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elenamcwrites · 4 years

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folklore - a reading

If you’re a swiftie (officially not capitalized now), like me, you’ve probably been experiencing the mystical reverb and spiritual reckoning that is folklore. You’ve also probably been reading plenty of reviews and analysis articles--there are some stellar articles out there already.

Listening to the album is like lying in a meadow over the course of a summer day, afternoon thunderstorm, and the harsh sunset that comes afterwards, spiraling through memories and contemplation. It’s the best of the worst feelings you’ll ever have, and you can’t stop.

So, compulsively, I had to share my own interpretations and thoughts as I listen to the album again for the 7th time.

the 1 - Starting out with just piano, and then turning into what feels like a casual bop, the attitude of this song starts out very ‘I Forgot That You Existed’. And we hold onto that cavalier, ‘oh well’ attitude until... UNTIL. “If my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.” That line starts the slow ache that builds through the end of the track and makes this song much more more layered and complex than the first song of Lover. Perhaps this is a more honest version of the same feeling. Swift digs deep into that nostalgic feeling, letting us vibe to the wistful wishing at the same time. And of course, there is foreshadowing in the lyrics--film, graves, rose, chosen-family, painting. All of these reappear later on in various songs on the album, and some have been themes from earlier albums, too (especially graves).

Highlight lyric: “In my defense I have none // for digging up the grave another time.”

cardigan - We start with a beat that sounds reminiscent of “high heels on cobblestones,” and it emphasizes this early imagery. Being young is one of the major themes of this song, even though it’s also part of the triptych of songs about a love triangle. The nostalgia feels more specific to young love generally than to the specific lover, asking us to wonder why we judge the young perspective so harshly. The song is an anthem to how much she knew about love, including the pain of it, despite what people say. Swift has shown a special appreciation for the wisdom and raw experience of youth, and this song is another classic defense of the teenage experience. The metaphors in this song are classic Swift, and the structure of this song is reminiscent of ‘All Too Well’--the chorus lyrics change just a bit each time, and we get a powerful, gut-punch verse at the end.

Highlight lyric: “I knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs // the smoke would hang around this long // cause I knew everything when I was young.”

the last great american dynasty - ‘The Man’ was probably Swift’s first real feminist anthem, directly stating how sexism affects her career and the perception people have of her. But this song gets at feminism from another perspective. First of all, she’s telling the story of Rebekah Harkness, who was the heiress that lived in her Rhode Island mansion before her. She was a trouble-maker in her town, blamed for her husband’s death and for ruining the calm status quo of the old money neighborhood. It’s completely apparent that Swift relates to this experience, and she likely knew some of this story before she purchased her home. In telling the story of a powerful, interesting woman, Taylor is rebelling against the patriarchy in a slightly subtler way than her previous songs--though she still makes her point pretty clear. Swift cares about the herstory of her home, and she’s made this story iconic by including it on her album. It’s like she took the idea of ‘Starlight,’ but instead of retelling a happy love story, she used her powers for an even more important tale. Now, there are also two potential connections to note: Rebekah also went by Betty, and her maiden name was West. Just remember that. And of course, the theme of the mad woman returns later as well.

Highlight lyric: “who knows if I never showed up what would have been // there goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen // she had a marvelous time ruining everything.”

exile - I like to imagine this song as the follow up to ‘The Last Time,’ from Red. Both are duets, and they both have relatively simple, but strong chords as the primary musical backdrop. Where ‘The Last Time’ depicts a relationship at the cusp, moments before their final conversation, ‘exile’ is post break-up. She’s out with someone new, and we understand this is an unspoken conversation across a room. And the vibe of the songs fit with this progression perfectly. ‘The Last Time’ feels like anxious desperation, but exile feels heavy and depressingly final. We revisit the film motif, and there’s some potential connection to the archived ‘If This Was A Movie’. Now, is that intentional, or does Swift just really like movie imagery? Does it matter? The build in this song is arguably the best on the album, which I think is partly due to the style of the musicality, and partly because it’s helpful to have a lower voice to mix it up. This song sounds the least ‘Swift-esque’ to me--reminds me of Damien Rice most of all--but it still fits beautifully into the album. Also, lots of callbacks in here--town and crown are used a LOT in her prior albums. A few examples: “You traded your baseball cap for a crown” in ‘Long Live’, “They took the crown but it's alright” in ‘Call it What You Want,’ “Staring out the window like I’m not your favorite town” in ‘False God.’ Now, again, these could just be words that she loves to use (they also rhyme with a lot), or there could be some deeper connections. I’m guessing it’s somewhere in the middle.

highlight lyric: “second, third, and hundredth chances // balancin' on breaking branches // those eyes add insult to injury”

my tears ricochet - I’ll admit this song had to grow on me a little bit. Why? Well, I don’t love revenge-ballads. But, this is much more complex than LWYMMD, and like the rest of the album, it centers the more vulnerable side of her anger. This song is 100% about Big Machine Records and Scooter Braun. The funeral is for her--or the version of herself that died just before Reputation--and she is back as a ghost (or another version of herself) to haunt those who caused her death. It’s slow, moody, haunted... Everything you want from a bitter funeral march. The best part of this song is that she doesn’t solely pass blame. She shows off her self-awareness, which has become more common in all her music since 1989, but still very clearly places responsibility on Scooter for her ‘stolen lullabies’ (i.e. her masters). Swift claims this song is about young love gone wrong--but, death is a pretty intense metaphor, and given that she blatantly used it (for the first, and maybe only time?) to talk about her career, I don’t think anyone is buying it.

highlight lyric: “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace // and you’re the hero flying around saving face”

mirrorball - Maybe I’m just a biased toward romantic and nostalgic songs, because I don’t love this one either. (I’m sorry!) But, here’s what I’ll say: this song is still exquisite. It reminds me of the reverb-radio-vibe of the late 80s songs, but with the astral, saccharine flavor of the rest of the album. If you condensed the Miss Americana documentary into a song, this would be it. A reflection (get it?) of fame and her desire to be everything to everyone--to be well liked, to be the center of attention. The coolest thing about ‘mirrorball,’ to me, is that she hasn’t written a song quite like this before. It’s sort of a manic-pixie-dream-girl version of herself. Swift is telling us that she knows who she is, and that comes with seeing the less ‘pretty’ side.

highlight lyric: “I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why // I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try try.”

seven - Can you say haunting innocence? This is a great song for half-attentive listening in the sun, and it could almost be a lullaby. In Swift-lore, the theme of childhood shows up every so often, like in ‘Mary’s Song,’ ‘The Best Day,’ ‘It’s Nice to Have a Friend,’ and ‘Christmas Tree Farm.’ This one is definitely the most dreamy, and it is also tinged with that darkness that consistently underlies all the tracks on this album--“Are there still beautiful things?” Imagine a sepia filter, and that’s kind of what this song embodies. Some fans have wondered about this song as a possible hint to bisexuality and/or relationships with women in general. (See Kaylor fan theories if you want to dive deep.) I can see this--the childhood friend has braids, which could imply she’s a little girl, and they ‘hide in the closet’. However, it seems more likely to me that this is coincidence. Lots of kids play in their closets, and if the song is about the friend’s father being angry all the time (and maybe abusive?) hiding in the closet also makes literal sense. I think the imagery in this song is some of my favorite on this album.

Another interesting point that I haven’t seen discussed so far is that Swift names this song ‘seven’ spelled out, yet uses the number ‘1′ in the first track title. The only other track she uses numbers in the name is ‘22′, which is about being 22. So, she could be trying to push past the idea that ‘seven’ is just about being 7 years old--though I do think it’s about that, too. She could also be intentionally connecting ‘the 1′ to ‘22′ in some way. They are both a similar vibe, and perhaps they even refer to the same time period in her life. If we go with that theory, who was T dating at 22? The most likely candidate for that timeframe is Conor Kennedy, which was sort of short-lived, and didn’t seem to end with as much fire as many of her break-ups. So, it’s possible that it’s about him. Or, maybe she just wanted to make sure we knew that ‘the 1′ was a concept she doesn’t really believe in anyway, and didn’t want to grant it the full word ‘one’. Will we ever know?

highlight lyric: “Before I learned civility // I used to scream // Ferociously // Any time I wanted”

august - It seems clear to me that this is the second song in the love-triangle narrative. I’ve heard people claim this is ‘illicit affairs’, but those people obviously haven’t looked at the lyrics. The narrator says ‘James, get in the car,’ which is directly connected to the lyrics in ‘betty.’ But, even without that obvious link, the style of august fits in with the stylistic choices of ‘cardigan’ and ‘betty’. All three have strong instrumental tracks complementing the vocals, soft harmonies, and lots of wistful lyrics. ‘illicit affairs’ cuts much sharper and deeper, but more on that later. Combining the dreamy vibes of ‘seven’ with the slight bop of ‘the 1′, this track is sticky--easy to get stuck in your head. The only thing I wonder about this song is how old this narrator is meant to be. They’re drinking wine, and she references going ‘back to school,’ which sort of feels like a reference to the college experience. But, the betty and james characters make numerous references that feel like high school. So, maybe this affair took place in another city with a college girl? I have to wonder if this is Swift referencing some of the age-gap relationships she’s been in. Again, with Conor Kennedy, she was 22, and he was 18. She also supposedly crashed his sister’s wedding in August, and that was the start of the end of their short romance. I’m just saying...

highlight lyric: “Wanting was enough, for me it was enough // to live for the hope of it all.”

this is me trying - If ‘The Archer’ was Swift confessing to her bad habits after a couple early relationship fights, ‘this is me trying’ is a desperate reminder a few months into the relationship. The two songs are sonically very similar, and I didn’t love the vibe (sorry, again!) the first time. But, I do love the artistic continuation. ‘this is me trying’ slows us down even more than ‘The Archer’ did, with a drum line that is almost like a heart beat, and it feels much less hopeful as a result. The lyrics are also some of the darkest I’ve heard from Swift--”I got wasted like all my potential” and “could’ve followed my fears all the way down.” My heart almost can’t handle this song, to be honest. She also references films again, but my favorite imagery connection is her standing over the lookout, which calls back to Rebekah looking out over the sea in LGAD.

highlight lyric: “and maybe I don't quite know what to say // but I'm here in your doorway”

illicit affairs - This song has that ‘All Too Well’ ache with a hint of ‘Death by A Thousand Cuts’ energy, and personally, I love it. You’ve got the busy instrumental strings underneath a simple, yet haunting melody line, and it’s that light, anxious tension that fits beautifully with the theme of the song. The lyrics depict the simple, small heartbreaking things that remind you of the pain you’re putting yourself through, which is reflected in the slightly surprising, soaring note at the end of the line in the verses. Whether you’ve actually been involved in an affair, these feelings show up in plenty of toxic relationships, and that universality is part of what makes the song powerful. The lyrics aren’t about pretty images, but that’s sort of the point. It’s prime Swift conversational lyricism, and you could pick out any number of lines that make a painful short poem all by themselves.

highlight lyric: “and you wanna scream // don’t call me “kid,” don’t call me “baby” // look at this godforsaken mess that you made me // you showed me colors you know I can’t see with anyone else”

invisible string - The primary love song on the album, this feels like a follow up to ‘Lover,’ maybe something she’d sing after being married a year or two. It’s sort of like ‘Mine,’ but much more mature, partly indicated by the pace of the song, which is steady and sure of itself. It’s also lovely to me that she’s returned to a bit of her country vibes--I ask you, would it feel like true end-game love for Swift if she couldn’t write a country love song about it? Back when she wrote country, all her happy ending songs were merely aspirational, and now they feel true. This is also 100% about Joe Alwyn, and to me, this is proof they have not broken up like some early reviews speculated. We also need to acknowledge that she’s past the Joe Jonas break up (um, good, that was ages ago) and is sending him and Sophie presents for their baby. I read a review that basically said this song seems a little too ‘all tied up’ for Swift, and that it doesn’t feel as genuine as a result. I sort of agree, but if we can take a sad song and accept that it isn’t how she feels 100% of the time, can’t we also do that with happy songs? Plus, she technically does say that it would be ‘pretty to think,’ which sort of implies it’s more a thought experiment than an actual belief. So, there’s that little twinge of sadness we needed to appease the folklore goddess. Oh, and of course, there’s a reference to Lover’s color scheme, saying time “gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies.” Which, many Kaylor hopefuls read as a reference to the Bi pride flag. To that, I just say... Maybe?

highlight lyric: “time, mystical time // cutting me open, then healing me fine”

Mad woman - My favorite thing about this song is the piano melody that happens in the background the whole song, working in concert with the main melody, but also completely independent (and haunting). It reminds me of one concept of madness--having multiple voices or thoughts going on simultaneously. But of course, it’s artfully and perfectly put together, which is the whole point. What could be perceived as madness is, in this case, what makes her able to create a masterful work of art. Now, this is also certainly a song about her masters, Scooter Braun, and Scott Borchetta. But it is also another feminist anthem. Women are taught not to be angry, not to yell, not to react with any emotionality otherwise we are discredited entirely. Swift directly calls this to attention by explaining that we’re angry for a reason--often antagonized intentionally until ‘you find something to wrap your noose around.’ She also makes the important point that women can also ‘hunt witches,’ and can be complicit in treating one another poorly. This is a reference to Scooter Braun’s wife defending him publicly against Taylor. Probably the most savage line is about the ‘master of spin’ having affairs, which she implies his wife knows about and seems to passively accept. But Swift doesn’t go too hard on her, reminding us that ‘no one likes a mad woman’, and that pressure is real. Could this ‘master of spin’ also be Scooter? I think probably. But I did read that some people are connecting this song to Hillary Clinton (she’s a scorpio, and the song references a scorpion sting), and that maybe Trump is the adulterer here... I feel like that’s a stretch, but I appreciate the interpretation.

highlight lyric: “What a shame she went mad // You made her like that”

epiphany - I suspect this song is directly related to how Swift is processing the current state of the pandemic. The atmospheric vibe with slow, clock-ticking beat in the background really feels momentous and poignant. Yes, she starts with images conjured from her grandfather’s stories of World War II, but she quickly seems to compare this awful battle to the doctors fighting COVID-19 on the frontlines in hospitals. The lyrics are simple, repetitive, and powerful. With so many ill literally struggling to breathe, the lines about breathing out really do hit especially hard these days. I can’t believe that wasn’t a thoughtful choice. The chorus is just barely hopeful, reminiscent of the numbness we all have to use as a coping mechanism to get through traumatic experiences. But it’s that little sliver of hope that makes the song even sadder--is that possible?

