#for a second time I was like 'I should draw the necklace scene from Intertwined' butttt

[distant--shadow]

prompt for u: jewelry. do with it what you will (or wont) king of imodna fanart

king4king

[katyasrussianaccent]

somebody else (corpse x reader)

So I got the prompt "Why cant it be me" from @stylistiquements writing prompt! This is just angst lmao, I dont usually write angst but hopefully its okay. Based on Somebody Else by The 1975

TW: Alcohol and unresolved angst

There’s too many people at this party for Corpse’s liking. When Loey had invited him, his first thought was to say no. But, it’s her birthday, and while he’s out of his comfort zone, he’s trying at least.

The music playing isn’t to his taste; some pop singer that’s wailing about heartbreak. His fingers are wrapped around a glass that he hasn’t even drank out of yet, the ice that was once in it is just liquid now. It’s more a prop than anything - if he already has a drink, no-one will ask if he wants one.

The crowd in front of him disperses as the song changes to something else; a more upbeat pop number. His eyes immediately zero in on the couple opposite him, their limbs tangled together on the couch. So it was true. You had found someone else.

His fingers grip the glass harder, and he downs the drink, his throat burning as the liquid goes down, but it’s nothing compared to the white hot anger he’s feeling in his stomach. He watches as you laugh; it was his favourite thing about you - your laugh. You’d laugh at something like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard; all full bodied with your teeth showing. He remembers when you used to laugh at him.

Deciding to put a stop to his masochistic tendencies, Corpse goes to get another drink, making it more alcohol than anything else. He stands there for just a second, the lyrics of the song ringing more true than he realised.

Our love has grown cold, you’re intertwining your soul with somebody else

It wasn’t meant to be like this, not really. It should’ve been him sitting by your side, his hand on your upper thigh. Are you wearing the perfume he bought you? He remembers when he gave you it; you threw your arms around his neck and for the first time in his life, he felt safe. Sitting back down, he drinks as he continues to watch. He doesn’t know why he can’t draw his eyes away from the scene in front of him; guess he’s always been a glutton for punishment.

I don’t want your body, but I’m picturing your body with somebody else

The petty part inside him says he got there first. He saw you first; anything you do with somebody else - you did with him first. He wonders if you’ve went grocery shopping together yet.

“Corpse, you can’t just get sweets. You need to get some fruit,” you had scolded, your face the picture of a disapproving mother.

His diet was terrible now; the days of home cooked meals had went out the door when you did. Some days he forgot to eat at all, not consciously; he just worked a lot and there wasn’t anyone there to actively check up on him.

He continues to drink, each glass containing more alcohol than the last. He doesn’t get drunk but there’s a warmth to his cheeks and the edges of his vision are blurred slightly. You stand up to dance, there’s a slight sway as you walk to the middle of the floor and Corpse can tell you’re wasted. You’re a cute drunk luckily, and he looks away as you pull the guy close to whisper in his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek. The guy is good looking; all tanned with perfect hair. You loved his hair; your fingers would run through it while you watched a movie. You couldn’t do that with Mr Perfect’s hair; it’s too short.

Jealousy and bitterness go hand in hand with Corpse, and while he hates feeling like this, the alcohol in his system wins out. You’re dancing with the guy and Corpse smiles to himself as you flail your arms without a care. The guy pulls you in close by the hips and he watches as your face drops a little, your movements no longer free but restricted.

It pisses him off and he clenches his jaw as he watches on. You don’t dance like that; you’re a self-admitted awful dancer, but it’s incredibly endearing to him. It makes you happy to throw your limbs about, and it makes him sad to watch you shuffle awkwardly to the music. You go off to get a drink, and he can’t stop himself from following you.

He hangs back for a second, his brain trying to work out whether this is a smart idea or not. It isn’t and he knows that, but he just needs to talk to you. Just because.

“Straws are over there,” he says from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. Your eyes widen at the sight of him.

“Thanks,” you reply, grabbing one and sticking it in the glass. “You look well.”

“So do you,” he says. And you do, you look amazing, but you always did, even first thing in the morning with your hair sticking out, he thought you were beautiful.

“I see you’re wearing colour,” you joke, pointing to the grey t-shirt he has on. You’re nervous, he can tell by the death grip you have on your glass, the whites of your knuckle showing.

“Yeah, I tried to break the black up,” he replies. It’s silent as you take each other in and he wants nothing more than to take you in his arms and hold you close to him.

Your mouth opens for a second, before closing again. “You’re wearing the…” you trail off and he nods, his fingers automatically reaching to touch the necklace you had bought him for his birthday.

“I never take it off,” he replies and your eyes meet his. Your lips are pulled into a tight smile as you look down, and his fingers twitch, he wants you to look at him, he wants to tilt your head up so he can see you. He stops himself as you look back up, a familiar scent hitting his nostrils. “You’re wearing the perfume I got you.”

There’s surprise on your face, and something else that Corpse can’t register. Is it embarrassment?

"Yeah,” you whisper. “I should probably get back.” You go to leave, and his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. You look down at the contact, and his mind screams at him to let go, but your skin is warm under his touch, and it’s been so long, too long since he’s felt you. You don’t pull away, and his fingers press a little against your skin.

“Why can’t it be me?” Corpse asks, and you stiffen at the question, your face no longer soft. You yank away from him, your cheeks flushed with anger.

“Because you broke up with me,” you hiss at him, your tone full of venom. “Or did you forget that?”

“I didn’t forget,” he replies. “I made a mistake, I - “

“Over text message, Corpse, fucking text message,” you say, raising your voice, causing the people around you to glance over their shoulders at you.

