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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

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Perfect Match - ao3

Pairing: Wen Ruohan/Nie Mingjue

Summary: In his youth, Wen Ruohan had heard romantics dream aloud about finding a dao companion gifted from the heavens – a perfect match, suitable in every way; willingly cultivating with such a match would be three times as effective as what could be obtained from even the most ruthlessly extracted cauldron.

He’d always assumed it was an exaggeration. If not an exaggeration, then at minimum it was something that was simply irrelevant to him.

He had underestimated the generosity of the heavens.

art link!

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It’s as if Meng Yao is afraid that people won’t know the rumors about his mother, Wen Ruohan thought to himself as he swirled some wine in his bowl and wondered if it was possible for the closest thing the cultivation world had to a god on earth to die of sheer boredom. For the son of a Great Sect, you’d think he’d be a better host.

Wen Ruohan had done this to himself, of course.

Strictly speaking, as the emperor of the cultivation world, he didn’t have to be here. No one could force him to go attend tedious banquets thrown in his honor, and they certainly couldn’t force him to stay at them – he’d endured countless of these sorts of events when he was still only Sect Leader Wen, but that had been for a reason. But by now he’d conquered all of the cultivation world that there was to conquer, all of the other so-called ‘Great Sects’ having either bowed down their proud heads to become his vassals or else been destroyed, and, with the use of all their treasures, he’d strengthened himself to such a degree that no one on earth could even think of challenging him, not even with an army. There was nothing that could make him do anything.

And yet, here he was, still playing politics. He could lie to himself and pretend to justify it – an emperor that failed to maintain his power regularly would not have it long, just as a swordsman who allowed his sword to rust would soon not deserve the title – but in reality it was little more than a bad habit. It wasn’t as if he were especially worried about needing to preserve the position for his useless sons…

“More wine, your majesty?” Meng Yao said, appearing at his side just as Wen Ruohan finished the bowl he had. He was irritatingly good at predicting when he’d be needed. It was somewhere between unnerving, annoying, and just plain funny – he must have been a servant in a prior life.

Wen Ruohan waved his hand in permission, and even did Meng Yao the honor of waiting until he was gone to roll his eyes.

Everyone knew that the current Sect Leader Meng was almost certainly Jin Guangshan’s bastard, no matter how faithfully his mother wore her hair up like a married woman or insisted that she’d lost her heart to some rogue cultivator, married him secretly, and then immediately thereafter become widowed. It was equally well known that this perfumed flower of the cultivation world had, in her youth, been greatly admired, the blossoming center of attention surrounded by a thronging array of would-be swains, and the rumors suggested that she had been very popular indeed.

If she hadn’t been the daughter of the leader of a Great Sect, everyone would have called her a whore.

Well, they still all thought she was a whore. They were just more careful in saying as much.

As far as Wen Ruohan was concerned, if he’d been in that situation, he would’ve done whatever he could to shake off the rumors and stand on his own two feet – to shut people up through his strength. But perhaps because Meng Yao was not an especially powerful cultivator, no matter how talented he was at mimicking techniques, he didn’t do that.

Rather the opposite.

He was obsequious to the extreme, the humble smile on his face in no way interfering with the way that he dug out vices out of other men like a pig hunting for truffles. His sect had always had a reputation as a purveyor of luxuries, but he took it to new extremes: if it wasn’t wine for the drunkard, it was art for the aesthete, rarities for the connoisseur, countless intoxications for those bold or foolish enough to dare – and for the rest of them, well…

Who didn’t like beauty?

There were women of every shape and description, each tempting and appealing in their own way, and alongside them there were men, too, each more gorgeous than the next. Lithe or fat, muscular or soft, handsome or beautiful, distinctive or changeable – all blessed with talents of every description, singers and musicians and dancers and painters and poets.

And each and every one of them available for the asking.

Meng Yao’s mother might have been a whore, but her son had turned himself into procureur in his bid for power. It had worked – Meng Yao was one of the most influential vassals in Wen Ruohan’s domain, especially ever since his erstwhile father Jin Guangshan had so tragically died in an orgy his bastard son had undoubtedly arranged just for him – and Wen Ruohan could usually respect someone who was willing to go to any length and plumb every depth for power, but he found the whole thing to be more than a little shabby. Meng Yao simply had no integrity, no matter how cultured or refined he pretended to be; he was a soulless, power-grubbing little worm, and it was almost funny to see him try time and time again to find some weakness he could use to hook Wen Ruohan.

Wen Ruohan wasn’t stupid enough to allow himself to actually fall for Meng Yao’s little ploys, of course. Who could say how many of Meng Yao’s whores were also spies and assassins? Who knew how many heads they’d claimed for him, how many secrets they’d stolen? Who knew how many seemingly innocent brothels throughout Wen Ruohan’s empire actually belonged to him and his Nameless?

Wen Ruohan might be nearly a god, all those beneath him merely ants, but even a god didn’t want to be bitten on the toe. He was here to play politics, that old bad habit he’d formed so long ago, and he could play it far better than Meng Yao could – it was fairly obvious from the way Meng Yao all but doted upon him that he desperately wanted to find his emperor’s weakness, wanted him to have a weakness, and it was equally clear that he would keep probing and checking until he’d found one. If Wen Ruohan wanted a moment’s peace, it would be better to simply create one and let Meng Yao think that he’d won, lulling him into a false sense of security.

That was why he was really here tonight, he supposed. Meng Yao was simply too useful to be gotten rid of as an annoying pest, or he usually was; it was only that his usefulness had been impaired by his single-minded focus on his need to have (or believe that he had) control over everyone. Once Meng Yao thought he had something on Wen Ruohan, he might stop focusing all his efforts on that and turn instead to doing what he was supposedto be doing, which was to help Wen Ruohan manage the affairs of his empire. Meng Yao was despite it all a very good minister, however annoying his habits; he was worth preserving if it were possible. And it wasn’t as if bedding some pretty thing were really that much of a chore, even though Wen Ruohan had more or less given it up as a hobby around the time he’d set aside his last few wives…

“We have some special entertainment for you tonight, your majesty,” Meng Yao said in his ear, popping up again. He was incredibly persistent, and probably thought he was a lot more subtle than he actually was. “I think you’ll find something that will appeal to you.”

Wen Ruohan took another sip of wine and smiled noncommittally. “Perhaps,” he said, not bothering to hide his skepticism. It’d be all the more satisfying for Meng Yao if he thought he’d gotten under Wen Ruohan’s skin despite all best efforts to resist him – it would appeal to his vanity. “You’ll have to show me something truly extraordinary for that to happen.”

He’d pick one of the musicians tonight, he thought to himself, whichever was the most aggressive player. One of his former friends had been a musician, especially sharp and forceful despite his otherwise conservative orthodoxy; Wen Ruohan would enjoy the reminder of that, even if the only other thing he got out of the entire event was likely to be some garden variety physical pleasure and a cultivation boost so miniscule as to be scarcely worth mentioning.

With that decided, he settled back to watch the show.

It started about the way he expected, a bevy of musicians and veiled dancers, captivating and opulent, pouring out of the doors to a thrilling swell of music. Meng Yao had outdone himself this time in arranging it, at least – it was a feast for the eyes and the ears, impossible to say whether the swirls of the nearly translucent yet vividly colored veils and scarves were more beautiful than the delicate tinkling of the bells they wore upon their ankles. Naturally they were all talented, and beautiful, and there were even greater a diversity than normal; no doubt Meng Yao wanted to cover all his bases to make sure he ensnared his target.

Bored, Wen Ruohan started looking through the musicians to find the least insipid of the lot, only before he could find one, there was a sudden change: the music abruptly dropped to almost nothing and the dancers split like a field of wheat in the face of a falling scythe, leaving only a single dancer standing in the middle of the room, alone.

Wen Ruohan’s gaze, like everyone else’s, was irresistibly drawn to that final figure.

It was a man, interestingly enough – normally the role of the Queen of the Flowers went to a woman – and an unusually tall one, too. At first Wen Ruohan’s eyes refused to admit it, insisting that those broad shoulders and narrow waist and long legs were merely proportional, the seeming height merely a trick exaggerated by clever choices in clothing or the glittering gold and emeralds that were draped upon him, but a second glance revealed that that was a lie: the man was actually just that tall, a statute of a god carved out of single piece of perfect jade – he was standing perfectly still, unmoving, with his eyes closed. His body was held in the exquisite first pose of a dance, that moment of breathless anticipation, knowing that something would happen very soon, in the next moment, in the next heartbeat…

The music started up once more.

The dancer began to move.

His hands went to his chest and twisted in…a hand seal?

Something that had been on the table behind him rose into the air. It was a saber, not a sword, that potent and powerful weapon, the symbol of inexorable might and strength, and it was an exceptionally large one. One would say too large, even, only that was in comparison to a mere normal man, not to the god descended to the earth that wielded it now – wielded it not in battle but in dance, the saber spinning around him, the array and spiritual energy that guided its movements a shining gold that perfectly echoed the golden chains that spun as the man did, perfectly controlled, a partner and equal and yet wholly under his mastery.

Mastery…

Wen Ruohan fancied himself a master of men, and that meant he’d long ago refined his ability to judge a man’s talent by a simple demonstration of his skills. He could see at a glance that this dancer was not merely following a practiced routine, pulling the strings of the saber as if that of a puppet; the dance was free and unrestrained, growing ever wilder even as the dancer’s stern face remained unmoved, eyes still closed, lips slightly apart as he breathed, and the strength of his cultivation talent was…

Breathtaking.

That saber was powerful enough to practically be a guai in its own right, and yet it followed the dancer as slavishly as a dog, singing in the air as it reshaped the traditional forms of saber, that deadly whirlwind that had been the last sight of so many men, into something meant only for its beauty. It competed with the dancer’s veil, now fallen away from his face and turned into a scarf for the dance, and the dancer let the ebb and flow of the saber’s spiritual energy to flow through him to become the next steps in his dance.

It was beautiful. It was powerful. It was –

His.