highlight lyric: “only twenty minutes to sleep // but you dream of some epiphany // just one single glimpse of relief // to make some sense of what you've seen”

betty - Give me all that Tim McGraw, Love Story, early Taylor pop-country. This song is definitely enhanced in part because of its connections to ‘cardigan’ and ‘august,’ but it stands strong on its own. It’s old news at this point, but James and Inez are based on the names of Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds’s daughters, so it’s all-but-confirmed that their third daughter was named Betty. Written from the perspective of James, there is massive speculation out there about whether the narrator is meant to be a boy or a girl. There are reasonable clues on both sides, so I’ll just say this: I love Taylor, but she’s always been a little late to the party when it comes to socialized ideas of male/female. Because of that, I don’t think she’d have a female narrator riding a skateboard. I also feel from the style of narration--“I don’t know anything;” “just a summer thing;” “would you tell me to go fuck myself”--it does sound more like stereotypical teenage boy language than what we know as swiftie teenage girl language. What I do like about this song, though, is that because it’s written from James’s perspective, it does sort of leave a wider opening for personal interpretation than some of her other love-story-like songs. The reason I personally love this song is that it’s mostly about redemption and forgiveness. Everyone has wished someone who broke their heart would write this song about them, and so it offers catharsis. Plus, it’s the only song on the album that truly feels happy at the end--thanks, key change! It’s refreshing and heartening, and it’s good timing, too. After the heaviest song on the album, we needed it. (Oh, and there’s a callback to the broken cobblestones from ‘cardigan’. And then he literally mentions her cardigan. So.)

highlight lyric: “if you kiss me // will it be just like I dreamed it? // will it patch your broken wings?”

peace - The vibe of this song is like laying on your couch in the summer with light coming in through the blinds and the ceiling fan is going around just fast enough to keep the warm air circulating, but not really cool you off. This song has a hint of ‘False God’ style, a little jazzy, but otherwise, it’s a pretty fresh feel for Swift. The message fits this thoughtful, lightly antsy feeling. She’s basically saying she wants to start a family with Joe (no, I don’t think she is literally pregnant yet) and settle down, but there is no real ‘settling down’ with her level of fame. I also think that Swift truly enjoys making music, performing, and engaging with her fans, and she doesn’t want to leave that life behind any time soon. So, she’s asking him if he can make that work. It’s, again, a mature vision of what a long-term relationship can actually look and feel like. Not all of us can truly relate to the burdens of fame, but there are other ways we can be unable to ‘give you peace’. No relationship is idyllic forever in the way romantic love often makes it out to be, and this song gives us a more realistic, consistent example. And just in case we thought this was just a nice song, the whole ‘clowns to the West’ is another potential Easter egg. In the lyric video, east is not capitalized, but West is. Most likely, this is a dig at Kanye. If we want to believe Taylor wasn’t being vengeful, it could potentially be a reference to Rebekah (West was her maiden name). I lean toward theory one, although it’s kind of amazing that it works out such that it connects to both.

highlight lyric: “but I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm // if your cascade ocean wave blues come”

hoax - (Phew last one--I don’t have access to ‘the lakes’ yet) Swift can’t end the album without bringing us all back to the raw emotional space she opened up within us. This song brings back similar piano lines from ‘mad woman’ and the image of screaming on the cliffside. Chronologically, ‘hoax’ feels like it takes place after or during the death of her reputation, i.e. the feud with Kim and Kanye, when she was still very vulnerable. Based on timeline, this seems likely to be either Calvin Harris or Tom Hiddleston. It could really be some combination of the two, since many songs aren’t really about just one person. My gut tells me it’s primarily about Calvin, since she’s referenced that they didn’t have a very faithful relationship--”your faithless love’s the only hoax I believe in.” Both relationships travelled a lot--“I left a part of me in new york.” I’m guessing she’s referencing the feud with Harris over her writing credit on ‘This is What You Came For.’ She takes attacks on her career as seriously as hurtful relationships, and since she’s referencing being torn apart by the media when she says that “what you did was just as dark,” I think it’s likely that this also has something to do with hurting her reputation. It’s another hauntingly beautiful song, and you can totally imagine yourself out on that cliff looking at the midnight sea as the piano line ends.

highlight lyric: “you knew the password, so I let you in the door // you knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score?”

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Overall, the album is my favorite of Taylor’s so far for two reasons: 1) the continuity in both theme and sound is stellar, and 2) there aren’t any songs that I don’t like. Usually, there are 1-3 songs on Taylor’s albums that are either forgettable or too on-the-nose for my taste. I’m sure that is a product, in part, of having to craft songs for radio-play and for her amazing, cinematic live shows. Having given herself the freedom to make whatever music she wanted without thinking (so much) about whether they’d top the charts or be good for a stadium concert, she made an album without a single ‘pop just because’ track.

Now the real question is... What will she do with the remaining 6 months of quarantine???

#taylor swift #swiftie #folklore #album thoughts #folklore thoughts #ts #ts8 #tswift #who else was supposed to go to lover fest?

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amandajeanwrites · 5 years

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A Love Letter to Knives Out

As my husband says, Rian Johnson’s Knives Out has been out for a long time now (aka two months, which I guess is a long time in Hollywood), but we just went to see it (took him long enough to take me!!!) and I can’t not talk about it.

For those of you who don’t know, Knives Out is the ultimate manor-house, family-values, murder mystery. One week after thriller novelist, Harlan Thrombey, commits suicide, the world renowned private investigator, Benoit Blanc, receives a wad of cash in the mail and a request to investigate the mysteries surrounding Thrombey’s demise. Thrombey’s family of white socialites are asked to return to the manor for further questioning in which you learn about the happenings on Harlan’s 85th birthday the night before he died.

The film is a mash-up of perfectly timed flash backs, done in the hilarious point-of-view of the most recent character in question, but most of the film is seen through the stunning green gold eyes of Thrombey’s nurse, Marta Cabrera, who was the last person to see him alive. It’s an exciting who-done-it jampacked with family drama, white privelege, and sour (not to mention famous) faces, and I enjoyed every last morsel.

I’ll try not to get into spoiler land too much here, as I mainly just need to talk about how much this film inspired me. As a writer, specifically one who’s been struggling through writing mystery and thrillers myself, I was enthralled with every tiny decision Rian Johnson made, both with the screenwriting and direction. He knew the formula perfectly, implanting props and clues at the beginning that would definitely come to life later.

I feel like before I even get into the writing though, I need to discuss production and set design, as the Thrombey family home completely blew me away. The outside of the house, besides being perfect for the kind of Clue-esque murder mystery novel, was merely unremarkable compared to the props and set dressing that was done inside. Before bed, I read every article I could interviewing the set decorator, David Schlesinger. I just had to know what informed all of the tiny details in this over-the-top, ornate home.

He said he based every single prop off of a novel that Harlan Thrombey would have written over the past sixty years. From there, he sourced the majority of antiques locally in the Boston area as the character would have done. I caught only a handful of odds and ends in the background, as the plot and characters keep sucking your focus back, but I can’t wait to see it again to see what else I can catch.

Okay, back to the writing. Rian Johnson’s attention to detail wasn’t the only thing I pulled inspiration from. The man clearly loves murder mysteries, as this story was reminiscent of all of those classics we all know and love, but he took so many major spins on those tropes, so nothing felt predictable. You really had no idea who to blame until the very last few minutes of the film. Every single character has a motive and not a one has an air-tight alibi.

One of the ways he brilliantly diverts expectations is in the use of a main character. Marta Cabrera, played by Ana de Armas, the nurse, is the daughter of an immigrant woman, working hard to keep her family afloat and safe. She’s great at her job, forming a close bond with Harlan and his family. She seems to have a heart of gold. (She has a literal disorder where lying makes her vomit.)

She’s refreshing. I guess that’s what I’m getting at. Typically in these scenarios, we’re seeing everything through the eyes of the madcap detective (we’ll get to him in a moment), a strong-jawed, handsome gentleman who is seeing everything for the first time and is just learning the personalities of the characters through their faults and guilt. Through Marta, we’ve seen it before. We know them. We know how disgustingly obtuse the family is. We know they don’t care about her or where she’s from. We see the guilt before it’s ascertained. It’s just a beautiful twist.

Also, someone pointed out on Tumblr that Marta’s character is refreshing, as woman, because she isn’t sexualized AT ALL. In the entire movie, never once do we see her in a revealing outfit. She’s often dressed as an innocent, middle class working woman, in normal, comfortable clothing. Not once do we see her snuggled up against the incredible sexy bad boy of the family, Ransom, an obvious pick for a love interest. She’s just a girl observing the family do horrible things, and not once is she sexually harassed for it. It’s incredible. This is what we want more of, Hollywood! (Louder for the people in the back!!!)

Going back to the point, however, that every character has a motive, Marta isn’t as innocent as she seems, and it makes for some incredibly poignant and emotional scenes which shockingly moved me to well up. That’s another part of the genius of this film, the emotions. One minute, you could be cackling out loud about a ridiculous comment made by the Alt-Right grandson, and the next minute you could be sympathizing for the characters who lost the patriarch of the family.

It filled me with nostalgia, not only for other murder mysteries of this caliber, but because at one point, I leaned over to my husband and said “Oh my God, these are like my family get-togethers.” The family argued politics. They laughed and danced and partied. They told eat other to “eat shit” and got in fist fights. They cried, holding each other in apologies.

Aside from the family, comedic relief also came in the form of the aforementioned madcap detective, Benoit Blanc, played by Daniel Craig. Blanc, a detective straight from Civil War era Georgia, comes into the family with new eyes but old wisdom through experience. He figures everything out within the first fifteen minutes but struggles through the details for the rest of the film in waxing monologues about baked goods that will have you rolling. He teams up with Marta, “Watson” as he calls her, to unsheathe the dagger completely, so to speak. Their chemistry together truly makes the film.

I could go on and on about the rest of the characters and their perfect imperfections, but I have to go on to why I wanted to write this post in the first place. If you want to talk characters and actors (Toni Collette though!?!?), hit me up on Instagram @amandajeanwrites and I will discuss it with you for DAYS. (Shameless plug.)

So the point, of all of this, was how I left the theatre feeling insurmountably inspired. Not only was the writing impeccable, full of details and heart and soul and emotion, rounded characters, a set beginning middle and end, but at the heart of it all was a man successful for writing dozens of mystery and thriller novels. I know that sounds wild, that I was most inspired by the character who dies at the beginning, but truly I was.

Harlan Thrombey is everything a writer aspires to. He has amazing success. He lives in the dream home. He has a mostly healthy (although ridiculous) family who loves him very much. He took them all under his wings to support them financially because his success gives him the means to help. He takes Marta in, although as his nurse at first, and befriends her and takes care of her and her family as well. And he’s able to do all of this because of his imagination.

Throughout the film, one of the police officers on the case is geeking out about the various set pieces because he’s a huge fan of Harlan’s work. I think every author wants that sort of fandom. Someday, I’d love a mansion full of brats and a stranger to come in and tell me how proud he is of my work and how honored he is to be in my home.

I don’t know, I guess that aspect of it just really filled me with joy, and it pushed me to keep moving forward. I will have that house someday. I could, you know, go without the murder part of it. Let’s leave those for the novels.

TL;DR, Knives Out was an incredible representation of the murder mystery genre, and it’s going up on my list of favorite films of all time. Rian Johnson deserves all of the awards this season, as do his cast and crew. Bravo to all.

Oh, also, thanks as always, for reading xo

Let me know in the comments if there’s a particular film that inspires you to keep pursuing your passions.

#knives out #chris evans #toni collette #rian johnson #jamie lee curtiss #don johnson #jaeden martell #katherine langford #michael shannon #daniel craig #ana de armas #lakeith stanfield #christopher plummer #writer #mystery #clue #author #authortube

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knifeonmars · 4 years

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Capsule Reviews - May 2020 - The Cape Stuff

I read a lot of comics in May. Here’s what I thought of some of the superhero and superhero-adjacent comics I read.

Arms of the Octopus

A nostalgia pick, the collection of several annual issues containing a crossover between Superior Spider-Man, The Invincible Hulk, and the All-New X-Men. It is an artifact of a very specific and bizarre time in Marvel Comics, when Doc Ock was Spider-Man, the Hulk worked for SHIELD, and the original five teen X-Men were stranded in their own future. For a pure, relatively straightforward crossover romp, it's quite enjoyable. Spider-Man is a jerk, the Hulk fights a robot, the X-Men are befuddled by the present, all of the major beats for that particular moment in the Marvel Universe are there, and it's got some really great art. Jake Wyatt, during his regrettably short-lived stint with Marvel and the great Kris Anka unfortunately overshadow the other contributors, but it's all very good, if not the most accessible comic.

Maxwell's Demons

I came to Maxwell's Demons having heard a lot of critical buzz and with my expectations set rather high. I did not care for this book at all. Ambitious is the best word for this series, and that's not a bad thing. It's got ideas, about the craft, about the genre, about philosophy in general. It never quite manages to carry things off though; it's not as smart as it wants to be, and the high-minded ideas are never incorporated in particularly elegant ways. Three of the story's five chapters are essentially extended monologues in which the main character rambles on about some glorified shower thought for 20-plus pages. The first and second chapters are the exceptions to this pattern, and are quite solid as far as pointedly derivative superhero riffs go, even if the second chapter's riff on "What if Miracleman #17 was significantly less intelligent" is more than a little shameless in its lack of originality. The fourth chapter, by contrast, is the nadir of the series, easily the most embarrassing Manic Pixie Dream Girl tripe I've seen played straight in literal years. I'm reminded a lot of Translucid, another superhero pastiche, which essentially sought to do for Batman what Maxwell's Demons seeks to do for Lex Luthor. I warmed to Translucid significantly on my second read and I wonder if the same will end up being true for Maxwell's Demons, but I find that Translucid simply did a better job of incorporating original ideas and stating its themes in ways less stupefyingly clunky than Maxwell's Demon's ever manages. I hate to call a book pretentious, especially an ambitious one, but at present that's how I feel about this book.

Twilight

Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez and Howard Chaykin's Watchmen-for-mid-century-space-heroes epic. It's good. Fabulous art, some really interesting ideas and a great premise. It's also more than a little Chaykin-y, with most of the male characters having fraught but amiable relationships with their much-too-good-for-them-and-they-both-know-it ex-wives. It has this particular brand of low grade misogyny that idealizes women but in doing so denies them interiority and, ultimately, humanity. Leaving that aside, though it is a major point to leave aside, it’s story of humanity rotting over eons of immortality, mad space gods, and humanity’s proclivity towards colonialism and genocide, it's great. It’s not an altogether pleasant book, it can be nasty and strange, in ways both intentional and unintentional, but it’s original and engaging and decidedly well made. Something of an overlooked classic of that era’s DC output.

Green Lantern: Earth One

Literally the only one of DC's Earth One graphic novels that's worth a damn. Where most of the other Earth One books choose to start things off in a world resembling our own, Green Lantern starts off in a scifi future resembling something along the lines of Ad Astra or The Expanse, with Earth controlled by an only alluded to totalitarian government, humanity colonizing and mining the solar system, and Hal Jordan as a spacefaring roughneck who dreads the prospect of returning to Earth. Earth One is the rare Green Lantern story that manages to make Earth as interesting as the rest of the universe. The bulk of the action leaves this behind to focus on unearth the lost legacy of the Green Lanterns and refits their mythology in a clean way which will be unsurprising for anyone with a passing familiarity with the original comics but is still satisfying ad fresh. Fabulous art, fun take on the mythology, I'm left both wanting more and being satisfied with what we got.