“I know - “

“No. You don’t know. I love; loved you, and you took the cowardly way out. That’s why it isn’t you,” you reply. Your eyes are filled with tears, and he sniffs a little at the sight, his own eyes beginning to burn. You blink and a single tear falls down your cheek. You wipe it away, smearing your mascara a little. He reaches out to your cheek, wiping the black smudge away. You close your eyes, and he hears the slight shaky breath you exhale before opening your eyes, your face unreadable as his hand hovers over your skin. His hand stays there, it’s like it’s stuck, like his brain doesn’t want it to move and break the moment.

There’s a moment between you as you both look at each other. He takes in every detail of your face, memorising it for safekeeping. He thinks you’re doing the same, your eyes meeting his. The room is filled with people, but he doesn’t hear anything but white noise as he looks at you. He will only ever see you. Your hand reaches out to meet his, your face is almost confused as your finger tips touch his but before you can touch him properly, your name is shouted from the other room and the spell is broken.

There’s a sad smile on your face as you put your hand down and you walk away, leaving him to stand there. You don’t look back at him as you turn the corner and disappear out of sight.

[captcas]

Life is Short

LIFE IS SHORT by capthamm

Emma Swan and Killian Jones make the most of how short life truly is. **Inspired by the song Cecily Smith (Acoustic) by Will Connelly**

**WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH**

read on ao3 / 2378 words

”I’m just headed for a walk and probably a slushie.”

As she got herself ready, Emma decided that she’d rather get a disapproving look for buying another slushie than have to explain to Mary Margaret that she’s going on a date. She turns her head, avoiding said look, as she walks out the door.

Emma doesn’t go on dates but a drunken download of tinder and 3 right swipes later (Storybrooke’s bachelor scene leaving much to be desired), she finds herself walking towards the harbor. The closer she gets the more she realizes maybe telling MM that she was meeting up with a stranger wouldn't have been the worst idea.

Storybrooke is small and she reasons to herself that, if something nefarious did happen, they’d find her eventually.

Killian doesn’t seem to have a nefarious bone in his body… at least through tinder messaging. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Emma?

She walks up to the water’s edge, finding peace in the solid ground beneath her feet. While she’ll admit the view is nothing to scoff at, Emma doesn’t particularly see the draw to spending an entire day aboard a rickety boat or getting soaking wet at the beach. If it’s someone’s thing, more power to them, but she prefers solid, dry land.

She’s lost in her thoughts when she hears someone walk up behind. She turns to meet him and is pleasantly surprised at how accurate his profile picture is— let's just say Leroy wasn't 6’2” and blonde. Emma’s about to comment on his honesty when he puts out his hand expectantly, “Killian Jones and I hope you like sailing because I may or may not have bribed my brother to allow the use of our co-owned vessel for tonight’s date.”

He smiles so brightly and confidently that she can't help but get wrapped up in his warmth, and he’s so perfectly British that even Emma can’t resist swooning a bit. All of these things would’ve been great to comment on, but before she can form a coherent thought she hears herself say, “I hate sailing.”

Somehow his smile gets wider. “Well lucky for you you’re with Killian Jones. I’ve never met a lass I couldn’t win over with a taste of the sea.” He must sense Emma’s hesitation and continue, “Life is not the things that we do, but who we’re doing them with.”

The quote catches Emma off guard— poetic and eloquent in an overall casual conversation. Although, she’s pretty sure he could make the phonebook sound poetic with his accent. She nods slightly and gives him a soft smile before he leads her towards the ship with a wave of his hand.

It turns out sailing takes a lot more effort than Emma thought. She’s currently just enjoying a glass of wine on the faux leather bench behind the captain’s wheel, but Killian has been running rampant as he steers them out of the comfort of the harbor. She tried to tell him they could just stay docked, but he insisted on the view from the horizon line. While Emma is amused by his childlike wonder, she figures nothing will come of the night if he has to be this attentive to the ship the entire time. It’s that mindset which has her sink down in her seat and close her eyes. The steady rhythm of his breath and the slight rock of the waves could lull her to sleep in no time.

She wakes up to his fingers threading between hers and has to stifle the gasp which fills her throat. Her gut instinct is to clock him for being so forward, but when she turns to face him, his face is radiating joy and she can’t find it within herself. They spend the rest of the night like that, chastely intertwined while he details countless stories told by the constellations. “Upon seeing Andromeda bound to the rock, Perseus falls in love with her. Perseus kills the monster and they are married for many years. It is said that Perseus is Hercules’ grandfather. Now they are up there side-by-side with Cepheus and Cassiopeia as a reward from Athena for Perseus’ bravery.”

Emma hums contently and without thought before realizing her head has found a resting spot on Killian’s shoulder. Besides the odd question here and there, Emma has been more than happy just listening to him talk, but at the sound of her hum she feels him tense beneath her. “Am I boring you, love?”

She can’t help but chuckle to herself before somehow finding it in herself to be blatantly honest, “This is the best time that I’ve ever had.”

Even in the dark she can see the slight blush on his ears and the smile that forms. He gazed at her intently for a moment before standing up.

The sudden lack of his touch is startling.

“I suppose I should get us home, Swan.” She wants to argue that they aren’t children but when she checks her watch she realizes it’s almost midnight. It’s not like she’s going to turn into a pumpkin, but MM thought she was just going for a slushie and is probably pacing a hole into the floor.