Wen Ruohan was suddenly seized by an overwhelming sense of familiarity as he watched. He knew those steps, could guess the next one before the dancer’s limbs moved to form that shape – it was the ideal complement to his own cultivation, the burning yang fire like the midday sun in the sky above; it was the sun-warmed ground, stable in foundation, reflecting the flame back up to him. Wen Ruohan didn’t know why or even how, but this dancer’s natural movements were perfectly in tune with his own. He shaped spiritual energy the same way, he let it flow into his meridians in the same way, and turned it into something beautiful and offered it back, laying it before Wen Ruohan as a gift meant just for him.

The dancer spun in place, the translucent green veil wrapping around him, the saber lingering beside him, and behind him was the great Wen seal of the sun, hung up in celebration of the hall’s honored guest.

Wen Ruohan had never seen anything so beautiful.

Or, at least – not until the very next moment, when the music that had been accompanying the dance slowly faded away, the dance coming to its natural conclusion, and the dancer opened his eyes.

The sheer power contained in that gaze was scorching.

“Is this more to your majesty’s liking?” Meng Yao murmured, suddenly there by Wen Ruohan’s side once more. His voice was smug and satisfied as a well-fed cat, convinced of its innate superiority. “If your majesty wants to do more than just look, you need only say…”

Wen Ruohan held up his hand, shutting Meng Yao up for the moment as he watched: the dancer was saluting the audience, his back straight as a mountain, unyielding and proud, and then he strode away with his head held high, a chi or even two taller than all those mere mortals that flocked around him as the other dancers swept back onto the floor of the main hall, resuming the interrupted dance sequence that had once before seemed exciting and wonderous to the eye, before it had been so utterly eclipsed.

“…your majesty?”

Wen Ruohan had promised himself that he wouldn’t fall for Meng Yao’s wiles. He’d promised himself that he’d look only for a musician that reminded him of a friend that was long ago lost, a way to pass the time without committing himself; he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t give in, that he would risk nothing of himself – not his attention, and certainly not his heart – for some politician’s ploy.

He was the emperor of the cultivation world.

He was a god.

He deserved everything good under the sun.

“You may send him to me,” he said, giving in to his own desires. “Tonight.”

He didn’t even care when Meng Yao smiled in triumph.

He would have thought that he’d find the man kneeling, but he wasn’t.

Wen Ruohan returned to the quarters that had been provided to him later that night, later than he would have liked but still early enough that the banquet was still going strong as the guests of the Meng sect turned their attention, and appetites, to self-gratification. Meng Yao accompanied him, unsurprisingly, and twittered in his ear the entire time about how delighted and gratified he was to finally find something to suit his emperor’s rarefied tastes. His self-congratulatory crowing was almost enough to make Wen Ruohan want to forget the whole thing.

Almost.

Every time he opened his mouth to tell Meng Yao that maybe his services weren’t required after all, he remembered that extraordinary dancer, the unyielding steel in his gaze and the cultivation so perfectly matched to his own, and the words turned to ash on his tongue. Wen Ruohan was emperor, that much was true; his power was virtually unrestrained. But virtually did not mean wholly – it would be one thing once he had met that nameless dancer and officially inducted him into his harem, but until then, Meng Yao could make the dancer disappear as easily as flipping over his hand and there would be nothing Wen Ruohan could do about it.

It wouldn’t be long now, he reminded himself. And nothing said that he couldn’t turn on Meng Yao later, after he’d obtained what he desired.

That dancer…

Wen Ruohan felt as if he were going crazy. More than that, he felt almost as if he were outside his own body, calmly observing as he descended into irrationality – he wanted the man, wanted him desperately. He wanted him, wanted that gaze upon him; his entire body was alight with reckless desire, maddening him, as if he had never wanted anything or anyone before. It was ridiculous. He was over a century old, had married five wives, had taken dozens if not hundreds of lovers…

The thought of not having that dancer made him want to commit acts of violence. Personally.

He hadn’t bothered to personally take up battle since probably before that dancer was even born. What was wrong with him?

Wen Ruohan arrived at his rooms, expecting to find Meng Yao’s nameless dancer kneeling in anticipation of serving his emperor, but he was standing, instead, right in the middle of the room. Wen Ruohan had half a moment to think to himself that it suited the dancer better – that the sort of personality that had such strength of will, such character, would not bend so easily as that, that his submission would be won by those who deserved it and none other – before Meng Yao’s lips were flattening in displeasure and he was stepping forward, barking, “On your knees!”

The dancer stared at him, pressing his own lips tightly together.

After a moment, he slowly, painfully slowly, began to bend his knees.

Wen Ruohan waved his hand to dismiss the order.

“As you were,” he said, secretly delighted by this show of steel. “What’s your name?”

He realized a moment later that this was a stupid question. Meng Yao’s whores (and spies) had a reputation in the cultivation world: they were called ‘the Nameless’ because of the way that they would answer to any name their client wanted. Perhaps the hidden cards in Meng Yao’s sleeves, the spies pretending to be common girls, would say their own names, but there was no doubt about this dancer, who Meng Yao had presented to Wen Ruohan personally. His answer was therefore predetermined, a coquettish ‘whatever you like’ –

“I’m surnamed Nie,” the dancer said. “My courtesy name is Mingjue, characters for ‘bright’ and ‘jade’.”

Wen Ruohan could practically feel the steam coming off of Meng Yao next to him.

“I see,” he said, pretending towards neutrality when in fact he was amused to no end. “That will be all, Meng Yao.”

Meng Yao recovered swiftly, as expected, and his departing words were urbane and polite, perfectly chosen. If he was a little stiff when he retreated, it was nothing that most people would notice.

Wen Ruohan waited for him to leave, then casually sketched out a privacy array on the door with his cultivation alone – he had long ago passed the need to use the physical gestures to guide his spiritual energy, particularly with arrays. If Meng Yao or any of his people tried to look or listen in on them, they would see and hear nothing, and there would be a small backlash besides.

He didn’t use the array often. The head of Wen Ruohan’s personal guard had objected to it, arguing that it would provide the perfect opportunity for an assassination attempt; Wen Ruohan had never paid much mind to him, thinking to himself that he was so very near a god that it would be difficult to succeed in such an attempt even if someone did get in while he was sleeping, but he also had never minded being watched, so he assented and by and large had abandoned use of the array. But now, foolishly, now that he had invited someone into the room with him – and not just someone, but one of Meng Yao’s Nameless, known as much for their fondness for spying and even assassinations as for their sexual skills – to use that array now…it was utter foolishness.

It didn’t matter. This Nie Mingjue, whoever he was, could try to kill him if he liked. It wouldn’t phase Wen Ruohan for a moment; Nie Mingjue was powerful, but he was nowhere near a match for Wen Ruohan. It wouldn’t even change his mind about wanting to take Nie Mingjue into his harem…

Truly, Wen Ruohan reflected wryly, he must have lost his mind. A lesser man than he would have started to wonder if Meng Yao had put some sort of aphrodisiac into his wine, but Wen Ruohan had long ago immunized himself to such tricks, and anyway he’d already checked – there was nothing like that.

The problem was clearly all in his head.

Once they were alone, Nie Mingjue relaxed minutely. If his dispute with Meng Yao was a façade meant to make Wen Ruohan lower his defenses, his acting skills were absolutely top notch.

He brought his hands together in a salute, his every motion flawless and perfectly controlled.

“Greetings to his majesty,” he said, his voice clear and ringing. “May you live forever!”

Wen Ruohan smiled.

Normally, he preferred people to kneel before him – a salute was a greeting for equals, and he had no equals – but he was magnanimous, willing to overlook it in this instance.

There would be time for kneeling later.

“Nie Mingjue,” he said slowly, savoring the taste of the name on his tongue. “I am surprised that I haven’t heard of you before. You’re clearly a cultivation talent to be reckoned with.”

That was the one oddity, he supposed, about the whole thing. Even if Meng Yao had realized that sending someone with actual powerto Wen Ruohan’s bed was the way to go, it wasn’t as if there were that many truly skilled cultivators out there that hadn’t already been snatched up by some sect or another. He should have already seen Nie Mingjue out on some night-hunt, making a name for himself, and yet – nothing.

He supposed that it was distantly possible that Nie Mingjue was Meng Yao’s treasured pearl, a secret card he’d left himself for times of dire need, but that seemed unlike what he knew of the man’s personality. Meng Yao longed to be respected, even as his own actions brought him only shame; if he had a truly powerful cultivator in his hand, he wouldn’t be wasting him as an assassin.

“My father was a rogue cultivator,” Nie Mingjue said, simple and straightforward – it was a refreshing change after all the coy whores and even more coy politicians that Wen Ruohan had endured the company of. “He brought me up to follow his way – to fight evil no matter where it lives, and to disclaim credit for it as just another worldly shackle.”

“Few men would follow such a strict way, that gains them no power.”

“The purpose of power is to better the world,” Nie Mingjue said. “Of what use is fame?”

He was meeting Wen Ruohan’s gaze dead on, which very few people dared to do any more – which very few people could do, any longer. Wen Ruohan was simply too powerful, his gaze scorching; the more poetic people had claimed he was anointed by the sun in the sky, chosen to bear and channel its terrible might, but in reality it was simply his high level of cultivation leaking out to pressure all those around him until they shied away instinctively.

But this mysterious Nie Mingjue, who might be here to kill him, seemed completely unmoved.

Wen Ruohan found himself prowling the room, circling Nie Mingjue, who simply turned his head to follow him for as long as he could. A dancer’s balance – or a swordsman’s.

“There are many uses to fame,” Wen Ruohan said idly, running his eyes up and down that glorious body, all on display and all for him. “There are more types of power than merely cultivation – a sect can do what a rogue cultivator cannot.”

And, of course, an emperor could do still more.

“My ancestors decided long ago not to share our cultivation method with others,” Nie Mingjue said calmly. “If I were to join a sect, I would be obligated to either abandon the path of my ancestors, which I am unwilling to do, or else share in what I know, which I also refuse. Sects do not take kindly to such restrictions.”

That was true. “What about starting your own?”