Spider-Man: Life Story

In a just world, Chip Zdarksy, one of Marvel’s best writers these days, would be writing both Spider-Man and Fantastic Four, instead of having been relegated to shortlived spinoffs. Because life just isn’t fair sometimes, instead he was given this admittedly ambitious project, his all-encompassing take on the Spider-Man story as played out in real time. In the end it’s bold and engaging, but more than a little clipped in execution. Each issue is a snippet of Peter Parker's life as we catch up to him in a new decade so readers only get a quick glimpse of the action and are left to fill in the substantial gaps by drawing on our knowledge of continuity. The obvious comparison is John Byrne's Superman/Batman: Generations, but where that story really only took the broad strokes of those characters' continuity into account in writing its decades spanning story, Spider-Man: Life Story is dedicated to the remixing of Spider-Man's publishing canon. So it can’t just take an archetypal view of Spider-Man and play that out to its logical conclusion, instead it’s stuck trying to incorporate version of prominent Spider-Man stories like Kraven's Last Hunt, Venom, and Civil War. The result means that there’s a ton of exposition in each issue, and frequent use of shorthand to gloss over things which have happened since the previous issue, and it never manages to explore the series’ original ideas in detail. Also, I'll die mad that Michel Fiffe, the genius behind COPRA and one of my favorite cartoonists, public pitched basically this exact story a year or so before this project was announced, and even if Marvel didn't actually steal the idea, I'll forever pine for Fiffe's take on this premise.

Star Wars: The Crimson Empire Saga

Long before the Disney's take on Star Wars, with their codified takes on the mythology and careful curation of the franchise, there was the old Star Wars Expanded Universe, where seemingly anyone could tell any story they wanted using the mythology of Star Wars. While it resulted in some good stuff, like Timothy Zahn's fondly remembered Thrawn books, the vast majority of it was workmanlike or even bad. Crimson Empire falls firmly into the category of bad, a dumber than dirt story about an extremely cool space guy and his code of honor. It's the kind of story where multiple characters say "He's just one man!" right before or right after seeing their legion of anonymous flunkies getting demolished by the hero. It's got an inexplicable and bad love story. In the three miniseries collected here it spends about two pages total dealing with the idea that maybe, just maybe, the fact that it's main character is dedicated to the lost honor of Emperor Palpatine, a space fascist, maybe his code of honor is completely fucked. Of those three miniseries, only the first story is anywhere near something that could be called good. I wouldn’t called Crimson Empire utterly abysmal, but it’s not unironically good. If the name Kyle Katarn means anything to you, you might get something out of this as a nostalgia trip, but otherwise it has no redeeming qualities.

Deathstroke: Legacy

The first of the New 52 Deathstroke stories, which was never well regarded until Christopher Priest took it over with Deathstroke: Rebirth, I was driven to read this by a conceptual fondness for this era's Deathstroke basically looking and acting like an action figure. Through that lens, it's quite enjoyable. It's not as obviously in on the joke in the way that the classic Taskmaster: Unthinkable is, but it's over the top, has fun designs and baddies, and Joe Bennett (years before his career best heights in Immortal Hulk) provides consistently good art. As a pure action comic, it's good.

Wolverine MAX: Permanent Rage

Here's the thing about Wolverine: There are very few good Wolverine solo stories. Wolverine is a genuinely good character, but most of his solo stories are dumb action affairs, and there's literally never been a Wolverine comic that's even halfway as good as the Logan movie. Permanent Rage, the first storyline from the Wolverine MAX series though, is actually pretty decent. It plays out a lot like you might imagine a Wolverine movie made around 2004, with no superheroes, a Japanese setting that allows for some distracting orientalism, unrelenting violence, and a noir-inspired storyline. The present day storyline is all well and good, not great, but solid and relatively low-key, but what makes the book is the presence of Sabretooth as the main villain. His relationship with Wolverine, fleshed out through flashbacks drawn by some really talented artists, is probably one of the best takes on that relationship that Marvel has ever put out. The casting of Wolverine and Sabretooth as two lonely immortals, bound together by hate and the knowledge that they are each other's only true companions, absolutely makes this book. Is it great? No, but it's got enough interesting things going on that fans of dark superheroes stories would probably find something to enjoy. Subsequent volumes of Wolverine MAX moved even further from the character’s superhero trappings and supporting characters, which is a pity, but this one remains readable and enjoyable on its own.

Marshal Law Omnibus

A collection all of the non-licensed and non-text-only Marshal Law stories. It's weird, it's punk, it's violent, it's sick of superheroes but self-aware about it own silliness in a way that Garth Ennis' work like The Boys has never been (Incidentally, the fifth story contained here, Super Babylon, is just every self-righteous complaint Ennis made about superheroes in The Boys but presented with a modicum of good humor). It's quite fun as a mean-spirited anti-superhero romp, but anyone who is particularly invested in the moral rectitude of, like, the Flash, might find it an unpleasant read so I would advise avoiding it if that's you. It's also not perfect, even for what it is: it's approach to sex work and kink is very dated, it relies on sexual violence a little too much, and by the time you get to the final story, Secret Tribunal, it's come to revel in its previously ironic fascist and misogynist imagery and characters just a little too much. The third installment, Kingdom of the Blind, is for my money, the strongest of the lot, featuring both the most straightforward premise and the most incisive satire the collection has to offer.

#capsule reviews #words

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sebbybooks · 5 years

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Somewhere in Paradise (PT2)

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction ~18+

Tagged for updates✈️

@asguardiansoftheavengers @mightiestheroes @ladifreakingda

Agh! Ok so I know I said this would only be a total of two parts, but I seemed to have gotten carried away and made it entirely too long. With that being said I decided to extend it and added one more part that I plan to post after this one. Which would then wrap the story up! I hope you gorgeous human beings enjoy this next part🐥💓

“Shit! Crap. Shit! Crap.”

I desperately hoped that I was simply blinded by my frustrations and that I was overlooking where I placed it. I frantically searched around the bar counter and the ground for my blue leather bound journal. I repeatedly asked the bartender could he keep checking to see if it had fallen over. After the fifth plea he eventually eyed me cautiously and went about his job like I no longer existed. To him I was just a crazed American that had a little too much to drink. I did not take my defeat gracefully.

I took my wedges off and stood in my chair to get a birds eye view of the parameter. I needed to see if someone had the gall to take it right in front of me. My search came up empty handed and I quickly stepped down once I realized how silly my actions must have looked. The bartender stared back at me with wide eyes and his temper held at bay. I collected my clutch and shoes in my hand before sending him an apologetic wave. One that he did not accept before pointing for me to leave. He didn’t have to tell me twice I was already humiliated enough for just one night to handle.

The rage that I felt only festered as I headed back to my hotel room. My ass was freezing in my thin wrap skirt that wouldn’t stop blowing up in the wind. I was tired, barefoot in Capri , and hungry for the food that I was promised. Truthfully enough I wasn’t surprised. Pissed off? Maybe, but surprised I was not! This is exactly what I get for thinking with my hormones and not my head.

It was such a euphoric feeling knowing I was just a few paces away from my room. I wanted to take a much needed shower, then sleep like the dead. I urgently needed to temporarily shut of my mind, because despite what just occurred I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Sebastian kissed me. An I foolishly let that gorgeous Disney loving asshole do it. I thought for sure by now the walk from Alessio’s would have erased the fantom feeling of Sebastian’s lips searing against mine. The taste of his mouth still lingered on my tongue. I clearly had a lot to drink because I badly wanted the remnants of him to stay.

The floor to my room had an unlit balcony. The only light that illuminated through the shadows was coming from across the way from buildings that sat on the serrated boulders that wrapped around the island. I reached into my clutch to feel around for my hotel key. I nearly had a heart attack when I walked up to my door.

“Sebastian?” My voice came out shrill as I was startled by his presence.

He was sitting with his back pressed against the door to my room. Sebastian rested his elbows on his knees and his hands were digging in his hair. He slowly tilted his head up to see me. The features on his face were hard to make out in the dark. As childish as it may have seemed I didn’t want to be the first one who spoke. I’m also pretty sure I unintentionally started to pout like one. The corners of Sebastian’s mouth began to quirk until he realized what he was doing. Pressing his lips together in a thin line he started to stand.

“Natalie.” Sebastian began to say, but I quickly cut him off.

“Do you have my journal?” I blurted out. I waited for him to tell me he took him. Hell, I hoped it was him that took it. I didn’t like the idea that it was in someone else’s hands but mine. The thought of someone reading my private thoughts this very second turned my stomach. Sebastian’s face scrunched up in confusion as I started to hear the word no.

“Well that’s that I guess.” I say encouragingly so he could get the memo to leave.I forced a smile that made my cheeks sore.

“Jesus. Natalie I feel like shit for leaving you there alone.” As he should feel, my inner thoughts chimed in. “I am a complete idiot that owes you an apology and a good explanation.” He kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his eyebrows were scrunched together in apprehension.

My mind was still swimming from those limoncello shots I’d consumed. Alongside that bombshell Sebastian left in my lap right after he selfishly kissed me like there was no tomorrow. “You don’t owe me anything.” Is all I have the courage to say. My voice doesn’t even sound like my own in my ears. It sounded tunneled and I could barely keep a straight face any longer.

Sebastian looked back at me astounded. He probably half expected me to scream till my lungs burned or yell at him for letting me on this entire time. I figured what was the point in doing all of the above. I sucked in a deep breath and stumbled forward. Before I fell face first into the door Sebastian swooped in to catch me in his arms.

Balancing me back on both of my feet he kept both of his arms secured around me. I thought they had finally dissipated for the night, but a shameless giggle escaped my lips yet again. My face was inches way from his neck. “You smell amazing ....like a candle.”

What the actual hell Natalie? I started to scream internally. See, this is exactly why I don’t drink. I can’t control the randomness that comes out of mouth. Even though what I said was very true. He smelled pretty damn good.

“Let’s get you inside.” I could tell he was holding back his own laughter. I inserted my room key and fumbled to get the door open. Sebastian guided me inside and at the threshold I quickly shut the door behind me. Leaving him standing shocked on the outside.

ONE YEAR LATER

I made sure before I left to securely tuck my white oriental lily in my hair behind my ear. After all this time I wanted Sebastian to see that I kept it and that I never once forgot. It was also a nice touch that complimented my solid red dress with a squared neckline that kept a modest amount of cleavage on display. Though it seems I’ll never learn when it comes to my choice in footwear. I could feel the cracked and pebbled pavement through my white fabric loafers with every step I took.

I needed to find something to do on the island to keep my mind busy and to pass the time. To which it went by painfully slow. I nearly lost count by how many times I checked the clock on my wristwatch,it was almost time. I finally found a quaint little eatery that served all types of gelato. The nostalgia consumed me as the almond butter and honey gelato melted onto my tastebuds. I couldn’t conceal the bashful grin that snuck onto my face. As the memories played back in my head.

He called my name several times more than likely waking up half of the guest on this floor. “Go to bed Sebastian!” I tried to keep a serious face even though I knew he couldn’t see it to which made me giggle even harder.

“Open the door Natalie I need to talk to you.” His fist pounded on the door.

“Why so you can further humiliate me and use me as a distraction from your own problems?” My voice rang cold and it even stung a little coming out of my own mouth. I threw my purse and shoes onto the floor. For a second I thought he had left. I heard a huge thud hit the door and I could only imagine that it was him resting his head on my door.

“I am so sorry.” I could hear the honesty in his words. But still they meant nothing to me. I sat on the edge of the bed staring back at the other end of the door. “It took everything in me to make that flight.” Sebastian’s voice went hoarse. “For weeks I was in nothing but pain then suddenly it was like my entire body grew accustomed to the feeling. That morning it felt like I was walking around with weights on.”

I thought about moving away from the door and ignoring him completely. Like magnetism, my entire body was facing where the door was. I couldn’t turn around even if I wanted to.

“When I heard that it was announced as delayed. I took it as my sign that getting on without her was a fucking bad idea. I convinced myself it wouldn’t even be the same if she wasn’t with me. Fuck! Natalie I was so relieved to not be going anymore.”Liquid heat pooled through me as I heard his voice break. I scooted off the edge of the bed to sit on the floor in front of it without taking my eyes off the wooden door that separated us.

“I started to leave and that’s when I saw you sitting in a lounge chair deep in thought huddled over your notebook.” I bit down on the inside of my cheek and I lowered myself in my own embrace. Bracing for what Sebastian was going to say next. “You didn’t notice me but I stood there and watched you for a while. I couldn’t believe you were actually sitting there. I had only seen your picture in the backs of the books Bianca was always reading.” He swallowed, Sebastian struggled to say her name like he didn’t deserve to possess it.

“I knew who you were Natalie. You were one her favorite authors and I knew it was her final way of getting to me.” His deep voiced managed to weave its way through my chest.

I struggled to stand on my feet, still feeling slightly uncoordinated. I made me way over to the door unsure of what I was planning to do next. I opened my mouth wanting to say something to Sebastian. Without thinking I guided my hand to twist the door open.

He was just as surprised as I was that I even opened it. Sebastian rubbed his hand over his jaw, his fingers digging into his perfectly shaven face. My room was pitch black and I dropped my hand from the door as I turned away from it. A few moments later I heard it close and for a split second I was actually more afraid that he left. Pathetic I know.

I turned around just to be sure and once I stopped seeing three figures of him I finally found my words. “You didn’t have to explain anything Sebastian.” I said carefully.

He let out a dry laugh. The muscle in his jaw flexed actively. “No Natalie I did.” We stood awkwardly in the middle of my room. Neither one of us moved an inch. I wetted my dry lips with my tongue . My entire mouth felt dry.

“Be right back I’m going to get a glass of water.” I moved one step forward but I ended up falling back on my butt onto the bed.

“Why don’t I get it for you?” He asked cautiously. I nodded slowly my head filling heavy. I moved further up the bed until I reached the headboard. I threw nearly half the pillows off the bed and kicked my legs under the blanket. Sebastian emerged from the bathroom holding a glass of water in his hands. He bent down to hand it to me and I took it.

“Can I ask you something?” I brought the glass to my mouth and drank nearly all of it.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Anything.”

I moved my feet in attempt for him to sit at the foot of the bed. He caught ahold to my gesture and eased himself down to sit.

“Did you only want me to keep you company here because. . . .I reminded you of Bianca?” My words came out slow and I searched his eyes for the hard truth that was sure to come.

“At first I did.” I was caught off guard by how fast he answered. My heart just about sank into the pit of my stomach. I’m use to writing about heartbreak. Being on the receiving end stung like a bitch. I looked away from him and stared out my window, directly looking back at the moon. I didn’t want to watch him when he left. I was taken aback when he started to say more.

“When I saw how different you were from her I couldn’t look away Natalie. You were this crazy beautiful woman that breathed air back into me. And that was simply just from talking to you. It felt wrong at first like I was betraying her somehow, but I couldn’t help but feel selfish too.” Sebastian edged closer looking back at me with brooding eyes that made my breathing hitch into my lungs.

