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onesunofagun · 3 years

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I shall now yell about Ingo, please stand by:

Ingo’s transformation from the underappreciated backbone of the ranch to an absolute ruff-wearing cantaloupe of a man is also pretty interesting (if you’re the kind of person who absorbs the Zelda series through your skin like a frog to live).

I’ve bolded the key points for skimmers.

Granted, the manga has it that Ingo just gets brainwashed by Twinrova into being a staunch follower of Ganondorf. That’s not canon, but it’s not informing any of this thinking, either way.

In the beginning of OoT we meet Talon by waking him up from a nap, and we learn pretty quickly that he’s lazy and often yelled at by his daughter for slacking off like this. Ingo at the ranch confirms again that Talon doesn’t pull his weight around there, and since Malon’s still a child, it’s pretty obvious that Ingo’s settled with the bulk of the work.

Ingo is grumpy, he’s resentful, and he complains a lot. But he does do the work, and you can find him (presumably) in the process of mucking out the stables.

Let’s examine what he does at the ranch:

Epona really liked that song... Only I could tame that horse... Even Mr. Ingo had a hard time...

Now, Epona is established in game to be a real winner of a horse. She’s fast, she’s smart, she’s got a lovely sorrel coat and white mane that seems to be quite rare or highly prized coloring. The catch is, she is notoriously wild. The only people she tolerates are Malon and Link, due in large part to being soothed by the song Malon’s mother taught her.

Ingo had to really try to crack this horse, which Malon’s observation suggests is unusual.

Epona is very young when we first see her, so it’s never really revealed if she was caught wild, or bred at the ranch with a very headstrong temperament.

Ingo’s clearly the guy that’s breaking them in, though. The most Talon is doing is... sleeping in with the cuccos. We never see any organisation of the cuccos, in terms of egg collection or poultry farming, but nevertheless, Talon has the much less physical jobs even if he was doing them. His focus seems to be cuccos, deliveries to the castle and book keeping between naps (and to be fair it’s probably a little depression related, given the dead wife).

Malon gives us a cow later on, and she’s got the egg for the crowing cucco that wakes up Talon, so I’d like to assume for simplicity’s sake that even as a kid, Malon was up at dawn most days helping Ingo with the cows and milking them. It’s never really implied that she has amazing skill in dealing with horses, just that Epona has a special connection with her specifically. Other than that, Malon is simply kind and respectful of her animals (though I’ve got no idea how she got that cow to Link’s treehouse and that’s worth investigating).

Later on, Ingo is also shown to be a competent rider. Enough that he has absolutely no qualms in challenging Link to races for wagers, and was quite confident of his ability to win.

The takeaway is, Ingo is usually VERY GOOD with both caring for and training horses, if not breeding them for the ranch.

That kind of lends to his grumbling, when he is referring to himself as ‘the Great Ingo’ and comparing himself to Talon, who is a ‘bum’. His claim to greatness may not be undeserved, at least in horse circles, and especially if he’s not getting particular credit for it, his bitterness and frustration (alongside envy, exhaustion, and dreams of recognition) would be quite deeply run.

So it seems that his friend and employer is clearly taking some advantage of him, especially after the death of Malon’s mother.

So now, let’s examine his feelings, and how he changes.

The feelings Ingo has about that are pretty textbook for the sort of thing ‘evil takes hold of and twists’, in the Zeldaverse.

Focussing on the game itself, Malon says this as an adult:

Since Ganondorf came, people in the Castle Town have gone, places have been ruined, and monsters are wandering everywhere. Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... Everyone seems to be turning evil...

We do see other characters in Hyrule become influenced by the ‘darkness in their hearts’ as byproduct of Ganondorf’s reign.

A prominent example of a character who was visibly dissatisfied with their lot, and then notably changes (while praising Ganondorf for what he’d done), is the Castle Guard who is heavily implied to have become the Poe Dealer. Even if by some slim means it’s not the same person, the Poe Dealer does still express that they could not do the work they do without Ganon as King, and that they now benefit from him being in that position and are grateful to him.

The Kakariko Carpenters seem to have given into their fantasies about living among the Gerudo women, and gone out to the Valley and gotten themselves taken prisoner. Following work near the fortress, the team chooses to act on their selfish desires and go for broke, chasing their dreams. They weren’t previously prepared to act upon these fantasies when Link was young, admittedly much milder in their still very prominent obsession, but seven years later, they’re quite happy to risk it all and piss away the stability of their careers (and nearly their lives) at the first opportunity.

Anyway, the trend is, those across Hyrule who are unhappy with their lot before Ganondorf’s coup tend to be ‘corrupted’ by seven years later, and appear to have given in to a twisted version of whatever they most wanted.

This is noteworthy especially because the language in the game revolves around the Sacred Realm being opened and corrupted, too, by Ganondorf’s unbalanced heart and selfish goals. It is unable to be ‘sealed’ again while Link has the Master Sword. In aLttP, we know there is a mirror like effect to do with the sacred turned dark realm, in which it reflects the hearts of men.

So it is very reasonable to say, that for OoT in particular, much of this evil influence plaguing the land and preying on the darkness an people’s hearts is a result of the corruption of the Sacred Realm. It is an indirect byproduct of Ganondorf’s acquiring of the Triforce, but not necessarily something he himself does to people on purpose, unlike the brainwashing of Nabooru.

Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... But Dad... He was kicked out of the ranch by Mr. Ingo... If I disobey Mr. Ingo, he will treat the horses so badly...

This explains a lot of the more callous and greedy behaviour that Ingo shows later on, and why it seems to disappear when he is truly humbled by Link.

Link’s win serves as a reminder of Ingo’s stagnating skill with horses, the very thing that made him feel so deserving of praise and recognition in the first place, in that for everything he now has control of at the ranch, he still cannot control that horse. He has become as much of a bum as Talon ever was, relegating Malon to do all the hard work while Ingo struts around uselessly. He’s even lost his touch with the Horses so much, in his arrogance, that now he has taken up mistreating them and using harsh and abusive methods (according to Malon’s concerns).

The humiliation and shame takes hold, his pride shattering with the loss of Epona-- not only as a valuable asset, but also as the horse he could never truly tame.

The dark feelings he was holding onto are let go of, as he regains a sense of humility, and the corruptive influence upon him dissipates. He even seeks out Talon to bury the hatchet and invite him back to the ranch.

Oh, I have to tell you about Mr. Ingo... He was afraid that the Evil King might find out that Epona had been taken away... It really upset him! But one day, all of a sudden, he went back to being a normal, nice person! Now my dad is coming back...I can't believe it, but peace is returning to this ranch!

But what about his obsession with Ganondorf in particular?

When the coup happened, Ingo watched the King of the Gerudo unwittingly play out a sort of grand parallel to what Ingo felt should happen on the ranch. To Ingo’s perception, I think Ganondorf was representing an ideal version of Ingo himself.

A man of the desert, where hard work and grit are as second nature to survive the harsh conditions. A man frustrated with the King of Hyrule’s shit, and forced to swear fealty to him despite being a King himself. A man resplendent with wealth, with fine and flashy clothes and plentiful jewelry.

And perhaps the most important note of all, the Gerudo in OoT?

They’re horse people.

They love horses. Ganondorf’s horse is reputed to be a purebred Black Gerudo Stallion, which is obviously a specialty breed, that is fully armoured and as flashy as he is. When the Gerudo cut the bridge leading to the valley, the only way in and out is to have a skilled horse jump the gap.

They also have a huge horseback archery range, and prowess in the sport is an incredible source of respect amongst the Gerudo, and many of the guards possess bladed polearms suitable for mounted use. From this, it can be assumed that during the recent civil war, Gerudo weapons, war tack and military tactics were probably built around mounted cavalry archers foremost, with a lesser focus on light and heavy cavalry aside (iron knuckle armour springs to mind).

Anyway, Horses are very important to the Gerudo in the era of Ocarina of Time.

So Ganondorf is also unique in the sense that he is the King of a people who value what it is that Ingo does very highly. He, of all people, stands to immediately recognise the knowledge and skill that Ingo possesses in rearing horses.

So this is a man who successfully stages a coup of Hyrule, who clearly inspires Ingo to do much the same of the ranch, and who Ingo also feels is very likely to take his side should he appeal the matter.

And Ganondorf does.

And if that’s not a great compliment to Ingo’s actual skill, I don’t know what is, because Ganondorf is not a man that suffers fools. He’s got a limited patience when it comes to shit that is beneath his notice. Clearly, he recognises that Ingo is indeed the backbone of that ranch-- and the main reason for the quality of its Horses-- and rewards this accordingly.

And for Ingo, being on decent terms with the big scary goth King is a very, very good place to be. But it’s more than that!

What a guy! Not only did he deliver on Ingo’s long due validation, he gave Ingo everything he’d ever dreamed of having to his name, and the authority to kick Talon to the curb. He gets it! Ganondorf, this great eight foot beacon of freshly sought divine power and topaz-encrusted glory, this absolute unit of a man, this great underdog horse-lover after Ingo’s own heart; he really understands how great Ingo is. Ganondorf is paving the way for people like them! Oh, to rub shoulders wiht such greatness when the rest of Hyrule is scorned.

Ingo feels seen. The Great Ganondorf made all that thankless time spent shovelling horse shit while Talon slept mean something. The Gerudo appreciate Ingo’s talents.

And all Ingo has to do is keep turning out really good horses, and promise to present the King with his finest.

So Ingo knows he’s in deep shit when he gets cocky and loses Epona to a wager, who at this point, he’s prepared pretty well and sunk a lot of money into on the idea that she’s going to Ganondorf.

Who he’s probably bragged to about how fast she is.

He lost her to some jerk in tights who’d barely ridden before, too. And then when Ingo tried to cheat him out of the win, the kid jumped the damned fence an in ass-bustingly cool move that really just drove home how excellent and rare Epona was.

One does not promise the King of the Gerudo a fast horse and then fail to deliver, let alone for such a stupid reason.

Honestly, by the end, the man’s just happy to be alive.

Also I’d like to think he and Talon had a much fairer delegation of work and forgave each other, each really learning to appreciate what they have and what’s really important.

how the fuck did the Kokiri leave the forest for this scene anyway, they don’t even have their faries???

#tloz #tloz oot #Ocarina of time #legend of zelda ocarina #nostalgia #ingo #malon #talon #lon lon ranch #hyrule #zelda meta #legend of zelda #gerudo #ganondorf #zelda discussion #zelda theory

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writing-in-april · 3 years

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The Melody Lives On

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Seeing Spencer after so long apart makes past feelings come to the surface again.

A/N: Hey heyy 🥰 this is my third fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! It was based on a request that @imagining-in-the-margins passed along to me- if you want to see a photo of the original request it’ll be on the follower celebration Masterlist! It’s got vague references to the prison arc and is also inspired by Grey’s Anatomy 🥰 Thank you to @lexieshuntingsstuff for getting me back to realizing how much I love Grey’s 😊 Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and requests are open!

Warnings: Nothing I guess- unless vague references to the prison arc bother you

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.2k

“Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. ” Came through the intercom. I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria munching on crackers while reading a book that I honestly wasn’t paying that much attention to because of how dead tired I was. I couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped me, I didn’t want my first break in what seemed like forever to be cut short.

Besides the fact that my bones and muscles ached I willed my body to move out of my chair despite it’s very prominent protests. There was a line of attending that led outside the conference room, I guess I had been the only one they had forgotten to get the memo out too.

Karev then came up behind me with just as much of a quizzical look on his face as mine and the rest of the attendings- I guess no one knew why we were here.

The only hint that the rest of us got to what was going on inside was when Arizona left the room and said it was some sort of FBI interrogation before she scurried off back towards peds.

As the line dwindled down to just me and Karev with Meredith in the room my mind started to wander to the person that I knew that happened to be in the FBI. Well- I guess I didn’t know him anymore, it had been a decade plus since I had seen him.

Of course said person that I happened to be thinking about happened to be in the room.

As soon as I saw his fluffy hair memories came flooding back. He looked so different now, more mature. But, I could clearly tell who it was; it was Spencer.

We had met just as I had been starting my first year of college. At first I had assumed he was the same, a freshman. Then I had learned that he was actually already on his second PHD- which had been in mathematics if my memory serves me well.

I had admittedly gawked at him at first like so many had done to him as well when they found out about his vast valleys of intellect that seemed to go on forever. When I had asked him to tutor me in my own mathematics course it was for the sole reason of bumping up the grade I had let slip. That was until I had gotten to know the sweet boy who was almost a man, though his baby face definitely did try to fight that fact. Guilt had immediately cropped up within me once I realized how much of a fool I was to not want to get to know him deeper than just the ‘child prodigy’ that everyone knew him as. He was one of the nicest people I had ever had the pleasure to come across, plus his bountiful knowledge made conversations with him extremely riveting to say the least. I remember apologizing to him profusely that first night, that was the first time I had gotten the chance to see the true extent of how sweet his kind eyes could be.

What had first been a simple somewhat feigned friendship to get a good tutor turned into the closest friendship that I had ever had. That close friendship had eventually turned into a romantic relationship one that in my opinion rivaled any of the great classic love stories.

Unfortunately, fate is rarely kind to lovers and what had once been sweet turned sour. It wasn’t any one of our faults, I knew that. But, my blossoming career as a surgeon led me to get an internship in Seattle while Spencer was led to the front steps of the FBI.