“Who would join a sect where you could not learn the sect leader’s style?” Nie Mingjue shrugged. “I only know what I know. I do not feel the lack of it.”

Wen Ruohan smiled once more, though it was only a curve of his lips and nothing in his eyes, utterly humorless.

“Now, I find that hard to believe,” he said. “People who do not feel a lack seldom become whores.”

Nie Mingjue blushed.

He actually blushed.

Wen Ruohan marveled at the sight of it – he hadn’t met anyone who could blush in years. They’d all had it trained out of them. And this was wholly involuntary as well, he could tell: the blood had pooled in Nie Mingjue’s cheeks and ears, despite his obvious (to Wen Ruohan) attempts to suppress it.

“I did not –” Nie Mingjue started to say, then hesitated. “I am not a – a – that is, I only wanted – forgive me, let me start again.”

Wen Ruohan nodded in permission.

(He wanted to throw Nie Mingjue down on the bed and fuck him until he cried and begged for mercy. Someone as reactive as that, who could blush like that – he thought he’d be able to do it, too.)

“I came here to meet you.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows arched up. “Me?”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “Sect Leader Meng is known to have your ear. I asked him if there was a way that I could be introduced to you, and he said this would be the only path likely to succeed in gaining your attention. You have enough talented cultivators to last you a lifetime; if I simply went to recommend myself to you, I would be waiting for an eternity.”

It was a good story, Wen Ruohan thought. A pity he didn’t believe it.

It was just too convenient. A proud rogue cultivator, so desperate to get Wen Ruohan’s attention that he’d sold himself to Meng Yao just for a chance – and based on that story, and his denial of being a whore, he would presumably also present himself as chaste, maybe even virginal. Wen Ruohan would be able to be the only one who had ever had him…

Wen Ruohan didn’t deny that the thought made his heart tremble with rapacious joy, but things that were too good to be true often were. The likelihood that this Nie Mingjue was in fact a talented assassin was only increasing.

“He taught you that dance?” Wen Ruohan asked, allowing his skepticism into his tone.

Nie Mingjue looked a little puzzled. “No, it’s a saber dance. I picked it up on one of my travels – I enjoy most things involving movement, so I know all sorts of sword styles and dances…it usually involves more clothing.”

Wen Ruohan devoutly hoped it didn’t.

True, the eroticism of Nie Mingjue’s dance had been in large part the precision and elegance of his motions, the total control he had over every last gesture – the way the saber danced back, the way the veil fluttered around him, the twist and turn of every angle…but it certainly wasn’t all from that.

“Does it?” Wen Ruohan asked. “Are you sure?”

“…the way I do it, it does.”

All but an admission that it had originally been an erotic dance in nature, refined into a saber art, then turned back into a dance. No wonder Nie Mingjue was so good at it – he must have invented most of it in its current form himself.

Assuming his story was accurate, of course. Wen Ruohan mentally scolded himself for forgetting, even for a moment – simply because he wanted it to be true, suddenly violently desperately wanted it to be true, didn’t make it so.

“I see,” he said, and prowled closer. Nie Mingjue didn’t flinch. He didn’t even tense up, instinctively nervous the way most people were around a predator – not even the subconscious cues were there. He was genuinely not afraid. He was magnificent. “And why is it that you wanted to see me so badly?”

Nie Mingjue hesitated.

“Come now. You’ve come all this way already. Do you now fear to take the final step?”

“I am not afraid,” Nie Mingjue said firmly, and Wen Ruohan believed him. “I only ask your majesty’s indulgence in bringing up a subject that may be unpleasant to him.”

Wen Ruohan would have listened anyway, enraptured by Nie Mingjue as he was, but now he was genuinely curious as well.

“I’m listening,” he said, promising nothing.

Some men might have been deterred from making an inconvenient request without the assurance of their safety afterwards, but as Wen Ruohan had expected, Nie Mingjue was not among them.

“My ancestral bloodline is beset with…a particular illness, of which there is no cure,” Nie Mingjue said. “Before my father passed away from it, he informed me that he had once met someone who had thought of a way to mitigate the effects, allowing those who have it to live longer lives, and reduced suffering.”

Wen Ruohan tilted his head to the side, urging Nie Mingjue to continue. Such a story was interesting and in no way concerning to him, meaning that the ‘unpleasant’ part of it must lie in the inevitable question that it suggessted: if Nie Mingjue’s father had known of such a palliative, why hadn’t he taken it himself?

“The person who knew of the treatment was of the Gusu Lan.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes immediately narrowed, his fists clenching; he even stopped prowling, and his aura became dark and oppressive, his instantly ignited temper making the air around him thick with menace.

Still, Nie Mingjue did not flinch.

Still –

Maybe he really is telling the truth, Wen Ruohan thought, and somehow that thought broke through the brewing storm that was his usual reaction to people poking his sore spot. Surely he wouldn’t bring themup if Meng Yao were coaching him through his lines – I’ve had people executed on the spot for less.

Gusu Lan…

The Gusu Lan sect had been one of the Great Sects. They had been pristine and pure, above the dust of the mortal world; they were among the most conservative and orthodox sects, deeply devoted to their rules, their musical cultivation, and their life of thoughtful contemplation.

Wen Ruohan had always known that he would never be able to make them bend their necks willingly. He had sent his son to teach them a lesson – he had burned their beautiful Cloud Recesses, stolen away their precious books, chased their heirs away into a desperate flight. It had been a brilliant strategic move: the rest of the world had been horrified and yet paralyzed, unable or unwilling to take any action to avenge them, and fear had driven even more sects into his grasp, knowing as they did that there was no one else they would be able to shelter with. Who could they appeal to if such a thing happened to them – the Jin, who only thought of profit and their own benefit? The Meng, who were always scheming? The Jiang, whose sect leader was easygoing to a fault, more inclined to think about his own willful desires than the unpleasant hard work of trying to unite the sects?

There was no unifying voice to rally them, and without that, they had all started to fall.

One by one, and then many, and then the momentum built in on itself, the cultivation world Wen Ruohan’s for the taking.

It had been a brilliant move. Attacking any of the other sects wouldn’t have had anywhere near such a crushing psychological impact – the other sects were more daring, more inclined to take wins and losses, but the Lan were always there, the solid foundation that seemed unassailable.

It had been a brilliant move.

It had been worth it.

Even when, after, the Lan sect had picked themselves back up, dusted themselves off, and sent word to the Nightless City that for the sake of peace they would not seek vengeance for what had been done to them, but neither would they forgive it. They locked themselves up in their valley and abandoned the world, returning to the ways of their monk ancestor.

Wen Ruohan had not expected that.

His former friend had been a Lan, as stern and strict as any of them. Wen Ruohan had thought of a thousand explanations for him, meant to win him back when it was all said and done – he had needed to attack the Cloud Recesses to win his throne and his empire, but he had taken care not to go too far. The sect heirs had been allowed to flee, unharmed, and the casualties of the attack were kept to a minimum. Some buildings were burned, but not the most precious or most sacred ones. The sect books were taken, not destroyed; he had always planned to offer to give them back.

He had been refused.

Not just refused. Ignored.

The Gusu Lan sect were only nominally part of his empire, even if all their former holdings now belonged to him. It had been a matter of some great frustration to Wen Ruohan, and yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to knock down their walls once more, breaching their privacy – he had known, he supposed, that doing so would have been the end of all hope, to the extent any hope still existed.

Instead, he had added the Gusu Lan to his taboos, forbidding all who entered his presence to mention them or else face dire consequences.

Yet – Nie Mingjue spoke of them now.

Meng Yao would never have authorized such a thing.

Did that mean, then, that Nie Mingjue’s story was, just maybe…genuine?

(That he really was there for the taking, available to be Wen Ruohan’s and Wen Ruohan’s alone?)

“What do you want of me, then?” Wen Ruohan asked, putting his hands behind his back. “To tear down their walls and demand the cure for you?”

“I want you to ask for it.” Nie Mingjue was unphased. “Your willingness to respect their terms has been a show of good faith – if you promise them that they will be unharmed and honored as thoroughly as you have respected them thus far, I believe they may open their gates to you.”

Wen Ruohan scoffed. “You want me to humble myself to them? And for what? You?”

“Whatever you like,” Nie Mingjue said.

Wen Ruohan looked at him, but he was serious. Serious and solemn.

“Even if I were to demand your life?” Wen Ruohan asked, and Nie Mingjue nodded. “What’s the use of a cure if you’re dead?”

“It’s not for me,” Nie Mingjue said. “It’s for my younger brother, who never wanted any part of my family’s path, yet finds himself trapped upon it anyway.”

Wen Ruohan’s heart was beating too fast.

It has to be genuine, it has to be, he thought, his mind aswirl, unsteady. No madman would play such a dangerous game, bound to lose – only an honest man, an upright man, a straightforward man, a man who is willing to risk it all simply to say that he tried, no matter the consequences of failing.

He’s not Meng Yao’s whore.

He’s –

He could be mine. If I give him this…he could be mine.

“And if I wanted you for my own?” he asked, and watched Nie Mingjue’s reaction intently: a slight widening of the eyes, surprise. “And not only for tonight. If I took you into my harem, made you my concubine – ”

As if he’d make such a glorious man a mere concubine. He would be consort, at minimum.

Maye even an empress.

“ – would you swear the rest of your life to me? To serving me, to pleasing me, to seeking to aid me in fulfilling all of my ambitions?”

Nie Mingjue thought about it for a very long moment, serious and stern. He blinked as he considered the question; his eyelashes were long, looked soft, and Wen Ruhoan wanted to run his fingers over his fce, feeling them brush against him.

“I would,” Nie Mingjue said finally. “I would swear to be yours, to give you my heart and body and mind all, even if all you wanted of me was to be your cauldron.”

Nie Mingjue would probably be a magnificent cauldron, Wen Ruohan thought. With talent and power such as he had, dual cultivating with him would undoubtedly increase Wen Ruohan’s own cultivation immensely – maybe even enough to push him past the peak and into divinity as he had always wished. But using a person as a cauldron ruined them, breaking their meridians and shattering their golden core, making them unable to cultivate again in this life…it was efficient, but a waste.