Emma nods reluctantly and Killian smiles at her, softer this time, but the sparkle still present in his eyes. “Lucky for you, I own this beautiful vessel and we can take her out whenever you’d like.”

She wishes she could say she was shocked at her answer, “I'd like that.”

At the beginning of the night had you told Emma Swan that she’d be willingly agreeing to a second date on the water, she would’ve assumed you were from some alternate universe. As they say goodnight and he kisses her softly on the cheek, Emma is all too aware of the magnitude of the evening.

Her world has been changed forever by one Killian Jones.

. . .

The rest of their 57 years together are split almost evenly between time on land and time aboard that ship.

When Emma asked the kids for help with their dad’s final voyage, she expected a crowd— grandkids and spouses alike— so when they showed up alone with a picnic blanket and a star map, just like “old times”, she couldn’t help but let out another round of tears.

Now as she walks the rusting ramp, Percy helping her and Cassie jogging ahead to get started undocking, she swears she can still hear him laughing. It’s as though the fibers of the sails kept each moment spent beneath them tucked safely away and she can’t imagine a better place for him to rest.

Cassie expertly navigates to the exact spot Killian anchored them in that first night so long ago. They’ve sailed here many times, so it’s no wonder it’s second nature for her. After making sure the ship was sturdy, Percy and Cassie head below deck leaving Emma alone with her memories.

That first date was on a night not unlike the one she’s wrapped in now, but everything else has changed monumentally— very little of the lost girl who boarded that ship remains. She found herself in Killian Jones. His cheery disposition and outlook on the “adventure” that is life pushed Emma out of comfort zones she didn’t even realize she was living in.

The sound of her tear hitting the ceramic vase is what brings her back to the reality of the moment. She’s unsurprised to find her tear a bittersweet one, Killian always assuring her there was no use in spending what little time we have on this planet in despair.

“Oh, how much I miss you, Killian Jones.” She whispers softly to herself as she finds her footing and heads to the railing of the boat. She slowly uncaps the urn and carefully empties the contents into the sea her husband loved so deeply. She clutches the necklace he directed Percy to have made, telling their son that his love of the sea was only matched by his love of their mother. It’s a long chain, and etched into the pendent somehow made of his ashes is a quote from the night they met: Life is not the things that we do, but who we’re doing them with.

She kisses the necklace softly before looking to the stars, Perseus and Cassiopeia shining bright as ever, “Killian Jones, how fortunate am I to have done life with you.”

. . .

“It doesn’t matter why I need her, I just do.” He levels with Liam, slightly rolling onto his toes to meet his brother’s height.

“Not good enough. You never insist on taking the ship so there has to be a reason.” Liam steps back a tad before crossing his arms.

Killian is not getting away with this one.

“I have a date.” Liam’s eyebrows skyrocket into the curls covering his forehead. Killian practically winces waiting for the slew of questions which will no doubt follow, but finds his fear unfounded.

Liam simply nods before turning away, “Fair enough. She’s all yours.” Killian is left alone in their living room completely dumbfounded but also entirely grateful. Liam is fully aware that he hasn’t taken anyone out on the ship since Milah’s passing and his brother’s lack of probing tells Killian the gravity of the action is not lost on Liam.

He never doubted his brother would let him take their ship, but it would be like Liam to rent it out or take Belle out for a last minute excursion without so much as a second thought at Killian prior request.

Any other night, he wouldn’t have minded, but tonight feels important.

He’s only chatted with Emma for a week or two through Tinder— Ruby assuring him he needed to get laid before setting up his entire account for him. The pair hit it off almost immediately, but he could tell she was skittish so Killian let her lead despite his immediate fascination with the woman beyond her good looks.

His outlook on life shifted dramatically after losing his Milah. Many men would have spiraled into a deep depression and the bottom of several liquor bottles— Killian would be lying if he said he didn’t try that route at first— but one day it hit him that he’d been given (albeit in the worst way possible) a brilliant life lesson. Life is short. And that’s the first time everything changed for Killian Jones.

As he walks up to the dock and spots her long blonde hair, his feelings are startlingly similar to that night— the one where his life changed for the better. He takes a deep breath, shaking out any final nerves, and repeats his mantra to himself: life is short.

Typically his date falling asleep before they’ve even reached their anchor point would be discouraging, but to Killian he can’t help but find pride in the comfort Emma feels in his presence. He reasons with himself that surely she would’ve been consistently on high alert had he flown any red flags.

It’s that self talk that gives him the courage to sit beside her.

Bloody hell, is he glad he did.

They spend the night detailing myths of the cosmos and time scurries away from them. He feels every minuscule movement she makes as they lean against one another and Killian is a goner by the time they get to the Big Dipper. Not only is Emma Swan the most stunning woman he’s ever seen— thank god her profile was of the honest sort— but she’s also bloody brilliant. He revels in every syllable she says, each moment tattooing a little more of her into his heart.

He’s worried he’s fallen too deep too fast, when she agrees to a second date— on the water no less— and all nerves dissipate immediately.

Before he knows it, Perseus comes along and makes him a father— Cassie following closely behind. Of course there were more dates, a wedding, two houses, and some fights in between, but when he thinks of the compression of time between their first date and the birth of their son, he can’t help but be flabbergasted. Time slowed eventually, retirement and being a grandparent bringing a new sense of purpose to their shared life.

But life is short.

The cancer comes a lot like his love for her did— at full speed and in full force— and it’s course seemed to speed up time once more. Killian knew his time was nearing the end, but couldn’t find it in himself to be sad.

Why waste what little time we have in life in despair? (Emma swears he said that to her one day, but he’s pretty sure she taught him that.)