“What if I told I didn’t want to see you again after today?” I whispered to him.

He eyed me for a moment before leaning forward. As if he didn’t want me to miss a single word he was about to say. “Then I will just have to drive myself mad wondering about you.”

I mashed my lips together, inhaling sharply. I’m not gonna lie his words felt good to hear. Who knew also a person’s voice could sound so sexy? I wondered if anyone ever told him that. I could never say it out loud, because it was on the list of words that made me cringe. For a split second I hoped like hell I was saying all of this in my head. I’d soon realized I was having a full on conversation in my head when I noticed Sebastian look at me like it was for the last time. His face changed from pensive to neutral. I wanted things to go back to what I considered normal between the two of us. So I said the only thing I knew that would make him smile.

“We’re all mad here.” I said, groggily.

“I’m sorry you’re going to have to repeat yourself. I don’t think I heard you.” Sebastian shook his head in amusement or satisfaction that I was turning into a geek like him.

I playfully rolled my eyes as my eyelids grew heavier until I couldn’t fight my sleep any longer. I swear before I closed my eyes it looked like he was going to bend down to kiss me on the forehead , but he swiftly decided against it. I felt his weight lift off the mattress followed by a click on my door. Sebastian was gone.

I surprisingly liked waking up to the warm sunlight basking on my face right as I opened my eyes. While I loved seeing the illusion of the sun balancing itself on top of the ocean. I needed to close my curtains, because just as expected my head throbbed viscously. When I turned around to walk back to my bed I noticed a note sitting on top of my nightstand with a bouquet of white oriental lilies near a travel size pack of Tylenol.

Without hesitation I reached for the Tylenol and took both tablets with the rest of the lukewarm water from a few hours ago. I was too impatient to try and find my glasses so that I could read the handwritten note Sebastian left. Squinting my eyes to try to get them to focus it read:

Natalie,

I thought I’d let you know that I ran off with your room key. Don’t worry I plan on returning it to you. I just needed an excuse to see you again just in case you realized I wasn’t worth seeing after last night. To be honest I hope that’s not what you’re thinking. Wipe that horrified look off your face that I’m growing to like so much. Relax, I’m still not planning on stalking you. Even though this looks slightly incriminating. I just wanted to give you my sincerest apologies again. If it at alp felt like I was only using you as a distraction I hope you believe me when I say you weren’t. I was drowning in my sorrows long before I met you and you were just the emergency lifejacket that I didn’t know I needed. To put it simple. Before this gets way too deep this early in the morning and you wake up while I write this I would really like it if you’d join me for breakfast. I’ll be on the balcony in the east wing on the fifth floor. By the way you smile in your sleep if you didn’t already know that. -Sebastian

I stared at the paper for what felt like a century. I wondered how long ago was it even written and even more importantly why was I still standing there? I folded the note neatly before setting it back down on the table next to the beautiful arrangement that smelled heavenly. I didn’t have anything to put them in and I wasn’t quite sure if I already missed breakfast.

I quickly hopped in the shower, shaved, and got dress. I threw on a pair of denim shorts, stripe black and white T-shirt , and my black Birkenstocks. I needed to conceal the bags under my eyes and the most makeup I planned on wearing this morning was my trusty cherry chapstick. I threw out nearly all of the contents in my duffel bag looking for a pair of sunglasses. I shuddered at the mess I made, but I was in a rush.

The stairway to the fifth floor was short. I just had to walk down an endless hallway. Breathing in I could smell the sea breeze as if it were right beside me. The view in Capri was something I could never get use to. When I finally reached the end of the balcony I didn’t think it would be possible to behold something even better.

“Hey.” Sebastian’s smile reached his eyes. His blue eyes lit up once he saw me.

“Hi.” I couldn’t keep my eyes trained on just one thing. The view behind him was absolutely breathtaking. The skyline blended into the bluest water I’d ever seen. Sebastian had a lavish breakfast set up in a secluded seating area with white canopy drapes wrapped around the tall wooden post. It was the perfect hideaway spot, even though the space could approximately fit twenty people. I took a seat across from Sebastian and plopped down on a tall cushion that was comfier than it looked. “I really hope that’s orange juice and not a mimosa.” I said pulling my glasses off my face and into my hair.

All across the table was an assortment of brightly colored sliced fruit. Apples, kiwi, cantaloupe, oranges, pineapples, and grapes were actually colored coordinated on a gigantic white tray. Short cylinder glasses with yogurt had crushed granola on top with blueberries and strawberries blended in them. Which was placed right alongside freshly buttered plain and almond croissants. It didn’t even end there. Tiny fruit tarts, bagels, chocolate chip muffins, banana nut muffins and stacked golden brown waffles were strategically placed with several long strips of bacon. The only thing that was missing was coffee. Wait. Wait! I spoke too soon!

“I didn’t know what you like so I ordered everything.” He nervously looked down at the mouthwatering feast before us. I tried to let that be the only thing I drooled over. Something was different about him.

“You cut your hair!” I exclaimed, when the realization finally struck me. I cursed myself for my awkwardness and inability to keep my thoughts locked away in my head. Sebastian tilted his head to the side coyly.

“I did.” He answered, his eyes scanning over me slowly. It made me wish I’d put a littler more effort into my outfit. The comment he made last night still played on loop in my ears. I instinctively shook my head as I reached for a muffin.

“It’s that bad huh?” He asked over the brim of his mug.

“No no I like it.” I admitted, keeping my true opinion to myself. As much as I liked it long, shorter hair suited him best. I forced myself to look away from him. I wasn’t going to fall victim to his soulful stare any longer. This would be so much better if he were ugly. I took a huge bite into the banana nut muffin. I couldn’t tell if I was simply starving or it was the best damn muffin I’d ever eaten. One bite led to another and another till I was practically devouring it. I couldn’t control the sounds of satisfaction that came with every bite.

“Do I need to give you a moment or are you through making love to that muffin?” I just about face planted into the table. His laughter filled the air and I wanted to evaporate. I mentally prepared how fast I could pack my suitcase and change hotels. It’s a relatively big island what were the odds I’d run into again. Right?

“You’re doing that thing where you’re overthinking again.” His lips cracked a grin.

I leaned back a little just enough so that I wouldn’t fall and I could see his face. My heart was constantly getting workouts in his presence. His light green buttoned down shirt was barely buttoned. What was with this guy and not keeping his shirts closed? Not that I was complaining. In the daylight I saw the symbol around his long silver chain clearly. What I previously had thought was some odd charm turned out to be an anchor. I wondered if it meant anything to Sebastian or better yet if Bianca gave it to him.

“What are you thinking about?” Sebastian asked cutting through my daze.

“Why did you want to kiss me last night?” I don’t even know why asked him that. It was like the question had been sitting on my tongue since the moment his lips left left mine.

Sebastian’s shoulders visibly tensed from the memory of all that happened yesterday. I should be more upset about my missing journal, but I’m more fixated on what’s going on inside his head. “I don’t know.” He answered, then laughed dryly. “Actually I do.” He added. Sebastian’s eyes met mine for the longest time.

“Why?” I repeated again, but my voice came out in a raspy whisper.

“Because Natalie it was killing me not to. I was angry at myself for even thinking it was a possibility. I thought if I kissed you once I would get it out of my system, but it seemed to have had the reverse effect on me. An I know that’s not fair to you or Bianca.” His breathing stalled.

I wanted to tell him that the kiss between us was no big deal and that it didn’t have to mean anything. I would gladly like to put it behind us and let it go. Though I’m sure he’d make a Queen Elsa joke about it and use his humor as a crutch. I could tell the hurt that he felt was beyond my comprehension. Sebastian was still holding onto the loss of his girlfriend and it wasn’t my place to pry for answers. Heaven knows I haven’t known him long enough to even ask how she died. One thing I did know was that a line would have to be drawn between us. But if I told him that when he kissed me I didn’t feel electricity from head to toe, I’d be a complete liar.

“Forgive me?” He conjoined both of his hands together to make a fist and rested his chin on top of them. Sebastian’s face held an emotional expression as he tried to study my face for my answer.

I tossed a slice of cantaloupe in my mouth pretending to mull over his question. Of course I forgave him. I just didn’t want to look like I was easy. Well I sort of already gave that impression when I played tonsil hockey with him. “I accept your apology.” I said as I reached for another slice.

I glanced up in his direction and already saw a his lips turn upwards. I had to immediately put a pin in my thoughts when I started to fantasize about what it would feel like to have his lips all over my body. “On one condition!” I said a little too loudly.

“What’s the condition?” He asked.

“We need ground rules.” I stated confidently.

“Ground rules?” He repeated slowly.

“It’s just one.”

“Ok what is it?” Sebastian pressed two fingers against his pursed lips and he moved closer as if he would miss it.

“If we are going to have a real friendship for the duration of this trip. You can not kiss me again.” I said truthfully...I think.

“So I can’t look at you like a banana nut muffin?”

I nearly choked on the fruit I was eating. His lips twitched like he wanted to smile on behalf of my embarrassment once again.

“Nope.” I say breathlessly, not even bothering to have a comeback with a witty remark.

“Alright...friend.” Sebastian extended his hand out for me to shake and for a second I thought he was joking. His arm was still in midair and I reached forward to place my hand in his. He laughed when I started to shake his hand in agreement. I’m pretty sure this was all humorous to him and he didn’t quite believe me.

ONE YEAR LATER

One of my favorite stories ever written is by Oscar Wilde. There was one quote in particular from The Picture of Dorian that floated in and out of my head all while being back in Capri. It didn’t quite feel like the first time being back here. Last time it was new and I admit I liked not knowing what tomorrow was going to bring. Sebastian had awakened something inside of me in those short weeks of knowing him. All the while simultaneously leaving a hole that deep down I knew could never be filled.

I pulled my camera from around my shoulder and adjusted the lens until I knew that the exquisite scenery would be in focus. I regretted not getting the shot last time. Seeing it again for the second time I knew it wouldn’t be the same. It was better. I placed the cap back onto the lens and delicately placed it back into my bag carefully tucking it between miscellaneous items and my nearly filled up journal that I cannot be without. I sat back on the bench and stared out at the sunset, wondering anxiously if he was going to come. “Some things are more precious because they don’t last long.”

Halfway into my second week in Capri every morning felt like I had just arrived. I had convinced myself that there was no possible way I could ever get use to this. With Sebastian’s help there wasn’t a place here that didn’t go unseen by me. The pass few days with Sebastian strangely enough were pleasant. There wasn’t a single mention of Bianca and I don’t know why but I almost wanted him to bring her up. In more ways than one I kept comparing myself to her and I knew absolutely nothing about her. What makes it even more twisted was that I wanted to.

I wished I had my journal with me so that I could write down the beauty before me but I couldn’t. As lame as it sounds I had always had this urge to write every little thought that wiggled its way into my head. I suppose that’s why I wanted to be a writer in the first place. You could literally paint a picture by using words alone.

“You’re going to miss the surprise if you don’t hurry up.” Sebastian’s voiced sounded muffled coming from my room. I stood in the bathroom in front of the mirror trying to zip up the back of my dress. It was an infuriating feeling not having longer arms!

“When do I get to know this surprise and does it involve a body bag?” I called back out.

“That reminds me how tall are you again?”

I stepped out of the bathroom sticking my head out eyeing him with a somewhat menacing glare that fell flat. Sebastian grinned almost too pleased with himself.

“The whole point of a surprise is to you know . . .be surprised.” He said sarcastically, before I moved back into the bathroom. I’m not going to lie I was tiny bit excited. Okay, okay! I pretty fucking excited. I had no clue where Sebastian was taking me. He had entered my room with the room key he has yet to return to me. Walking in literally as the sun began to rise. No seriously I timed it.

“I’m almost done getting ready!” I yelled, nearly almost out of breath. I kept failing miserably trying to get the zipper to go up. I really liked what I had on and I’d knew he’d complain if I changed my outfit again. The door for the bathroom pushed open and Sebastian leaned his body in the doorframe eyeing me in the mirror.

“A little privacy!” I said, trying to push the door on him.

“My eyes are up here.” He waved his finger at eye level.

I couldn’t fight my smile. “Since you’re in here mind lending a helping hand?” Sebastian quirked his eyebrow in confusion. I lifted my hair and turned around my back facing him. A few long seconds went by before I heard him say anything.

“Oh yeah sure.” His voice wavered as he moved closer to stand behind me. He brought his hands to my bare back and I could feel the backs of his knuckles rub against my skin. I reacted to his touch like his hands were made of ice. My feet involuntarily stumbled forward.

“Everything good?”

“Just peachy.” I lied. I heard as the zipper moved up my dress at a terribly slow speed. For about a millisecond I wondered what it would feel like if the actions were in reverse. I closed my eyes silently wishing for the intensifying ache to go far far away. One innocent touch from Sebastian triggered this primal hunger that grew with need by the second. I drew in a deep breath wondering how much more of that damn zipper could possibly exist. Until I realized his hands were no longer on me.

He was still standing behind me. I turned around to face Sebastian who had a dark a feral glint in his eyes. “We should get going.” He says, as he nearly dashed out of the bathroom.I should really be ashamed of my developing weakness for that man.

When I walked into my room he was no where to be found. I opened the door half expecting him to long gone. Something bad obviously just shifted between us. “It took you long enough. Let’s get to the surprise!” I say animatedly, trying to make a joke. I had hoped he’d catch on to my forced enthusiasm.

Sebastian only offered a tight lipped smile. “Yeah.” His tone was flat, and he turned on his heals of his shoes to walk off leaving me absolutely clueless. What the hell just happened?

I followed in behind Sebastian like a lost puppy which was very annoying to say the least. He didn’t speak the entire way and he walked insanely fast like I would be able to easily keep up with him. I was out of breath by the time he finally was decent enough to talk to me. “We are here.” He called out over his shoulder. I was bent over with my hands resting on my knees panting. “I’m going to go get everything set up with Ian.”

I didn’t bother to look up I was too enraged with a newfound hatred and did he know everyone here on a first name basis? When my breathing settled I finally stood up only to lose it again. In the distance one look and I knew where I was. I’d seen that underwater cave in countless photos before.

I don’t know how long I had been staring down at what was known as the Blue Grotto, but Sebastian returned with a lankier man who was much taller than him.“You must beNatalie. I’m Ian you and I’ll be your boat guide for the private tour today.”

“Captain Ian here will be guiding us into the cave then we will do the rest solo.” Sebastian looked between Ian and I.

“I told you not to call me that.” Ian playful slapped the back of his hand against his shoulder jokingly. If I wasn’t spiraling down a cluster fuck of confused emotions for Sebastian. I might have actually seen how cute Ian was. I wondered if behind that blinding pearly white smile and beautiful tan skin was a dead girlfriend he pinned after?

Harsh Natalie.

The boat was insanely small. I nearly lost all sense of balance when I stepped inside last. Sebastian outstretched his hand for me to take it but I ignored the gesture. It rocked steadily back and forth while Ian pulled us through from another boat. We were coming upon the entrance to the cave.

“You’re going to have to crouch down really low so that you can fit inside!” He called ahead of us.