Every time I thought back on it I bitterly laughed at the irony of us both being led to Washington, though they were different ones that were on the other sides of the country. I had no animosity towards Spencer and the last time I saw him neither did he. But, the memories stung painfully when looking back on them. They stung even worse when I was faced with the sight of the man who had stolen my heart more than a decade ago and had yet to give it back.

His hair had grown out since I had last seen him, it now curled more around his ears and was much fluffier. The color of his soft curls would make anyone obsessed, mousy brown that shined a little bit of a burnt caramel when the tops of his curls hit the light. He had taken to letting his curls run wild which I had always liked to see when he would wash his hair of the gel he used to religiously put in.

A new addition along with his curls was the scruff he had begun to let grow out a little. When I knew him growing out his scruff a little would’ve been a completely foreign concept to young Spencer. I remember him always complaining about how scratchy it felt when he even let it grow out a little. The scruff also used to seem jarring on his younger face, looking out of place on his boyish face. Now his face definitely suited the scruff.

He had changed a lot indeed, but underneath it all I could still see the Spencer I knew. His eyes held a darkness now that matched well with the fluffy curls and scruff. The darkness that deepened his eyes was attractive for sure, but I wondered what had made the sweet boy become so dark. There was a part of me that wanted to know this Spencer as well, even with the darkness, despite the fact that I hadn’t really known him in so long.

His eyes had been piercing right into my own as I took the sight of him in. Those dark eyes felt like they were reaching right into my soul and hooking their claws in deep to draw me right back into him. Though I can’t say I minded much, being drawn back into Spencer’s warmth sounded like something we may both need.

“Dr.?” One of the men that was in the room with Spencer spoke up to get my attention. They must have been talking while the both of us had zoned out looking at each other.

The older man that spoke to me looked like he may have been a bit too old to work for the FBI. If I didn’t know that Spencer worked for them I would’ve thought Arizona had been pulling our legs when she told us what this was for because Instead of acknowledging the other man I turned back to face Spencer and spoke softly,”It’s good to see you, Spencer.”

“You too.” His voice croaked and was hoarse when he replied. His coworkers looked extremely confused with what was happening, especially the woman with blonde hair that was eyeing me up and down. Though in her position I didn’t blame her, I’m assuming nothing had ever been shared with his coworkers ever since he had joined the FBI about someone that had been in his life all those years ago.

The group of us stood at an awkward standstill for a minute, I was unsure if I was supposed to say anything. I fidgeted a bit uncomfortable with a bunch of eyes fixated directly on me before Spencer decided to speak up to break the tension, “Um- well Y/N- there was a suspect that came here a few weeks ago to possibly find some people that would um- be suitable victims for him.”

I pushed my reminiscing thoughts of Spencer out of my mind just so I could properly answer their questions before hopefully snagging a minute away with him to talk. I wouldn’t lie, seeing him after all these years made my feelings flicker in a way I hadn’t felt in so long. And, it was really nice to hear him say my first name again. He was really the only one to ever make those butterflies in my stomach swell and sparks fly. I had even resigned myself to never feel those wonderful feelings of blossoming love again.

But, perhaps fate had decided to give us a second chance, realizing it had been too cruel to us by pulling us apart.

When the questions ended, which unfortunately I had really been no help to them- the only people that would’ve been able to help with the victims were probably Meredith or maybe Bailey who had been in contact with the poor people who had ended up as victims.

I moved to shuffle out of the room, though I purposefully lingered in hopes of Spencer pulling me aside to speak privately. I didn’t want to do it myself, he was on an important job after all.

My heart skipped a beat when I felt his fingers tentatively wrap his fingers around my wrist. Even from just a soft touch it was evident that his hands were not the same hands that I remembered. They were the same shape, his fingers were just as long and nimble and his palms were just as all encompassing, but there was something different in the way they felt. They felt rougher, covered in more calluses then I would think possible on him. The hands I remembered were baby soft as if they had been untouched by the world. Maybe the calluses were just from him handling the gun I saw strapped to his side, or maybe it was the same thing that had made the rest of him harder.

Even though he was an obviously harder- more damaged man compared to the one I knew I still wanted those callused hands to stroke my cheek again.

The yearning to be with him again had already flickered into a roaring fire just from seeing him with my eyes again and with one soft touch. I didn’t care in the slightest how much the world had changed him. The world had battered and bruised him, probably quite literally from my guess. I wanted to get to know this Spencer, even with the bruises he still filled my stomach full of butterflies and sparked my feelings into a roaring fire exactly like he had done so before.

I turned to face him, a little nervous that he’d tell me that he never wanted to see me again despite the fact that I knew he’d never say that to me no matter how much of a changed man he was.

“Do you want to get a coffee while I’m in town, maybe so we can- um catch up after your shift?” His voice was so soft, almost meek, giving me a little taste of what Spencer had been like and who he still was at his core.

“Yeah I’d like that, Spencer, just have one more surgery and then I’m yours.” His two coworkers that he had come with were giving us both looks like they’d be interrogating Spencer on the ride back. Yeah he definitely had never said anything about me judging by their looks I now cared to look at. I couldn’t blame him, the memories had been painful to look back on myself. But, seeing him now made them tinge with a little bit of sweetness instead of growing more bitter with time.

I pulled out my phone that was in my white jacket pocket and asked, “what’s your number?”

I had his old number memorized by heart easily even after all these years. It was as if I had taken a small portion of Spencer’s eidetic memory just so I could hold onto a number that after over ten years is surely not usable. He gave me his new number with a distinctly D.C area code with a sweet smile on his face. As I left the room to scoot over to the surgery I was due to perform I was sparkling with anticipation- I could almost taste the coffee already.

As I started my last surgery of my long shift, someone turned on the music playlist that I always had on a loop during my surgeries. A song that reminded me of Spencer was the first one that came on the shuffle. It wasn’t one that reminded me of the Spencer I once knew, but the new version of Spencer I had just met.

I focused in on the task at hand just as I always did. Cutting with pristine precision, I worked quickly but diligently. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t skimp on my work. In the back of my mind I was still giddy like the schoolgirl I had been when I had first met Spencer. I couldn’t wait to get that coffee with him- I wondered if he still liked a gallon of sugar with it. Our first song had ended, but the melody lived on- maybe the melody was strong enough to start another.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All Works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

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@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler fluff #1250 follower celebration #1250 followers

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mizgnomer · 5 years

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Excerpts from the SyFy Wire & Film School Rejects interviews with Claire Anderson, the Emmy-nominated costume designer for Good Omens:

[ Film School Rejects - by Ciara Wardlow] “I worked through it with gut reaction images. So, two guys. Two guys, kind of close, nearly in love, if you like,” she said. “I just went in and we had a really big, very open conversation about how you related to these people in the script and how we would make them real and plausible, but give them a fantasy element. Give them something otherworldly.”

While Anderson says that she ultimately took this approach with more or less all of the characters, mixing period and modern elements to give characters somewhat timeless, yet also somewhat fantastical “out of time” looks, in the early discussion stages it was all about Aziraphale and Crowley. For one thing, Sheen and Tennant were already cast, which was a major help in determining their looks. It took some time to settle on the duo’s main, contemporary looks, but once these were locked in they played a significant role in determining everything else they wore.

[...] Aziraphale maintains a look with significant nods to the late Victorian era. Crowley too, although he manages to put an edgier twist on things than his angelic contemporary. “We re-appropriate bits of period stuff so that it echoes. [Aziraphale and Crowley] echo one another in their visual identity with pieces from their past—where they’ve touched each other in the past perhaps, or bumped into each other.” Regarding how Crowley manages to keep more of a modern, cool vibe, Anderson gives David Tennant’s performance the lion’s share of the credit. “He’s a very nice man, but he’s very sexy. He brought all of that swagger, that rock star, snake-hipped sexiness, and we built on that.”

[ SyFy Wire - by Jennifer Vineyard] GARDEN OF EDEN, 4004 B.C. - Anderson looked at everything from Pre-Raphaelite paintings to Al Pacino’s hippie clothes in Serpico to determine just the right flow for Aziraphale’s rough-hewn robe, which has gold embroidery on the shoulders and side. Aziraphale is also wearing a golden ring, which later becomes a signet ring stamped with wings in the Victorian era.

NOAH'S ARK, MESOPOTAMIA, 3004 B.C. - “As aged as I am, I wasn’t there,” Anderson says, laughing. “And there wasn’t any painting or documentation from this era. But what we do know is that tunics remained pretty simple, and the earlier shape would have served them well for many years.” Aziraphale’s robe becomes more streamlined, and he wears gold beads at the neck.

THE CRUCIFIXION, GOLGOTHA, 33 - By this time, both Aziraphale and Crawley — now Crowley — are wearing turbans and head wraps, which Anderson attributes to “a bit of vanity.” Plus the wrap helps Crowley conceal his snake-like eyes (it’s too soon for glasses). Aziraphale dons a soft leather coat over his tunic, while Crowley wears female attire of the region — an abaya.

ROME, 41 - Switching from tunics to togas was difficult, since togas contain 6 to 12 meters of fabric, which is a lot to carry around on camera. Anderson reduced the size by cutting the togas to fit for the character’s movements, and she gave each actor a thematic decorative pin to hold their togas together — Crowley a serpent and staff, Aziraphale a pair of wings (both courtesy of George Easton at Danegeld Historic Jewellery). Although history might argue that it’s too soon for sunglasses, Crowley starts to shield his eyes with a very small, eye-shaped lens. “It’s suggestive, rather than historically accurate,” Anderson says. And as a sign that Crowley is adapting to the humans around him, he also wears a silver laurel wreath.

ARTHURIAN ENGLAND, THE KINGDOM OF WESSEX, 537 - Anderson sent character descriptions and visuals for Aziraphale and Crowley to armor specialist FBFX, which sent a van to London full of pieces that could work for angelic and demonic armor. Instead of focusing on historical accuracy, Anderson looked for shapes and fit that suggested an ethereal — or snakelike — quality, once the pieces had been painted black or silver. For Crowley, she found a helmet that had a smaller face that could suggest a snakehead, and for Aziraphale, shoulder pieces that were slightly wing-like. To add to the wing effect, Anderson added a white fur caplet to Aziraphale’s armor. “It was terribly grand, but not very practical,” she says. “And the poor guys, it was murderously uncomfortable to stand around in that armor.”

GLOBE THEATRE, LONDON, 1601 - Crowley and Aziraphale catch an early version of Hamlet, looking more period-appropriate than ever thanks to the Globe’s vast archive of costumes. Aziraphale’s wardrobe, which includes a neck ruff edged with gold thread, has a metallic look with a hint of iridescent blue, which opens up his color palette. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a cleaner neckline and leather on his doublet, as well as fabrics that provide sheen and luster to suggest his snaky origins.

REVOLUTIONARY FRANCE, PARIS, 1793 - This is not a period to be dressed like an aristocrat, but Aziraphale couldn’t resist a lace collar, gold brocade and fitted jacket — which explains why he’s stuck in a prison cell (at least until Crowley intervenes). Crowley, more mindful of what revolutionaries would wear, dons a dark red jacket that’s almost as dark as his usual black. When Aziraphale miracle-changes his clothes, he wears the red cap of liberty. “It’s a soft beret that falls somewhere between a modern French beret and a pirate headdress,” Anderson notes.

ST. JAMES' PARK, LONDON, 1862 - This is the time period with which Aziraphale gets most comfortable, fashion-wise, and settles into a Victorian look with tartan flair. Anderson also bestowed some heavenly nods to his angelic nature — a feathery velvet top hat, a stopwatch with angel’s wings on the chain, and the signet ring. Crowley, meanwhile, wears a pair of long, elegantly cut trousers that we will see again in the 1960s. “The trousers repeat, which is basically what fashion does anyway,” Anderson says. “And it’s what the story does. There are notes backward and forwards.”

THE BLITZ, LONDON, 1941 - Aziraphale’s tartan necktie becomes a bow tie, and his penchant for wide lapels, a nod to his wings, continues, this time with a spear-point collar. Crowley, who comes to save Aziraphale once again, is dressed more formally, in a full double-breasted wool suit that must have been hard for David Tennant to wear in the South African heat. “The rest of the crew were in flip-flops and T-shirts, and David was in the suit, hat, and those big boots,” Anderson says, recalling the shoot. “He had to be very physically active in that scene, and yet David didn’t complain about the heat or anything. He’s amazing.”

SOHO, LONDON, 1967 - Crowley, as noted, continues to wear his Victorian trousers, which are right up to date, and which he pairs with a black paisley velvet jacket with contrasting lapels. His sunglasses now have more of a John Lennon vibe. Aziraphale, perhaps inadvertently, is also looking stylish with his Victorian topcoat, spear-point collar, and cravat (modified from his scarf in Victorian England). “You can’t avoid being affected by changing trends,” Anderson says. “However bookish you are, you still notice other people. And you would have had Rolling Stones and Beatles fans wearing that kind of thing. That was our argument for Aziraphale wearing his Victorian topcoat all the way through, and Michael Sheen loved it. He said it inspired him. And the cravat rang in the changes and helped us with the passage of time, rather than always having him wear a bow tie.