If Nie Mingjue would dual cultivate with him as his lover, they could climb the steps of power together. It would take longer, be harder, but in the end, Wen Ruohan would have a partner at his side.

If only Wen Ruohan could trust Nie Mingjue’s word…

“And what if you betray me, after I give you what you want?” Wen Ruohan asked.

“I won’t,” Nie Mingjue said. His voice was steady, calm, unshakable. “I know you have no reason to trust me, and I have no assurances I can give you. But if I swear to you, I won’t ever betray you.”

Wen Ruohan wanted to believe him.

He wanted him.

He wanted…

He was a god. He could get anything he wanted, he shouldget anything he wanted. If what he wanted was Nie Mingjue, willing, then he deserved to get it. If Nie Mingjue really was secretly one of Meng Yao’s Nameless, just more daring than the rest; if he really did choose to betray him later…well, they could see about that when they came to that.

Wen Ruohan, who trusted no one, could only get what he wanted by trusting this one time –

So trust he would.

(They said the opportunity to achieve divinity was something that could only be encountered and obtained by chance, not effort. Who was to say whether love was not the same?)

“Done,” Wen Ruohan said, and Nie Mingjue stared at him. That surprise again. “Swear you’ll be mine – swear that you’ll give me your heart as well as your body, that you’ll entrust to me your soul and mind, to put all efforts forth on my behalf. And I will swear to you the same: that I will go to the Cloud Recesses and issue your petition, and I will do whatever they require of me to win you your cure.”

Nie Mingjue looked dumbstruck, as if he’d thought he’d need to do more than he had done.

Wen Ruohan laughed and strode forward, putting his hand on Nie Mingue’s cheek – he blushed, again, but kept up the eye contact, good, Wen Ruohan liked that. He didn’t even mind that Nie Mingjue was taller than him, that he would need to pull him down or rise up to meet him.

“You’ll be mine,” he murmured, almost giddy with the joy of it. “All mine.”

He pressed his lips to Nie Mingjue’s.

Something – sparked.

Wen Ruohan shuddered from head to toe from the feeling. It was as if every bit of spiritual energy inside his body had suddenly gone molten hot, his meridians suddenly feeling wider than before, the qi circulating quick and fast and smoother – it was magnificent, his entire body suddenly alight with power; he’d never experienced anything like it before.

“…what was that?” Nie Mingjue asked when they broke apart. He sounded dazed, and Wen Ruohan couldn’t blame him. “Was that – kissing isn’t normallylike that!”

Wen Ruohan caught his face and pulled him in for another kiss, just as mind-blowing as the first.

“It’s you,” he said in between kisses he couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s you, and it’s me…our cultivation styles must be incrediblycompatible.”

In his youth, Wen Ruohan had heard romantics dream aloud about finding a dao companion gifted from the heavens – a perfect match, suitable in every way; willingly cultivating with such a match would be three times as effective as what could be obtained from even the most ruthlessly extracted cauldron.

He’d always assumed it was an exaggeration. If not an exaggeration, then at minimum it was something that was simply irrelevant to him.

He had underestimated the generosity of the heavens.

No wonder he had nearly lost his mind at the mere sight of Nie Mingjue. No wonder he had broken his own vows, and made new ones, just to obtain him.

Nie Mingjue was meant for him.

Nie Mingjue – who was his.

Kissing Nie Mingjue was a pleasure that Wen Ruohan had never known, the best thing he had ever had, and then a moment later it was already surmounted when Nie Mingjue reached up to grab his shoulders and kissed him back.

“I would have you be mine as well,” Nie Mingjue said, and his eyes were almost glowing with his own power, his own cultivation that strengthened each time they passed spiritual energy between them, as easy as breathing, no effort at all. “I would have sworn to you all one-sided, a vassal and their lord, but something like this – this shouldn’t be one-sided. This should be everything.”

Wen Ruohan couldn’t agree more.

“I’ll be yours,” he said, words he’d refused to say for decades falling from his lips as if it were that easy. “I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine, and together – ah – together, there will be nothing to stand in our way.”

He tried to kiss Nie Mingjue again, but Nie Mingjue shifted to the side, unexpectedly evading him.

“There’s one thing I need to tell you,” Nie Mingjue said, his breath short and breathless, probably from the way Wen Ruohan was kissing his jaw and throat and anywhere he could reach. “It’s – it’s important – ah, yes, like that…”

“Very important,” Wen Ruohan said in between long sucking kisses. “Very important indeed.”

“No, it’s not – it’s – ah – Meng Yao wants to kill you!”

Wen Ruohan paused, blinking.

“What?” he said, bemused. “Kill me? Surely he only wishes to control me?”

“He’ll settle for that at first,” Nie Mingjue said. “But in the end he wants you to die. He thinks you killed his father.”

“…his father? I thought he killed his father!”

“He did,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Wen Ruohan looked at him. “I overheard him in a moment he wasn’t anticipating – my hearing is sharper than he thought. He thinks you ruined his father years before by supporting him against his sect, when his sect tried to curtail his indulgences; he thinks you poisoned his character and made him the sort of person who wouldn’t recognize his son, no matter how talented, even informally. He blames you for his rejection, and wants to kill you, and he has several plans for it.”

“Were you one of them?”

“He made me promise to give him an opening at some point of his choosing,” Nie Mingjue explained. “That was the price he put on getting me here, allowing me to meet with you. I intend to keep that vow.”

“You…do?”

“I told him up front that the only thing I’d give him was an opening, and that I wouldn’t promise anything more, not even that I wouldn’t turn on him to try to close that opening a moment later. It seemed like something I could do without being foresworn to either of you.” Nie Mingjue made a face. “I wasn’t planning on telling you, of course, but under the circumstances…you should let him have his opportunity. It won’t work, and maybe the attempt will make him feel better.”

Wen Ruohan wasn’t so sure about that, but he also didn’t care that much right now.

Nie Mingjue didn’t belong to Meng Yao – perhaps he couldn’t fully prove it, but he believed it.

Nie Mingjue was his.

That was all that mattered.

“Let him do as he likes,” Wen Ruohan said, yielding, as he had never yielded before and yet suspected he was about to do quite a lot more in the future. “We have better things to focus on.”

#mdzs #wen ruohan #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #art trade #perfect match

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tisafinedayforsimping · 3 years ago

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Percy Henway - Full Profile

It's about time I wrote out another one of these

Full Name: Percy Henway

Other Names: Sea Piglet [Umi no Koton]

(Floyd)

Monsier Truffe (Rook)

Twisted From: Hen Wen, the pig from The Black Cauldron

Voiced By: (TBD)

Biographical Information

Gender: Male

Age: 15

Species: Pig Beastman

Birthday: March 4th

Starsign: Pisces

Height: 165 cm (5'5")

Eye Color: Oak

Hair Color: Chestnut, Baby Pink Bangs

Homeland: Bendall Village (Rose Kingdom)

Family: Mother, Father

Professional Status

Dorm: Heartslabyul

School Year: First

Class: 1-D, Student no. 14

Occupation: Student

Club: Track and Field Club

Best Subject: Divination

Fun Facts

Dominant Hand: Right

Favorite Food: Quail

Least Favorite Food: Oatmeal, Pork

Dislikes: Low-quality food, Authority

Hobby: Zen gardening

Talent: Obstacle courses

Personality

Percy is picky and stubborn, with a strong distaste for authority. He may be in Heartslabyul, but the only rules he's interested in following are his own. The only reason he isn't constantly collared by Riddle is that he's just fast enough to escape the redhead's rage. Friends of Percy will find themselves dragged into all sorts of petty rebellions against dorm leaders and professors alike.

Background

Percy grew up in Bendall Village, in the Rose Kingdom, with his mother and father. He discovered his unique magic at a very early age, and once word spread around the village, people were lining up to have him 'read their fortunes'. It didn't take long for the fame to get to his parents' heads, and soon people from all over were bringing gifts and 'donations' in hopes that they'd get a better reading. Percy didn't really care all that much (he liked feeling special, and the fancy food they could afford now was incredible!), until he started getting affected, his free time and activities being limited to get more readings done, leaving him magically exhausted. Suddenly, he realized he wasn't his parents' 'talented little truffle' anymore; he was just a tool for their greed. Night Raven is an escape for him, and while he still gets letters asking for readings every so often, he's perfectly happy not using his unique magic anymore.

Unique Magic

Percy's unique magic is called 'Scrying Hoof'. It requires a bowl of liquid; any will do, but water is preferred. After speaking his mantra, "Water, from thee I beseech, knowledge far beyond my reach," he dips his hand into the liquid and sees flashes of potential luck signs in the ripples. Whether the luck signs are good or bad is not revealed. By working to connect more deeply with his magic, Percy is able to know more about what he sees in the visions.

Trivia

The name of Percy's village, Bendall, is a play on Dalben, Hen Wen's keeper in The Black Cauldron

The few times he's used his unique magic for himself, Percy has always seen pairs of horns mixed in with his luck signs. Not wanting to risk the possibility of those signs being bad, he avoids beings with horns as much as possible

He hates baths

No one but the staff knows his unique magic, and Percy intends to keep it that way

#Percy Henway #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twst #heartslabyul oc

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mxvladdy · 4 years ago

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Chocolate Toffee

~Something sweet (an’ a little spicy ;) ) for Valentine’s Day.~

“How about this one?” You hold up a white ball of chocolate, clearly offering it to him to take. Satan smirks up from the tiny book that came along with the large box of sweets. Sure, he could take it with his hands. Obviously that’s what you were waiting for, eyes bright and so so innocent.

He takes fiendish delight in your shocked expression. The heat radiating from your face would no doubt melt the candies laying between you two if it was close enough. He takes the candy from your grasp with his lips. Green eyes locking onto yours as he makes sure you see his clever tongue licking at the melted chocolate on your finger tips.

