who materializes to take the reins, and though he has no idea what she said, the boy’s resultant blush is a beacon all the way across the courtyard.

Here, a bit closer but still too far, he can make out more details. Her cloak is actually a very dark green, not black, and beneath it her travel leathers are worn, but sturdy. He is surprised to see her obsidian half-breastplate when it reflects the sun as she turns; it covers the tops of her small breasts and disappears under the cloak at her collar, not quite as protective as full plate but still both fashionable and practical. And very Vera. The only other metal on her person is in the form of shin guards and vambraces, also in obsidian. Her ears are still too big for her head, even compared to other elves, but she has them on full display with her hair swept up and back out of her face, and she’d added piercings — a tiny silver stud in each lobe. Nowhere near as extravagant as what he has seen in both humans and elves as fashions come and go, but it’s one of the few things about her physical appearance that he can put a finger on as different.

She is different, though. That tiny bit older. Her hair seems a duller brown than it was when she was an apprentice, like her experiences have sucked the shine out of it. She holds herself differently, as Irene greets her. Still confident, still measuring every word, every action, every detail presented to her. But there is a new weight to her shoulders, a new grief in the depths of her eyes.

Or maybe it was there the last time, and he just didn’t notice.

Irene’s posture is rigid as they speak, as she tends to get when forced into diplomacy, but Vera’s is open, easy, relaxed.

No, not relaxed. Resigned.

Irene gestures behind her then, at the advisors still on the stairs — oh, he wishes he could hear her — and Vera’s eyes flick their way only for a moment. Dismissive. Josephine leans forward from his other side to share a look with Leliana. She, in turn, considers for a moment before sidling down the stairs. Josephine darts forward to walk at her side, radiating nervous energy.

Cullen is abruptly confronted with the fact that he does not want to follow. But he does anyway, and that feeling from the dream comes back to him, presses itself against his skull and sets his temples pounding in a fresh migraine: that his body is not his own, that it is moving without his say-so. It is a ridiculous comparison. He could stop, he just doesn’t have a good enough reason. Even if he really doesn’t want to face Vera again; not Vera as she was and definitely not this new version.

Luckily her attention is taken immediately by Leliana, and the two greet each other as old friends. Here he sees more of the old Vera. She smiles, and though it reaches her eyes it doesn’t erase the grief behind them. It is still nearly blinding. Leliana comments on her piercings, and Vera shoots back that she is wearing entirely too much purple for a commoner.

Her voice is the same, and he clamps down on the memories hearing her brings. She hasn’t noticed him yet.

Josephine steps forward next, addressing her as Lady Surana. Vera doesn’t so much as blink at the title, and Leliana’s eyebrow twitches upwards. The Ambassador politely inquires on her journey, Vera gives an equally polite answer, and then Irene can’t stall any longer.

Vera’s eyes have settled on Cullen, and though her brow furrows she doesn’t seem to recognize him. He valiantly tries to control the expression on his face, but here, so close, he can see the flecks of gold in her vibrant green eyes as they sweep over him curiously. He supposes he does look different. The last time they met was in the aftermath of his torture. His curls are tamed, and he’s not in templar armor. That’s likely what is throwing her.

“And the Commander of the Inquisition forces, Cullen Rutherford,” Irene says quickly, tightly, like the words hurt to push past her lips and expose to the air.

Vera goes still, eyes darting to his face and staying there.

“Hello, Vera,” he says. The back of his neck twinges, muscles bunched from the tension in his shoulders, and he resists the urge to rub it. His voice is even, but his stomach is threatening to force itself up through his mouth. He swallows hard, reminds himself again. She’s just a woman, and you are a grown man who has faced far worse than Vera Surana and lived.

She smiles, but it’s slow to unfurl and ends up looking more like a grimace as it lingers too long on her face. “Cullen,” she breathes. The smile drops, too painful to keep up.

Leliana clears her throat at the same time as Josephine coughs politely. Irene startles, a guilty look coming over her before she inclines her head at Vera — and too often Cullen forgets that their Inquisitor did have a noble upbringing, even if it is long past and nigh impossible to tell most of the time — and invites her to settle in. “Lunch is in the hall in an hour. Josephine, if you would…?”

“I will show her, Inquisitor,” Leliana cuts in. “Vera and I have a lot of catching up to do. You traveled light, yes?” She saunters away, arm in arm with the elven mage, toward the keep.