I sucked in a nervous breath as I bent down as far as humanly possible in the boat forcing my eyes shut. After about a minute in a half I peeked over my shoulder to see that Sebastian began to sit upright.

“Wow.” I said out loud.

Looking around the cave it was the most serene thing I’d ever witnessed. The water was an opulent turquoise blue with a sparkling reflection of sunlight coming through the small opening. I looked around me and I noticed that no one else was in sight.

“So this is how it ends.” I half turned around to sit and face Sebastian.

“It wasn’t easy but for the next hour we have the place to ourselves.” He beamed.

My ankles were still sore from wearing my wedges and my legs were bent in an uncomfortable seating position. Slowly none of that started to matter. This place was absolutely majestic it felt like any moment a mythical creature would come popping out.

As Sebastian rowed the boat we sat in a comfortable silence for a while. He had gone from his joking and talkative self to this stoic enigma of a man.

After a while I couldn’t resist the urge to talk. “Did you and Bianca like it here.” I cringed as the question rolls of off my tongue. I don’t bother looking behind me when I’m greeted with silence.

“No.” He finally says. Carefully not to rock the boat I turn my head to look back at him. He searched my eyes for a long tense moment, looking at me like I was either the most confusing or annoying thing in existence. “She had a fear of tight spaces. So the thought of even coming here never once crossed my mine until now.”

My eyes darted away from him. “Sorry I don’t mean to be intrusive. You’re like this puzzle I can’t seem to figure out. I have all the pieces I just don’t seem to know where to start.”

“If I am so puzzling then what does that make you Natalie Foster?”

“A confused mess.” I sighed, staring down at the water. Sebastian placed the paddle down beside us and leaned closer to me.

“What’s making you so confused?” His grin faltered and the look on his face was replaced with compassion. I stayed quiet, not trusting the thoughts that loomed in my head. How was I going to explain to Sebastian something that I didn’t even understand myself? Those blue eyes burned straight through me with an fierceness I couldn’t wrap my head around.

“You run from hot to cold and I can’t keep up and I’m doing the same thing.” I whispered.

Sebastian slowly shook his head. “I know.” He breathed unevenly. I couldn’t deny what was happening and I almost laughed at how impossibly fast it was going. I was living in the world of my own making. I made up stories like this one, not live them.

I felt Sebastian’s hand grab hold of my face and turn it to his. He was leaning in closer to me causing me to lose all pretense. “The timing here surely is fucked up.”

I couldn’t agree more. Without thinking he gently stroked his fingers over my lips. Sebastian studied every small detail in my face. His eyes examined the curve of my face, stopping at my eyes, before lowering his lingering gaze to my lips. Out of nowhere to completely ruin the moment I felt something brush against my leg in a feather light sensation causing me to jump frantically. An if that wasn’t the cherry on top my rapid movements caused the boat to tip over, pushing us in. Resurfacing to the top I wiped wet strands of hair away from my eyes I sucked in a gasp of air. Fuck if that water wasn’t freezing!

“Natalie!” Sebastian swam closer to me in a frenzy. “What happened? Are you okay?” Droplets of water fell from his beautifully tortured face.

“I thought a bug was on me.” I couldn’t conceal my embarrassment as I bobbed up and down in the water.

“A bug?” He repeated, clearly mocking my stupidity. Sebastian wrapped his hand around my back effortlessly pulling me closer to him. My pulse quickened when he rested his forehead against mine. His breath was warm against my mouth and smelled of mint. I wondered if that was what he would taste like this time. The last time we kissed it was restrained. We were both equally holding back.

I gripped his biceps nearly digging my nails in them. “Is it okay if I break our rule?” I gasped.

His lips brushed again mine before answering me. He didn’t hesitate or slowly contemplate his actions. Sebastian groaned against my mouth, as they parted opened in anticipation of what was to come. He pulled into me, holding my head to gain all sense for control. It was as if we were desperately clinging to one another, it was a kiss so carnal I was convinced we’d eventually implode. Sebastian’s hand traveled down my waist in search for my legs. He pulled them up higher to wrap around him.

I couldn’t control my toppling emotions that darted from frustration, desire, and the chaos I was definitely tangling myself in. I was unable to decipher which one I was feeling, because every fiber of my being responded to him. The motion of the water caused my body to sink even closer to Sebastian. I rolled my hips against him as he griped my legs even tighter. His lips were wet from the water and slightly cold, but the warm caress of his tongue against mine sent my body into overdrive. Kissing Sebastian was highly addictive. I could only imagine what it would be like if we didn’t have to stop.

As if just by thinking it I somehow jinxed it. Appearing out of nowhere I hear Ian clear his throat. “You guy’s hour is nearly up and it’s going to get busy in here soon. An by that I am not referring to the two of you.” He stated.

For a split second I had almost forgotten that he was inside with us. We had broke apart and I was too afraid to know what Sebastian was thinking. I was more so afraid that he’d regret it. I dropped my legs from him as we both tried to desperately catch our breath I was slightly surprised that he didn’t let me go. I was even more surprised when he leaned to give me a chaste kiss on the mouth.

My dress clung to every particle on my body. Sebastian and I caught a few stares as we walked back to our hotel. It was a sunny and hot day out and we looked like we were somewhere with constant rain. “Where are you going?” Sebastian asked, as he halfway stepped off the elevator.

My teeth chattered together when I talked. “To my room.”

“What for?” He genuinely looked oblivious to my need for heading up to my hotel room.

“I have to get out of my dress. It’s becoming heavier.” I laughed.

“I have clothes you can change into in my room.” He shrugged it off absentmindedly. Sebastian’s smile made me smile, but I quickly shook my head.

“Well I also wanted to go get gelato.” I admittedly sheepishly.

“And what would stop you?”He asked as he pulled me to his side.

Sebastian’s room looked almost identical to mine but slightly bigger. His bed that was perfectly made unlike mine wasn’t facing out the window. He had his clothes pulled out of his suitcase and they were neatly hung on hangers in the closet. His shoes were strategically placed out in front it.

“ I thought I was a neat freak.” I poked fun. I was about to sit on his bed but I quickly stood up not wanting to get it wet.

Sebastian walked back over to me with clothes in hand aiming his cool gaze at me. “Mind if I take a quick shower?”

“By all means.” I saluted lamely. He gripped the bottom of his soaked shirt within a nanosecond he pulled it off his head. His back muscles flexed and contorted. I faked a cough and tried to ignore the fact that he was changing right in front of me. I wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or he was a carefree spirit. But when he tugged his jeans and boxers off in one swift motion as he walked into his bathroom. I just about lost it at the sight of his nakedness. I was convinced his ass was sculpted from stone.

I needed a shower just as badly but I had to find some restraint within the depths of myself to keep it together. I searched around the room for a spare blanket or a towel. I could barely see and I almost tripped over Sebastian’s bag that sat in the middle of the floor. I bent down to pick it up to put it somewhere else when my journal came toppling out.

{Part 1 out of 3}

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taotrooper · 5 years

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Reasons to live and die for

AO3 link Title: Reasons to live and die for Fandom: Mo Dao Zu Shi Characters: Wen Ning, Wei Wuxian Genre/tags: Gen, friendship, introspection, character study of sorts, banter Summary: Post-canon and novel spoilers up to Exiled’s translation. After that long honeymoon and returning to the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian decides to visit Wen Ning to see how he's faring, and what he wants from the future. It turns out that Wen Ning's conclusions about life and death and love weren't so different to his own. Notes: Written for my sweet boy’s birthday. For @modaozushi‘s prompt: choices. I feel WWX and WN’s relationship is quite underrated even in canon, so I wanted to fix it a bit into something that shows how much both of them have grown during the book and how they could still overcome the previous master-servant awkwardness and their individual sadness as well.

"Even if I'm not a natural part of it," Wen Ning began, "life is beautiful. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah."

"So I wish to enjoy the time I have left as much as I can. I cannot change what I've done, I cannot atone for all my sins, and neither can you, but I think it's alright... to feel selfish and want to exist and be loved. To see the sunrise or hear the crickets. To feel the rush of adventure. To look forward to smiles and laughter and hugs. It's alright. Even if my heart doesn't beat, it still feels those blessings."

Wei Wuxian blinked.

"If I may be so bold, doesn't young master feel the same?"

It wasn't hard to find the modest wooden cabin at the foot of the mountain, barely hidden in the shade of the forest. Following Sizhui's directions, Wei Wuxian managed to navigate across a lagoon of trees, green canopies allowing shining rays of light to shimmer above his dark hair. Crickets and birds sang around him, and they was the only sounds his boots interrupted.

As he reached the place, a strong feeling of nostalgia filled him. That shabby little hut looked exactly like the ones back in the Burial Mound. Not like it was a surprise, as a good part of them were built by Wen Ning himself. He had followed the suggestions of the rest of his family, of which none of them knew a thing about architecture. Just a rooftop and walls to cover against the weather and possible corpse attacks. Those were the luxuries they could afford.

The fact his friend had even built a place was a pleasant surprise, in fact. Sizhui had told him he hid in a damp cave at first, not unlike Wei Wuxian back in the day. Maybe he was bored and wanted to make something. Maybe the cave was inhabited by bears or some other beast. Regardless, this was a good thing.

Before he knocked on the misshaped plank that could be called a door, it swung open and his eyes found an ashen face receiving him. By instinct, he jumped two steps back.

"Young master Wei!" While his expression hadn't changed, his voice expressed joy.

"Hey! It's been a while, Wen Ning," he smiled.

"Yes. A-Ah... Please come in..."

The man moved to let the other pass inside. The interior actually had more things than Wei Wuxian expected. A large bed and some cushions and mats to sit. A solid table, and on it there was a lamp and candles, despite the fact Wen Ning could see in the dark. A big wooden chest that stood against the wall.

"Please sit," Wen Ning said, his fingers straightening his shirt. "Would you like some tea? I have leaves for black tea, your favorite type."

That's when Wei Wuxian saw the makeshift kitchen in the farthest corner. Inside the half-open cupboard, there was an old teapot and several cheap cups and dishes. There was a large jar of water, half full.

"Sure," he replied. "You're treating your visits well, huh?"

"Um, I try." Shyly, he moved and got the teapot out.

The reason for that house and all those basic commodities, of course, had become obvious. They were not for Wen Ning's sake, but for the boys'. A place to hang out with the junior disciples when they weren't night hunting. A bed when any of them was wounded or had to stay for the night. Just in case they were needed.

"I would've liked some wine better, but I doubt you can afford it," Wei Wuxian joked while his friend filled the container with clear spring water. "Let me help, I have a fire talisman."

Both of them stared at the fire while the teapot simmered. Wen Ning shook his head.

"Even if I had money, I wouldn't buy wine," he carefully replied. "The boys are too young for that, and young master Wei drinks too much."

Wei Wuxian glared at him. "Okay, one: no, they're not. I had alcohol for the first time when I was fourteen, almost fifteen." It was Wen Ning's turn to frown at him. "Two: I've seen some of them drinking in secret! Don't let them fool you. You'll be so popular if you sneak booze for them. Three: I do not! I'm fine!!"

"For now. It slowly destroys your liver," Wen Ning retorted. "Studies prove it."

"And spicy food will destroy my digestive system. I know." He had heard the same speech from Wen Qing's mouth for months, and it was just as annoying.

"You just got a body and you have to take a better care of it," Wen Ning said, now with a sad tone.

"I've done worse things to it, what's one more thing?" A shameless grin was on his lips. He doubted Mo Xuanyu would mind about a slowly poisoned liver more than the stab on his stomach or the frequent wounds or the intense love making. "In any case, I'll probably drink less for the time being. Have you heard?"

"I've heard a lot of stories about young masters Wei and Lan's adventures, but I can't say I know what you mean." Wen Ning took the then hot teapot and one cup to the table. Wei Wuxian noticed he wasn't holding it by the handle. They sat down on two mats and he watched the fierce corpse put the leaves in the cup and serve. They let it soak.

"What a coincidence! We've also heard about you and the kids plenty! Three night hunts, huh?"

If Wen Ning could blush, he was sure he would be after that comment.

"I... see. Regardless, what brings you to Gusu? Is there anything you wanted to hunt? I could give you a hand if you need it so... Ah, but maybe I'd get in the way of you two..."

Wei Wuxian chuckled.

"Don't fret so much! Nah, that's what I was going to tell you. I'm not here for a night hunt. We're staying in the Cloud Recesses for the time being."

"Wait, really?" Wen Ning's jaw dropped. "But Senior Teacher Lan..."

"He missed Lan Zhan so much that he reluctantly allowed me in. I don't think he'll remove that stupid new rule about talking to me soon, but no one's going to obey that one anyway."

"When did you come back?"

"Three days ago. Lan Zhan is busy helping out with clan stuff, so I'm incredibly bored and I asked Sizhui about your location. I figured you'll be bored as well."

"It's relaxing by myself, but I'm honored you decided to visit me." Wei Wuxian mentally called bullshit. As much of an introvert Wen Ning was, he knew he was happier surrounded with his closest people. The same could be said about Lan Wangji. Even Jiang Cheng back then and Jin Ling nowadays, in his opinion. Wei Ying always ended up winning the affections of people with low social activity somehow.

"I would've come sooner but we were dragged into a family banquet just as soon as we got here."

"Ooh, that sounds so nice!" Wen Ning forced a kind smile that wasn't fake.

"It wasn't," Wei Wuxian shook his head. "It tasted as bland to me as it would probably taste to your dead tongue. I remember your sect's over-the-top banquets from that archery competition, and let me tell you: you wouldn't have called that dinner a Banquet at all either!"

"...Oh."

"It's alright, I just had delicious food delivered later, in private." Wei Wuxian sipped his tea. Not bad, not bad. Could use some snacks, but he wasn't going to push it on Wen Ning's limited hospitality.

He glanced at his former servant again. His dark clothes were brand new, no longer the rags he had been wearing the last time they saw each other, three months before. The hole in his chest was gone, too. The boys had a hand on it, surely. He could see some holes sewn, as if Wen Ning had teared it apart during their fights and had it fixed. One of the boys' hand too, perhaps: fingers of a corpse would have a hard time holding needles.

"Wen Ning." The sound of the long teacup clanging on the table echoed through the shack.

"Young master Wei?"

"What are you doing?" Wei Wuxian's question was said with a serious stare, no smile on his lips.

"Young master Wei..." he looked down, avoiding his eyes.

"It's not my place, but I worry you're revolving your existence over one person once again. Don't replace me with Sizhui, Wen Ning."

"I'm not!!" Wen Ning shouted. His hands curled into fists and hit the table, thankfully just a touch that wouldn't break it.

Wei Wuxian just stared in silence, allowing his friend to get upset.

"Not anymore. At first... perhaps I did... He was like sunshine in the darkness." Wen Ning finally admitted.

He gave him more time to sort himself out and drank more tea.

"While Sizhui and the others are back at home, I've had time to think. About being alive, about what I want to do, about whether I deserve this chance or not."

"That's good. So, what's your conclusion?"

"I think I have the same reason to live than you, young master..."