It’s a chilly May afternoon when he asks Percy to join him for lunch. His son has grown into a fine young man, a father himself three times over, and he couldn’t be more proud. While he’s also proud of Cassie, Killian knows Percy will do what needs to be done with little rebuttal of “don’t talk like that” and “you’re going to make it”. Cassie feels with her heart and soul, but Percy has always been rational and dutiful. He knows Percy will have the necklace made and he’s positive it will be more beautiful than even Killian could dream up.

Killian is slightly surprised when Percy goes to protest Killian’s reference to his own impending doom, but one tweak of his eyebrow and his son clamps his mouth shut. Percy listens carefully for the rest of the meal, taking notes and assuring Killian he’ll do what needs to be done.

Killian has no doubt.

When the day comes, Emma doesn’t leave his side— he never doubted that she would. She hadn’t for 57 years so why start now? He gets to say goodbyes, which is more than most and he goes out looking into his wife’s eyes— strong, ready, and full of love.

Killian couldn’t have pictured a life half as wonderful as the one he got to lead, and he attributes every ounce of that fate to the woman who he got to do it with.

Life is not the things that we do, it’s who we’re doing them with. - Michael Mitnick “Cecily Smith”

[s0022374a2film-blog]

Post R: CI Planning- Collated Quotes

Collated Relevant Quotes

In preparation for my Essay, I reviewed the quotes that I had found in each of my secondary sources, and identified those that would be most relevant in answering each of my three subtopics, and in proving or disproving my hypothesis.

My Subtopics:

1-Does Anderson have a prominent style and to what extent does this coincide with the features of post-modernism, thus affecting his portrayal as an auteur?

2 -How effectively is the theme of relationships portrayed in Anderson’s work?

3 -Anderson works with collaborators in almost all processes of creating his films, does this affect his standing as an auteur?

Quotes for Subtopic 1:

‘Equally, the need to create an entire world from scratch, right down to the finest detail, was something that suited Anderson. “it requires that you manufacture anything you think of”’ … ’”Then you can say: ‘It can look exactly like this and it would be nice if printed across it  is that’”’ [Source1: s & s]

‘There’s usually some can or box of very bright scarves, and you tie them on. Well, everybody does it their own way.’…’the costume department had prepared these special tie things, and I was a little upset. ”You guys come in, you take the things out of the boxes- and put them on your heads your way. You do what you do.” And they each had some very strange way of doing it’…’and their personalities come through in that.’ [Source2: TWAC]

‘the way they [Suzy and Sam] cling to their books and records as if they’re driftwood in a stormy sea was also drawn from the director’s childhood. “I thought these two kids ought to have these talismans. When I was about that age I had objects which were crucial to me. I had this bag of Pilot Fineliner pens and a Zulu necklace from the New Orleans Mardi Gras and I carried them everywhere.” [Source3: Empire Magazine]

‘Anderson’s visual style is also often self-reflexive, drawing attention to the very act of looking. He is renowned for using perfectly centred shots and symmetrical compositions [Source4: The Conversation]- post modernism

We could perhaps counter claims that Anderson is worthy of auteur status. As a visual director, the characters he writes and the stories they occupy can be seen as rather one-dimensional and wooden – though ironically this is arguably one of his tropes.Anderson’s cinema could be said to be a triumph of style over substance, full of allusions that do not go anywhere deep or meaningful [Source4: the conversation]

‘This unbroken take encapsulates Anderson’s unbroken aesthetic: precise décor, costuming, and lighting, plus intricately choreographed camera work, capturing a moment that’s serious but not self-serious, and interrupted by a burst of cheerful, childlike anarchy’. [Source5: TWAC:TGBH]

All you have to do is look at his movie to know that his is the most meticulous style,’ … ’You’re agreeing to be part of his style, and his style is very visually precise, with shots that are very composed’ [Source5: TWAC:TGBH]

‘A mess of memories from his school days – appearing as an otter in a production of Noye’s Fludde, fantasising about running away with a girl in his class – would ferment for decades before providing material for Moonrise Kingdom. [Source7: The Guardian]

‘When you have a voice as unique as Anderson’s, Brooks said, “the voice must be served; all other exit doors, marked ‘expediency’ or ‘solid career move’, are sealed over [Source 7: The Guardian]

‘Every Wes Anderson film showcases a specific colour palette which establishes the text’s tonal quality.’ … ‘The Darjeeling Limited: bright yellow and pastel blues and browns; Moonrise Kingdom: blues, yellows and maroon and The Grand Budapest Hotel: pinks, beige and pastel blues.’ The use of clothing intertwines with this too, all significant costumes conforming to a simple primary colour palette and, in their simplicity, contributing to the individuality of the text. [Source9: Wordpress]

‘Wes Anderson’s irony is undirected, suffusive, and ambiguous, coming across less as a humorous practice and more as a contemporary condition or mood. As such, it is especially appropriate to the early 21st century. [Source10: MTV the new Auteur]

Much of Anderson’s films, in keeping with the auteur theory, is a self-reflection of his childhood (Mayshark, 2007, p. 115). His stylistic choices and thematic elements of his original screenplays are portrayed through his lens as if he were a character. [Source11: Color theory]

Quotes for Subtopic 2:

It’s heartening to see the difference between their disastrous first attempt at the feather ceremony, in which Francis expresses disappointment that no-one followed his script, and the second, in which all three brothers improvise and no one judges the others. [Source2: TWAC]