#good omens #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable husbands #crowley and aziraphale #claire anderson #long post #tennant tuesday #costume design #apologies for the length of this post #but it was all so darn interesting!#(guess I should have done part 1 and part 2?)#stuff i posted #they put so much thought into everything #I hope they win that emmy!#I'll probably reblog this with the links intact when I get home tonight #because it's killing me to not include the links to these two articles #p.s. I love the bit about david's snake-hipped sexiness #good omens costumes long post

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raguna-blade · 3 years

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Persona 5, Makoto, And Cops

So, like...We can all agree that it's weird that Makoto want's to be a cop in the game right? Aside from general cop bastardry irl, there's like precisely one police officer in the entirety of P5 who's at all a clear cut good guy and even he basically just says out and out, super explicitly that the cops are like...Not great.

At BEST, at BEST, they ensure the laws are followed, but that doesn't always equate to justice being served, and it is hilariously easy for them to be made into tools of opression, and to be made into stooges of people who want to do wrong.

Like Zenkichi out and out says “You really shouldn't be a cop.”

But Makoto still want's to be, despite knowing this, despite agreeing with this, and it's a weird gap right? Of perhaps everyone in the group, she should know best how following the rules and laws can lead to people doing pretty screwed up things if her little stint stalking and then blackmailing joker and company.

And she's just a student council president you know? It's not like she has anywhere near the same authority as a police officer, and unlike Chie who (for sake of argument here) has pretty objectively Upstanding Excellent Cops in her neighborhood except for you know the one who decidedly wasn't but P4 isn't really dealing with Laws and their problems, so them not leaning into law enforcement is a problem makes sense. Dojima is a just dude trying to do his best and even here the only other cop of note is uh...A straight up monster who abused his position of authority to get away with terrible things.

But back to P5, like...The game isn't subtle about it's feelings about law enforcement. Every Single Shadow is represented in the field by varying kinds of law enforcement operative types. Guards, knights, actual cops, prison wardens, etc etc. The Ultimate Big Bad basically posits that humans can't follow the rules and for that need to be severely punished and so laws and rules more or less end up being the big bad foe here.

The motivation to be a cop is well...Painted as whole heartedly misguided at best. We never get to know anything about Makoto's dad, and he's her inspiration for that goal, but at the same time, we get to see the other daughter who I think it's safe to say ALSO had him as something of a goal and...Sae also doesn't exactly come off as a perfect avatar of justice here either.

She very clearly WANTS to be, no doubt, and the massive shock of the games events does change her trajectory, but she's been deep down in the swamp of the system and she knows intimately that well...It's a shit show at best.

So i'm circling back to it as...Why? What's the deal here with what the game is going for theme wise? The idea of internal reform I suppose is being suggested, but the game's also make it remarkably clear that that actually won't work.

I'd say even textually, not even dipping into subtext, the game is out and out saying that you cannot reform a system from the inside like that when it's that far gone. Between P5 and P5S it's made abundantly clear that even what is functionally in a metaphysical sense a hard system check of things going out of whack law wise like the phantom thieves (what with their flipping of the table) they can't actually solve the problems of the system itself being super fucked. At best they can stop it from going full on malignant, but the cancer is still there. If the people don't actually band together to overturn things that are broken, especially when it is well within their hands to do, it's not going to improve, it's not going to get better. It's a delaying action at best.

Like the Phantom Thieves can't save everyone. Akira Konoe bluntly makes it clear when he asks them and the PT can only really go...No we can't. If we knew sure, but we don't possess the ability to do that. It's outside our ability entirely to do so for everyone.

So...Back to Makoto then. It's abundantly clear, I think, that she's very much of the mold of she want's to be a cop to protect people. That's what the job description is, even if that's not what it is in reality. And I think we can at least say that she's not so naive by this point to think that if she goes in she's going to be able to reform things, not by herself. It's worth noting that her intended goal is to become a Police Commisioner, and basically form her own police branch under her rules and regulations which...Fair. Fine. There's something to be said for being an apt demonstration but it doesn't actually fix the problem at it's core does it?

Which I think pushes this into the funky grey area of things because I don't think she's precisely...Wrong to want to do this. As stated, I think the games make it abundantly clear that one person on their own can't make radical and deep changes. You need people and momentum and everyone willing to work and all that.

Certainly, I think, it would be tremendously easier to reform an organization if someone in that organization is willing to make calls against what they're doing presently. But by the same token, it's also clear if you're entering an organization to try and change that organization it's uh...Not precisely a good bet. Now there's something to be said for being willing to try it I think. While the game doesn't exactly indicate how it'll go, we can imagine that following the events of the game that Makoto wouldn't be crushed under the weight of it all and change for the worse....Though the question of if she'd be able to make her goals a reality are a different question. She has allies in that fight for sure, between Zenkichi, Sae, and (from all indications) Kaburagi, there is at least some element of reform at play, but it's also well...

The big ass conspiracy didn't exactly come out of nowhere no? And the cops at every level more or less were compromised to some level or another, and this includes these prospective allies.

But then, I guess this goes back to the Phantom Thieves themselves. They're not able to actually fundamentally fix the problems at play. They stop the worst excesses certainly, the most terminal aspects of it, although in doing so they are very nearly destroyed outright and with barely a thought. In that spirit, Of doing what you can with what you can it changes the read on the decision at least somewhat.

The Daughter of a well decorated cop, sister of a particularly well known ex prosecuter now defense lawyer, in addition to being a top honor student type, certainly gives her a bit more leverage to attack the problem, especially in the sense of getting into a position to actually change things. To say nothing of Joanna.

Taking her awakening quote into consideration

"Have you decided to tread the path of strife...? Very well. Let us proceed with our contract at once. I am thou, thou art I... You have finally found your own justice... Please... Never lose sight of it again. This memorable day marks your graduation from your false self..."

and the general story the game presents of Joanna as one who rose to the top of the organization she was in and shook it to it's core (doesn't particularly matter how true that is in reality, merely what the game says for this instance) it's clear that indeed that's her gambit, if not the specific trickster archetype she's supposed to embody (as opposed to Joker's completely outside the law rogue, Anne's Femme Fatale, or Morganna's Layabout by Day Vigilante by Night as off the cuff examples), of someone who appeared to all eyes to be a harmless simple part of the system until it was simply too late for them to do anything about it.

There is a solid arc there, and a story to be told, and I think in that light makes the continued ambition make sense especially given what we're shown of well...Uh, everything to do with law enforcement in P5.

Now if they actually communicated that idea WELL is um...probably a different story. I think it's there to see, but I can easily see this being overlooked if this was the actual intent. Though, thinking about it, the way the various trickster archetypes are shown to function isn't quite as clear as it could be, though I think there's something to say for looking into that.

Later though.

#Persona 5 #makoto nijima #theme analysis

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tomorrowsdrama · 3 years

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So the costumes in rebel princess are obviously beautiful and incredibly detailed. But I love that the costuming also informs us about a character’s social standing and for some characters, their state of mind as well. Or in Song Huaien’s case, how far into the dark side he’s gone. He’s really the inspiration for this post. As I was re-watching some of the early episodes while waiting for the new subs (shhh, I know I’m unhealthily obsessed with this drama), I noticed not only how drastically his costuming/hair has changed, but also that he’s pretty much a mirror of whoever he chooses to follow at the moment. Cheng’s very own Single White Female without the obsessive craziness, if you will. Delusional? Sure. But not quite crazy.

But first, let’s talk about the clothing of the noble class. I’m sorry for this thesis that I’m going to inflict on everyone that no one asked for. I’ve joked about the long trains on Awu/the nobles’ clothing before, but it’s clear that they are a sign of high status and wealth. The higher ranked/wealthier you are, the longer your train is it seems. Also, just in general, the nobles’ outfits usually include an abundance/overflowing of luxe silky and billowy material. See:

And the nobles can afford to have such styles of clothing not just monetarily, but also lifestyle wise. To put it bluntly, the nobles don’t have to do shit in their lives so they can afford to drag long trains of expensive fabric back and forth in their huge manors/the palace. These clothes aren’t for functionality, but for beauty/showing off your wealth (whether intentionally or not). If they need to go anywhere, they have comfy carriages to travel in instead of walking long distances. If they need something? That’s what servants are for. I mean, just imagine how cumbersome it is to move around with such huge billowy sleeves and six feet of cloth dragging behind your ass. You don’t have to imagine, just look at this scene where Daddy Wang visits Prime Minister Wen in prison (oh, how I regret taking this time for granted and condemning Daddy Wang for imprisoning that old fool):

Look at how his train drags over the threshold of the prison door. Daddy Wang literally has to lift his train and throw it over a bench in order to sit down.

The higher your status, the less physical activity you have to partake in a.k.a. the more useless you are, so it should come as no surprise that the longest train I’ve seen so far in the drama belongs to none other than our Useless Mopey Teenager Zitan:

The clothing choices are pretty deliberate, because whenever a character needs to do something more than just sit around enjoying tea (or wine if you’re Awu), they are given clothes that are more practical for moving around. Like the outfit Awu wore when she chased after her dad:

It’s much shorter than her usual garb and she’s wearing simple black pants underneath which makes horse riding and chasing after a traitorous father much more manageable.

What’s interesting is seeing the opposite happen with Hu Yao. Hu Yao is usually in very practical and simple clothing since unlike the rest of the nobles in the capital, she has to fight against invaders and protect Cheng. But when she goes to meet our Emo Emperor Zitan, of course she has to be dressed up in a big frou frou dress that makes it hard to walk:

It highlights just how impractical this type of extravagant clothing is for any kind of life other than a noble’s. Hu Yao can barely walk without tripping over her own dress, let alone fight. Also what the hell is that giant bow?

Now let’s talk about Daddy Wang’s clothes. So before he gets exiled for attempting a coup, Daddy Wang was arguably the most powerful man in court. He was the head of the Wangs, the most influential noble family in Cheng. The past 10 empresses of the empire were daughters of the Wang clan, and his sister, the current empress, listened to whatever he said (for the most part). Also his nephew wass the crown prince and easily manipulated. He’s also wealthy AF so his status and wealth was apparent in his clothing.

Look at the sheen on that fabric and all that intricate embroidery work! But then of course, he gets exiled and understandably has to put on some more humble clothing:

Simple, unembellished clothing made of coarse fabric that can withstand moving through the fields and rough terrain while you covertly make your way towards your disappointment of a son. What really sticks out to me though, is his wardrobe choice after he reunites with the turnip. Instead of going back to the lavish and ornate clothing he used to wear, he opts for an understated gray and black outfit with no long train in sight:

Turnip obviously can afford to put his dad in fancier clothing. I mean look at the gaudy over-embroidered monstrosity that he’s wearing. But it makes sense that Daddy Wang has now opted for something a bit more subdued and modest. He’s been defeated once and is no longer the powerful prime minister he used to be. Also, the Wangs do not hold as much clout as they used to because 1) empress has gone mad; 2) potato emperor is dead; and 3) the official head of the Wangs is now...Turnip.

But make no mistake, his clothes may be simpler than before, but they’re still made out of very nice materials. He is after all, still Daddy Wang. And Wang will rise again if he can help it!

Next we have the seagull. Ugh, yuck, gross, I hate her. Anyway, now that I’ve gotten the bad taste out of my mouth...So for the majority of the drama we see her in light pastel colored clothing with little to no make up as if to imply that she’s a sweet, innocent thing:

She’s also usually pretty covered up. But then she becomes Concubine Su (ugh) and all of a sudden she’s in bold colors, wearing red lipstick, and most noticeably, gotten very breast-y

Man, did Seagull make a wrong turn and accidentally stumble onto the set of The Empress of China? She’s definitely got the tackiness to fit in with them. This drastic shift in styling is clearly to signal to the audience that Seagull is now a seductress ready to do whatever it takes to hold onto that magical flute and never let go. Also, whereas before she was a snake hiding in the grass, now it’s all out in the open (at least to the Wangs) just like her bosom.

Look, she even gets her own long train to reflect just how useless she is.

And finally, we have Song Huaien, Cheng’s very own Single White Female who molds himself to whoever he happens to follow and takes on their personality and principals (or lack thereof).

In the beginning, he is stuck to Xiao Qi’s side like a shadow, dresses similar to him, and even wears his hair like him. He’s like the kid brother who copies everything his cooler older brother does because he looks up to him.

Notably, he’s the only one in the Ningshuo crew who wears his hair down with a half bun, just like Xiao Qi. Hu Guanglie (RIP best bro) is XQ’s oldest friend and literally devoted his life to him, but he’s also his own man and did not need to copy XQ. He never wanted to be him, he only wanted to serve him.

If you didn’t pay attention, you wouldn’t be able to tell who’s who.

When you follow a brave, honorable general who’s sex on legs, you too will be a brave, honorable and sexy general. Song Huaien never looked better than when he tried to emulate Xiao Qi.

Interestingly, when Song Huaien goes off with Awu and starts to fall for her, he also starts to incorporate some color into his previously all-black wardrobe. I guess spring arrived in his heart even though it was the cold winter:

Hm, now I’m starting to wonder if a part of his crush on Awu wasn’t influenced by his desire to be like XQ a little bit. And then, sigh, he starts to get tempted by the riches of the capital city and the internal shift in his character is materialized externally through how he wears his hair in his first appearance in court:

This is the first time we’ve seen him wear his hair in any style other than the usual loose half bun. And of course, his top knot conforms and fits in with how the rest of the ministers wear their hair. Now contrast that with Xiao Qi who only wore his hair in a top knot once:

and then promptly went back to his usual hair style:

Sure, he looked good with the top knot (when does he never look good), but it wasn’t him. Unlike Song Huaien, XQ is secure in himself and knows who he is. He is not easily swayed or corrupted. That is why he is able to remain just like how he always has been, internally and externally.