"Ha?" Unless Wen Ning had suddenly gotten a gorgeous bride or groom, he honestly doubted it.

"Let me show you. Do you mind if we walk around?"

Wei Wuxian agreed, his curiosity piqued. The trip out of the woods was annoyingly silent while he waited for Wen Ning to speak again. It didn't happen until they were past the exit, standing on a plain with tall grass caressed by the wind. The sky was clear and the same hue of blue as the embroidery of clouds on the Lans' uniforms and ribbons.

"Even if I'm not a natural part of it," Wen Ning began, "life is beautiful. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah."

Wei Wuxian blinked.

"If I may be so bold, doesn't young master feel the same?"

With a tug in his heart, Wei Ying remembered the first day in his new body. How much fun he had when he shocked the Mo family and the Lan juniors, his time wandering at that village. And despite the bad moments, living remained fun for the next days, for the next months. He agreed and nodded with a cackle. Yes, life could be wonderful by itself.

The fact Wen Ning, so taciturn and melancholy, also reached that point of view even with his limitations could only be good. Maybe bringing him back wasn't so bad, after all.

"Of course, I do feel more alive when I spend time with A-Yuan and young master Jingyi and young master Jin and everyone else. And I do want to do everything for them and protect him with my life. That's not all there is to it, though." His eyes smiled where his lips couldn't. "However, yes, I do think that after losing all my family, my main reason is being with those I love when possible. I'll have no regrets when I finally leave this world if I'm allowed to stay with them, and young master Wei too, for as long as I can. Also... I never found night hunts fun when I was alive, but now I look forward to them so much it hurts."

"That I can understand," Wei Wuxian beamed. "Night hunts are better with people you love."

"Is that so?"

"I mean, I've always loved them but it's true. Jiang Ch—" he stopped, not wanting those memories of happy times to resurface. "Anyway, not limited to cultivation partners. Family hunts are awesome, too."

"Sizhui and the others would love to go with you, too. Uh, so do I..."

"I'd love to!" He felt tenderness when he thought about the brats. Yi City with them had been relatively amusing. "Old man Qiren will have a heart attack, but I'm in. Hanguang-jun will be there as well." He probably should ask if it was okay to drag his husband to that, if Wen Ning would mind, if Lan Zhan would mind. But Wei Wuxian wasn't the kind of person who asked for permission. "The kids are fun to be around and so easy to tease."

"Young master Wei, don't tease them so much..."

"They need to learn how to deal with teasing. You know what's sad, Wen Ning? We're adults, but our the rest of our friends and allies are teenagers! We should probably fix that."

"I don't mind much."

"Haha! They are way better than our generation, aren't they?"

They kept walking towards the foot of the mountain, where the long road back to the Cloud Recesses stretched upwards.

"What do you mean with the 'rest of our friends', by the way?" Wen Ning asked.

"Let's see. Lan Zhan is my friend but he's also my lover and husband so I guess that's not really just a friendship anymore."

"I suppose not?"

"And then there's you and me! So, the rest of my friends is everyone else."

The range of emotion a fierce corpse with years of rigor mortis had was next to null, but Wei Wuxian could tell the ones Wen Ning was feeling as clear as day. Incredulity, relief, affection, joy. Not unlike the first time they had met and he had defended his archery skills, perhaps. They had gone through so much together, and yet Wei Ying hadn't realized until that moment how important Wen Ning's silent presence was to him. He didn't treat him as well as he deserved, and he had to work hard on improving that so the other would accept they weren't master and servant anymore, but equals.

"Take care of yourself, Wen Ning," he said with his hands on the man's stiff shoulders. "I'll visit more often, okay?"

"You mean when you're bored, the boys are in class, and young master Lan is too busy to, uh, do things with you?"

"Stop calling me and my sex life out!" He punched Wen Ning's shoulder, with no reaction. "But... yeah, pretty much."

"That's good enough for me, thank you." Wen Ning's lips lifted up as much as they could.

"Ah, and don't sacrifice yourself for the boys, okay?"

"..."

"Yeah, sure, I get it!" Gods if he got it. Most of his two lives were consequences from his constant sacrifices to help people out. "I'd probably die for them in a heartbeat too, especially Jin Ling. And Sizhui, he's my son now—"

"Actually—"

"Shush. By marrying his father I've been promoted from Brother Xian to Dad." He ignored the skeptic reaction, just as he ignored the fact Sizhui had never called him that way. "And you know what, Jingyi isn't related directly to me but fuck it, I'd die for him too. And Ouyang Zizhen, he defended me from a mob. And— I'm losing my point. Listen, let me give you an advice because I just learned this lesson the hard way."

"...What is it?"

"Be less reckless. Avoid dying. For all the cultivation world would love it, you leave behind the ones who love you. You want to stay with them and they want to stay with you. And even when that's no longer the case, and paths separate, new people to love will be here with you. No one is going to think your second death is enough redemption anyway, you know. So! Don't make Sizhui cry, you hear?"

"I'll try... Did your relationship with young master Lan teach you that?"

"In big part. I sure don't want him to mourn me again so soon! But he's not the only one who missed me, was he?"

Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian looked at each other in the eye.

"He wasn't."

Wei Wuxian leaned and rubbed Wen Ning's hard back. He thought about making a comment about how while he didn't cry when he thought Wen Ning and Wen Qing had been burned, he did start to lose his mind from that point. But that wasn't precisely nice to hear, and the other man likely could feel his pent-up anger and loss of control from whenever he had been locked in. Feeling awkward, he finished the short hug with a couple of pats.

"See you around, then! I'll bring my own wine and snacks next time!" he beamed.

"See you around, young master. And don't die either!"

"I sure won't. This pig has cabbage to eat."

Whistling a cheerful, hopeful tune that he knew Wen Ning could hear and feel on his way back to his hut, he ascended through the mountain path.

#mo dao zu shi #wen ning #wei wuxian #mdzsnetwork #$fanfic

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drowning-in-dennor · 5 years

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Celebration

A one-shot I wrote for Norway’s birthday. Dennor, Sufin, an exhausted writer who did a lot of research.

Disclaimer: There is no guarantee that this fanfic will be good, or that you will like it.

He almost forgets his birthday. What makes him remember is a rude awakening, in the middle of the night.

Norway’s phone screams for his attention the moment his clock reads 12:00 a.m., blaring its shrill tune and startling him off his bed.

Cursing himself for forgetting to mute his phone before sleeping, Norway accepts the call and, trying to hide the sleepiness in his voice, says, “Hello?”

“Happy birthday!”

He drops his phone, ears ringing. Denmark’s voice is echoing again, again, again in his head, and he’s confused. Norway picks up his phone, and, yawning, asks, “What?”

“Oh, how did you forget? It’s your birthday today, Nor, and I called to celebrate!”

Wondering how Denmark can sound so energetic in the middle of the damn night, Norway turns on his lamp and glances at the calendar on his desk. Oh, it’s the seventeenth of May. His constitution day. And his birthday. “Thank you, but why the hell are you calling now?”

“So we can celebrate the moment you become independent, and stuff!”

“So you decide to call when I’m asleep, scaring the crap out of me instead of visiting or calling at a reasonable hour, like a normal human being?”

“Exactly!”

Norway sighs, stifling another yawn. “I’m going back to sleep. Don’t call or visit again until it’s at least 8 o’clock in the morning, or I’ll take your axe and behead you with it. Now good night.”

He hangs up before Denmark can reply.

…

Iceland calls at nine in the morning, while Norway is preparing for a speech he’ll give later at borgertog, the citizens’ parade. One hand holding his cell phone, the other scribbling notes on cue cards, the nation answers the phone. “Hello, Ice.”

“Happy birthday.”

“I didn’t think you’d call today. Denmark woke me up at midnight reminding me about it. I would’ve forgotten if not for that.”

Silence on the other end.

“...Ice?”

He hears squawks, the beating of wings and Iceland shouting. “For heaven’s sake, Mr. Puffin, get off! No, that’s mine! Get — argh!”

On the other side, something drops to the ground with a thump and Iceland starts talking again. “Sorry, Norway. Mr. Puffin was trying to eat my bag. Oh, and by the way, I’m flying over this afternoon to join the parade.”

“Really?” Norway’s mouth twitches with the threat of a smile. “Thank you, Ice. I’ll get you some liquorice when you arrive. Until then?”

“Yeah. See you.”

Iceland hangs up, and Norway turns back to his cue cards, humming a tune.

…

He watches the childrens’ parade from his bedroom window, laughing softly at the kindergarteners and elementary schoolers flooding the streets of Oslo with their loud rendition of his anthem. Middle schoolers lead the way, some waving their school’s banner and others waving his flag.

One cluster of students is the loudest, jumping up and down and cheering. The oldest of the group seem to be barely twelve, dressed in red and blue and white and shouting in joy. Squinting at them tells Norway that the two young boys look rather familiar — one with bright blue eyes and golden hair, the other one a green-eyed redhead.

Sealand and Ladonia?

As though on cue, his phone rings again. He picks it up. It’s Finland.

“Hei, Nor! Happy national day! We’re walking through Oslo right now, almost at your house! How are things?”

“I think the kids snuck into the childrens’ parade.”

“What?”

“I think I saw Sealand and Ladonia with a group of students in the childrens’ parade.”

Finland’s voice goes muffled for a while as he yells for his husband. “Ber?” Norway hears. “Ber, where are Peter and Niklas? Wait, they’re not with you? Oh, sh—” His voice grows loud again. “Sorry, Nor, I need to go. We’ll be at your house by lunch!”

The family shows up at eleven o’clock, as Norway is stirring a pot of brun lapskaus on his stove. Sealand and Ladonia are still dressed in their parade clothes, walking into the dining room with shameless grins and holding little Norwegian flags. “Happy birthday!” They chorus, rushing towards Norway and tackling him in a hug.

Sweden pries the boys off when they appear to be crushing Norway, handing him a small box. “Happy birthday.”

The box reveals a battered bronze locket, engraved with filigree. Inside is a drawing of him, Denmark and Iceland, all of them a good few centuries older. It’s drawn in ink, on yellowing parchment that’s fraying around the edges.

“Found it in the attic,” Sweden says. “You left it here long ago.”

“Thank you, Sweden. I don’t even remember having this, but it’s nice to get it back.” Norway fastens the locket’s chain around his neck and feels the cold metal rest against his heart.

Ladonia and Sealand each hand him a card, written in messy words with brightly-coloured drawings and Gratulerer med dagen scrawled sloppily on top. The childish gifts remind Norway of Iceland.

A cloud of steam rising from the pot brings Norway back to his lapskaus, and he turns the stove off. Bringing out bowls from his cupboard, he turns to his guests with a rare smile.

“Let’s have lunch.”

…

His doorbell rings halfway through lunch and Iceland is standing in the doorway, bag in one hand and puffin in the other. Norway starts smiling again, and he gets up to hug his younger brother.

For once, Iceland doesn’t protest and hugs him back, mumbling “happy birthday” under his breath. He pushes a wrinkled package into Norway’s arms with a smile he tries to hide.

Norway tears the package open and finds a leather-bound book, the pages coming close to falling apart and turning ivory with age. Opening it curiously, his eyes scan over the ink-blotched words and starts to read.

The stars are bright. The moon is in the sky. Norway showed me the pictures in the sky. They are made of stars.

Today, Denmark fell off a horse. His arm was broken, like glass. Norway fixed his arm. He called him an idiot. What is an idiot?

Denmark and Sweden were fighting today. I heard glass break, and Finland was shouting. It was very loud. Norway stayed with me. He said things will be fine.

It takes a few moments before Norway realises that it’s a diary — Iceland’s diary, to be exact, one he’s been writing since he was barely even a nation. On and on these entries go, and Norway reads on wistfully as the writing and subjects both grow more mature.

Sweden and Denmark fought again, like they did so many times before. Norway told me to stay in my room the entire time, but I could hear them. Denmark lost, and I heard him yelling, begging Sweden not to do something. I thought it’d be like the wars the two of them fought before, but apparently not. Denmark came into my room at night, and he said Norway wouldn’t be coming home.

He didn’t say it, but I think Sweden took Norway with him when he won.

I couldn’t sleep last night. I guess I’m used to Norway and Denmark reading bedtime stories before I go to bed. Denmark didn’t read me any bedtime stories. I heard him crying in his room, when he thought I was asleep. I wanted to go over and tell him it was all okay, but his door was locked.

He shouted at me when I tried to talk to him, then locked himself in his room. Denmark refused to eat, too, and I can’t get my food down. I’m too used to the three of us sitting at the dining table, talking and laughing. I’m too used to Norway being around.

I miss him.

Norway doesn’t realise he’s getting misty-eyed until Iceland hands him a tissue paper, looking slightly sheepish. “So… do you like it?”

He crushes Iceland in another hug.

…

The sun is just starting to set when Norway takes his place on the podium at the end of borgertog, cue cards in hand. He clears his throat, looks at the crowd waving flags, and begins to speak.

The words flow from his mouth almost effortlessly, draft completely forgotten. He talks about the days he conquered and slaughtered with Sweden and Denmark, the years when all of northern Europe was under Denmark’s rule, the times when he and Denmark were in a union. His mind keeps drifting back to him, the nation he’s been with as long as he can remember.

And to think he couldn’t make it here today…

Norway’s speech is drawing to a close when he sees a figure make their way towards the front of the crowd, where Sweden, Finland, Iceland and the micronations are standing. Said figure is in a red shirt with a blue-and-white tie, practically bouncing on their feet and with a bright smile Norway knows all too well.

When he bows and starts to walk away from the podium, Denmark’s cheers rise above everyone else’s.

…

Denmark takes it upon himself to make dinner, somehow whipping up a batch of sosekjøtt in less than two hours. The five Nordics finish dinner in next to no time, clinking glasses and laughing, waxing nostalgia about the old times. But Norway notices that nobody talks about Kalmar, and certainly not about the treaty in 1814.

They don’t have cake, instead choosing to share stories. Sweden indulges his sons with stories of their Viking shenanigans, snapping Norway’s spellbooks shut when he tries to show them his magic. Denmark, out of nowhere, bring out his beloved axe, convincing Norway to fish out his ancient mace from a thousand years ago. Denmark shows drawings of his Protest Pig, Norway drawings of his troll. Slowly, gradually, everyone else seems to fade away.

Sweden and Finland whisk the children away when it’s almost midnight, leaving the house with cheery farewells. Denmark jumps from his seat at that with a grin, hopefully reaching for Norway’s hand. The latter glances at Iceland for a moment, and he stares back. “What? Go spend some alone time with Denmark. The worst that could happen to me out here is if I see your bills and faint out of shock.”

Norway takes Denmark’s hand and leads him upstairs.

The two of them shut the door to Norway’s bedroom and sit, side by side, on his bed. Denmark speaks first, his normally loud voice now soft and gentle. “Happy birthday, Norge.”

Shyly, Norway inches closer until there is no space between him and Denmark. He rests his head on the taller’s shoulder, eyelids drooping in exhaustion. “It’s been two hundred and two years,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Two hundred and two years, since my Constitution was signed.” His eyes close in contentment when Denmark wraps one arm around his waist. “It feels like such a long time ago.”