“Everything I need can fit on one horse…” comes the faint reply.

Josephine excuses herself as well, and Cullen and Irene are alone. Well, as alone as two people can be in Skyhold’s courtyard in the middle of the day.

“You need to get out of that fur,” Irene remarks. Anyone else, and he’d think it was innuendo, with how casually she says it. “You look like you’re going to faint, and I don’t think it was just her.”

He chuckles, trying to rub the knots out of his neck. Now that dread is no longer sitting, cold and hard, in his stomach, he does feel a bit lightheaded. “I’ll be in my office, then.”

“Promise me you won’t hide in there all day. Lunch, at least.”

“Of course, my lady Inquisitor.”

Irene scowls, but her eyes are bright. Even if Vera is here, even if she brings back all the memories he would rather forget of a past he is only beginning to atone for, Irene is his future.

~o~O~o~

Vera does not show for the midday meal. As afternoon draws on, she does not emerge from her assigned quarters, where, Leliana assures them, she left the Warden in good spirits. Josephine has a servant send up a small meal. It sits outside her door until evening, when it is replaced with dinner. Dinner sits until sometime in the wee hours of morning, when it disappears. Leliana says she’s probably just sorting through her feelings, which sounds like something Vera could do, though the Spymaster sounds like she’s convincing herself as much as them.

It is not until the second day, when she’d not left her room for over twenty-four hours, that he realizes she is waiting for him to come to her.

She’d do that, in the Circle. Send him coy glances, giggle behind her hand with her friends, say not a single a word until he brought it up. She loved making him initiate all their interactions. The few times she had confronted him were black marks on his memory. The day he admitted his crush out loud. The day he thought she was just another demon come to taunt him with her shape. And the day after that, when she came to him before she left for the Deep Roads, her mission at the tower done, and he snarled in her face that she would be responsible for the deaths of everyone remaining at Kinloch. That when the demons rose up again and won, her hands would be the ones stained red in the Maker’s judgment.

It was no wonder that he had been visited by that dream the night before she arrived. So much depended upon her, and he’d thrown that back at her feet. She didn’t need reminding. She was already a Warden. She’d already seen the slaughter of everyone but her and Alistair at Ostagar. Then blood on the tower floors. She’d been forced to cut down abominations that had once been her friends. Then he—

He rubs his face with one hand, knocking on her door with the other before the self-loathing crests and he loses his nerve.

Immediately, her voice from within bids him enter, and he jumps. She has been waiting.

Her room is smaller than the Inquisitor’s, which he has been in once before, but has much the same features. A four-poster bed is against the opposite wall from the door, and a desk sits in one corner. It’s empty but for a set of writing implements that don’t look like they’ve been touched since the room was set up. A bookshelf, fireplace and two cozy armchairs occupy another corner. A book lies open on the floor in front of the chairs, pages ruffling in a gentle breeze from the open windows.

“Vera?” he calls, pausing just past the threshold and cautiously closing the door.

“Cullen!” she yelps, and he finally sees her, or rather, her silhouette. She’s perched on the windowsill behind the curtains, nearly hidden until she moves, one bare foot dropping down to rest on the floor before she emerges, clad in a simple blouse and breeches. They were made for a much taller woman, he notes; the legs are rolled up at the ankles and the blouse falls to her mid-thigh. He wonders where she got them from. The Hero of Ferelden should be able to get clothes from the best tailors in the country.

“Cullen,” she repeats, one hand curled over her heart. They stare at each other. He’s lost his words somewhere between his brain and his mouth, and she seems just as unsure. Where her eyes always so large and round?

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. For their last meeting? For the meeting before? For this meeting, right now? He doesn’t know. Maybe all of them.

Her hand drops to her side and she swallows hard. Her fists clench, once, twice, then relax. “I thought you were dead for the longest time,” she says softly. “There were rumors in the months after— after, and I believed them.”

“I—”

“I only found out through Tale of the Champion. Alistair had a copy; he lent it to me.” Her tone turns flinty. “Can you imagine? I read that book, every page wondering if you were going to die. Again. I had mourned you the first time around, I had moved on. To go through that again…”

“Vera—”

She shakes her head, but her eyes aren’t watering. She already cried herself out, he realizes with a start. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself, for believing the gossip of old women. I never thought to actually check with Greagoir what had happened. I was afraid.” She looks away at last with that admission. Afraid? Vera Surana’s never afraid. But that was the Vera Surana he had known. This incarnation is older, wiser, and has experienced more loss than anyone could ever deserve.