“Hmm-” He moans, grazing one of your fingers with his lethal fangs. He rights himself, ignoring your spluttering in favor of savoring the flaking covered ball. “White chocolate and coconut,” Not too bad, granted he didn’t like white chocolate, but the flavors were compatible. The thin shell breaks under the stress of his tongue and the heat of his mouth. He scrunches his nose up in distaste. “With a maraschino center.”

“Bleh,” You stick your tongue out. “Quite a combo. Glad you took one of the team”

“You offered it to me.” Satan laughs, tucking himself back onto his corner of your four poster. “I never was one for white chocolate to begin with, and that mix of flavors.” He shudders. “Too much, too sweet.” You agree, already looking for another candy.

“Think you could sniff out a truffle? I’ve never had one before.” You plea jiggling the tin at him.

“My heart!” He gasps, placing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “Are you calling me a pig?” He chuckles “I’m hurt.” The two of you share a snort of laughter as he takes the box. Satan rattles it thoughtfully. You two had made quite a dent in the box yet he still had a few more waiting for you two to indulge in.

It was that time of year again at the palace. Diavolo was inundated with marriage proposals and requests to sire young. The castle was filled with gifts that the young Lord was more than happy to get rid of (all of them checked for spells and potions of course). Ugh- he shudders at the thought. He was glad he had yet to get any of those. Hopefully it would stay that way.

He eyes the gold foil lined box inquisitively. The mixing smells of the remaining candies made his mouth water. Breathing in deep he focuses on looking for the one chocolate he knew you would love. He could smell the rich earthy caco and toffee of the truffle from a mile away. The alcohol hidden inside stinging his nose just right. Gently he picks up a near black truffle located in the center of the box and offers it to you.

Chocolate, especially one as lavash and expensive as these, were a guilty pleasure of his. Every so often he would visit the local chocolatiers and sample their newest flavors on his way home from the library. He has had all sorts of mixes in his time in the Devildom. But, this particular truffle was a signature at his favorite shop. Rich dark chocolate coating a dense ball of caramel liqueur. Its outer shell was dusted with flakes of gold and a tiny spun sugar flower. So simple in comparison to the Devildom inspired ones he was used to. This was one of their few human realm inspired treats, and it was an instant classic. “There.” He smiles gently. “I hope you like it. It is a particular favorite of mine.”

You don’t take it from his hands like he did moments ago. Unfortunate, he had hoped to feel your silken tongue on his fingers. Ah well. That was fine. He was positive you two would be dozing together soon enough. Both content and satiated before the night’s end.

Your hum of excitement pulls him out of his less than pure thoughts. He preens at your expression, knowing damn well how good it was. “Exquisite, yes?” You bob your head and grab the box from him. “Unfortunately, in a box like this there is only one of them.”

“Aww~” You whine around the gooey center of the truffle. “You should have eaten then! It’s your favorite!” Satan waves your protest off, pleased that you enjoyed it as much as he did. Not that it was hard, he had impeccable taste. You swallow around the treat and go still. He could just about see the wheels in your head turning.

Before he could ask what was wrong your warm frame was tucked neatly in his lap, your weight a welcomed anchor on his body. “O-Oi!” He stammers thrown off guard. Sweet lips brush his. His mouth is warmed by the sudden burning zing of strong liquor and devilishly smooth chocolate. To make matters even better, your sweet flavor is layered on top. Soft and creamy, it stirs him to the core.

You break away first. “There,” You smile slightly breathless. “Now we both got to taste it.”

He captures your lips once more with a growl, swiping a bit of caramel that has gotten trapped in the corner of your mouth. His cunning gaze meets yours and his look turns predatory. Your blown out pupils and quickened shallow breaths excite something deep within him. He dumps the chocolate to the ground, not caring a lick for the crush of gourmet chocolate beneath his shoes. No- a simple taste wouldn’t do tonight. Tonight he had something even better than chocolate to savor.

#Obey me #obey me satan #oh my oh my #it's been a bit since I've written something even boarding on smutty #mini fic

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doomonfilm · 3 years ago

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Thoughts : Pig (2021)

It’s probably not a new thing, but I’ve been working on a theory that there’ve been a rash of films positioned as character pieces where the lead actor’s cache worked as shorthand for worldbuilding or backstory. If this is the case, and even more so if this is strictly a recent phenomenon, one would have to say that Nicolas Cage has comfortably positioned himself as the king of this domain. From classics like Mandy to forgettable films like Willy’s Wonderland, Cage has carved himself out a career’s worth of offbeat films that induce an immediate gravity strictly by their association with the enigmatic star. As a fan of films that skew more on the Mandy side of things, the buzz around Pig and its immediate warm reception by critics and audiences alike made it a must-see for my 2021 top film list research.

youtube

Pig, intentionally or not, has some very compelling things to say about the artist in both society and within their nice realm, specifically both sides of the jealousy coin in terms of those who overstay their welcome versus those who know how to make a graceful exit. It is more than clear that Robin Feld is as accomplished in the culinary field as any chef could ever dream to be, as a decade removed from his exodus out of the Portland restaurant scene his name immediately can change the tenor of a conversation. That being said, even with him isolating himself outside of society to a wildly uncomfortable level, those still grinding away in the scene feel the need to take from Feld as both a show of disrespect and an attempt to elevate themselves beyond the Feld legend. It is this central conflict that fuels the film both narratively (which is obvious to anyone who has watched the film) and esoterically, as the respect that Feld commands, not to mention the sense of tradition he adheres to, stand the test of time to the point that it spits in the face of those attempting to build new legends. Feld’s sincerity is also magnetic, as it becomes the foundation for his passion that was so cherished in the moment that it allows him to have memory recall that can put him in a moment more than a decade after the fact.

While a beautiful film, there are other aspects of the narrative that stand out in equal measure. Perhaps the strongest element outside of the raw beauty that Nicolas Cage captures via his portrayal of Feld is the revenge element, which is so strong that it trumps many classic revenge narratives done in the name of a significant other, loved one or friend in the history of cinema. To think that Feld is willing to put himself through the amount of pain that he does and still keep an imposing sense of composure, and all in the name of a truffle pig that is ultimately ornamental, is a testament to the ice cold, steely reserve that bubbles within the soul of the Feld character. Like some sort of man out of time, Feld is willing to remove himself from a comfortable, self-imposed isolation and insert himself into a crowded, pride-filled, shallow world and navigate it without one hint of lowering himself to the world’s level, providing us with a unique look at the protagonist character even more enigmatic than Bob Odenkirk’s Hutch Mansell from Nobody. I could be reaching a bit, but Pig also feels a bit like a dramatic reinterpretation of the supply chain process, illustrating how one seemingly meaningless bump in the road can cause issues that spiral up the ladder.

Pig looks and presents itself like some sort of modern day film noir on a surface level, but in reality, we are given an offbeat and esoteric love story meant to capture the idea of love outside of the standard constraints we tend to shackle it with. Because of this dynamic, we are presented with pain and beauty in equal measure, the main personification of this being the way that an extremely beat up Nicolas Cage is able to deliver some exquisite monologues time and again. The location-work in this film deserves praise as well, as the variance of locations gives us looks at places that range from gritty to eloquent, from rural to opulent and so on. The camerawork, a vast majority of which is done in a very raw handheld manner, helps to carry viewers through the unease of the unfolding narrative while also serving towards building that same sense of unease. The hair, makeup and costuming used to produce Feld from Cage helps the characterization by giving Cage something tangible to lean into and use as fuel for the way he carries himself and interacts with others. Alexis Grapsas and Philip Klein lay out a moving symphonic score that lives up to (and lifts the film beyond) the high aspirations set by the story and the characters that dwell within the world. The sound editing works in tandem with the score, especially the way in which it allows moments of silence to sit and resonate. In terms of writing, we are given a smart and focused narrative that is inherently (and deeply) romantic without pandering, overtly gesturing or having it lean on standard conventions.

Nicolas Cage, no matter whether people take him seriously or not, has proven time and again that he has the pedigree and wherewithal to deliver strong performances, and in Pig, we get a calm and measured approach where Cage carries a world of sadness with him, all the while maintaining the kind of grace that is generally associated with royalty and diplomats. Alex Wolff plays believably overly confident and wonderfully naïve in equal parts, embodying the desire of attaining manhood trapped within the fear and respect that a boy feels for his father. Speaking of the fatherly presence, Adam Arkin channels his own inner pain into a gesture-filled show of capitalism-based force, all of which crumbles into an emotional wreckage when the mirror is held back up to him. David Knell presents a front of pretentiousness he uses to shield the fact that his character core symbolically ran headlong from his dreams and into the arms of the niche machine, all for the illusion of comfort and peace of mind. Outside of these core performances are a strong collective of brief supporting performances and appearances, including Nina Belforte, Gretchen Corbett, Beth Harper, Julia Bray, Darius Pierce, Elijah Ungvary, Cassandra Violet and others.

Pig isn’t necessarily an indie gem hidden away from the masses, but is it too indie of a project to garner Nicolas Cage a nomination for Best Actor in a couple of months? I would hope not, as Pig is a huge old-school approach-style breath of fresh air that managed to emerge from the current deluge of blockbuster releases that defines the era. Pig has all the makings of an achingly beautiful cult classic, not to mention that it is full of sampleable moments from Cage that I plan to use in future musical projects. This one was definitely well worth the wait to see it get to standard streaming, and I would highly recommend seeking it out.

#ChiefDoomsday #DOOMonFILM #MichaelSarnoski #Pig #NicolasCage #AlexWolff #AdamArkin #NinaBelforte #GretchenCorbett #DavidKnell #BethHarper #JuliaBray #DariusPierce #ElijahUngvary #CassandraViolet

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carrdsoldier · 3 years ago

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@serpernts // ♡ for spiralefes starter !

Honestly, winding up carrying a teacup pig around wasn't the way he saw his day going. It was absolutely one of the cutest little things he had seen - next to chicks and chickens - but still a...pretty odd way to go about a scavenger hunt.

At least he was paired with someone who would make this little quest all the easier to complete.

"So...they said we'll have to go about this forest to find some sort of magic truffle, right? Do you think it tastes any good or do you think it's just pig food?"