Anderson’s films are concerned with home and family ties: the old ones we do our best to escape from, and the new ones we build for ourselves in an attempt to fill the gap [Source8: The Telegraph]

‘Anderson’s films are all about family structure, its absence, its dissolution, its rebirth, and, above all, its eccentricity’ [Source11: La Camera Crayola]

The Darjeeling Limited, the three sons on the quest to find their mother find themselves at their father’s funeral, with whom they were not close. … After his death, his sons both covet and resent the car because of the void it represents in their lives and how they could never live up to the esteem of the vehicle itself. ‘ [Source12: Color Theory]

Social structure is one such large focus, as well as familial structures and intergenerational bonds and rivalries. Much of his work focuses on parents’ relationships with their children.’ [Source12: Color theory]

Quotes for Subtopic 3:

Anderson explored what you might call Method screenwriting. With collaborators Jason Schwartzman and Roman Coppola, who co-scripted, he lived the film in advance, acting out scenes in promising locations. “We went on this voyage of our own, discovering and gathering all sorts of things that made their way into it.” [Source3: Empire Magazine]

On a production level, Anderson maintains a number of core collaborations, generally working with the same cast and crew.’…’Such collaborations work in favour of the auteur approach because they suggest that a great director is able to marshal the activities of a creative ensemble, and is able drive an artistic team to fulfil their own vision.’ [Source4: The Conversation]

‘On a Wes Anderson film, you come knowing what you’re in for; a lot of the actors knew exactly what to expect. All you have to do is look at his movie to know that his is the most meticulous style,’ … ’You’re agreeing to be part of his style, and his style is very visually precise, with shots that are very composed’ [Source5: TWAC:TGBH]

These films are no walk in the park to make. Yet you see how many people come back, time and again. [Bill Murray has appeared in all of Anderson’s films since Rushmore; there are many other regulars.] Wes has a theory that because making a film takes up such a chunk of your life, the process should be enjoyable.“’ – Jeremy Dawson [Source7: The Guardian]

Over the past 18 years Anderson has collected a surrogate family of collaborators: Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, Adrien Brody and Anjelica Huston are among them, and they mostly keep coming back for more.’… ‘Why? His consistency as a filmmaker may be a factor, which is another way of saying they pretty much know what to expect. Nothing in Anderson’s work looks as if it has been left to chance. [Source8: The Telegraph]

‘Anderson’s strategy to foreground the collective has, interestingly, buoyed his reputation as auteur’ [Source11: La camera crayola]

[heartoferebor]

A sword

Note: I changed the fight the scene from the end of 4x09 ever so slightly to make it a little more dramatic ;)

“Silver’s blade is cold at his throat but it doesn’t move. They are both frozen in their places, a grotesque statue of time’s twisted and cruel ways. Flint wonders if he is fast enough to push aside the blade and flip Silver over before he can react. He wonders if he truly wants to. He wonders if it’s worth it.”

“You’re slow!” Thomas laughs and steps around James, his blade touching his neck ever so lightly. “And dead now.”

James glares at him, trying to look offended. It doesn’t have the desired effect, however, just making Thomas laugh more loudly and shake his head when he offers James a hand to help him up from the ground.

“Still, not bad though. I never thought the navy could produce such savvy sword fighters.”

“And I never thought that spoiled little lordlings like you knew how to fight this well,” James grumbles as Thomas draws him up from the ground. Thomas throws a quick glance around but there is nobody in sight. With a little smirk he grabs James’ behind, ostensibly to help him dust it off. James barely suppresses a yelp. He still isn’t at all used to how playful Thomas can be at times.

“Say that again,” Thomas grins as he pats James’ behind a little harder than necessary.

“You’re impossible,” James shoots another glare at him that only causes Thomas to withdraw with a little laugh.

“Your fault for choosing a, ah what where your words again…’spoiled little lordling’ like me,” he winks. James groans. When Thomas is in one of his playfully teasing moods little can snap him out of it. In bed it usually ends with James kissing him just to shut him up, but that’s quite impossible here outside. For all his apparent softness, Thomas has a tongue as sharp as that of the old women at Borough Market.

“Maybe milord would care to use his sword rather than his mouth to speak for him then,” James states and immediately regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. He can feel his ears blushing bright red already and please, Thomas don’t say it-

“Oh, so that’s the way you like it?” Laughter is painted so brightly on Thomas’ face you’d think he’d explode any second. James just makes a slightly helpless noise but Thomas is, of course, merciless as always. He continues teasing him even as they take their positions for another fight, talking about swords, and ‘thrusting’ and mouths as gleefully as Miranda and he go over the newest court gossip. James thinks his face must be bright red by now and he wishes he could spontaneously combust.

Thomas’ laughter becomes intertwined with his sword and long after when he hefts the hilt he thinks of that afternoon and the barrage of terrible puns Thomas fired in his direction. Strange, that this would be one of the things he would remember the most.

***

The whetstone draws along Flint’s blade with a soft rasp. He knows he should be using sticks instead of real swords for fighting practice with Silver since every slash will dull the blade; but he had been unable to find anything of suitable weight and size and so the real weapons will have to make do. It’s not like they have endless amounts of time anyway.

“You’re teaching him the sword?” Madi sits down next to him without waiting for an invitation. Her fingers are deftly putting some of the pearls and stones back on her necklace that had snapped earlier.

“I am.” Flint continues his slow and steady movements, only pausing occasionally to trickle more oil on the whetstone and metal. Madi nods and the silence between them stretches until she breaks it again.

“Do you think you will have enough time to achieve anything useful?”

“I think so. He’s certainly improving.”