He comes a little closer. “I’m still sorry, Vera. For everything. Forgive me?”

Huffing out an incredulous laugh, Vera grabs his hand and holds it between her own, smaller and softer than his. “I did a long time ago, you ridiculous man. I’m just glad you have the Inquisition behind you now, and its Inquisitor.” She grins, bright and genuine. “Don’t look at me like that. I have eyes.”

His cheeks burn, but it’s a good warmth that matches the feeling in his heart. “I wasn’t aware it was that obvious.” Maker, if Vera could see it, what about the permanent members of the Inquisition? He and Irene weren’t sneaking around, not exactly, but they weren’t advertising their budding romance either. They hadn’t discussed it explicitly, but she knew how private he was and respected that. There were many things he had never shared with her, with anyone. Vera may have a general idea, but that is by virtue of being in the right place at the wrong time.

“It wasn’t,” she says with a quirk of her brow. “That was a wild stab in the dark.”

Oh. Trapped again. He groans, pulls his hand back so he can rub his pounding temples. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“I don’t know about that. But you have. A lot.”

He tries to smile, but he can tell he doesn’t quite succeed. Her eyes alight on his mouth and she furrows her brow. He hopes that she doesn’t want to kiss him. His crush is long past, and the ache for her in his heart is gone. She — or rather, the memory of her — will always hold a place there, but the wounds are healed over and he doesn’t want to open new ones. Not when he has Irene.

“Is that from when Hawke punched you?” she asks instead, head tilting to the side and ears twitching in curiosity.

Startled, he reaches up to trace the scar across his lip. “Yes. How did you know that?”

“The book, remember?” He looks at her blankly, and she sighs. “You haven’t read Tale of the Champion? You’re in it!”

“That’s precisely why I haven’t read it. I already know the story. And I hardly have the time.” He does not say the other, more immediate reason: he knows Varric will have pulled no punches in regards to him. Varric doesn’t leave any drama out of a story just because it might be uncomfortable.

She huffs in exasperation and waves her fingers at him. “Have it your way, then. Though I may understand how you feel. I couldn’t walk into a tavern in Ferelden for years because the damn bards wouldn’t stop singing about my ‘adventures’. Zev enjoyed the attention enough for both of us, though.” She shrugs, pretending nonchalance, but the sudden tension in her shoulders gives her away.

“Zev?” It takes a beat for him to realize who she’s referring to.

“Zevran Arainai. Former Antivan Crow, unrepentant assassin, fearless rogue … and the love of my life.” She sways on her feet, just a tiny stagger that is over before he can move. “Come on. I don’t think I should tell this tale standing up.”

“You don’t have to, Vera,” Cullen offers, even as he follows her over to the armchairs in the corner. Vera bends to pick up the discarded book, a dog-eared copy of Tale of the Champion. She sets it on the little table between the chairs, and sinks into a plush seat with a sigh. He perches on the other, trying to will his headache away so he can focus on her. It doesn’t work, of course. If anything, the pounding worsens, until he can barely keep track of her story.

What he does process explains a lot. She starts at the very beginning, with Loghain finding out he missed Vera and Alistair in the slaughter at Ostagar. This was after they saved Redcliffe from undead, their exploits in the town alerting the Teryn. He hired a Crow, the best of the best. Zevran told her later it had been a suicide mission from the start, and only when Vera hesitated did he realize he really wanted to live. He never thought he would. She was swayed by his words, though even she kept a close eye on him along with everyone else. His charm won her over eventually, and they became lovers. He went west with her after the Blight to search for a cure for the Calling. But then Corypheus happened, and her own Calling made her irritable and paranoid. At the same time, Zevran found out the Crows would never let him be. He returned to Antiva to dismantle his old organization from the inside.

“I haven’t heard from him in weeks,” Vera whispers. She stares into the middle distance, eyes unfocused but dry. “I didn’t even say goodbye properly. I was terrified of the Calling and it was driving me crazy. I accused him of abandoning me. That got him to stay a bit longer, but after the fifth ambush, he couldn’t make me a target as well. I miss him, I’m worried about him, and now Alistair’s dead. Or lost in the Fade. Same thing.” She takes a shaky breath, and now her eyes shine a little brighter with unshed tears.