It could be interesting to try and see if they were allowed to cook with it, after all. Deuce couldn't really recall ever having truffles before but they were...kind of just like mushrooms, right? He liked mushrooms well enough.

Though that also wasn't the point of this. While there was a reward at the end - a good sum of the currency here - it wasn't ever about the reward. If they could be the first people to find the goal...that'd be more than satisfying. Hell, if Jamil thought the same, he'd be fine even giving the reward to someone else.

It was an adventure to enjoy and a competition to win.

#serpernts #serpernts ♠️ two #painting the white roses red ♠️ ic isola #this is the pride of a student of night raven college ♠️ castmates #become the wind ♠️ event #event ♠️ spiralefes 2021 #hope this works!!#we boutta get these two competitive little men to the end on god

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alieninterests · 4 years ago

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“ loneliness is a slow and cruel poison. ” [ @ Elliott. yes i'm on anon, listen i just want to see you write this fucker ]

Outside his cabin, the ocean roars and recedes, throbbing like a steady, strong heart. Like one he imagines the Farmer must possess in that chest, made hale by hard labor, in the sun and in the rain and the snow, bringing up countless, loved animals and moving vegetables and fruit and flowers through the earth as if each living thing was made to love and be loved by them.

(And, here, alas -- Elliott can hardly keep a simple potted plant alive. There, in the cool shade of his little cabin which defies the oppressive heat of the summer sun, the sad little thing is wilting, browning. Even the Farmer's sound advice could do little to lift the pathetic thing from Death's door)

Elliott mulls over the statement; it is surprisingly poetic for the Farmer, who's presence was marked more often than not by a feeling rather than an abundance of words. Strong and silent, he might write of them, if this were a romance novel. Intelligent eyes and strong body, calloused but gentle hands and bright, summer sun smile meant to eclipse the darkest days and thoughts with a sense of inevitable hope.

Ah..

He taps a finger against the condensated glass, his own calloused, too, but in different place from the Farmer. Under his nails is ink; the typewriter was efficient, but too often didn't quite hold the satisfaction of pen against paper. Inside, the beer the farmer had brewed themselves and brought to Elliott bubbles. It's taste was brilliant and somehow reminded him of cookies-- this, too, was a part of the endless surprising talents of the Farmer.

(How had they learned how to do all of this, in just a year? A former Joja paper pusher who'd spent their entire lives in the greasy confines of a diseased city...)

"It is a bit like alcohol, isn't it? A moderate amount is pleasant and freeing and intoxicating, and perhaps you might chase that feeling, might come to long for it after a particularly ruthless week, but after some time the effects do start to build, don't they?

It'll kill you, if you let it."

He lifts the bottle and upends it, the last large gulp running down his throat smoothly as he savors the flavor. Many of the other citizens of Stardew Valley have said the same; there's something different about the Farmer's produce, some unnameable unknowable quantification that leaves a lingering feeling of... love, Elliott thinks.

The lingering gazes of others has not gone unnoticed by the writer. Even Leah, his best friend, has been caught by him with her discerning artists eye, measuring muscle and proportions, a bright sort of yearning that had no part of ache effusing from her when the Farmer stops by to share their salads, a truffle their prized pig had dug up from the earth just that morning.

He thinks perhaps he should be jealous, but it seems a hopeless, pointless thing. To not love the Farmer was an impossibility.

One might as well ask for the ocean to stop.

"And that, my friend, is why I never drink alone."

@paradisecost / @archiviststatement

#ch; Elliott #alcohol mention tw #for u <3

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konglindorm · 4 years ago

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Prince Lindworm and Prince Marcassin

So the Italian “The Pig King” (Straparola) was, at one point, I don’t remember when or where, advertised to me as the closest equivalent to “Prince Lindworm.” And I finally got around to tracking it down, as well as the longer, more detailed “Prince Marcassin,” which is a very similar, but expanded, French story by Madame D’Aulnoy.

I have the full text of “The Pig King” from the library, and the Surlalune text of “Prince Marcassin,” as I was unable to find it in English anywhere else, and we’re just going to go through the stories, and then compare them to Prince Lindworm at the end.

Now, “The Pig King” and “Prince Marcassin” are two separate stories, but they’re so similar that for the purposes of today’s blog, we’re mostly going to treat them as one. I’ll let you know when we run into significant differences.

(Marcassin is, according to google translate, French for wild boar.)

Both of the pig stories are the type where three siblings undertake a task, and only the youngest succeeds, by virtue of being an all-around better person. I’m not a big fan of this in cases where the task is “survive a marriage.” (The only other story like this I can think of right now is the Grimms’ “The Sea Hare;” you do see this in Bluebeard variants like “Fitcher’sBird,” but that’s a lot less distressing since the groom is explicitly the bad guy. Generally I just don’t love it when the protagonist lives happily ever after with a spouse who killed their older siblings. It’s awkward.)

So. Now that that little tangent is out of the way, let’s take it from the top. Barren queen longs for a child, takes a walk, falls asleep. Three fairies come by and decide to give her one, but to make him (temporarily) a pig. In “The Pig King,” the queen sleeps through the fairies’ visit and never knows about it. In “Prince Marcassin,” she dreams of the fairies’ visit, but only hears what the first two fairies say, about how she’ll have a son, and misses the pig element added by the third.

Nine months after this little nap, she gives birth to a pig.

I do think the relationship between mother and son here is really sweet. She just loves her monster baby. I’m reminded, a little, of that ancient piece of pottery featuring Pasiphae and the young Minotaur (see here).

She gave birth to this pig. She raised him. She loves him. He rests his muddy head in her lap. He roots around for truffles and brings them home for her. He’s kind of just treated like a normal prince, and we all dance around the awkwardness of the pig situation. (In “The Pig King” the dad is pretty on board with this arrangement too; in “Prince Marcassin” he sort of humors his wife but makes it clear that he feels the correct thing to do when one births a pig is to cast it into the sea.)

When Marcassin falls in love with a girl who doesn’t feel the same, Mom tells him he can do better. Unfortunately, when she says that, he says, “No, Mom, I cannot do better. Like, seriously, come on, I am literally a pig.” So she arranges the marriage. And when that goes wrong, another marriage.

In “Prince Marcassin,” the first wife kills herself on the wedding night rather than be married to a pig. The second wife attempts to kill him, and he kills her in self-defense. In “The Pig King,” he ends up killing both of the first two brides in self-defense.

This is the point where the plot begins to differ significantly. In “The Pig King,” the third bride agrees to marry the pig. They have an extremely muddy wedding night, which they both survive. She stays apparently happily married to the pig for some time before he decides to show her that he can cast off his pig skin and become a hot guy at night. After this, they stay even more happily married until they have a (normal, human) son. Finally, the bride can’t bear to keep the secret anymore, and tells her mother-in-law about the nighttime-shapeshifting. They destroy the discarded pig skin, and he stays a hot guy from then on.

(Let’s just take a moment here to appreciate how sensible the third bride is. Like, yeah, this dude is a pig, but he’s also the king and queen’s only child, and therefore the future king. This means two absolutely critical things. 1) if you can handle being married to a pig, you get to be queen someday. 2) even if your attempt to kill your unwanted husband was successful, you would be in big, big trouble afterwards. Fate worse than pig-marriage. So bride number 3 here definitely made the right call. Although, to be fair, it does appear that the marriage was actually consummated prior to even the nighttime-only transformation, so. Well. I also would not want to have sex with a pig. But murder is not the answer.)

In “Prince Marcassin,” after being forced to kill his second wife in self-defense on their wedding night, Marcassin says, “Screw this, humans suck; I’m gonna go live like other pigs,” and takes off into the woods to befriend some more normal wild boars.

He does, however, write letters home so everyone knows he’s okay.

The mother of his first two (deceased) brides has now moved out into the countryside with her one remaining daughter. Prince Marcassin encounters this third daughter while living like a pig, and somehow convinces her to come live with him? In the woods? Where he’s just being a standard wild boar?

And they live together in the woods until she gets pregnant. Which. I have concerns. I have so many concerns.

This girl’s two older sisters died after being forced to marry this pig. While he was living like a man. Now he’s living like a pig, and she’s run away from home to have sex with him in a cave in the woods?

I do kind of love how the French fairy tale writers don’t pull their punches. A lot of stories from a lot of cultures sort of imply that maybe some sex is going on behind the scenes in enchanted bridegroom situations, but the French ones just come out and say it. This girl’s been lying with a pig and now she’s pregnant. Villeneuve’s Beast doesn’t ask “Will you marry me?” every night; he asks “Will you sleep with me?” There’s just something refreshing about that refusal to dance around the issue.

But still. Deeply, deeply concerned.

Killing yourself or your pig groom is not a good solution to the problem. But neither is running away with him and letting him knock you up! Surely there must be some sort of acceptable middle ground in this very messed-up situation.

Anyway. Eventually she finds his discarded pig skin, figures things out, and gets rid of it, and they go home to the palace and live happily ever after. (At which point Marcassin mentions that he’s been discarding the skin every night? And we’re supposed to believe that this girl just never noticed? Like, it doesn’t matter how dark it is, she’s gonna notice a difference between a pig and a dude when they’re sleeping together.)

It’s kind of a messed up story.

So, onto the Prince Lindworm comparison: literally all these stories have in common is the born-already-enchanted element and the three brides. Even the circumstances of the brides’ deaths and the success of the third bride are totally different. They were fun to read, though.

Preorder my Prince Lindworm retelling here!

#lindworm #fairy tales #folklore #pig king #prince marcassin

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glenngaylord · 3 years ago

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Glenn Gaylord’s Capsules From The Bunker – Summer 2021 Lockdown Style

Like many of you, I’ve lost all concept of space and time during this lockdown era. I’d watch movie after movie, but somehow forget to write about them. I’d consume films for sustenance, but then I’d move on to the next task of cleaning a room, doing a crossword puzzle, or staring at my dog for hours on end. Thank goodness I have a few friends to have breakfast with every now and then, or else I’d have assumed I had been transported to a cabin in Montana. “Am I a film critic or a hermit?” I’d ask myself daily…that is, if I even understand what days are anymore. All of this is to say that I have a lot of catching up to do now that we’ve taken a baby step or two towards returning to some sense of normalcy. Wait a minute. What’s that? Highly transmissible variants? Back into the cave I go. While I still can, I’ve managed to blurt out a few capsule reviews of some films worth mentioning.