“Good.” Madi gives him a sideways glance and turns her eyes back to the necklace in her hands again. Her fingers keep working with the same surety as Flint’s; often when they both have work to do they end up doing it together and Flint has come to like those sessions that are mostly filled with amiable silence.

“Do you think he will ever have cause to use it against you?” Madi asks all of a sudden. Flint’s hands stop in their movements for a moment before they pick it up again.

“I hope not,” he says softly. He trusts Silver, more than he has trusted anyone ever since Miranda died. He doesn’t care what past the man might have or whether the future will spin their lives’ threads together somehow. He trusts him and that’s all that matters.

“They will all try to drive a wedge between you, you know.” Madi sounds as if she is talking to herself rather than to Flint. “Everyone knows that it is your alliance that keeps this movement alive. You two separate and it’s likely that we’re all dead, ground up between the wheels of violence here.”

“I know. I trust him.” It’s the first time he says those words out loud and truly means them.

“You truly do, don’t you.” Madi’s voice carries fascination. “Even when it comes to me?”

This finally makes Flint look up from his work, lowering both sword and whetstone. Madi meets his gaze without flinching, the question still painted all over her features. He knows that Madi is Silver’s weak point just like Thomas and Miranda had been his. Though both he and Silver would be destroyed over each other’s deaths they would manage to continue, somehow; but he feels that without Madi Silver would lose the wind in his sails before turning into a darker, more dangerous version than what he already is. Like Flint had after seeing the last remaining person he loved at the time murdered in front of his eyes. Would Silver place Madi’s happiness and life above everything else, even the success of their war? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to find out.

“I think he will keep his head on his shoulders no matter what happens. It wouldn’t be like him to forsake everything he stands for for the sake of one person, no matter how extraordinary,” he smiles a little at her, “he or she might be.”

Madi smiles back at his compliment, but her eyes are still troubled.

“Let’s hope you are right. Because I would not see the freedom of my people endangered either.”

Flint nods and takes up his task again, just like Madi next to him.

***

Their blades meet with a sharp sound and for a moment Flint wonders if he has trained Silver too well. Or is it simply because he himself is holding back? He is defending his life, true, but no more than that. He doesn’t attack, doesn’t press his advantage when it comes, only takes care not to die.

Silver has a wildness in his eyes when he attacks that makes Flint shudder; it’s like looking into a mirror, seeing all the violence and pain in his own soul laughing back at him with almost ghoulish delight. And yet, he cannot say a word, cannot beg for this to stop because he knows his path is the right one.

His bones are filled with weariness.

Silver attacks again, a slash to his right followed by a quick stab to his left, blocking Flint’s blade when it tries to catch the opening in between. Flint evades the following quick attacks, concentrating solely on Silver’s blade as he steps backwards bit by bit. The ground is treacherous here in the forests of skeleton island, roots and little brushes providing obstacles that can easily bring one off-balance.

Flint’s boot catches something and suddenly he has to fight for balance, losing it when Silver attacks again, fully aware of the opening it has given him. His back hits the ground with a thud, driving the air out of him and he can barely bring his sword up to stop Silver’s blade before it runs him through. Flint is disadvantaged now and he knows it. He can fight with all the ferocity that he wants, but Silver is no weakling himself and he knows Flint as well as no other, seeing right through every kind of ruse he tries to pull.

Their gazes meet for a moment and then Silver smashes Flint’s wrist to the ground, over and over until he has no choice but to let go of his sword. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear Thomas laughing, calling him slow again.

Lord, but he is tired.

Silver’s blade is cold at his throat but it doesn’t move. They are both frozen in their places, a grotesque statue of time’s twisted and cruel ways. Flint wonders if he is fast enough to push aside the blade and flip Silver over before he can react. He wonders if he truly wants to. He wonders if it’s worth it.

He looks up and his gaze meets Silver’s once more. Flint has always been good at reading Silver’s emotions from his eyes – only now it seems like even that ability has left him. Silver’s eyes are a whirlpool of emotions all mixed up until they seem to flow into each other, anger and worry, sadness and stubbornness, like a loud scream that echoes endlessly between Flint’s ears.

“Why the hesitation?” Flint asks and is surprised when his voice is barely more than a gruff whisper, as if he has been shouting for too long without knowing.

Silver just shakes his head, as if to chase away an annoying voice inside his mind. His hands on the blade are trembling and Flint thinks he can almost see his heart racing through his chest. And here he had thought he had a place somewhere in that heart.

Somewhere behind Thomas’ soft laugh is the memory of him teaching Silver to fight, them talking about his past, the slight shame in his voice when Silver admits that he was a nobody who only became a somebody when he rose through and beyond Flint’s shadow. A rise that has found its eclipse now, it seems.

“Do it,” Flint growls. By the light, he finally wants to rest.

Silver opens his mouth to answer when faint sounds ring through the forest, sounds like that of a ship exploding. They exchange another glance and suddenly Silver is off Flint, has drawn himself up and grabbed his clutch to walk towards the source of the noise as fast as he can. After a moment of stunned silence Flint slowly collects himself, stands up and follows him, his bones heavy with forbearance.

It seems like fate doesn’t want him dead just yet.

He only wonders what else he must endure before he can finally find peace.

[peelingtheskinoffmyface]

Don’t be a Crybaby!