Cullen rubs the back of his neck. “I… don’t know what to say, Vera.”

With a sigh, she takes down her bun. Her hair, even duller than before now that it’s out of the sun, settles over her the tips of her ears. “You don’t have to say anything, Cullen. There isn’t a magic phrase that will make this all better, I know that. It is enough to have a good listener. Thank you. Thank you for being here, too. It’s selfish, but it’s comforting to know I can still get you to come to me.” She winks at him, but her eyes are sad. It’s not enough to fool him.

“At least that hasn’t changed,” he says quietly. “I should have realized it sooner.”

She hums noncommittally. Silence stretches while she watches him, while he tries to keep his face from pinching. He shouldn’t worry her. Not now. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks at last, voice soft and understanding.

He doesn’t try to smile, because he knows it will be a grimace. “I’m just tired, Vera. My work for the Inquisition…”

Vera waits for him to finish, and when he doesn’t, she inclines her head at him. She knows he’s lying, but Maker bless her, she’s changed. The old Vera would pry. “All right. I shouldn’t keep you any longer. I’ll see you all at the funeral.”

He parts from her with a heavy heart.

~o~O~o~

There is no body to burn, but otherwise Alistair’s funeral is held as tradition dictates. It is a tense affair, with long silences and uneasy coughs from the back rows. Irene delivers the eulogy, visibly uncomfortable with the role. Cullen thinks he knows why — she was the one to order him to his death, after all. Or maybe it’s just her personality. Vera, Leliana and Morrigan, as the last of Alistair’s companions from the Blight, are in the front row. Kieran sits next to his mother, and Cullen tries not to think too closely on why he is there.

Cullen tries not to think about Alistair, either, but funerals have that effect. As a young templar recruit, he was a thorn in his side. Alistair seemed personally attacked by how seriously Cullen took his training, and Cullen in turn hated the lackadaisical attitude of the other boy. It was all so silly now, but at the time he couldn’t wait to see Alistair fail.

Then he’d been recruited into the Gray Wardens, and Cullen couldn’t decide whether that was a victory or defeat. In another life, they could have been friends.

He keeps expecting Vera to jump up and interrupt the increasingly awkward and rambling speech, but she doesn’t, and Irene has to cut herself off. Even when the Inquisitor invites others to speak, she remains still, staring up at the marble face of Andraste. No one moves. Leliana doesn’t like the spotlight, and Morrigan — as far as Cullen is aware — only barely tolerated Alistair in life. And Vera? Cullen doesn’t know.

When Irene finally ends the ceremony with a halfhearted invitation to the hall for refreshments, Cullen excuses himself to his office.

This reunion isn’t at all what Cullen had thought it would be. In truth, he hadn’t expected to ever see Vera again, and could have lived out his life without that resolution, but now that she’s here he finds himself both disappointed and relieved. She forgives him, everything is fine, but might-have-beens crowd their way into his head, still. His old flame has gone out, the ashes are cold, but what if…

He shakes his head violently. Creeping doubts will help no one.

The door that leads towards the keep flies open, banging off the wall and nearly hitting Dorian in the face on the rebound as he strides in, a whirlwind of immaculate white robes and flailing arms. “Sweet Maker, how did she ever get through that speech when she was made Inquisitor? I cannot fathom. I never thought I would see the day Irene Trevelyan babbled like a pubescent maiden around her crush.” He pauses, squinting at Cullen. “Oh my. If you’d rather I come back another time…”

“It’s fine,” he says. “The usual.”

Dorian nods, face smoothing back into its usual cocksure expression. Cullen has never told the mage about his withdrawal, but he’s sure Dorian has already guessed most of it. He’s perspective to a fault. Still, Dorian’s never directly mentioned it, either. “All right then. Our usual spot in the garden is taken, so I liberated the board. Also, this time I will thoroughly trounce you. Prepare for a defeat the likes of which Thedas will whisper about for Ages to come.”

“I don’t think setting the offending piece on fire when I’m about to checkmate you counts as a win,” Cullen points out, but he clears enough space on his desk for the board, smiling in fond amusement when Dorian protests that he’s never cheated a day in his life.