The next change we see in Song’s appearance is his armor. Now that he is Count Suyi, his armor is noticeably more ornate. Unlike XQ’s armor, which remains pretty much the same barebones armor we’ve seen since the beginning, Song’s gets fancier and fancier as he gets more lured in by the nicer things in life.

At this point, his hair is still down like before. But then the next time we see him after his wedding, his hair style is changed into a high ponytail:

Which is a very good look, don’t get me wrong, but it is again another physical representation of the change happening in Song internally. It’s kind of a weird limbo he’s in because it’s not completely a top knot, but it’s definitely neater and closer to a top knot than his previous hairstyle. At this stage, Song hasn’t completely crossed over to the dark side quite yet. He’s still kind of wavering and going back and forth. So a high ponytail that is a shift from his prior hairstyle but not quite the same as the nobles’ hairstyle makes sense. He keeps this look for a while and even momentarily goes back to his less fancy self while dealing with the floods away from the capital. That is, until he joins hands (or is it roots?) with Turnip and it’s all downhill from there, character-wise and also appearance-wise.

First, we have this very ill-advised mustache and goatee which mimics the same facial hair Turnip all of sudden started sporting:

Matching facial hair to commemorate their entry onto the shit list, perhaps? Anyway, turns out facial hair isn’t for everyone, including Song Huaien. But this isn’t even the worst of it. As Song Huaien continues his descent into being a greedy, spineless, puppet for Turnip (HIM of all people! or should I say, of all root vegetables?), he gets uglier and uglier. I mean:

He looks downright haggard and as if he aged 20 years overnight. Notably though, he looks exactly like the rest of the useless ministers in court. He has definitely lost the sheen, vigor, and hotness that he once had when he was following XQ. It’s as if the ugly inside is reflected on the outside as well.

I guess when you follow a weaselly coward like Turnip, you too will turn into a weaselly coward. Oh Song Huaien, Song Huaien. What a disappointment you turned out to be, you dumb, greedy bastard.

#categorize this under things that pop up in my head late at night #monarch industry #the rebel princess #cdrama

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ibijau · 3 years

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On AO3

After allowing Jin Guangyao to get away with so much, for so long, Lan Xichen cannot be trusted to lead his own sect anymore. Nie Huaisang comes up with a way to ensure Lan Xichen won't make a mess again.

inspired by @anxious-witch ‘s marriage AU!

Three weeks into Lan Xichen's seclusion, there is a knock on the door of the Hanshi, which he ignores. He is meditating. He should be meditating. He doesn't know how to meditate anymore. Intruders have been rare so far, but sometimes servants come with food. They have been instructed to leave it at the door in silence. Some do. Others feel the impulse to knock, especially if they find the remains of the last meal untouched. It is useless explaining to them that Lan Xichen can easily practice inedia, that it is a normal part of improving his cultivation. They worry. Lan Xichen ignores them. It is usually enough.

It is not enough that day. The knocking persists, until the unwanted visitor tires of waiting for an answer and comes in.

"We must talk," Lan Qiren announces, coming to kneel next to where his nephew is meditating.

Trying to meditate.

Lan Xichen ignores him.

It is easy to ignore what disturbs him.

His friendship with the late Jin Guangyao is proof of how good he's become at refusing to see what he doesn't want to see.

"Your seclusion has caused great controversy in the cultivation world," Lan Qiren explains, undisturbed by the lack of answer.

If Lan Xichen is used to willful blindness, Lan Qiren knows how to speak to those who won't listen. It comes from being a teacher.

It comes from being the only sane man in an insane family.

"People have been throwing serious accusations against you," Lan Qiren announces. "False, all of them, but that has never stopped them before. They have started saying you were Jin Guangyao’s lover, for some, his accomplice at least, for others."

If he still knew how, Lan Xichen would smile.

The first accusation is ridiculous. He never felt desire for Jin Guangyao, though he wrongly believed they were each other's confidant which is far more intimate. Even if desire had existed, Jin Guangyao would never have betrayed his wife, knowing too well what would be said of him if he did.

As for the second accusation, it is right of course. Lan Xichen, unknowingly, was Jin Guangyao's accomplice. His friend would never have done what he did without Lan Xichen's help and support. He even gave him the weapon with which to kill Nie Mingjue.

Intent matters little. Lan Xichen was part of the plot that killed his oldest friend, it is a fact.

"Some people have been asking for your head, Xichen."

Lan Xichen closes his eyes. It matters little if he lives or dies. It won't change the evil he allowed to exist.

"The fact that you entered seclusion is taken as a sign of mourning," Lan Qiren insists. "A sign of guilt. So most of them asked for your blood. But Nie Huaisang has offered a… different solution to the problem you pose."

At that name Lan Xichen opens his eyes, and lets his gaze fall on his uncle. However much he wants to shroud himself in indifference, on this matter he is curious. Nie Huaisang has shown to what extremes he will go for justice, for hatred. Lan Xichen can only wonder what fate awaits him, should his last surviving friend have the last word.

"Nie Huaisang has suggested it would be wise for you to step down from leading Gusu Lan, since you cannot be trusted with politics, and given in marriage to whoever can guarantee they will keep you out of trouble. He offered himself as a possible spouse."

Lan Xichen nearly laughs.

It is something Jin Guangyao suggested once, almost as a joke. A marriage between him and Nie Huaisang. One of them stepping down, unsuited for politics.

If that had come to pass, Lan Xichen would have done everything in his power to ensure Nie Huaisang’s happiness. He knows better than to hope the same kindness might be extended to him.

"I have talked with Nie Huaisang about this offer of his," Lan Qiren states. "He gave some serious guarantees on the subject of your safety. And considering the circumstances, if he is the one taking you under his protection, it is unlikely others will dare to attack you."

"Are you asking for my opinion," Lan Xichen asks, voice rough from disuse, "or announcing my punishment?"

"You can refuse. You are still entitled to your choices, good or bad."

It is clear that Lan Qiren knows what the right choice is. Lan Xichen lacks the energy to object.

His decisions have so rarely been right, it is wiser to let others decide his fate.

The wedding robes are heavy and cumbersome, but the nearly opaque veil is not unwelcome. Lan Xichen has no wish to see the Unclean Realm as he is led toward the place he will now call home until he dies.

He is grateful for the veil.

He is grateful Nie Huaisang is using a red silk ribbon rather than his own hand to guide him.

He is grateful this joke of a wedding takes place in Qinghe rather than Gusu, and he is not forced to let Nie Huaisang touch another ribbon.

They pause at a door, which Nie Huaisang opens without a word. He has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. Lan Xichen is glad he cannot see his new husband's face. He hopes the veil will stay.

They go in. Pause again. The door closes.

"You can remove the veil now, Er-ge," Nie Huaisang offers.

Lan Xichen does no such thing. Nie Huaisang does not insist.

"You should not be disturbed here," he states, his voice devoid of emotion. "It is isolated from most other buildings. I thought you would prefer it that way."

Nie Huaisang waits for an answer. None comes.

"There is a garden for you to enjoy," Nie Huaisang continues, undisturbed. "You may also go wherever you please within the Unclean Realm. I advise you against leaving our walls. I can only guarantee your safety here."

Perhaps Lan Xichen is supposed to thank him for that protection. For saving him from death.

He does neither.

And yet, he feels a crack through his carapace of indifference. It is the first time Nie Huaisang and him are in each other's presence since that fateful night when Lan Xichen's world crumbled around him. On this night, their wedding night, Lan Xichen would have expected the other man to talk about more important things than where he may or may not go.

"Why?" Lan Xichen asks at last.

"Why what? Why can't I protect you outside?"

"Why protect me at all?"

A long pause.

Lan Xichen feels tempted to remove his veil after all. He does not. He cannot face the man Nie Huaisang really is. It is another hard truth he does not want to see.

"Why indeed?" Nie Huaisang scoffs. "Even if I told you, would you believe me?"

"Probably not," Lan Xichen admits. "Not after everything."

"Then I won't even try. In fact, it's probably best if I stay away from you. I did not bring you here to intrude in your life, Er-ge. You won't see me here again unless you invite me."

Lan Xichen considers that statement, and cannot decide how he feels about it.

"I doubt I will," he only says.

"I doubt it as well," Nie Huaisang admits. "Goodnight, husband, and farewell I suppose."

Nie Huaisang lingers a moment more before turning around and leaving the room. In a surprising gesture of temper, he slams the door behind him.

Lan Xichen waits a while, to make sure the other man is truly gone, and finally removes his veil.

His new prison is a house of decent size, not much smaller than the Hanshi he used to live in, and decorated in a similar style. Lan Xichen cannot decide if this is meant as a kindness or a taunt.

Either way, he hates it.

But it is home now, no matter how he feels.

Lan Xichen spends his days inside his new home, trying to meditate. Although he has been told he is allowed to leave his house, he sees no point in it. He refuses to even look outside. That way, his life feels unchanged. He can nearly pretend he is still in the Cloud Recesses, reflecting on his crimes and improving his meditation. His wedding feels like nothing but a distant dream.

Nie Huaisang, as promised, never visits again.

It feels almost like home.

Almost.

Not quite.

In the Cloud Recesses, the servants knew to leave Lan Xichen alone.

Here Bai Yun, the woman assigned to serve him, comes and goes as she pleases. She refuses to leave food at the door, no matter how many times Lan Xichen asks, and she scolds him when he skips meals, the way a mother might. At least, so Lan Xichen has heard. His own experience with motherhood is incomplete.

It is annoying, the way she insists on chatting. Of course it is not unusual for servants of the Unclean Realm to take liberties, especially since Nie Huaisang’s ascension, but Bai Yun particularly irritates Lan Xichen.

He thinks, at first, that she must have been sent to torture him. She is there to break his peace of mind, to interrupt his meditation, to pester him until his good will breaks. It makes sense. Nie Huaisang must still want revenge, and driving Lan Xichen crazy isn't a bad way to obtain it.

As weeks pass, though, that idea vanishes. Bai Yun does not appear to be evil, only chatty. And Lan Xichen, so annoyed at first, comes to enjoy her visits. It has been a long time since anyone has spoken to him without expectations. It becomes oddly pleasant to hear her talk about her life as a servant, full of problems and joys different from those Lan Xichen encountered when he still had a life of his own, but no less intense to her. And Bai Yun seems happy when, almost without realising, Lan Xichen starts asking for details or follow-ups on some of her stories.

It is only what he was trained to do, he tells himself. It doesn’t make him kind or good. A lifetime of habits, of making small talk with anyone who feels they have a right to speak to him, is not a thing easily changed.

Still, Bai Yun’s conversation is not unpleasant.

And as it turns out, they’ve met before.

“During the Sunshot Campaign,” Bai Yun explains to a stunned Lan Xichen. “Ah, you wouldn’t remember I suppose, for you there must have been a lot happening. But I had been taking my daughter to the sect where she’d been accepted as an outer disciple, and we were captured alongside that sect by the Wens. But you saved us, and took all of us to Qinghe for safety. Now my daughter is a disciple here, and she’s going to marry someone of the Nie clan next summer. All thanks to you, Zewu-Jun!”

Faced with that gratitude, that radiant smile, Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to say. After weeks, months even, or ruminating on every thing he has done wrong, on every mistake, on every crime, it is odd to be reminded there was a time when he could do good.

Appeared to do good.

Back then he was already working closely with Jin Guangyao after all, using intelligence obtained from him to stir the course of the war. A lot of what Lan Xichen did was his own effort, but it seems small compared to what he accomplished thanks to Jin Guangyao. Lan Xichen saved a handful of people here and there, while Jin Guangyao won them the war.

And yet, in spite of this efforts to remind himself of his failures, Lan Xichen cannot help feeling some pride once more over what he did back then. There are people alive that might not be, had he not worked so hard on freeing prisoners and protecting those attacked by the Wen.

Pride is an odd thing to feel.

Odder still is the fact that Nie Huaisang gave him a servant who might have any gratitude towards him. It cannot be a coincidence.

Lan Xichen wonders what game the other man is playing.

Bai Jie is an energetic girl who looks and acts like she could have been born in the Nie clan. She is just as chatty as her mother, and just as determined to do as she pleases. After meeting her, it starts making sense to Lan Xichen why these two were welcomed into Qinghe Nie.

And Lan Xichen does meet Bai Jie, whether he likes it or not. After Bai Yun revealed this link between them, her daughter accompanies her one morning, eager to meet the man to whom she owes her life.

Unlike her mother, Bai Jie treats Lan Xichen with the respect he is more accustomed to, but only because she’s clearly more aware of who he is. Bai Jie sees him as a man who was once important and renowned, while Bai Yun only sees the spoiled child who refuses food and wastes away inside the walls of his own house.

They must have talked about that, these two women, because one of the very first things Bai Jie asks about is why he never leaves the house.

“I expect disciples of Qinghe Nie would find me an unpleasant sight,” Lan Xichen replies, surprised this even needs to be said, after he helped the murderer of their former sect leader.

“The esteemed Zewu-Jun judges us wrongly,” Bai Jie retorts. “We bear no dislike for Nie zongzhu’s husband. We know what happened, of course. Nie zongzhu told us, once it was over. We are all very sorry that Zewu-Jun was made to suffer so.”