In Between Gays – Film Review: Summer Of 85 ★★★★

Prolific French filmmaker, François Ozon, has made a career out of finding dark crevices in the most unexpected of places. Here, with Summer Of 85, he tweaks this New Wave era gay romance just enough to upend our expectations. In pure Talented Mr. Ripley meets Call Me By Your Name meets Luca fashion, Ozon spins what could have been that sun-dappled, seaside summer that changed everything into a love that perhaps never was, zeroing in instead on a young man’s obsession for something unobtainable. Beautifully shot and acted, Ozon takes the story to more provocative places than you’d initially expect while still maintaining the boppy fizz of a great Cure song. Despite the mish mash of tones, the film has a pulse all of its own. It’ll make you swoon, pull the rug out from under you, and then make you wonder how he managed to quietly get a little twisted.

Summer Of 85 currently in select theaters, see official website for details. Released on DVD and BluRay August 17th.

Truffle In Mind – Film Review: Pig ★★★★

Writer-director Michael Sarnoski makes an auspicious feature debut with the story of a man searching for his stolen truffle-hunting pig. Caked in dirt, blood and looking not so much like a homeless man but as a person who died inside a thousand times over, Nicholas Cage gives one of his best performances ever as a man who seeks the truth at all costs. He asks his only connection to the outside world, Amir, played wonderfully by Alex Wolff, to drive him through Portland’s dark underbelly to retrieve his pet companion.

Although the film takes us to a rather unbelievable “Fight Club” moment, it generally holds its mood with credibility. It’s a great calling card, not only for Sarnoski, but also for his talented cinematographer Patrick Scola, who brings a painterly quality to every single image. The film finds beauty in a bite of food, a breath of air, or simply the compassion between two main characters who have seemingly little in common. It’s a shame the trailer elicits laughs when Cage utters lines like, “Who has my pig?” Clearly they want to sell the actor’s neo-gonzo persona, but Cage brings so much depth and seriousness to this project, only raising his voice once. He deserves the highest praise for committing to such an oddly touching, gorgeously quiet story. At risk of sounding Dad-jokey, the only thing that hogs the scenery is his porcine friend.

Pig is in theaters now.

All Is Lost – Film Review: Old ★★

In 1999, M. Night Shyamalan made a great film, The Sixth Sense, and has been chasing that dragon ever since, often to diminishing returns. His films, however, often do well because he has great concepts, a keen eye for visuals and timing, yet things always seem to turn clunky and inane real fast. With Old, he continues down that path by giving us something compelling—a group of people on a beach who age quickly—and ruining it with dialogue seemingly written by an algorithm and rendered unintelligible much of the time, while the terrific cast seem to have no idea how to make Shyamalan’s words sound any better than a high school play. A couple of sequences did make me sit up and take notice, and he uses compositions and offscreen space well, but overall, Old plays like a stretched-out episode of Lost, and like that cool but overstuffed series, you’re not gonna get very good explanations as to what transpires. Sure, the big twist works well enough on some level, but it doesn’t save you from the discomfort of watching good actors flatline in more ways than one.

Old is currently in theaters nationally.

Hi Fidel-ity – Film Review: Revolution Rent ★★★1/2

Shot in 2014, Andy Señor Jr., who played Angel on Broadway along with a host of other credits, staged the classic musical Rent in Havana during a thaw in our relations with the Communist regime. He did so against the wishes of his Cuban family, who suffered under Castro and insisted his production would merely serve as a propaganda tool for the government. He plows ahead instead, capturing the months long process in a rather artless home movie style. The aesthetics don’t carry any weight here when you have such a compelling subject matter. Witnessing his actors struggling with their performances while also living in harsh conditions adds new layers to the late Jonathan Larson’s story of squatters in the age of AIDS.

With a limited talent pool, one of whom doesn’t feel comfortable with the gay subject matter and another who lives with HIV himself, Señor finds new connections to Larson’s material as well as an affection for his heritage. What we may have taken for granted here in the US in terms of sexuality and gender expression feels like a whole new experience when seen through a Cuban lens. Señor speaks out against the Castros with quick sequences showing moments of oppression, thus preventing this film from perpetuating the lies of its government. Instead, he gifts the people of this poor, struggling country with a real sense of community and its first burst of musical theater in ages. Sure he’s a privileged westerner who dangles hope in front of people only to return to his cushy life, but he does so with heart and good intentions. You end up loving and rooting for his cast in this moving, sweet documentary.

Revolution Rent is currently streaming on HBO Max.

Do The Hustlers – Film Review: Zola ★★★★

Call me wary when I went to see a movie based on a viral twitter thread and directed by Janicza Brava, whose Sundance Award-winning short, Gregory Go Boom, proved to be not only tone deaf but downright offensive towards people with disabilities. Her new film, Zola, excels however, in ways her prior work has not. Taylour Paige, a standout in Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, plays the title character, a stripper who meets Stefani (Riley Keough) one night and is convinced to travel with her down to Florida where they can make a lot of money dancing all weekend. Things, however, do not go as planned, with Zola’s story escalating from one insane twist after another. Paige and Keough are outstanding, as are Nicholas Braun and Colman Domingo as their traveling companions. Jason Mitchell, so great in Straight Outta Compton and Mudbound, brings a wild, dangerous energy, something he shares with the film itself. It comes across as The Florida Project meets Hustlers, but with its own surreal, unexpected tone. I laughed out loud often, especially with Paige’s loopy reactions to her surroundings and the giddy, zippy energy on display. Zola chews you up, twerks on your face, and spits you out, exhausted yet anxious to see whatever this talented group of people will do next.

Zola is currently playing in select theaters and available on demand.

Banned On The Run – Film Review: There Is No Evil ★★★★

It’s impossible to review There Is No Evil without giving away its central premise, so I will avoid as much description as possible. Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rasoulof has crafted a four-part anthology of sorts around an agonizing moral issue important to people worldwide. At the end of the first part, a stunning cut to an unforgettable visual reveals everything and allows you to watch the rest with informed eyes. Rasoulof seamlessly excels at different genres, from family drama, to action escape, to romance, weaving a tale of such depth and sorrow for its talented cast of characters.

The making of it proves as interesting at the film itself. Banned by the regime from producing feature films for two years and prohibited from traveling outside of Iran, Rasoulof, like any crafty filmmaker, came up with an ingenious plan. He slipped under the radar by calling these four short films, mostly shot in small towns far outside the reach of Tehran, and then had the final product smuggled out of the country. A filmmaker with such talent not only at telling stories, but the with ability to will his vision into existence against all odds, deserves the world’s attention.

There Is No Evil is available on DVD, BluRay and VOD now.

In Space No One Can Hear You Think – Film Review: F9: The Fast Saga ★★★

Considered review-proof, the Fast and the Furious franchise has ruled the box office for the past 20 years, so my calling its latest entry, F9: The Fast Saga, monumentally dumb will have zero influence on anyone’s decision to see it. We all know it’s big and stupid, as do the filmmakers. These films, deliver said stupid with such gusto, that you simply surrender and have a great time nonetheless. Nothing, however, prepared me, for this series to go all Moonraker, sending a car to a place no car has ever gone before. You’ll know it when you see it and probably say, “That’s ludicrous!” and also say, “That’s Ludacris!”

F9: The Fast Saga is currently playing on every screen on Earth and in select theaters throughout the universe.

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letterboxd · 3 years ago

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Truffle Hunter.

As Pig snuffles its way up Letterboxd’s best of 2021 ranks, Mitchell Beaupre hunts down writer-director Michael Sarnoski for a chat about some of the finer creative points of his Nicolas Cage-starring meditation on cookery and grief.

In a time when audiences know too many specific plot details of films months before they’re even released, the idea of a surprise sensation feels like a fleeting memory. Yet that’s exactly how one could describe Pig, the debut feature from director Michael Sarnoski. With minimal pre-release buzz and no flashy festival premiere, Pig is a film whose status has been created through sheer quality alone.

This is a true word-of-mouth smash, hailed by critics as one of the best films of the year, as well as quickly earning itself a high placement on our Top 50 of 2021. Jacob Knight praises the film as “an existential rumination regarding how people find meaning in a mostly meaningless world”, while Muriel declares it “the most unexpectedly wholesome movie I’ve seen in forever”. Not bad for a first feature.

Written by Sarnoski, from a story he developed with co-producer Vanessa Block, Pig opens on Rob (Nicolas Cage), a loner isolated in the woods with his truffle pig. Rob makes his living selling truffles to the eager and ambitious Amir (Alex Wolff), but when two people break into Rob’s home and steal his animal companion, he must do whatever it takes to be reunited with his only friend.

A rough day deserves a decent vin rouge.

While that setup led many to give Sarnoski’s film the moniker “John Wick with a pig” when the trailer dropped, the story ends up charting a course away from genre thrills and towards something else entirely. Pig is an exploration of grief, loneliness and compassion, featuring one of the finest performances of Nicolas Cage’s illustrious career.

Raised in Milwaukee, Sarnoski and co-producer Block met in college before working together on the documentary short The Testimony, which focused on the largest rape tribunal in the history of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. That film made it onto the shortlist for the 2016 Oscars, putting the two of them on a path that would lead to their breakthrough opportunity with Pig.

Sarnoski spoke with us about the origins of Pig, the long-term impacts of loss in his own life, the joy of hand-cranked pasta and Bruce Springsteen.

Congratulations on the film! How has it felt seeing this outpouring of love coming for your first feature? Michael Sarnoski: It’s been amazing. Everyone who made this movie felt for themselves that it was special, and we all put a lot of care into it. We also knew that it was a risk, a strange film we figured would hit right for some people, but then plenty of others would think it was boring and weird. We’ve been very pleasantly surprised that it’s a small minority of people who feel that way.