Chess with Dorian feels right, feels normal. The last time was before Adamant, and in the days after Cullen had been swamped, both with Inquisition work and with realizing the magnitude of his feelings for Irene. When she fell into the abyss, he was certain she was dead, certain her luck had finally run out. Who could survive that? He felt like many did, that all of them were doomed and it was only a matter of time, but there was also more. It didn’t just feel like a superior, or even a friend, had died. This was Irene. Irene who defied her own noble upbringing. Irene who poured her passion into every word, every deed. Irene who fought so hard for the good of the world, even back in the early days when most thought she had murdered the Divine. She didn’t ask for thanks, or even for their opinion to change. She did it because it was right.

He’s hopelessly in love. He only felt like this for Vera before, and what he can recall of his crush over a decade ago was completely eclipsed by what he feels now.

Even distracted as he is, Cullen corners Dorian within a few minutes, and while the mage grumbles, he doesn’t set anything on fire. He stares down his nose at Cullen, twirling his mustache with one hand. “If this is what you play like even when you’re thinking of your lady love, I fear I shall have to come up with a new strategy,” he declares.

“You’re hopelessly outmatched, no matter how you cheat.” Cullen leans back, crossing his arms.

“Yes, yes, you’ve told me this before,” Dorian says airily with a flick of his fingers. “I’m still not giving up. How is Irene doing? It hit her all at once, by the sound of that eulogy.”

Cullen blinks, but it isn’t the first time Dorian has caught him off guard by a turn in a conversation. He’s long since learned that the Tevinter’s mind often skips steps. “I haven’t spoken to her since this morning,” he admits.

“You haven’t spoken to her? She just had to give the eulogy for a man she knew for less than a month, a man she personally sent to his death! She looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her up by the end of it. And no one else stepped up to say anything, either. For such a likable fellow, he had few friends. Such is the domain of heroes, I suppose.”

“Vera was his friend,” Cullen snaps. “I don’t know why she didn’t want to speak, but she mourns him.”

Dorian raises his hands is mock surrender. “If you say so. Back to my original point. Irene needs you. Talk to her, or so help me, I’ll talk to her for you. I don’t think you’ll like my impression.”

“You’re impossible,” Cullen mutters, standing and helping to corral the wayward pieces.

“Impossibly handsome and charming, yes.” Dorian winks at him, board and the box of pieces in one hand while he gestures toward the door with the other. “After you. You’re not getting out of this one. She’s my friend as well. And should you two ever settle down, which I’m beginning to think is wishful thinking on my part, I will be Uncle Dorian.”

~o~O~o~

A few discrete inquiries on Dorian’s part — and Cullen is forcibly reminded that the man can be discrete at all — and Cullen is outside the Inquisitor’s quarters. Irene doesn’t spend much time in her own room, preferring the hall or garden or nearly anywhere else in the daytime, but Cullen figures she may, for once, want to be alone. He considers turning back, but Dorian is definitely waiting in the hall should he run.

He steels himself and opens the door.

Belatedly he realizes he forgot to knock, but the room is empty anyway. Perhaps Dorian’s sources were wrong. He’s about to turn around and head back down — and maybe strangle a certain Tevinter mage — when voices drift his way from the open balcony doors. He comes closer, spotting Irene at last, leaning against the railing. Her face is turned, talking to someone he can’t see.

“You’re kidding. That’s impossible.” Irene’s voice is flat. Who is she talking to?

“No, no. He really did. It was adorable. All I had to do was wink and he was a blushing schoolboy.” Vera. They can’t be…

“Cullen Rutherford. Stuttering. My Cullen Rutherford?”

Oh.

Irene turns, startled, hands going to reach for a weapon that isn’t there before she sees that it’s him. He must have spoken.

Vera pokes her head into view, looking from him to Irene and back again. “Ah. Hello, Cullen. I’ll leave you two alone.” She tiptoes past him, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

“You were talking about me?” He’s not as angry as he thought he might be. Mostly confused.

Irene sighs. “I’m sorry, Cullen. I should have stopped it before it happened. I’ve never put stock in gossip, but when Vera came to me…” She shakes her head, mouth twisting. “No. It was my fault. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t really want to know, but he has to, for his own comfort later. “What did you talk about?”

“It was just her life in the Circle, at first. I was curious about the other side of it. Then it turned to you. How she knew you loved her. How it amused her.” She’s struggling to keep her disdain off her face, but as usual with Irene she fails utterly. “I should have stopped it right there. It’s your life and your right to tell me or not tell me yourself. I’ve never believed I have to know every minute detail of the past to love someone, and that’s never been truer now.”