Lan Xichen has to refrain from a grimace. He suffered much indeed, helping a murderer, helping an ambitious liar, having to be tricked into bringing justice to the unjust.

In spite of his efforts, his expression must change and reveal some of his thoughts. Lan Xichen is no longer as skilled as he was at controlling his features. He has not needed to in a long while, locked up inside with no company but Bai Yun.

Bai Jie notices, and sighs.

“Honourable Zewu-Jun, it is Nie zongzhu who told us that you suffered,” she insists. “Some of us were angry at first about the marriage, especially the older ones that knew Chifeng-Zun well. But Nie zongzhu told us the truth of what happened, he reminded us that many others fell for Liangfang-Zun’s lies, him first of all. And now, we understand and would not dare to gossip against Zewu-Jun, let alone speak ill of him to his face. If you left the house, you would find no enemies in the Unclean Realm.”

“I am comfortable here,” Lan Xichen assures her.

It’s not a lie. Not really. He is comfortable. He has grown to like the safety of his prison. Bai Yun’s daily visits make isolation more bearable.

Inside his house, he is merely Lan Xichen. Outside… outside lay expectations he does not want to face anymore.

“He hasn’t even looked at the garden, you know,” Bai Yun intervenes from another part of the house, where she is doing whatever it is servants do to keep a house clean and tidy. “I’m not saying gone there, I’m saying not so much as glanced outside.”

Bai Jie gasps in horror, as if it matters to her whether Lan Xichen knows what his garden looks like or not.

It does not matter to him.

Curtains stay closed all day long.

It makes the house darker than it needs to be, but that suits him better. It is a prison after all. It has no business being bright and pleasant.

But Bai Jie, for all of her respectful ways, is a determined young woman, worse so than her mother. Bai Yun has long ago given up on making Lan Xichen do anything. Bai Jie pesters him all morning and afternoon about that blasted garden until Lan Xichen gives in and agrees to check it, just so she’ll leave him alone.

For the first time since arriving in the Unclean Realm, Lan Xichen opens his front door and steps outside.

Fresh air feels odd, after so long. Lan Xichen must have missed it without realising. He has to close his eyes to enjoy the slight breeze on his skin, the warmth of sunlight.

When he opens them again, he understands why Bai Jie and Bai Yun so wanted him to see the garden around his house.

It looks like the Cloud Recesses.

With the difference in climate and soil, it must have taken untold amounts of money and labour to get such a result. But it really does look like a smaller version of the Cloud Recesses, and so does the house, built in the same style as Lan Xichen’s old Hanshi. It would stand out among the rest of the Unclean Realm, but the garden is arranged in such a manner that aside from the highest buildings and the defensive walls, nothing of the Unclean Realm is visible.

Lan Xichen, overwhelmed, quickly returns inside, and wonders once more what Nie Huaisang is trying to accomplish.

It was a mistake to have given in once and stepped outside, because Lan Xichen misses it now.

He gives in to his need for fresh air, and starts wandering in his garden, in between Bai Yun’s visits. It is a torture, sometimes, to be stuck in this copy of his home, knowing it to be a prison. Lan Xichen has to assume it is meant to feel that way. Nie Huaisang has to be mocking him, mocking his failure to be what he ought to have been.

A fake Cloud Recesses for the man who played at being its sect leader.

At least, meditating gets easier out there. For the first time since that dreadful night, Lan Xichen manages to find some peace again, however fleeting it might be. Encouraged by that success, he spends more and more time out in the garden until he knows it by heart, just like his house.

He is outside, meditating under a tree, when Nie Manqian finds him.

It is a shock to receive a visit from Qinghe Nie’s first disciple. Nie Manqian is a cousin to his sect leader, and used to be fairly close to Nie Mingjue, under whose rule he became first disciple. Lan Xichen and him never had any quarrel before, and even bonded somewhat after Nie Huaisang had to rise to power, both of them eager to help the young man settle in a position that he clearly struggled with.

Lan Xichen knows better than to expect any good feelings to remain between them, now that he has been revealed to have helped murder Nie Mingjue.

And yet, Nie Manqian is perfectly cordial to him, asking if he likes the garden, if Bai Yun is taking good care of the house, if Bai Jie (who still visits at least once a week) does not bother him too much.

“She’s my future sister-in-law,” Nie Manqian reveals. “I know how she can be.”

It shocks Lan Xichen to learn this.

The Nie clan has always been more relaxed about allowing marriage of love rather than politics than any of the other clans, so it is no surprise that a cousin to the sect leader might marry a nobody, an outer disciple who brings nothing but her loyalty and skill.

No, what Lan Xichen doesn’t understand is why Bai Yun was made to serve him if she is about to rise in society with her daughter. Surely the future in-law to a high ranking Nie disciple should not be forced to clean floors for the man who murdered the sect’s beloved leader. Has she been sent as a spy? Watching him all along, reporting his every movements to Nie Huaisang, just another person pretending to befriend him for her own purposes…

A fake friend, a fake Cloud Recesses, all to match Lan Xichen’s undeserved reputation.

It might justice of a sort.

“I was so relieved when Bai Jie told me that you’ve been leaving the house at last,” Nie Manqian continues, undisturbed by Lan Xichen’s lack of answer. “We were getting worried about you, Zewu-Jun. I hope you will not mind me saying this, but you’ve never stricken me as a man to enjoy inactivity.”

Lan Xichen smiles.

It might have been better for everyone if he had not been so active, if he had not involved himself so much in the business of others.

They both know this.

“Zewu-Jun, I understand that the situation is not easy for you,” Nie Manqian says with a sympathy that Lan Xichen would fall for, if he did not know any better. “But I came here to remind you that you are free to move as you please in the entirety of the Unclean Realm, not just this house and its garden. In fact, I would be honoured if you considered sparring with me someday.”

“You would be disappointed,” Lan Xichen replies, almost in spite of himself. “My skills have rusted from disuse.”

“I doubt Zewu-Jun could disappoint me,” Nie Manqian claims. Lan Xichen wonders when he learned to lie with such sincerity. He always took the Nies to be poor liars. But of course, Nie Huaisang already proved that idea wrong. “I will not push for it, but rest assured that my offer remains, whether you accept it now or in ten years.”

“I will consider it,” Lan Xichen promises, intending to do no such thing.

He does not know what the Nie sect is trying to accomplish, but he will not play along.

Besides, he has not unsheathed Shuoyue since that night. He knows his sword’s blade is still stained with blood he does not have the courage to clean.

His skill might not be the only thing to have rusted by now.

It takes over a month, but Lan Xichen eventually makes it to the training grounds.

Nie Manqian might not have pushed for it, but Bai Jie heard about the offer, of course, and she had no qualms pestering Lan Xichen. All of his excuses were pushed aside effortlessly. She even found him a sword to practice with, when he explained that Shuoyue was in no state to be used. So Lan Xichen gives in, and follows her to the training grounds one night, late enough that nobody should be around to see them.

It is exhausting to yield a weapon again, after so long.

After barely a incense stick’s time, Lan Xichen muscles are in agony, his lungs burning.

Everything hurts.

Lan Xichen hasn’t felt so alive in ages.

Against his better judgement, Lan Xichen starts visiting the training grounds more and more. Only once or twice a week at first, but the way it makes his blood run again is too pleasant, and soon enough it is a nearly daily occurrence.

Only at night when it starts, but Nie Manqian hears about it of course and invites him again to spar. This time, Lan Xichen agrees.

He has not rusted as much as he assumed he would have, and it is thrilling to go against such a skill adversary. Nie Manqian wins their fight, but demands that they try again another day, claiming he won’t be happy until he’s faced Lan Xichen when he’s back to his normal level.

Lan Xichen agrees to this as well.

He still doesn’t know what game the Nie sect is playing with him, but he will take what he can get until his true punishment befalls him.

It is good to be sparring with a man he respects. It is good to see the assembled disciples watching their match, to hear them commenting on it, to find that they enjoyed that fight as much as he did.

It is good to be alive, to be himself.

Lan Xichen had forgotten.

That joy is short lived.

As Lan Xichen leaves the training grounds with Nie Manqian, he has to pass through the main courtyard of the Unclean Realm on the way back to his house. As he walks there, he is spotted by the leader of a small sect, waiting with his retinue for an audience with Nie Huaisang.

Hatred is too weak a word to describe the way that man looks at Lan Xichen.

“What is that murderer doing here, walking free with a sword in hand?” Sect leader Peng rages, pointing an accusing finger. “Wasn’t it promised that he would be kept under control?”

Nie Manqian stiffens and throws Lan Xichen an apologetic look before stepping in front of him, as if trying to protect him from that attack.

“Peng zongzhu, please keep your voice down,” Nie Manqian demands. “Nothing is happening here that goes against what was promised, and…”

“Nothing, really? He let Jin Guangyao murder whoever he pleased, probably helped him even, and you let him go around, dressed in finery, looking like a happy young master! I knew it was going to end up like this. You big sects always look out for one another in the end! We should have kept asking for his head! He never minded when we were slaughtered or cheated, why should he get to be treated any better?”

Lan Xichen feels his blood freeze.

It is one thing to have been told by his uncle that many wanted him dead for his association with Jin Guangyao, and quite another to witness it in person.

Before he can figure out how to react, a voice rings behind him.

“Peng zongzhu, I believe it is my right to treat my husband however I please,” Nie Huaisang states, passing by Lan Xichen without sparing him a glance. “We all agreed he should not continue ruling Gusu Lan, it so he doesn’t. We also agreed that if he lived, he should be kept under close watch, and so he is. Beyond that, I made no promises, and so I refuse to be faulted for failing to meet whatever criteria you imagined for yourself.”

“You implied he would be punished!”

“Isn’t it punishment to be married to a man such as myself?” Nie Huaisang retorts. Lan Xichen can hear his smile, even if he cannot see it at the moment, the other man's back turned to him.

“That’s…”

“I am in no mood to discuss my marriage,” Nie Huaisang continues, ignoring the attempted interruption, his voice steadier than Lan Xichen has heard it in years. “If you only came here for that, you may go away already, the topic really doesn’t interest me in the least. But if you are here for something that’s worth my time, I will listen of course. It is your choice, Peng zongzhu.”

Lan Xichen stares at this man who doesn’t speak nor act like the Nie Huaisang he knows.

Thought he knew.

Sect Leader Peng stares as well, but he’s far less confused than Lan Xichen and quickly starts explaining why he’s there. Troubles with demons that his sect lacks the power to deal with. Nie Huaisang invites the other sect leader to follow him so they can discuss this in private.

The two men pass right by Lan Xichen. Sect Leader’s eyes are still burning with hate, but Nie Huaisang acts as if he cannot even see Lan Xichen. As if the man who was once his friend isn’t even worthy of his notice anymore.

Perhaps he never was worthy of either notice nor friendship.

Nie Huaisang, more than anyone else, has every right to hate Lan Xichen for his failures.

This incident should be a wake-up call for all of Qinghe Nie, a reminder of who Lan Xichen is, what he’s done, what they’ve lost by his fault.

But Nie Manqian apologises for what just happened, and promises to be more careful in the future, so Lan Xichen isn’t exposed again to unwanted visitors.

“Nie zongzhu is going to scold me for this,” Nie Manqian adds. “But I thought he would have found time for Peng zongzhu already, and I was careless. It will not happen again.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lan Xichen replies. “Peng zongzhu said nothing untrue.”

Nie Manqian gives him a long, hard look for that remark.

“It doesn’t matter how Zewu-Jun feels about it,” he announces at last. “We were given orders to protect Zewu-Jun, and we failed to follow them. In the future, we will ensure you are kept safe.”

This brings dozens of questions to Lan Xichen’s mind. He doesn’t ask a single one of them, unsure Nie Manqian would be willing, or even capable, of answering them. They are both silent as they walk to Lan Xichen’s house.

Once he is alone, Lan Xichen collapses on his bed, telling himself it is only because sparring tired him. It does not matter that the world hates him. It is justified, after he cooperated with a murderer, after he failed to take action at every turn, after his complacency cost so many lives.

He understands being despised.

He does not understand Nie Huaisang giving orders to shield him from it.

Perhaps this is how Lan Wangji was born, Lan Xichen wonders as he hands Bai Yun a letter for Nie Huaisang. With curiosity, and an invitation.

His own birth has never been a mystery. There needed to be a child to make the marriage secure, and so he came to be. But Lan Wangji’s existence always puzzled him, once he understood the odd nature of his parents’ match. They never met, never visited one another, his uncle told him, so how did Qingheng-Jun seduce his wife into having another child, one that wasn’t necessary to keep her alive? All too often, Lan Xichen has imagined the worst of his own father.

But here he is now, a prisoner inside a sect he doesn’t belong with, a sect that ought to hate him, ruled by a man who would have every right to execute him.

Lan Xichen always feared becoming his father. It never occurred to him that he is his mother’s son as well.

It surprises him when Bai Yun, the next day, brings an answer from Nie Huaisang. More shocking still, the other man is accepting his offer to dine together than night. The calligraphy on that letter is elegant and flawless. But of course, that at least is something Lan Xichen knew to expect.

Nie Huaisang comes a little before nightfall, followed by some servants carrying their dinner.

Lan Xichen feels like he is in front of a stranger. He doesn’t know what to think of this Nie Huaisang who stands straight and proud, who carries a fan but doesn’t hide behind it, who meets his eyes without hesitation.