What was the seed of the story that would eventually sprout to become Pig? I had this image in my head of an old man in the woods with his truffle pig. There was something sweet and tragic about that. Then I began asking questions about who this guy is and why he’s out there alone in the woods. What’s his backstory? It all evolved from there.

While the first act inhabits that “John Wick with a pig” space that people were perhaps expecting from the trailer, the story then takes a swerve and becomes a somber, thoughtful character study. Could you speak about navigating that unique arc with your storytelling? We never set out to try and subvert that John Wick sort of genre. We knew that we were playing with that lone-cowboy idea of a film and some of those tropes, but we never wanted to poke fun at that or switch people’s expectations in some sense by choosing Nic to star. We never wanted to “surprise” people by making a quiet Nic Cage movie. It was always just about these characters, what this story is, what we’re trying to explore. I think if we had tried to be subversive it would have come off as hokey.

Silence plays a key part in the film, as so much is being said in those spaces between the dialogue and action. How did you want to utilize the impact of saying more with silence? From early on, we always knew it was going to be a very silent film, and that followed all the way through the edit. Some of us wanted that opening to start out the way it’s done in the movie, where it’s totally silent and the music only comes in at the very end, while others were worried that people would get bored with it. The argument against that was that if they’re going to get bored with that, then they’re going to get bored with the rest of the movie. So, we might as well just lean into it, and let them know what it’s going to be.

From there we gauged how we wanted to approach the silence throughout. There’s some beautiful music in the film that Alexis Grapsas and Philip Klein did an incredible job with that allowed us to bring this beauty and splendor into the scenes. But there were also a lot of really quiet moments where we wanted the audience to be focused on the faces of the characters, and really be feeling the space and letting the sounds of the forest, or wherever we were, come across.

Nicolas Cage, his knife skills, and cinematographer Patrick Scola.

Along with the faces, you focus a lot on hands in the film. Whether it’s in scenes of violence or making food, there’s a real emphasis on what hands are capable of. Where did the inspiration for that come from? Nic was very into the idea of conveying artistry through your hands. He spent a lot of time with local chefs to try and get the vibe of how they moved and how they worked. He was always practicing knife skills in his room. I was constantly waiting for the AD to come up and tell me that we can’t use Nic today because he cut off a finger, but thankfully that never happened. Nic really sold that emphasis on the hands. Those shots could have felt empty if it wasn’t for him. I still am surprised watching some of the little hand choices he made.

I remember there was one shot where we didn’t get it on the day. So, we set it up with his stand-in, and just had him wearing his gloves. We all watched it, and it just wasn’t the same. Nic agreed, and so we reset the entire thing just to get that one shot with his hands in there instead. It was totally worth it. He’s an incredible actor, and it comes through every part of him.

Cage is an actor with an almost otherworldly mythos about him, which allows people to sometimes forget what a tremendous performer he’s always been. What was your experience in building a relationship with him, not just as an actor, but also as a human being? I only have positive things to say. That’s not just a gimmick. From the moment he read the script, he was interested, and he really responded to the character. He was committed to bringing the script to life, and was extremely respectful towards everyone on set. He had no reason to respect me. I’m a first-time director. He could have been a total diva. He could have been whatever he wanted to be, and we still would have paid him and been happy with his performance.

He was very kind, and maybe some of this came from the character, but he was also kind of somber and quiet in general on set. At the same time, he can also be very playful and sweet, even though he was trying to remain in the mood of the character. He set the tone, in a way, for the whole crew. A crew could easily look at a first time director and decide to just slack off and scrape by, because I wouldn’t have even known the difference. The fact that Nic treated me and the material with such respect really trickled down, and was so valuable to the film.

We shot the whole thing in twenty days, so if there had been any weak link with someone not doing their job or not being totally on top of it, we would have been screwed. I credit a lot of that to Nic, and him treating this with an incredible amount of professionalism. I think that’s where a big part of his long career comes from. He’s an incredible actor, but he also takes the art form seriously, treating it as both an artist and as this being his job, knowing that you have to do both in order to get what you need across.

Do you have a favorite Nicolas Cage performance? Other than Pig, of course. There are so many incredible ones. I really love Moonstruck. I saw that a couple of years ago, right before we officially cast him, when I was going through some of his ones that I hadn’t seen. Part of it I think is because I’m half-Italian, and I felt like it was showing me a side of my life that I never realized because my Italian family is on the east coast, and we moved out to Wisconsin when I was very young. I never got to be a part of that kind of thick Italian family, and seeing that on screen gave me a taste of what that would have been like. I loved him in that role. He was the perfect balance of sincere and sentimental, and also over the top when he needed to be.

Grub’s up.

Speaking of being Italian, Pig gets deep into the transformative power of food, and of the right meal. Has food always been an important part of your life? Definitely. I’ve never worked in restaurants. The closest thing was when I worked at a snack bar at a summer camp, which was very fun and also kind of a nightmare in its own way. I think most of the importance of food for me came from when my grandma lived with us. It was after my dad passed away, when I was a little kid, and she became this sort of old Italian cook in the house who was using food as this language of love and also as a sort of control. It had a lot wrapped up in it, this sense that we’re going to have family dinners to prove that everything is fine.

I think any Italian family is that way, but especially in that situation, having that presence come into the house when I was a kid, it made food quite charged for me. It was both a form of bonding and love, but also that control. That was very important to me. As I got older she taught me how to cook some things, and I became interested in that. I had a lot of friends who were great cooks and taught me how to do different things. I’m not an amazing cook, but I love cooking.

I love that act of making something that’s about to disappear. I think if you can be okay with that, and put a lot of time and care into that, it’s kind of a therapeutic thing to do. Accepting transience is a big part of cooking.

What’s your favorite dish to cook? I would say over the pandemic I really got into making lasagne. I had my grandma’s old hand-crank pasta maker, so I was enjoying making my own pasta and lasagne with that. I don’t know if I could pick one favorite dish, but that is definitely one that contributed quite a bit to putting on the Covid pounds.

Rob (Cage) and Amir (Alex Wolff) discuss their business relationship.

There’s a scene in the film where Rob and Amir go to a restaurant and Rob has a conversation with the chef there, who used to work for him, about the idea of losing our sense of identity when we give up on our dreams in order to fill this role that society expects of us. Is that something that you personally connected with? Yeah, people ask me a lot about what I think of the high-end cuisine world, and I have to say that I wasn’t trying to solely express that this world is garbage and phony. I was looking at it as another kind of art form. Any time you have an art form that combines someone’s personal passion with some sort of economy there are going to be conflicts to navigate. Whether you’re a painter, director, writer, whatever, those are going to be things you have to juggle. How true to yourself are you going to stay?

For myself, I’ve definitely found that when I try to focus on doing something that I care about, that’s kind of all I have control over and that’s what I should focus on. Pig was that for me. This isn’t the kind of script that you write where you’re expecting a big payday. It’s this weird movie that for some reason really means something to me.

The scene climaxes with Rob saying the line, “We don’t get a lot of things to really care about”. What about this movie exemplifies the things that you really care about in your life? It’s so many things, and even more things came from going through the process of actually making it and falling in love with Portland. It’s become even more than what it was initially intended to be. I mentioned earlier that my dad passed away when I was a kid, and the most personal aspect of the film for me was exploring that idea of what grief does to us long-term.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve been watching how my family members changed the way they interact with the world and built their perception of the world around some aspect of grief. It’s not those immediate effects of shock or sadness. It’s how those things ingrain into your worldview. I became much more conscious of how I was doing that in my own life. That was the deepest, most general thing that I was bringing to it, and that I was exploring personally through the film.

As far as specific things that I care about, I think I have all the classic things. I care about my family, and my friends. I care about the world, which is why this year has been so devastating. I don’t have one single pig. I think we all have a few different pigs in our lives.

Director Michael Sarnoski on the set of ‘Pig’.

Another scene that really stands out is the one in which Rob returns to his old home and sits with this young boy, having a conversation about a persimmon tree that used to be there. Talk to me about the significance of that moment for Rob. One of the things I love about that scene is that it seems so simple, kind of quiet and basic, but it’s getting into a lot of different things. I will say one thing about that scene. That was the first scene that we shot on the first day of filming. That kid was great, but filming with a child on your first day of your first feature was very much a moment of wondering what I had gotten myself into.

That scene does a few things. I won’t get into spoiler territory, but for starters he’s going back to his old house, so it’s his first attempt to really look at his past in the face, and to acknowledge that. I like that in that moment this is also one of the first times that we hear him speak romantically of food, because those things are very tethered to each other.

We get both the sense that there was a past, a personal path that he left behind, but intricately involved in that was how he interacted with food and his art. It’s the first time that we hear him acknowledge who he was in a way that’s okay. He tells the kid his name, and he’s acknowledging his identity that he’s been trying to hide from or ignore. Through doing that, it’s engaging with his passions and how that tethers everything together. I also thought it was cute explaining what persimmons were to a little kid.

I’ve got to ask you about the use of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘I’m On Fire’ in a very meaningful moment. What made that the perfect song choice for that scene? Obviously, who’s singing it is very meaningful. I liked that song, though, because it’s different from the sappy direction we could have gone with that moment. There’s something very passionate about ‘I’m On Fire’, of course, and it’s a pretty sexual song. It’s really charged, but it also has this kind of ethereal quality to it that’s seductive in a non-sexual way. It washes over you, and it feels very mystical. This sounds so “film talk”-y, but I liked that meeting of that transcendent, abstract feeling with that immediate sense of passion and love and obsession.

Finally, what’s the film that made you want to become a filmmaker? Probably Sam Raimi, his first Spider-Man movie. That was the first time I realized what directors do. I had a very strong association with Spider-Man growing up as a comic-book fan, and I was seeing how someone was filtering their own understanding of this character. Raimi coming from his horror background and being into the nitty gritty filmmaking with practical effects and everything, I got this understanding of how a director touches a film and shapes it.