He nods, any lingering anger melting away. He’s not even mad at Vera; she was probably just making conversation. “I will tell you, Irene. I need time, that’s all.”

She steps off the balcony and comes within arm’s length, tilting her head as she looks at him. “All the time you need, Cullen.” Her eyes slide away — she’s considering — then she surprises him by stepping even closer and pressing her forehead to his.

They are near enough in height that the position is not physically awkward, but he still freezes, waiting for her to make whatever move she wants. Irene has never been so close for so long; even their kiss on the battlements weeks ago was a mere peck compared to this intimacy. Her eyelids flutter half-closed and her hands creep up to come around him in a loose hug. Even now, she will let him go if need be. He doesn’t want her to let go. “May I…?” he whispers, and she hums in response so he slowly wraps her in his own embrace. She sighs in contentment, dropping her head down to his shoulder as they sway gently.

“I love you,” she murmurs, muffled against the fur, but the words ring in his ears.

Here, with Irene, he remembers how he felt the day Vera rode into Skyhold. It’s even stronger now. Though neither of them can guarantee they will survive long enough to settle down — no matter how confident Dorian might be — he wants to in a way he never had with Vera. The mage is a huge part of his past, but Irene is his future.

“I love you, too,” he says into her hair.

[vasilinaorlova]

hologram and flamingo, superimposed / anatomy of hysterics

uncanny valley. spooky. translucent you are a bunch of hypocrites. you would swear you love me but still won’t buy my book. I am not drinking that coffee with you, nor do I eat that cheesecake I promised you to share with you one day. what?! I cannot possibly humanly supposedly theoretically hypothetically reasonably wait this long. “vinyl” is veritably the strangest word in the whole English language. the more you look at it the stranger it is. I know you cannot marry me for a variety of overwhelmingly silly reasons, but buy my book. It’s almost the same, only twice better. In fact it brings all the privileges of the named arrangement but none of its horrific downsides. I was about to throw a tantrum,                       conduct a scene,                                    an instance of hysterics,                                  a scandal, but– thank you who bought or plans to buy my book; when you have just published something, there is always this great anxiety. *wipes out traces of cheesecake from her cheeks with a tablecloth’s ridge*

I will drink coffee with you and I will eat that cheesecake *another one* that I promised I’ll eat with you one day. sigh. Billy Collins, I hear–and he’s one of the most successful poets at least among those who look like something recognizable as poets, for there are perhaps more successful ones, but their identity as poets is under a sort of question, a pending identity, as it were–Billy Collins sells some 18.000 copies of his poetry books a year, and earns $44.000 a year of royalties–which are ridiculously low numbers for one of the most famous poets alive of the huge English-speaking world. just how much more he’d earn if he wrote prose. or how even more he’d earn if he wrote self-help books. in some sense it is a privilege to be a poet in the Western society, to afford to be a poet. either you have nothing and you can therefore afford to be a poet, or you have to have a lot–a (preferably tenured) position in a good university by the very least, connections, time to and understanding how to submit endlessly carousels of your poems to journals (might be a full-time job in its own right), a lit agent at least, a publisher, etc., etc., etc. poetry is a completely thankless trade, a vain business                           (yet in another sense the most rewarding too).

hologram and flamingo, superimposed

(I am looking for a title for my streams.) hologram and flamingo: invariance theorem (another variant)

my writing career started in another language, another time, and in another country. there I was lucky to be absorbed momentarily, as soon as I gave the first glimpse of myself, into existing writing community. to be sure, an impoverished community it was, a community which had next to no power, no assets, not much of a political voice or any other kind of significance beyond its own imaginings, but a community consisting of viciously ambitious writers who are professionals of the Russian letters for what it is worth.

this community is relatively small in comparison to English-speaking writing communities, but it is also dense and centered around several dying literary journals. I publish my work in these journals and used to have books coming out regularly from publishing houses which predate on these journals as well.

the journals are treasures of writings that are barely read; their authors suffer constantly and viscerally from being un-demanded by the society. plainly put, there are no adequate infrastructures in existence, for the un-reader of said journals also exists, but laments the absence of good literature.

this un-reader dismisses the journals without reading them, because journals are the remnants of the previous epoch, surviving well into the new times in forms that seems to be outdated. (the irony of it, however, that they are just fine–in the Western world such professional journals look exactly the same). it is quite a world. pretty much everything I have ever written in Russian is published, except for diaries and things like that–something that I write for my own endless references.