“I hope the house and garden have been to your tastes,” Nie Huaisang comments while the servants finish setting the table.

The dishes are all, without exception, vegetarian. Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to think of that either, when Nie Huaisang has always been so vocal in his dislike of Gusu Lan’s cuisine.

“Your hospitality has been most generous, Nie zongzhu.”

Nie Huaisang smirks at him. “Hospitality? I am not sure that is quite the right word here, Er-ge. But a man must ensure his spouse lives comfortably. I am glad if I was able to provide adequately.”

Lan Xichen watches the servant leave, unsure what he can or should say in their presence. When they are gone, he turns to Nie Huaisang again.

“Why are you doing this?”

Nie Huaisang opens his fan as he sits down, though only to idly play with it.

“A good question, but ultimately a pointless one. As I’ve said before, would you believe me even if I answered?”

Lan Xichen joins him at the table, and pours tea for both of them. He isn’t sure he will manage to eat, but drinking is usually easy enough.

“Whether I believe you or not is up to me. Either way, I want to hear your answer.”

This time, Nie Huaisang finally does hide behind his fan. It is such a familiar gesture that Lan Xichen aches at the sight.

“If Zewu-Jun wants to know, then I’ll try to explain,” Nie Huaisang sighs. “I’m doing this because I want to protect you. It’s that simple. Some people out there think that I did what I did for the sake of justice, and so I should want for you to be punished. Those people are wrong. Justice is for idiots.”

He fans himself slowly, careful to keep his face mostly hidden.

“I am not a good man, Zewu-Jun. I really don’t care about ideals. I don’t have the strength to stand for what’s right, like your brother and his husband. Like you. All that matters to me is the things and people I love. Someone killed my brother, so that person had to die. That person also hurt you, though you did not know it at the time, so he had to suffer as well. He manipulated the two people I love best and tried to lead them to their doom, so of course I had to do the same to him. It is really that simple.”

“The two people you love best… your brother, and who else?”

Nie Huaisang closes his fan with a sharp gesture, and gives Lan Xichen a pointed look that makes him blush.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, looking down.

“Of course. Didn’t I say you wouldn't believe me?” Nie Huaisang asks, taking his chopsticks to toy with some of the food. “It’s fine. It took me a while to get there, but I don’t care about being believed or trusted anymore. It’s enough that I know the truth, and that I know where I stand.”

Lan Xichen falls silent, more puzzled than before.

He cannot say that the idea of Nie Huaisang holding him dear comes out of nowhere. There have been signs, here and there. Or at least, Lan Xichen had thought there had been signs. He doesn’t know anymore. Whether those signs were real or not, they never bothered him, his own sentiment on the matter fluctuating over the years. He used to be very fond of Nie Huaisang before Nie Mingjue died, before merely pitying him in the years that followed.

He doesn’t know how to feel about this anymore.

As Lan Xichen watches Nie Huaisang serve food for him, new questions arise. He almost doesn’t want to ask them. The answers he’s been getting, so far, have been anything but satisfying.

“If this is true…” he starts, only for Nie Huaisang to raise an eyebrow.

“If? So you really distrust me so much, Er-ge?”

“Does it matter? My trust does not reflect the value of anyone’s character,” Lan Xichen points out, making Nie Huaisang grimace. “So, if it is true that you feel that way, why did you never try to make our marriage more than what it has been so far?”

Nie Huaisang sips on some tea, clearly giving himself time to think how to answer that question. He was already like that as a youth. Or perhaps this too is an act, a way to comfort Lan Xichen, to make him feel like he still knows the other man.

“I know where I stand,” Nie Huaisang repeats, putting down his glass. “I think I know where you stand as well, perhaps better than you do at the moment. I have no illusions regarding the way you feel about me. You think me untrustworthy. You have clearly been expecting me to turn against you, to harm you. As for our values, much as I admire you, I also realise that we view the world too differently to be compatible. I am selfish, and I care only about what I consider to be mine, the rest can rot. You are a just man, trying to do good even to the undeserving. Of course, none of that needs matter, we could take each other to bed even with you despising me, but… ah, would you believe it, Er-ge?” he laughs, without warmth nor joy. “Even a man like me can want to be loved. And if I can’t have it all, I’d rather have nothing.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t know how to answer, and they both fall silent as they eat.

He cannot say he likes the Nie Huaisang in front of him, bold and cutting, so unapologetic about his defects that he almost sounds proud of them.

He cannot say he dislikes him either.

After dealing with Jin Guangyao’s half truths, after years of Nie Huaisang’s crocodile tears, unpleasant truths can only be welcome.

It ought to have been a one time occurrence, that dinner together. Lan Xichen has obtained the answers he thought, no matter how hard to believe he finds them. That should have been the end of it, with the two of them living separate lives, never meeting.

A week later, Lan Xichen invites Nie Huaisang to dine with him again.

He cannot say why he does it. He is not at a loss for company. Bai Yun is there daily. Bai Jie comes by whenever she has time. Nie Manqian and him spar when they can. And still, it is with Nie Huaisang that Lan Xichen wishes to dine and talk.

He is surprised when Nie Huaisang accepts that second invitation, and more surprised still when that second dinner turns out much more pleasant than the first. They don’t talk about their marriage this time. Instead Nie Huaisang starts chatting about his youngest disciples who are just starting to go to class, and how difficult it is to handle them. Lan Xichen finds himself agreeing, and they spend the evening chatting about teaching, and comparing how their respective sects handle it.

Lan Xichen is not surprised when Nie Huaisang accepts his next invitation to dinner, or any of the following ones.

It isn’t that their discussions are always pleasant, as such. They get into intense debates sometimes, fierce arguments about how to handle certain problems. Nie Huaisang believes in letting people handle their own issues unless they threaten his interests. Lan Xichen advocates for early interventions so things do not degenerate. At the same time, Nie Huaisang claims he sees little use in mercy, while Lan Xichen follows his sect’s refusal to kill unless necessary and thinks second chances ought to be given.

It has been a long, long time since Lan Xichen has been able to have conversations like that.

He used to, of course. With Nie Mingjue, before Jin Guangyao joined them and upset their balance. With Nie Huaisang as well, back before he started hiding behind tears.

Because as they dine together, week after week, Lan Xichen starts remembering the boy Nie Huaisang used to be, and realises that maybe he should have expected the way things happened. Nie Huaisang was always clever, always a touch manipulative, always a little selfish. He was a boy who got people to do his homework for him, who always knew what people could help him with what problem, who knew exactly how to get his brother to let him do as he pleased. He couldn’t memorise family trees, but he would recite poetry from memory and paint such lovely things.

Lan Xichen had forgotten how much he used to like Nie Huaisang.

It occurs to him, of course, that Nie Huaisang might be lying again. That all of this might just be a scheme to get his trust by playing at being the version of himself that Lan Xichen likes best.

Lan Xichen mentions it one night.

Nie Huaisang laughs, loud and unrestrained, the way he used to do when joking with Nie Mingjue.

“Er-ge, why would I lie to you?” he points out. “To others, sure, but you… there’s nothing I’d want from you I could get through lying.”

Lan Xichen, immediately, thinks that perhaps all those cultivators who wanted him to step down were right because there he is, believing the most skilled liar he has ever met.

It is pleasant to believe Nie Huaisang again.

“And what is it you’d want from me, that you can only get by saying the truth?”

Nie Huaisang laughs again. It is more forced this time, and he opens his fan. He rarely does it these days.

“Er-ge, let’s not talk about that, it’d just spoil everything. Isn’t it nice being together like this, as friends? I’m very happy with it, I must say. I’m grateful you’re still willing to be my friends, after everything.”

That gratefulness goes both ways. Lan Xichen cannot believe that friendship with Nie Huaisang is something he can have. Something he can want.

And now, after everything, after finding that he trusts Nie Huaisang in spite of it all, friendship might not be the only thing Lan Xichen wants.

He should ask, perhaps.

He doesn’t, and just leans over the table.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t resist when Lan Xichen pushes away his fan, nor when their lips meet. The warmth of his mouth, the soft solidness of his lips, are intoxicating. Lan Xichen feels like he might never want to stop, now that he’s had a taste of it.

But of course, there’s no reason why they should stop.

Nie Huaisang is his husband now.

Having long discovered the worst of what they both are, it is more than time they get to enjoy the best as well.

#xisang #lan xichen #nie huaisang #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jau writes #I swear I'll go back to prompts and other wips now #I just really needed to get some stuff out of my system :)

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Legacy of a Queen (The Mask of Death Part 15)

“You killed them.”

Vader stopped, and for a moment Sabé almost expected him to whirl around and finally snap. She’d expected him to be tougher, had expected to be dead already. Instead, she was bruised and battered from their last encounter - when she had tried and failed to prevent him from tarnishing the tomb of her beloved Queen and friend. Padmé would never have wanted such an oppressive, dark presence of an Empire she would have despised to taint her memory. Still, she had failed and not only that, she had lived despite her will to die an honourable death reclaiming her former mistress’ honour. She had been a handmaiden of Queen Amidala, and above that, a loyal friend. Padmé wanted freedom, Padmé wanted a Republic where every inhabitant of the Galaxy had an equally important voice. Vader represented the Emperor, the dictator whose authoritarian rule they must all succumb to. Palpatine may have been a child of Sabé’s beloved Naboo, but she would never recognize him as her true ruler.

“Why?” she found herself asking, her voice bouncing off of the cavernous stone walls of the cave surrounding them.

She had tracked Vader down. It had been difficult, nigh impossible. She’d bound together the Amidalans, together with Tonra and Typho. All indebted to Padmé, all grateful for her all too brief time in their lives.

Vader didn’t respond, but neither did he move away. Sabé ground her teeth together, ignoring the ache in her side from the broken ribs he had left her with. In fact all of the Amidalans had lived, even Olié who had come closest to meeting with death. Vader had stabbed him, but it was not fatal. Vader had a reputation for killing every enemy, for taking no prisoners. If anyone lived to tell the gruesome tale, it was by design. Vader wanted them to spread the rumours, wanted to build up his image of terror and dread. His sparing her life, especially in this moment when they were alone and no one would find her remains to decipher what had caused her demise, was vexing. It was frustrating.

Sabé hated Vader. Not merely what he stood for, or whom he served. She didn’t even directly hate his ruthless ways, she didn’t resent the blood of the innocents on his hands. She loathed him for destroying Padmé. He ruled Mustafar, Padmé had died in dubious circumstances concerning visiting Mustafar. So had her beloved Anakin Skywalker. Skywalker, a hero, a Jedi, an inspiration. Sabé had known, how could she not? Padmé had never said aloud, but Sabé had seen it, she had figured it out. Skywalker, too, had perished in the same unrecorded event. She blamed Vader, for who else could have bested a fighter and general of Skywalker’s caliber? Who else could have destroyed the pure hearted goodness of Padmé Amidala?

“Ask no more questions,” Vader simply rumbled, his mechanical breathing steady and evenly paced.

Sabé shook her head, taking a couple of hesitant steps towards the large, towering form of the man before her. He did not respond, and all Sabé could truly see in the dim, gloomy darkness was the sunlight beaming through cracks in the rock reflected against his polished domed helmet, and the billowing black cape that wrapped around his broad shoulders. It was cold, and Sabé wasn’t surprised. She had noted the freezing aura of his presence the very first time she ran into him, to lure him with her to Naboo in order to carry out the assassination attempt organized by her fellow Amidalans. Even on the bright, warm, sunny Summer day she had felt chills down her spine. She’d had goosebumps then, as she did now. Her breath came out in condensated puffs, but she would not relent. Keeping her trusty blaster close to her chest, although she knew it was only for show, she remained stubborn.

“I will not. I need to know why you killed them. Why you killed her,” Sabé pressed, hands beginning to tremble as they clung harder to the durasteel in her slender hands.

“You ask for answers you do not wish to hear,” Vader retorted, and to Sabé’s surprise - it was not only a reply, but the monotone conveyed no anger.

Instead, there was a lingering sense of exasperation to the statement, as if Vader himself knew what his reasons were but had refused to come to terms with them as of yet. Loose gravel slid against the damp, slippery rock formation as Sabé approached with caution. The cold radiated off of him, nipping at her rosy cheeks. She tilted her head to the side, peering as much as she dared over the bulk of his shoulder but seeing only darkness ahead. She assumed he had some sort of night vision sensors built into that mask he wore.

“I would not ask for them if I wasn’t desperate to hear them.”

It was the truth. For over twenty years, Sabé and her fellow Amidalans had never stopped asking the question. Why? Why had Padmé died? Why had she travelled to Mustafar alone? Why had she not shared the name of the father of her child? Why had she been so secretive, despite the fact that most of her former court of handmaidens already knew the truth? Now, beholding the man who had taken Padmé’s life, Sabé refused to see him take the cowardly way out and avoid explaining himself. Still, Vader didn’t paint the imposing picture he had the first time she met him. He seemed sullen, withdrawn, perhaps even pained? It made little sense to her.

“I obviously can’t kill you, but I won’t die for lack of trying. Whatever it is you know, tell me. Who else am I supposed to share it with when I’m dead?” Sabé heard herself saying, and she contemplated whether she meant it only for a moment.

The answer was yes. She would die for Padmé, to avenge her death.

“You are mistaken. It is not you who has failed.”