“Time really does fly, doesn’t it?” Denmark laughs. “It seems like ages ago when I called you at midnight.”

“Oh, that. Well, I’m tired again.”

“Don’t go to sleep yet. I haven’t given you my present yet.”

Norway straightens up a little, staring into Denmark’s bright blue eyes. “Oh?”

Before he realises what’s happening, gentle fingers curl under his chin and lift his face up, and Denmark seals their lips in a kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers against Norway’s lips.

“I love you too,” Norway whispers back.

A/N: The ending is stupid and cliche, but I’m currently really tired and I need some cheesy Dennor fluff to keep me awake so there you go.

#aph dennor #aph sufin #aph denmark #aph norway #aph sweden #aph finland #aph iceland #aph anko family #aph hanatamago family #aph fanfiction #oneshot #my writing #hetalia

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derekscorner · 5 years

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Between KH2 and KH3, which game did you like more, both story and gameplay-wise?

Ah is this that KH2 vs 3 debate I hear is ongoing? Well if you’re in for a sit I can answer that.

Gameplay:

From this angle I quite bluntly find KH2 Final Mix more fun. I’m not going to argue what was arguably better or worse, gameplay preference is a matter of…well preference no matter how many wish to deny this fact.

Not that you do but I”m sure some lover or hater of one will see this and try to retort. o3ob

Anyway; I felt Kh2 final mix was more technical and “harder” if I had to describe the feeling. Like 3 KH2 is normally overly easy but when put on critical mode it’s technicalities shine.I had to learn tactics, I couldn’t spam X or △, and I learned uses for summons. Which I found ironic since the 2 summons are far more useful when you dont initiate their moves.

Like if I let Stitch wander the screen he’ll deflect projectiles and keep my MP full. Chicken Little is a great early Magnet substitute and Peter Pan+Tinker Bell gives you a Phoenix Down.This was an improvement to KH1 in which only Tinker Bell was a spell with decent combat use. 1′s other summons had more supplemental uses imo.

KH3′s summons were nearly win buttons I felt. Simba in particular, while damn spectacle, felt broken. I never bothered to learn them as I didn’t need them. Which I’m sure they have their own uses but I’m not really fond of many control schemes for them so I opt out of it.

In terms of the magic system I felt 2 and 3 were opposites. In KH3 magic is far too powerful, something many have noted. And while you dont ‘have’ to use it that’s not an excuse for a problem. You should choose not to use it not force yourself to ignore it for challenge.

KH2 on the opposite spectrum made magic nearly useless I felt. Many enemies didn’t stun nor have elemental damage. Fire’s AOE animation was good for early Critical game and Blizzard helps that first Hollow Bastion visit but many enemies shrug the base spells off later.In contrast, KH2′s Magnet and Thunder spells can be OP. Reflect in of itself is practically the only spell you’d ever need to use due to it’s nature.

So while many have long rants on either’s magic system I dont really think one trumps the other. each one is equally flawed with issues I dont see ever being addressed.

In terms of keyblade combat I preferred KH2′s because I felt like Sora was automated in 3. I spam X cause I’m a scrub at timing presses (DMC5 is helping me overcome that) and due to this I noticed real quick that Sora’s combos just felt really automated.

Like I’d press X for one hit and get three. In contrast, KH2′s combat is harder. Sora animates combos as fast as my lazy ass can spam X and I’m not floating around like a final fantasy god.

I’m not really sure how to put this feeling into words but I do feel Kh2 keyblades are funner or snappier to combo whereas in KH3 I’m playing a watered down FFXV with it’s hold/press X for combo string.

Both games are so similar outside this issue that I dont see no reason to list likes or dislikes. If anything, from here, KH3 had great quality of life changes. The menu system was easier on the eyes and I’d be a damned soul if I didn’t admit I like switching keyblades mid-combat.

I also really appreciate KH3 finally using Re:Coded’s keyblade ideas. It’s been there since that DS game yet no one every expanded on making keyblades unique since. It was a very foolish step backward to me.

I love that keyblades level up, I love that each one has a preference and the only way that could’ve been better is if they adapted Coded’s system entirely and gave each keyblade (or most) it’s own unique combo.

KH2 quite frankly just falls short in a hindsight perspective since keyblades were “stat sticks” and you only ever chose weaker ones for an ability. Which, back then, was a huge step up from KH1.

So KH3 wins in this area I also dont really hate on Kh2 for it since KH2 is a product of the era. This idea of keyblades growing with you didn’t happen till Re:Coded.

As for Shotlocks…I dont like them. I hated them in BBS and I hate them here. It’s not even a comparison to KH2 type of opinion. I hate Shotlocks, I never use shotlocks so I’m going to skip those.

I mean sure, KH2 had limits but the only limits I use are Knocksmash so I can’t exactly praise KH2′s half of that either.

And when it comes to Forms vs Transformations I think both have pros and cons the other lacks. For example, some Transformations are really cool, I love the hammer weapons or the dual pistols.

I also believe the staff transformation is what KH2′s wisdom form should’ve been in terms of how it does magic or basic attacks.

That said, I also really dislike many second forms keyblades have. I never evolve the pistols into the bazooka, I never turn the hammer into the drill, I have those second forms. It’s to the extent I prefer keyblades that have one form such as the staff.

I’m also not fond of the Kingdom Key’s 2nd form change. It’s a neat throwback and I love the outfit recolor but I dont find it fun to use.

Between the two games my favorite forms are Valor Form, Anti-Form, and the Staff Transformation. Odds are I wont use anything else unless I feel particularly bored.

I might use others more often if KH3 forced me to rely on them for tactics but as of right now it does not. This may change with 3 gets it’s Critical Mode DLC. Similar to how KH2FM forced me to rely on forms I hate like Wisdom or Final.

As a concept I will admit that I dislike transformations. I dont like the idea of keyblades becoming magical swiss army knives. KH3 pulled the idea off better than I expected but I dont like it all the same.

The only, and I mean only, thing I felt KH2 did better was tie forms to a meter. In KH3 the commands appear randomly (and often) and I dont gain consequences for using them.

In KH2 this was tied to your Drive Gauge. You had to plan what you used and this is an issue I felt KH3 had as a whole. Rather than shotlocks, I’d have preferred that Focus Gauge to be reserved for my summons and forms so that I could have better control of what I picked and to reduce how broken they are in-game.

The rest is miscellaneous opinions so I’ll rapid fire:

Gummi Ships: always hated them, BBS did Gummi Ships best. Point goes to KH3 here since I can at least skip most of it.

Minigames: I’ve never found a KH minigame fun. No one wins here

Worlds: KH3 wins this aspect too. World towns have actual people in them and when it uses original plots the worlds are quite good. I also appreciate the power to explore and soft platform again. It gives me a more immersive feeling than later titles ever have. (although I feel KH1 was still better than both here)(entirely because of how many small details/cameos/secrets a KH1 world had compared to sequels)

I dont really have a more technical opinion than that. I do however think Arendelle was a horrendous world and I hate to even be there. For a myriad of reasons….reasons that would be a rant post of it’s own.

Lil Chef: I never use the food. I dont care if it’s a good spot for ingredients. If I want to cook stuff I’ll do some irl or play FFXV.

Enemies: KH3 used nobodies more than KH2 did and I find that a damn crying shame. I also felt Unversed were underutilized. KH2 still takes the point here due to the combat points I mentioned above.

KH3 fodder is prettier and can be more elaborate but KH2 is funner to play and destroy them in so KH2.

The Disney Rides: I don’t use them, they break the game. I do like the choo choo though since it’s situational to specific battles. KH2 has nothing akin to these so there’s no comparison, I just wish the rides could be disabled or that they worked more like the train. (set to key fights)

KH2 vs KH3 Commands: Eh both aren’t that good. KH3 spams you commands to shift through and KH2 has so many for spectacles sake that the games get easy. There is no winner here, if anything KH2 should’ve restricted these like KH3 restricts the Train ride summon.

Final Fantasy: I dont like FF games but I consider the ones of Kh1 part of the main cast. Their alternate KH selves are important to me. The lack and fading of FF over the years is quite honestly something I dislike and 3′s total lack of them is inexcusable to me. KH2 takes this point since I got to at least meet Leon and crew again.

Then there’s the story.

Anyone that’s followed the blog or met me knows I strongly dislike the direction of KH’s story. It’s not a matter of things others debate, I do not like it. I hate it and I’m still teetering on quitting.

I wont even go into the points cause I’ve made a whole series of posts about my story gripes. I wont link them since this isn’t a shameless plug, I just want to iterate that my issues with the story has driven me to make 20+ tangents plus the older more angry rants.

Others liking it is fine I think, I get easily annoyed if someone tries to excuse something out of nostalgia or adoration, but generally anyone that likes it while admitting faults or agreeing to disagree is fine. (you do you folks)

If I had to rank them I feel KH2 is where a lot of issues started and I feel a lot of issues got worse after since the sequels tried to “fix” that mess. If left alone KH2 would’ve been a poorly written entry and a good stopping point for any disillusioned fan.

KH3 as a contrast tied up everything after 2 up til 3 itself. I do not consider the story good, the pacing is very jarring because it lacks a mid point, it’s weighed down by all the BS prior to it.

I do not feel attachment for the “trios” of the series, I find the repetition of them annoying. I find it a shame most have more dev time than the originals they’re cloned based on.

And I frankly dislike Xehanort as a villain. He’s not interesting, his motives seem to switch with several report entries and I dont eve get the satisfaction of ending him like I did Xemnas or Ansem.

I was entirely indifferent to the entirety of this game’s narrative as I played it. Something that worried my friend @blackosprey because I was so tired I could not even care enough to hate it.

I did fine the trios reunions well done. I dislike them for a list of reasons but they were coming back anyway, their fates sucked prior, so those were well done. I finally felt hype when the LW appeared (only to vanish, fuck you nomura) and in the final battle.

The ending was confusing to me. So many got a happy ending so I fail to see the logic of Sora vanishing. The Luxu reveal, which I found fucking hilarious, was the only sequel bait needed.To have Sora just up and die felt like a stupid decision and I’m sure many more found it insulting.

And when mentioning Luxu I dont mean it in a sarcastic fashion. I genuinely find him funnier in retrospect due to this retroactive change. Nearly every line or scene he’s said is now funny as hell because he’s this ancient troll. I consider it the first legitimately earned twist Nomura has made in ages.

Still, KH2′s writing and story isn’t great either. I could rant why, I have ranted why, but despite it’s flaws it was an “ending” to me.So if asked 2 or 3 I will pick 2. The writing in Kh2 is bad for lots of reasons but if I ignore the Ansem reports it’s no a story about Xehanort.

Ignoring one KH2 report let’s me live this simpler story of Sora and a scientist gone mad and the journey to stop him. It had a lot of stupid things or one of the worst “twists for twists sake” moments ever in the ‘two ansems’ reveal.

But still, I can play Kh2 and be in a KHverse where Xehanorts, Keyblade Wars, Ceremonies, timelines, sleeping worlds, data world abuse, and clones upon clones dont exist.

It’s not nostalgia so much as everything I came to dislike was post KH2. KH3 was all about these things I dont like. My favorite for key and nostalgic reasons is KH1, my pick of the question is Kh2.

KH3′s best assets that can’t be contested was it’s graphical evolution. I played KH3 three times back to back due to this, I came away from KH3 wishing KH1 or 2 looked like this. No game prior contests the look.

So all in all, as I reread this, it’s largely a mixed bag. Neither game is grand but I prefer KH2 because combat is more fun to me and it’s not tied down by a narrative and mythology I’ve come to hate.

I can play KH1, CoM, and KH2 and never be annoyed about something I loved going in a direction I hated.

#kingdom hearts #kh3

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ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade · 7 years

Link

With the discussion surrounding original characters and their place within the greater FFXV fanfiction community reaching nearly a fever pitch, I though the logical thing to do was to hide under a rock and never publish any of my own hedonistic drabbles ever again hahaha yeah right I’m totally about to subject y’all to my newest, 100% self-indulgent, textbook definition of a Mary Sue OC. (That is, unless you’d rather I unleash the horrifyingly naughty Ignis x Camelia fic @blinding-awesomeness and @metapoodle asked me to write huehuehue.)

For those devoted ISEB followers who are here strictly for my headcanon and fan art offerings, never fear—those posts will continue to appear on this blog with ongoing regularity (free time permitting). But I wanted to challenge myself by writing something told from a Timeskip!Ignis’ perspective; specifically, I thought it would be a great exercise in thinking outside the box if I were to attempt to draft a work without the luxury of his sight at my disposal. For reasons I won’t delve into here, I am of the belief that Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis survived the ending of FFXV; with that in mind, this particular fic is set directly after the events of the game, and features a blind Specs and the introduction of a potential paramour. If I could’ve gotten away without naming her, I would have, since the whole point of the redhead of my previous stories was to make her anonymous enough that anyone could project themselves onto her. Unfortunately, it proved to be too great of a workaround in this particular instance, so I do hope you’ll consider giving this new OC of mine a chance to carve out her own mark on the strategist’s life.

And for all—*checks reblogs*—three of you who have invested time reading my last series, you might be interested to know that I have full intentions of wrapping up the final details of the redhead's story in this (hopefully ongoing) fic. The first few chapters I’ve outlined in my head fall fully under the “General Audiences” category, but you can rest assure that this series will culminate in some shameless, highly NSFW smut! (You can follow the link above or click on the cut below for the full text of Chapter 1.)

From Ancient Greek ὀφείλω (opheílō, “to increase, to strengthen”); to help

Interviewing bakers was a far cry from hunting daemons, but nights in Lucis had grown rather quiet since the dawn had resumed its monotonous cycle, and a man had to make a living somehow.

“So when can I expect to start?”

Ignis Scientia resists the urge to sigh, and instead offers a pleasant expression vaguely in the direction of the gentleman seated across from him. “The final decision will be up to Mr. Tostwell. We still have one more interview scheduled, but you can be sure to hear from us should the position align with your, er, talents.”

A deep chuckle erupts from within the man’s belly. “I know I don’t have a whole lotta experience kneading bread, but I sucker-punched a few Flans in my day. Ain’t much of a difference, am I right?”

“Indeed.”

The strategist then listens as the man rises to his feet, and waits until he is out of earshot before finally indulging in his previously repressed exhale. Like Ignis, the candidate had once been a daemon hunter, and had found himself conspicuously out of a job these past six months; unemployment of the masses was a small price to pay for humanity’s salvation, but unlike himself, the man had few skills beyond slaughtering satanic beasts to fall back on in times of peace.

It wasn’t just Flan Man with a painful lack of culinary proficiency, however; the woman before him showed little comprehension of the slight flavor nuances differentiating Cleigne Wheat from Fine Cleigne Wheat, and the man before her actually thought a Zu egg and a Bennu egg were one in the same. At this rate, Ignis thinks, Mr. Tostwell ought to spend more time perfecting his offal stew recipe and leave the bread baking to Surgate and Tozus.