I moved to the English-speaking world in 2010, and struggled with the language for quite a while (I continue struggling with it, every day is another challenge). here my successes are quite modest, at least they are not in any way in comparison with what I had in Russia.

now is a luminous, liminal moment: I have everything in endless drafts. tons of work. I like this work sincerely. my best pages are written in English, no doubt. however, there is a lot of difficulties with getting it out there. everything requires another round of revision. additionally, the services of a professional editor are extremely expensive, and I have to consult a highly skilled native speaker professional for any of my writings I attempt to advance. I asked friends to help me several times, but they cannot possibly run such a charity, and I am not entirely comfortable asking them all the time. …yes. this is about it. everything that appears in this book (Holy Robots) at some point was given away “for free,” as you put it, that is to say, was posted. I have no secret storages of writings that somehow exceed in mastery or ferocity what you see every day. however, the preparation of the book does involve selection, revisions, polishing, and, most importantly, building of sequences of poems, which is a crucial part. I try to compose my books so that each division in them has its own logic, and together they form a complex but permeable system. I believe the book should have a breathing; for the poetry book it is extremely important to think about the rhythm, architectonics, and harmony of the whole corpus of texts. I don’t know in what degree I succeeded with my task but I tried. a text into which it is easy to slip my old-time dream is fulfilled. when I was asking myself many times a day if I ever master the English language, the image of a remote room, the inhabitant of which would one day perhaps listen to my words in silence, was something that kept me going. don’t forget to write me an explicit report. Holy Robots consist(s) of eight divisions: “Holy Robots,” “Necromancer,” “Emperor,” “Missionary,” “Poems in a Male Voice,” “Alchemist,” “Paper Flowers,” and “Mirrors." Six poems out of the “Poems in a Male Voice”  series were out in Figroot Press web literary journal December 2016. This is approximately one fifth part of all the Poems in a Male Voice. I am happy with this book but I am also tired of it. It took me a long time to put it together because I kept adding poems to two sections, “Poems in a Male Voice” and “Alchemist.” By the end of it I was thoroughly exasperated. I hope I will never write another Alchemist poem or Poem in a Male Voice. I am so done with both, I cannot even tell you. The tomb of the unknown writer Is a faceless obelisk                     {obscene]                     {obsidian] Amidst a deserted landscape, Surviving by pure chance, Rising alone, Throwing a straight shadow Like a sundial For no one to measure time; No flowers, And a path                   [petulant} Overtaken by virulent verdure. Infinite Jest traveled with me to Russia–Moscow and then Siberia–in 2013. It was the only book in English I took to that travel of mine. I rather liked and disliked the book. It is a writing as much fascinating as it is disappointing. Ulysses is another matter; one cannot really dislike it–it is already pretty much a monument covered with beautiful stains of respectable moss. (Who knew it’ll happen so soon.) German philosopher Peter Sloterdijk’s masterpiece is a trilogy consisting of “Bubbles. Spheres Volume I: Microspherology,” “Globes. Spheres Volume II: Macrospherology,” and finally “Foams. Spheres Volume III: Plural Spherology.” Sounds like a life pleasantly spent. “…what Clément describes as a punitive adoration of female singers: "They suffer, they cry, they die.”“ –Alex Ross (”In Extremis,” The New Yorker, Jan.9, 2017) very true in regard to writing as well (Ross is talking about music) the female writer is constantly on the edge. inasmuch as the female writer is her character, she suffers terrible blows from life, even if as a person she’s perfectly fine. she follows through the enfilade unfolding: from one excruciating story into another. it’s a never-ending cascade of stairways, an endless kaleidoscope. the key is to sustain this spectacular falling for years without (or preferably with) the harm to the mental health. everything should fall apart to blow the reader away. if you don’t have tragedies in your life, forge them. exaggerate what little you have. keep them fascinated with the tragic sublime. be a figure of constant emaciation. a silhouette of the unbearable. sustain endless hysterics of writing. be a cascading cry, a carousel of terrible losses. "wake up from a nightmare into another nightmare.” feed vultures of déjà vu. pick worst lovers. pick lovers who would prostitute you on the agora. age tragically in one night. age irreversibly. choose strong betrayers. arrange a failure out of the most enduring friendships possible–a female friendship. bury relatives. divorce husbands. have a drug-addict child. nothing is too gross. don’t forget to die from your own hand.