Again, there was an almost melancholy note to Vader’s voice, despite the fact that nothing within its diction or pacing had changed. His voice was still manufactured, inhuman. But behind the mask, there must be something else. Something to unearth, something to discover. Sabé felt equally confused and frustrated with the situation, her agitation shutting out any fear she may be harbouring deep down for the Dark Lord.

“I will have failed if I cannot kill you, and I have come to terms with that. As such, I only need to know why you killed Anakin and Padmé. Were they intruding? Were they out to put you down to cripple the Empire? Did you just feel like it?”

Sabé narrowed her eyes, her gaze burning a hole in Vader’s back as she stared unrelenting at his cloaked form. This man did not deserve to even think of Padmé. Yet, she’d yet to hear him speak of Padmé with anything other than reverence. As if her name was forbidden for him to utter, as if he himself was aware that he was beneath her. Sabé almost gasped, stumbling a couple of steps backwards when Vader finally did turn halfway to face her. The dead lenses of his face plate looked back at her, their stare cold and dead and empty. His hands hung slack at his sides, and swallowing hard; Sabé expected him to kill her. Expected him to reach out with one hand and seize her neck in an invisible chokehold. The way he had done the first time she stood before him on Vendaxa, when he had allowed her to live. When he had mistaken her for Padmé.

“The first time I met you, why did you not kill me?”

There was no reply, but the meaning behind the silence rang loud and clear. Vader had not killed her, because he had assumed she was Padmé. Hadn't he killed her? Shouldn’t he know she was dead? Still, he had hesitated, believing her to be the former Queen. They did possess an uncanny resemblance, it had led her to become one of Padmé’s decoys in the first place. Even their mothers had struggled to tell them apart, which had only furthered their cause in keeping Padmé safe during her time on the throne. Even now, she was alive. Even now, she could breathe freely as she stared death in the eye.

“You believed I was Padmé, didn’t you? But if you killed her, why would you assume such a thing?” she continued, but yet again her only answer was an eerie silence.

A heavy, tense silence. Wearing her thin, dragging the seconds of time passing out into what felt like hours. Sabé sighed, hanging her head. He would never relent, he would never speak. Killing him would offer her no peace, if he would not share the truth. He was the only person who knew what had happened, and if he did not speak, there was no way to resolve her suspicions. He had admitted to killing Padmé, and Skywalker, but not how. Not when. Not why. All of these question marks without a resolution. A riddle that could not be solved.

“The japor snippet found in the Queen’s tomb.”

Vader’s voice cut through the air like a knife, making Sabé wince as it echoed all around her; a multifaceted statement. It did not answer her questions, and she scowled and she attempted to study the unfeeling expression of his mask.

“What are you talking about?” she huffed, but as soon as the words were out; an inquisitive curiosity began to wonder why he had chosen to address that little trinket.

“Was she buried with it?” Vader continued, paying no mind to Sabé’s perplexed expression.

“Yes. Yes, she was. She wore it often, it appears to have meant a great deal to her,” Sabé clarified, still failing to see how it mattered. “I do not know its meaning.”

“I do,” said Vader, and despite Sabé’s instant desire to scoff at the preposterous profession; she found she couldn’t.

Instead, it felt earnest. Vader sounded sincere, and while she refused to believe there was a single scrap of human emotion or empathy in the man; she could feel the solemn sadness of his aura bearing down on her shoulders like a sodden weight. As if she had been unwittingly made to carry his burdens, and his suffering. She blinked, her legs suddenly feeling weak beneath her as they wobbled but she ignored it.

“That’s nonsense,” Sabé spat. “The only other person who would know its meaning---”

“Is the person who forged it,” Vader interrupted.

Sabé blinked, and there was a gnawing unease settling at the pit of her belly. There was a voice at the back of her mind, nagging at her. She ignored it, but the more she tried to force it aside, the more it demanded her attention. Fingers curling tighter around the blaster, she heard her voice wavering as she spoke again.

“Anakin made it for her.”

Sabé needed no response to know it was true. The tiny, hand carved wooden piece of jewelry had been simple and bare bones when compared to Padmé’s impressive wardrobes and her thousands of embezzled necklaces. Still, she often picked the unbecoming, clumsy trinket above her splendid diamond, ruby and sapphire heirlooms. Padmé, who never wore a dress twice. She would not part with the necklace, and so, she had been buried with it. It had been the physical item she’d held highest in regard in life. Skywalker had made it for her, had painstakingly carved it out of the rare pieces of wood he may have found while kept as a slave. It was as if she could visualize the scene, as if she could see the small blonde boy; sitting cross legged in a rugged hut, lining the details meticulously with a small blade. A handmade gift fit for a Queen.

“Yes,” Vader said, but the acknowledgement seemed to be directed more towards her direct thoughts, than her words.

“How would you know? Who are you, really?” Sabé grimaced, raising her voice as the unease grew into full blown dread.

Vader began to turn back away from her, stalking unhindered by the darkness as he continued forward into the deep abyss of the cave. Sabé didn’t know what he was doing, of why he was there. She couldn’t tell what had possessed him to come to Tytloh, and it’s bleary, gray wildlife. Little could survive here, and although the planet was rumoured to have held a grand meaning for Force wielders in the old Republic, it lay in tatters now. Uninhabited, unless you counted lowlife pirates and smugglers. A man of Vader’s power should find little need to come here, and Sabé suspected she would never get an answer to that question either.

“Perhaps, if I had never offered her the piece, she may have lived.”

Sabé felt her legs give out under her own weight, as if all strength had been sucked out of her. As if the will to go on had been torn from her spirit. As she sunk to her knees in the muck and slippery algae covering the cavern’s innards - she gasped. Vader was already gone, vanished in the darkness as if he had never been there at all. As if he were a demon who had returned to the hole from which he came. As if he had been a figment of her imagination, and for a moment Sabé almost second guessed herself, and she almost believed he had.

I, he had said.

Sabé understood.

***

Well, I've been wanting to write something based off of the 2020 Vader comic where Vader visits Padmé's tomb, from Sabé's POV. Hence, this one is very much inspired by that, as a sort of compliant follow up to where they left off. I understand why they left it open, but I would have loved to see Sabé realize the truth about Vader, and who he really is. I found it worked as another installment for this mini series, and thus this chapter was born.

Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049894/chapters/69852816

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four-loose-screws · 3 years

Text

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 6

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 6: The Castle On the Lake

Atop the cold, clear lake towered a castle.

And surrounding the castle was a thick forest. The green of the trees, the blue of the water’s surface, and the white of the castle… those subtle colors all blended together, creating beautiful scenery, like that of a painting.

However, right now, there was no way that Eirika could afford to enjoy such a view. The white castle walls were like a monster that kept away all intruders.

Waterside Renvall was an impenetrable fort built atop the lake. There was only one path leading to it, a simple bridge suspended over the water.

The Grado Army, under the assumption that Eirika’s army was in the area, had already placed soldiers around the bridge, and hardened their defenses.

Eirika’s army had no need to hide themselves anymore, either. They stood in battle formation, tall and proud, before the bridge. If they were to attack and take the castle, then clashing with the army stationed there head-on was their only option.

Inside was Eirika’s brother. The enemy had likely taken his freedom, and locked him away in a cell.

Eirika suppressed the urge to attack immediately, and turned towards her allies. “Everyone… We traveled a hard road to get this far. My brother… Prince Ephraim of Renais is being held inside of this castle. Please lend me your strength.”

Colm bowed politely and said “Wow, formal much?” with a laugh.

Neimi elbowed him.

“We expect the enemy to come at us at full strength as well. This battle is likely to become a harsh one…”

“And that’s what we want!” Ross yelled out at the top of his lungs. In just a short span of time, he had become very muscular, and grown into a full-fledged warrior.

It looked like Garcia was telling him “Not yet!”, but he was too busy swinging around his giant axe, his readiness to boldly rush into the enemy lines inspiring bravery in the young soldiers.

Several others cheered one after the other in agreement with Ross.

Eirika looked around at all of her allies.

She thought it incredibly amazing that so many dependable people had gathered around and lent their strength to a powerless person like her, who knew nothing about war.

Eirika had no strength on her own. It was because of their shared resentment towards the Grado Empire’s tyranny that they had been able to combine their power like this. It was all because their lives had been destroyed by the empire’s sudden invasion, and so many had suffered losing their family...

Eirika was silent as she turned around and faced the enemy army. Then, she raised her sword, and shouted as loudly as she could, “Move out!”

The cavalry unit all galloped ahead in unison. Then, the axe and sword fighters behind them all started running. After that came the archers and mages. And on the rear line, Moulder, Natasha, and the other healers waited on standby from a safe position behind everyone else.

Eirika joined in with the other infantry and ran as quickly as she could. She was now completely used to the sounds of horses neighing and weapons clashing, and did not feel afraid. Only her feelings for her brother grew stronger.

When they'd reached the point where only a few enemy soldiers were left, the cavalry unit forced them to scatter, and Erika's army marched further.

Eirika found Seth among the cavalry, and ran over to him. "Seth, let's use this momentum to storm the castle and save Brother!"

"Yes, Milad..." Seth started to answer, but looked over at the Castle gate, and pulled his horse's reins.

The giant doors slowly opened, and a single person came out from within. The person stepped over the dead and injured to approach Eirika.

When she saw his face, Eirika could not help but call out to him. Though he looked like he was feeling terrible and his face was pale, he was undoubtedly a person she knew very well.

He was the leader of the Renais cavalry unit, Orson. He was a serious knight who had long served the royal family, and a person her father trusted very deeply. He was currently supposed to be serving and aiding Ephraim, as he'd been ordered to do so when Ephraim deployed to protect the border.

It made her very happy to see him safe, however, she felt uneasy as well. Why had he come out of an enemy castle all by himself? Just what had transpired at Renvall Castle?

Orson stopped before her, and said in an utterly exhausted voice, "Lady Eirika… Seth…"

Seth dismounted his horse and faced him. "Sir Orson! Why are you here? What about your orders to serve Lord Ephraim?"

"You're safe, Orson!" Eirika ran over to him and looked up at the fatigued knight. "Where is Brother? Is he inside this castle?"

"Yes. We were captured by the Grado Army, and became prisoners of this castle. I broke free from my cell, and had a chance… to escape…" A painful coughing fit cut his words short. He looked as if he was about to collapse at any second.

Eirika extended a hand to help support him. "Are you alright, Orson? Your face is so pale… The Grado soldiers must have treated you so terribly…"

"This is nothing. Please save your worries for Lord Ephraim."

"What do you mean? Where is he?"

"He should still be in his cell. I will take you to him before enemy reinforcements arrive." Orson turned around and returned to the castle.

While it was strange that only he had been able to break free from his cell, she could sense even from behind him that he had coldly decided to reject all questions.

"Hey, should we really trust that old man…?" Ross whispered worriedly.

Eirika nodded. "He is Orson, a knight of Renais. It'll be alright. Let's go with him."

"Somethin’ seems off about him…" Ross’ suspicion of the man was so strong that everyone else could feel it. He gripped his axe tightly.

It wasn't as if Eirika did not know how he felt. Orson’s behavior was certainly strange.

However, her hopes to finally reunite with her brother were greater. She jogged to catch up to Orson.

Merely few of her allies followed her. The only sound echoing off the stone floor was that of Eirika’s army’s footsteps. Not one enemy soldier was in sight. Perhaps they had all been defeated in front of the castle gate? She couldn’t believe that.

“Orson…” Feeling discouraged, she tried to call out to him, but he did not stop walking.

He continued down the complex hallways without even a moment’s hesitation, and led them further inside the castle. “This way. Lord Ephraim is in the inner dungeon.”

“Let’s hurry…”

Because it was a castle atop a lake, the atmosphere of Renvall Castle was damp and gloomy. And they could not sense any other human presence within the castle, nor could they hear even a single noise, further intensifying that atmosphere. The thought of her brother being held in a cold, damp stone cell made her all the more worried.

However, when Eirika tried to speed up, Seth swiftly stepped in front of her and spread his arms out, blocking her path. He then asked Orson in a stern voice, “Sir Orson. How long has it been since you were imprisoned here?”

“...Half a month, roughly…” Orson looked down, trying to avoid Seth’s gaze. His answer was devoid of feeling. “We were forced to surrender before Grado’s large army. We have been locked away inside this castle’s dungeon ever since…”

“Did the enemy soldiers give you any information about what has happened?”

“No, nothing… The only people to bring us our meals were villagers living nearby… I do not know anything about the current state of the battle. Seth, how is Renais currently fairing?”

“The capital fell, and Lord Fado is dead.”

Orson finally looked up at them, but his mask-like expression did not change. Only his whispered words were sad. “I see… How terrible… please forgive us, Lady Eirika. It is all because my unit was so worthless…”

“You fought well. We should focus our thoughts on the future rather than the past. I know what the enemy is after. The Grado Empire is trying to steal the bracelets that Brother and I wear.”

“Your bracelets…?”

“Yes. Brother also wears a bracelet that is the same as this one.” Eirika showed him the bracelet on her wrist.

“I cannot imagine that Brother would simply hand it over to anyone who demanded he give it to them, so I am worried that they might have done something terrible to him to get it…”

“A bracelet…? He certainly was wearing a bracelet that resembled that one, but…” Orson thought deeply for a moment, then continued speaking. “In that case, Lady Eirika, isn’t it dangerous for you to wear your bracelet? The enemy is likely going to come for it again, and plotting to attack you… I think it would be best for you to entrust it to someone else.”