He shifts in his chair and tilts his head to one side, cocking an ear back toward the marketplace he had memorized by sight when his vision was still intact. The sounds of sleepy daytime Lestallum slowly stirring to its familiar nightlife can be heard on the humid breeze: the beating of drums, the strumming of stringed instruments, the increase in distinctly feminine chatter as the women employed at EXINERIS Industries ended their shifts. His right eye is sensitive enough to light to register the sun fading behind the alcove beside Tostwell’s Grill where he is conducting his interviews; if his last candidate didn’t show up soon, he’d inevitably have to fight the evening crowds on the way back to his apartment.

The former royal advisor had made a concerted effort over the years not to let his disability define him, but few things irritated Ignis more than bumping into people unawares. Even with his hearing as keen as it was, he couldn’t entirely escape stepping on someone’s toes in tightly congested spaces, and he wasn’t quite sure what bothered him more: the unsympathetic gruffness of others when treaded upon, or the whispers of pity that followed when they finally recognized just what it was they were looking at.

Or perhaps it simply reminded him of his younger days, when Noct would push him in jest as they ran through the wide open fields of Duscae, for no reason other than to elicit a disgruntled reaction from him.

“Mr. Scientia?”

He snaps his head around and ignores the sudden aching in his chest. “Apologies. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The light footsteps he had missed while mired in his own nostalgia move closer to where he is seated. “Do forgive me for my tardiness, the power plant released us a bit later than usual this evening. I let Mr. Tostwell know over the phone earlier, but if you’d prefer to reschedule—”

“This is fine.” He fixes a genial smile to his face and tilts his chin up toward the woman speaking to him. “And please—call me Ignis.”

“Ophelia. A pleasure to meet you.”

The strategist’s ears prick at the clipped accent of his newest interviewee. “Pardon the assumption, but you don’t exactly sound like a local.”

“I’m from Galahd, originally. Although my family relocated to the crown city when I was a child.”

“Is that so? I hail from Insomnia myself.”

“I know.” A pause. “Your reputation precedes you.”

His placid smile falters slightly. “Does it?”

“Those who lived under the crown have long memories.”

“Yes. Well.” His hand moves to his frosted visor purely out of habit; they are situated across the bridge of his nose adequately enough, but it gives him something to do with his fingers other than twiddle them like a fool. “Some memories are best left in the past. Shall we begin?”

The skittering of a chair along the ground echoes against the walls of the alcove. “Of course.”

“I presume you are aware that Mr. Tostwell is seeking an artisan specifically to expand his repertoire into baked goods. Something about keeping up with the local competition.”

“I am.”

“The position entails working directly under me, but you’ll have the freedom to develop the bakery department as you see fit. I’ve learned it’s best to lighten up on micromanaging others, lest they intend to organize a mutiny against you.”

The strategist is mercifully rewarded not with the sound of crickets chirping, but of Ophelia’s polite laughter. “That’s certainly a generous arrangement. Is it my understanding that you took over lead chef duties from Mr. Tostwell in recent months?”

“Correct.”

“I knew I’d seen you here before. I rarely have the time to eat out, but the Lasagna al Forno this establishment serves is delightful.”

The warmth of her voice matches that of the breeze stirring in the strategist’s hair, and his smile returns in earnest. “May I ask what you like about it?”

“Well,” she concedes, “most people settle for ground Dualhorn steak to use in their filling, or Behemoth tenderloin if they’re feeling adventurous. But I’ve found that the gaminess of the Jabberwock sirloin compliments the Cleigne Darkshells quite nicely.”

“That’s… rather insightful of you. Most people can’t seem to make out the difference.”

Her chair creaks against the concrete, as if the enthusiasm lacing her tone has found its way down the legs of her seat. “It’s a subtle distinction, but it really makes all the difference. I’ve only had lasagna prepared that way once before—at an establishment in Altissa.”

“Maagho,” he says, nodding his head absentmindedly. "I learned my recipe from the proprietor there, as it so happens.”

“My parents and I spent a holiday in Accordo when I was a teenager. Altissa was quite a beautiful city at its height.”

He hesitates, and reaches for his visor once more. “It was.”

His interviewee is either unaware or unaffected by his sudden diffidence, because her cadence remains upbeat. “I’ve heard that Accordan refugees have begun returning to Altissa. Word is that the secretary is committed to rebuilding the capital within two years.”

“Good to hear,” he replies quickly, eager to steer the conversation away from less palatable reminders of the past. “So tell me, Ophelia—what is it you feel qualifies you to assume a position as a baker? Any past experience in pastry making?”

��Yes and no. My father ran a bakery in Insomnia before the city fell, and had hoped to reestablish the trade once we’d settled in Lestallum. My job at the plant is steady work, but I fear with people returning to the other parts of Lucis, layoffs will be inevitable. Thought I might dust off a few of his old recipes and try my hand at the craft.”

“Is he also looking for work? Mr. Tostwell might be persuaded to hire a two-person team, under the appropriate circumstances.”

“No,” she says. “My father is no longer with us. Neither of my parents are.”

His perceptiveness must have atrophied right along with his sight, because Ignis could’ve kicked himself for not picking up on the slight hitch in her voice sooner. “My condolences. I’m sure they would’ve been comforted to know their daughter has carried their legacy onward to better days.”

“One can only hope.” The seat across from him squeaks again, less jovial than its prior enthusiasm. “Is there anything else pertaining to my qualifications you’d like for me to share?”

He quells the temptation to reach for his visor again, and offers a quick shake of his head instead. “No, I believe I’ve gathered quite enough information for Mr. Tostwell to mull over. Your attendance this evening is much appreciated.”

Chair legs scrape across the ground one last time, and her footsteps shift beside the table as she gathers herself to her feet. “Thank you for your consideration. My apologies again for keeping you out so late.”

Silence befalls them, but he doesn’t hear the telltale sound of her departing off into the distance, and it takes him a full second to realize the lull in their exchange is likely due to the fact that she is probably holding out a hand toward him. When he lifts his own hand in the vicinity of her direction, he is mildly embarrassed to feel the sensation of her palm meeting his. “Think nothing of it,” he says. “I’m used to being out at night.”

He notes the firmness of her grip despite delicate fingers; judging by the width of her palm, the strategist estimates her height to be at a little over five feet. Then she is dropping his hand as she strolls past him toward the open marketplace, the scent of Sylleblossom perfume swirling in the air around her wake, and Ignis allows himself a brief moment to indulge in one of the few senses left to him intact.

But her footfalls only make it a half dozen paces before falling quiet. “Mr. Scientia?”

“Please—do call me Ignis.”

“Right. Ignis.” Her footsteps slowly migrate back to where he is seated, until he can feel her warmth emanating beside him. “I feel compelled to thank you for something else.”

He tilts his head toward her and frowns. “And what’s that?”

His ears then pick up on an unusual click click, until he recognizes it as the sound of fingernails tapping against metal, and that Ophelia must be fiddling with a piece of jewelry on her wrist. “I would just like to acknowledge the sacrifices you’ve made for the kingdom of Lucis. The bravery displayed by you and your brethren has not been quickly forgotten by its people, nor will it ever.”

The problem with being blind, the strategist surmises, is that he was much more prone to unsolicited recollections when his useless eyes had nothing but darkness to focus on; visions of death and destruction suddenly flood his mind, of a battered and bleeding Noctis, of the Hydraean raging and of the last thing he ever saw, and of strands of red hair falling across the face of the only woman he ever loved.

Icy tendrils of grief lick at the insides of his throat, but he clamps down on his anguish before it can reach his voice. “Many have made greater sacrifices.”

“Regardless, fulfilling your duties to the crown and beyond without expectation of reward is an altruism above all measure.”

Ignis’ hand moves to his face again, but it’s not to adjust his visor; rather, the abrupt tightening in his chest is causing the scar that mars his left eye socket to tingle. He scratches at the blemished skin there momentarily as he waits for his discomfort to pass, then slowly rises from his chair and angles himself in the direction of the crowded marketplace. “A future people can look forward to is a reward in itself,” he says, feeling the ground in front of him with the edge of his toe. "I’ll be sure to pass on my findings to Mr. Tostwell and let you know when he’s made a decision about the baker position.”

#i dunno why all my OCs have british accents #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#ignis scientia #ffxv fanfiction #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ff15 #ignis #ignis stupeo scientia

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The forgotten bard who shaped pop

John Dowland’s songs were massively popular in the Elizabethan era. They played into an idea of English melancholy that continues today, writes Andrea Valentino.

By Andrea Valentino - 3 August 2017

Stumble into any grimy club, or any taxi, or any supermarket in Britain and chances are that you’ll hear the same music: the same songs, the same chords, the same lyrics. Ed Sheeran has been top of the pile lately. His latest album has sold over a million copies in the UK alone, and the quaking sentimentality of Castle On The Hill is almost a new national anthem.

We know surprisingly little of Dowland’s own life

But if Sheeran’s floppy red hair and catchy love songs are obsessing modern Britain, he was hardly the first to grab the national mood. Back in the 16th Century, the composer and lutenist John Dowland was similarly popular – pressing into a vein of moping soppiness that made him famous, and has served English musicians ever since.

This memorial to Dowland stands in the Dalkey suburb of Dublin (Credit: Alamy)

For such an influential musician, we know surprisingly little of Dowland’s own life. He was born about 1563, probably in London. He travelled widely, first working for Queen Elizabeth I, then for the Danish King Christian IV. Scandal chased after Dowland: he left Denmark after ‘unsatisfactory conduct’.

He was also rejected from the English court, probably for being a Catholic. And despite considerable fame, Dowland died in poverty, lamenting the “young professors of the lute” who “vaunt themselves to the disparagement” of old timers like him. This poignant end is dappled with mystery: even now, there are rumours that Dowland was a spy, and a traitor.

The beauty of sadness

If Dowland’s life remains enigmatic, personality explodes out of his songs. Just their titles – Burst Forth My Tears, Rest A While You Cruel Cares – are stickily evocative. His lyrics, meanwhile, still scrape against the heart of anyone who listens. “Burst forth my tears, assist my forward grief,” starts one, “and show what pain imperious love provokes.”

Dowland’s First Booke of Songs and Ayres from 1597, with sheet music to allow lute players to accompany singers, was one of his many successful songbooks (Credit: Alamy)

Elsewhere, Dowland sang that “down, down, down I fall, and arise I never shall.” The composer himself seemed to paddle happily about in all this. “His motto was semper Dowland, semper dolens. This means ‘always Dowland, always doleful’”, Pierre Huard, an early music performer and researcher, tells BBC Culture. Like Leonard Cohen or Tom Waits, in other words, John Dowland the angsty musician was sometimes indistinguishable from his music.

Elizabethans saw melancholy as fashionable – Olga Hernandez Roldan

Dowland’s distinctive music was not just a personal affectation, though. Sixteenth-Century England was obsessed with “melancholy”, seeing it as. “fashionable”, says Olga Hernandez Roldan, a lecturer in music history at the Madrid Superior School of Singing. Ted Libbey, a music critic, agrees. “Melancholy was the sign of a superior individual,” he wrote, in an article for NPR. It was typical of someone “who was mature and capable of deep feeling.” These ideas seeped into 16th Century life. One scholar wrote a Treatise on Melancholy while Shakespeare cast Hamlet as bubbling with existential worries. Like all the best modern musicians, meanwhile, Dowland tapped into these feelings. If Ed Sheeran’s Galway Girl sates modern teenagers desperate for tipsy nostalgia, Dowland filled his songs with the passions of his time.

English illustrator John Minnion drew this caricature of Dowland – a sign of the songwriter’s enduring impact in the UK (Credit: Alamy)

Dowland’s music was strikingly modern in other ways, too. He was one of the first composers to popularise the lute in England, spreading his music to a mass audience. Like the piano a few centuries later, it could be produced cheaply and made music accessible “to the bourgeoisie,” explains Hernandez Roldan. “The lute allowed people to play printed music at home on their own,” she adds. Dowland’s music soon became wildly popular, and one of his song books was reprinted four times during the late 1500s and early 1600s. Together with his instrument, moreover, Dowland pushed for a new kind of music. Unlike the dense Italian madrigals of the previous century, many of Dowland’s songs were “organised simply” with just an intimate solo lute as accompaniment, says Huard. “They had a big effect on the public” and helped turn English into a “European language.”

‘Shakespeare of songs’

Given all this, it’s little wonder that Dowland is now known by some as the “first modern singer-songwriter,” although not everyone agrees. “We must root Dowland in his musical context to appreciate the whole,” says Hernandez Roldan. “I feel that to speak about him just ripped out of his world makes no sense.” She has a point: scratching a line right from Dowland to modern musicians risks slipping into anachronism.

The lute was a popular instrument in the 16th and 17th Centuries and featured in many paintings such as this one by Valentin de Boulogne (Credit: Alamy)

Still, if Dowland did not wear a black leather jacket, his gushy self-expression – combined with his simple, intense style – are both hallmarks of modern pop. For Huard, Dowland is nothing short of a timeless “Shakespeare of songs” whose vivid delivery jumps down to us as strong as ever.

He is a fool who is not melancholy once a day – English proverb

And if some historians might hesitate to make the comparison between Dowland and contemporary music, artists have happily adapted his passionate songs. Twentieth-Century composers like Benjamin Britten and Parry Grainger have reimagined pieces by Dowland. The Dowland Project elegantly mixes Dowland’s lute pieces with modern jazz. Dowland’s music has even stumbled back to the pop world. Elvis Costello has sung a version of Can She Excuse My Wrongs? and in 2006 Sting covered an album of Dowland’s songs, even sitting in a smoky Tudor cellar to record In Darkness Let Me Dwell.

Sting released an album of Dowland covers through classical label Deutsche Grammophon in 2006 and remains an avid lutenist (Credit: Alamy)

The melancholic twang from John Dowland’s lute has shivered down to generations of English artists indirectly, too. In the early 20th Century, Edward Elgar’s haunting music was called ‘wonderful in its heroic melancholy’. Later, Pink Floyd released trippy songs like Time where they sang that “hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.” Things went into overdrive as the utopianism of the hippie years quivered and died. By 1976, Joy Division were gripping worn-out kids around the country. A decade on, The Smiths went even further. Songs like Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want and How Soon Is Now? are still benchmarks of teenage worry. John Dowland may not have sung that he was “happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I’m miserable now” – that was Morrissey. But he could have.

Naturally, not all these musicians were influenced by Dowland directly. But starting with John Dowland and his shameless self-expression, his melancholy has proved wonderfully durable. But why do the English seem so drawn to misery? Maybe it reminds us of life’s unfairness. An old English proverb remarks that “he is a fool who is not melancholy once a day.” Or perhaps it’s the weather. As Voltaire put it, “these are the dark November days when the English hang themselves.” Whatever the reason, melancholy has surely scrabbled far enough into our national identity to stay firmly put. Hopefully, anyway. It would be a shame to lose musicians like John Dowland, whose “dainties grief shall be, and tears my poisoned wine.”

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http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20170801-the-ed-sheeran-of-16th-century-england

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