Themes within popular music very rarely venture outside of the ‘soppy love song’ and the generic ‘lets party’, However floating somewhere in-between are bands and artists trying to break out of musical stereotypes and amongst the few is none other than twenty-one year old ‘The Voice’ contestant, Melanie Martinez and her debut album ‘Cry Baby’. Martinez is a unique artist whose concept at first glance appears innocent, however, Rolling Stone Magazine described her album as, ‘Twisted lullabies about love, danger and madness.’ The themes of the album when put under a microscope, are that of adolescence laced with the poison of serious adult issues. Upon the release of this album, Martinez produced a ‘picture storybook’ to be sold alongside the physical copy that relates and explains the songs from a childish ‘Dr. Suess’ point of view, complete with annoyingly patronising cliche rhymes which, in my opinion was a completely unnecessary selling point.

The order of the songs within the album are that of a very specific nature, the album and storybook begins with the first song titled Crybaby. Like the majority of her songs, Crybaby is brimming with the sound of toxic ‘toy’ instruments topped with a heavy beat helping to push her raspy youthful voice to the forefront, whilst singing lyrics that are based around twisted teenage naïveté which  pushes me to draw nostalgia from my own childhood, which is a pleasant aspect of her music. Melanie Martinez’s approach to her music is very much reflecting within her videos, the videos play the role of the storybook in a further visual sense, almost like a film. In the beginning of the Crybaby video, it shows the birth of the character (quite literally) which symbolises in a way, the birth of the entire album. Her videos and metaphors are very melodramatic which seems unnecessarily exaggerated and excessive as if she is trying to prove her dedication to this concept to her fans. As I described the videos before, they play out and come together like a film that describes the life of Crybaby, with Melanie Martinez pushing to be as edgy and ‘original’ as possible with her selling points, of course she had to release videos that stood out or were a little different. When a ‘Soap/Training Wheels Double Feature’ appeared on YouTube, I was shocked to see how far this artist was willing to go to push a concept, however I may diminish her efforts, her dedication and faith that lies with this alter ego is to be applauded. In my opinion Billboard Magazine couldn’t have described this dedication in a better way; ‘Cry Baby shows that Martinez is ­admirably ambitious, but her insistence on sticking to the album's central idea leaves her contorting into uncomfortable positions.’ Her persistence and dedication to this character, sends her on a spiral staircase through twisted, sinister themes perhaps approached the wrong way.

The next chapter of the story, paints the image of a family who appear to be picture perfect, however, behind closed doors all is not as it seems. The desperation for ‘Crybabies’ voice to be heard about her alcoholic mother, her cheating father and drug addicted brother is very real, real to the point, that me as a listener can feel empathy and you can’t help but relate to. Everybody has heard of or experienced issues that relate to alcoholism, unfaithfulness or drug abuse. As I described before, Martinez’s lyrics are a giant risk and the themes she grasps hold of are dangerous. I can’t help but think that as a debut album for this artist or any artist for that matter, lyrics that surround such dark themes shouldn’t have been touched. When an artist is breaking into the world, should they really strive for such a corrupted image, especially since Martinez approaches them with such fierce teenage angst, stop trying so hard to be a rebel and act your age. The song Sippy Cup is the first song on the album that insinuates anything sexual (apart from the fact she uses the word ‘sex’ multiple times) and with the concept of this album it sounds like these words shouldn’t be used at all, almost as if you heard a toddler on the street swearing, It doesn’t sound appropriate, with this being said, it distracts slightly from the true meaning of the song.

The first time I heard a song by this artist was when FX released the fourth season of the TV show ‘American Horror Story’ which season was about a ‘freak show’, the song released alongside this season was Melanie’s song ‘Carousel’. Carousel is a love song that tells the story of Crybaby falling in love but going ‘round and round’ in continuous circles. With references to the series with name dropping the actual show name ‘freak show’ and the famous magician ‘Houdini’, it is almost as if this song was never meant for this album. To me personally it feels like it doesn’t fit, put it this way, the song was written for the TV Show, then when not enough material had been written for the Crybaby album, the label in a way ‘thrown’ this song on as a last resort.

If there’s one thing Melanie Martinez isn’t short on, it’s ideas, however, this artist strives so much for originality yet, within the song ‘Pity Party’, Martinez has sampled music from Lesley Gore’s ‘It’s My Party’. She is an artist who has tried literally everything in her power to sell as much merchandise as possible by trying to be original, from the storybook and necklaces to the vinyl records and cassette tapes… Yes, you heard me right people, this album is available on cassette tape. With all these ‘extravagant’ selling points, she still felt the need to essential copy.. oops, sorry.. sample somebody else’s music. Apart from the sampling of this song, it’s a catchy single, and probably one of my favourite songs on the album as it isn’t about sex, adult issues or love, just a kids birthday party with nobody attending, which I’m pretty sure everybody has experienced before.

Alphabet Boy is one of the tracks on the album I can honestly say I enjoyed and everybody can enjoy. It begins with a rhythmic baby style babbling, however, this is very cleverly done as it also represents the phonetic alphabet. This song centers around Crybaby being interested in a boy who thinks he’s too clever to be with her as she is essentially just a ‘baby’, so she graciously tells him to ‘fuck off’. However, as clever as I think this song is like previously mentioned, when Melanie Martinez swears whilst holding this facade, it sounds inappropriate, if she wants a naive adolescent image, swearing in what is essentially the most innocent song on the album doesn't really make sense.

And then just when I thought the exaggerated selling points had been exhausted, along came another double feature film like music video. This one was titled ‘Tag, You’re It/Milk & Cookies Double Feature’, which following on from the other song titles, refer to something much more innocent but when truly focused on the lyrics they reveal something far more sinister which make me question well and truly if this was a smart move for Martinez. As spin.com says, ‘the double feature transforms them [the two songs] into a two-part story about Martinez’s devious, doll-like character and a big bad wolf in an ice-cream truck.I well and truly understand why these two songs have been connected in this film like way, they tell a story in two parts. The first ‘chapter’ of the story (Tag You’re It) sounds like the harmless nostalgic game we’re all familiar with, however, with lyrics like ‘Rolling down your tinted window, driving next to me real slow.’ it reveals a far more twisted meaning. The topic of child abduction and sexual assault is a giant risk and should be approached very warily, the way the lyrics and the meaning intertwine it’s almost mocking the seriousness of these issues. I fully understand the approach and by now we all fully understand that you’re dedicated to keeping up with this alter-ego, the lyrics are from the ‘big bad wolfs’ perspective and how abducting this little girl is nothing but a game, but tackling this issue in such a juvenile way and comparing something of such seriousness with a game of ‘tag’ wasn’t a smart move. I’m all for raising awareness of serious issues and congratulations to let people know you support the victims, but don’t mock them just to sell a couple of albums. In the first half of the double feature, we’re introduced the character of the Big Bad Wolf who later on abducts Crybaby just like a wolf on the prowl. As if, the sadistic nature of the song wasn’t enough, the video is just the cherry on top of the cake, with scenes of the wolf sleazily waving at a school bus full of children and Crybaby being picked up, taken and placed in the back of the wolfs van, how refreshing. The second ‘chapter’ entitled Milk & Cookies continues the story of the abduction and how Crybaby escapes from the wolf by poisoning him with her ‘Milk & Cookies’, well, however, the themes may be toxic, this song cleverly counts from one to twelve as it progresses, almost as if she’s attempting to play a game of ‘What Time Is It Mister Wolf’ and leaving us in anticipation, waiting for the big ‘dinner time’ moment, which doesn’t seem to arrive (Such a missed opportunity). It is said that these two songs are what affect Crybaby substantially, they make her truly realise how insane she is and teaches her how to embrace it…Finally, a metaphor that I agree with and can get on board with. When an event that impacts you greatly, it can change you as a person and that is exactly what is being exhibited here. Crybaby gets abducted and sexually assaulted and when she escapes from the big bad wolf, she’s a changed person, almost as if she developed psychosis.

Once Crybaby goes through her ‘character development’ then comes along the song ‘Pacify Her’, which is the first song that takes place after her incident, She explores the territory of mind games within relationships and decides she’ll go for a person who is already taken. I’ve got to hand to Martinez, all the songs in this album are very well linked and make sense as a collective but also alone, the story that plays out during ‘Pacify Her’ takes on a ‘father-like-daughter’ mentality, flashback to ‘Dollhouse’ and ‘Mom, please wake up, Dad’s with a slut’ where her father was caught cheating on his wife, and now Crybaby herself is theoretically ‘the other woman’. This is perhaps the one thing that makes me believe she slipped up on keeping up with her alter-ego, a child of the age she’s trying to play would never be in this situation and singing about it in this way doesn’t really make sense.

As i mentioned before the ‘Tag You’re It/Milk & Cookies Double feature’ is the trigger for Crybaby to realise how crazy she is and finally accepting it, the song ‘Mad Hatter’ is truly the song that reflects and prove my suspicions on Crybaby’s psychosis. This song lies in the world of Alice and Wonderland and the weird and wonderful happenings that happen. My favourite lyric of the entire album rests in the midst of this song, ‘Getting drunk with the blue caterpillar’, not for the metaphor, not for the relation to the alter-ego but purely because of the quirkiness. This song makes you ‘curiouser’ as to what goes on inside this characters head, truthfully, which I like. This song is very much the most innocently un-innocent, Its adolescent nature towards Alice in Wonderland is twisted, which I enjoy very much. Well played Martinez, turning something so naive into a twisted fairytale.

Finally, here comes my favourite song from Crybaby, and that is ‘Mrs. Potato Head’. I genuinely think naming a song about plastic surgery, ‘Mrs. Potato Head’ is very clever. Plastic surgery is one of the themes that’s expressed within this album that doesn’t make you take a step back and question the artists motives. I believe the link between real life and this alternate reality is very intelligent. It says, if you fall in love with somebody and they want you to change, will they love you even if you change, or are you essentially changing for nothing? It also raises awareness to the young adult audience, that plastic surgery is not something that should be messed with and is risky. The build up to the chorus has the words ‘Baby soft skin turns into leather’, which I always admire, it’s addressing a younger audience and how growing up is a real and natural thing and it happens to everybody. The terminology used within this song is also very clever with words like ‘cut and paste’ is easily relatable to the younger audience making me wonder if the message has well and truly gotten through to people.

Overall, as much as it seems that I have hated on Martinez’s work, I admire her. I admire her courage and bravery to approach such tender topics in such a heinous way. Her adolescence and naivety is what makes this album what it is. I may have defeated her efforts as an artist, but I do enjoy her album, but in my personal opinion, I believe that this album is a good album, however I disagree with this being an artist’s debut album, this shouldn’t be the image and themes that an upcoming artist should introduce to the world. With all due respect Miss. Martinez, you did good, very good, but perhaps not good enough.

Blogs Mentioned: http://www.spin.com/2016/08/melanie-martinez-tag-youre-it-milk-and-cookies-video/ http://www.billboard.com/articles/review/6671140/melanie-martinez-cry-baby-album-review http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/10-new-artists-you-need-to-know-september-2015-20150925/melanie-martinez-20150925