“...Huh?” Eirika felt herself become anxious, though she did not quite understand why, and took a step away from Orson.

She did not mean to doubt his sincerity. Orson had served the royal family as a member of the cavalry unit ever since she was a child.

Before she’d known about the bracelet’s secret, she may have done as he asked without question. But now, she was well aware of the great significance it held. She could never give it to just anyone. No matter how kind their words, if someone told her to entrust it to someone else, then she couldn't help but feel suspicious.

Orson smiled a lonely smile, seeming to have picked up on how she felt. "Lady Eirika, the Sacred Stone is Renais’ most valuable treasure. We cannot allow Grado to steal it, so that is why I suggest you entrust your bracelet to someone else to protect it. It should be someone you can trust… Like me, or Seth. I say this only because I want to lighten the burdens that you carry.”

Orson’s words pierced her heart.

She had doubted Joshua, and now Orson… it saddened her to see herself become quick to be suspicious of her invaluable allies. It was all because of their help that she had been able to succeed in every fight so far.

Eirika started to place her fingers on her bracelet, but Seth said in a voice even more stern than before, “Sir Orson, I’m sorry, but I must ask you to give me your weapon.”

“Seth…?” Eirika was shocked. She looked up and saw his face from the side. His expression was so serious that it terrified her.

Orson looked at his feet and laughed. “My weapon? What are you talking about? I was a prisoner. My weapons and all of my other belongings were taken by the Grado Army. As you can see, I am currently unarmed…”

“If I am mistaken, then I will apologize afterwards. But there are far too many things here that do not add up.”

“There are things that do not add up… what do you mean?”

“Why aren’t there any enemy soldiers inside the castle? I cannot fathom that the soldiers we fought outside would be the entire force stationed at this castle. And if you were captured alongside Lord Ephraim, why were you the only one able to escape your cell? And one more thing… how do you know about the relationship between the Sacred Stone and the bracelet?”

“...Because Lord Fado told me, of course. Seth, you couldn’t have thought that you were the only person Lord Fado confided his secrets in…”

“Well then, you told us you are unarmed, so for what purpose are you hiding a dagger against your chest?”

Eirika turned towards Orson.

He was wearing plain clothing that unquestionably looked like that of a prisoner, and he did not look like he could possibly be hiding a weapon anywhere.

‘You are mistaken!’ she tried to cut in and say, but Orson whispered under his breath, “Of course… You’re as sharp as ever, Seth. If she had been alone, I would have easily been able to deceive the princess… But of course, you got in my way.”

“Orson…?” Orson’s voice was so cold and full of malice that Eirika instinctively hid behind Seth.

Seth asked calmly, “Sir Orson… No, there’s no need to show you respect anymore, is there? Orson, why did you betray Renais?”

“For him.” A small smile appeared on his face. He was not panicking over the fact that his betrayal had been found out, rather, his eyes glittered with happiness.

"’For him…?’ You mean the Grado Empire?"

"He granted my wish. For my wife… for my Monica to come home to me once again."

"Orson, what in the world are you…?" EIrika’s words were cut short when she heard the sound of footsteps echo from behind her.

She turned around, and saw several well-dressed men.

The middle-aged man standing as the leader said in a polite voice that was obviously fake, "You did well, Orson. I will take it from here. You may return to your beloved wife."

Orson nodded slightly and quickly walked away without once looking back on Eirika's army.

"Who are you?" Seth asked.

The man sounded high and mighty as he answered, "My name is Tirado. I am General Valter's aide."

"Valter? Of course...!" Just thinking about that wyvern riding general's face and his creepy snake-like eyes made Eirika’s entire body shiver.

“I was ordered to capture the princess, however… you troublesome lot tagged along with her. No matter. Lord Valter likes warriors with guts."

Eirika, still looking in the direction Orson had disappeared in, asked, "...Where is Brother?"

Strangely, she did not feel hate for him well up inside of her. Though his betrayal had led to her brother's capture, she could not bring herself to hate him. And that was all because of the blissful expression he had shown before he left.

It worried her. He'd mentioned his wife, but what did that mean? Perhaps Grado had taken her hostage?

"If it's Prince Ephraim you are talking about, he isn't here." Tirado waved his hand in disgust. “He was so stubborn… He shook off Lord Valter’s pursuit, and escaped from this castle.”

"Then that means Brother is…" Her voice lifted despite their current situation.

He had been safe this whole time. The news that he was captured was completely false.

All of the tension built up in her body vanished in an instant. She felt as if she had seen him with her own eyes swinging around his giant lance and breaking through a wave of soldiers surrounding him.

“But there is no point in getting excited. Prince Ephraim may have escaped, but you will die here. Do not worry that you will be lonely, as your brother will join you in heaven soon enough…” The man turned toward his subordinates and ordered, “Tear down the bridge! Cut off their only escape route!”

Eirika and Seth turned around to see who was standing behind them. They saw Ross, Joshua, and then Lute. Everyone else was still fighting outside.

Ross gripped his axe and glared at Tirado, while Joshua was swiftly confirming the number of enemies. Lute was as calm as always.

It would be rash to raid the castle with such small numbers. If the bridge fell, they would be cut off from all of their other allies. She was unsure that they could sneak around the castle and take on all the enemies in this small of a group.

However, the noise coming from the area around the castle gate was getting louder and louder. Tirado furrowed his brow in displeasure.

One of his men rushed up to him. “I apologize, Sir Tirado! We tried to lower the bridge, but it was too late… the enemy had already rushed inside the castle!”

“What’s this…? An obnoxious group of uninvited guests has arrived…?”

“Stand down! They are gathering strength. It is dangerous here!” Said a voice that reached Eirika’s ears.

Next came the sound of many sets of footsteps jumbling together, then the sound of blades clashing.

Eirika unsheathed her sword. Seth and the others had already started fighting. Tirado panicked and ran inside the castle.

It was much more important to regroup with their allies first than take him out. Eirika and the others gave up on trying to chase him, and hurried out to the castle gate.

“So, is this your first backstabbing?” Joshua asked as they ran.

Eirika bit her lip and nodded.

“Well, I think it’s a good experience. The worst thing you can do is drag out the pain.”

“...Were you betrayed by someone?”

“It happens to me all the time. I’ve been in the mercenary business for many years. You can’t trust anyone besides yourself.” He burst out into a cheerful laugh.

Eirika realized that she was still shaking over what had happened with Orson, and Joshua was trying to cheer her up. It surprised her. She didn’t think that he was the type of person to notice such a thing.

“...I need to apologize to you, Joshua.” She found herself saying.

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“You must have noticed, right? I doubted you. I thought that you might turn back to Grado.”

“Yeah, but that’s fine. You can’t trust someone like a mercenary. Don’t worry about it. I’m used to being the object of suspicion.”

“I trust you now. You’re different from Orson. You have honest eyes.”

He seemed to not be used to being praised. He shrugged his shoulders as if it were a joke.

The area around the castle gate was currently the site of a gruesome battle. Eirika noticed that Colm was at the forefront of it.

“Hey, you’re okay! You disappeared so fast that I thought you died!”

“You came to help? Thank you…”

“Sure, but not really! I heard there’s a ton of treasure in this castle, so I just wanted to try sneakin’ in…”

“Save the chatting for later, kid!” Joshua cut him off.

Colm didn’t even notice it, but Joshua swiftly moved in to kill an enemy that was trying to attack Colm from behind.

Colm didn’t seem to like being called “kid,” as he ran back over to Neimi with an irritated look on his face.

Just then, they heard a voice say “The bridge has fallen!” from the direction of the castle gate. Tirado’s men seem to have finally been able to carry out his order. Eirika’s army no longer had an escape route.

In a battle where the difference in numbers gave one side an overwhelming disadvantage, the most important factor was determining when to retreat. However, that was not an option for this battle. The only way they could win was by defeating all of the soldiers in the castle.

Eirika’s army put up a good fight, but the enemy continued to close in on them. The soldiers they’d defeated outside of the castle had likely been decoys to draw them towards the castle, as the soldiers hidden inside the castle were far greater in both numbers and strength.

The allies she could see around her were starting to tire out, and there were so many injured that Natasha and the other healers could not keep up. It was only a matter of time before the battle was decided… No matter who she looked at, everyone had fatigued and impatient expressions on their faces.

As she wondered how much time had passed since the battle started, she heard a commotion break out from inside the castle. It was now not just around the gate, but also inside the castle that something was going on.

Was this a good sign, or a bad sign for her army? She strained her ears, and the first voice that she heard made her entire body freeze.

“That’s the prince of Renais! Get him!” Someone screamed.

She lost all strength in her sword arm, and forgot what was going on, standing frozen in place.

Surely she heard wrong. Tirado told them that Ephraim had fled, right? He shouldn't be in the castle.

However, Franz rushed up to her, completely out of breath, and confirmed that she was not imagining things. "Princess Eirika! Did you hear that!? That voice from inside the castle!"

"Y… Yes. It sounded like he said… the prince."

"I heard it, too! Lord Ephraim is inside this castle!"

"But Brother… he…" She had no time to think about it. The enemies were closing in on her, one after the other. Strength once again flowed through her tired body.

'Brother is here. And very close to us.' She had no idea what was going on, but at the very least, he was in the same building as her.

The news that the prince was in the castle spread like a ripple, and not only did it surprise her allies, but also her enemies.

Many even screamed "Impossible!" and their faces stiffened.

Eirika's army was reenergized. There were a lot of people among them that weren’t even sure what he looked like, but what they did know is that Eirika had fought all of their difficult battles so far for him, so the news that he was close by gave them strength.

Eirika ran towards the source of the noise. She cut down every enemy that tried to block her path, shoving all of her exhaustion aside and continuing to move.

After passing through several rooms, she burst into the southern corridor and found a familiar figure standing with his back to her.

“Forde!” She cried.

The young man, with his long, blonde hair tied up in a simple ponytail, whirled around.

Though he had chiseled features, his expression was as aloof as always, to the point that he even looked naïve. He really was Forde, one of Ephraim’s most trusted knights.

When his eyes met Eirika’s he burst out laughing, then ran over to her with open arms.

“Lady Eirika! We knew you’d be here!”

“Forde… what about Brother? Is he with you…?”

“Of course he is! He’s chasing after some enemies. He’s been running around for a while… Lord Ephraim! I found her! Lady Eirika is here!”

A response came almost immediately when a young man came running from around the next corner. He had a lance in his hands, and his hair was disheveled. He was indeed none other than Prince Ephraim of Renais, and his eyes lit up when he saw his little sister’s face. “Eirika! Are you okay?”

“Brother… I should be the one… asking you that…” Her voice got caught in her throat, and tears began to pour down her face.

Ephraim laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I certainly am! And better than ever!”

“I heard you were being held in Renvall Castle… It worried me so much...”

“Did that creep Valter tell you that? Do you really think a man like him could capture me?”

“We were in a pretty rough spot.” Forde leisurely cut in.

The serious young man standing behind Ephraim glared at him. He was of course Forde’s partner, Kyle, who also followed Ephraim wherever he went.

Ephraim frowned and nodded. “I mean… it is true that we were almost captured, but we struggled and managed to break through Valter’s men. Then, we were going to continue sneaking through Grado territory to retaliate against the Grado emperor, but we heard rumors that you were in this area, so we came back here.”

“But how? From what I understand, the bridge to the castle should be torn down…”

“We’ve been hiding in here since morning. We blended in with the Grado soldiers.” Ephraim laughed so hard as he reminisced on it that his shoulders shook.

Forde cut into the conversation once more. ”And this isn't the first time he's been so daring, either. We attacked the guards and stole their armor and helmets, then waltzed right in here like it was nothing. We were scared half to death. I mean, it was fun too, but…”

“We waited for an opportunity, then caused an uproar the moment we heard that an army led by the princess of Renais was attacking.” Ephraim smiled from ear to ear and ran a hand through Eirika’s hair. “I couldn’t believe that you were leading an army and attacking an impregnable fortress.”

“It wasn’t by my power. I had help from Seth… and everyone else.” Eirika turned around. Everyone was standing around her from a few feet away and waiting to see what she would say.

Eirika noticed that Franz was among them and having a difficult time staying back, so she waved him over.

He stepped forward and first bowed deeply to Ephraim before greeting Forde.

“Have you been well, Brother? I was worried.”

“Yeah, and you look full of energy yourself! Were you able to be of some help to Lady Eirika?”

“Yes… I think so.” He nodded shyly.

“...Did he just say “Brother?” Ross asked in disbelief.

He studied them both for a minute, then his eyes widened. Though their personalities were totally different, they had many of the same facial features. “Franz, you have an older brother!? And he’s even a knight serving the prince! You never told me a word about him, did you!?”

“I didn’t really think it was necessary to…”

“Why not? You were worried about him, right?”

“Yeah, I was, but… we were marching all this time to save Prince Ephraim, weren’t we? I didn’t think it was necessary to talk about my family.”

Ross didn’t seem to understand how Franz felt. “You really are weird!” He said with a tilt of his head.

Forde laughed out loud. “He is very serious. It makes him pretty weird even within our family.”

“I think that between the two of us, you’re the weird one, Brother, but...:”

“Anyway, you seem to have become quite the knight yourself, so I’m happy. I want to see just how much you’ve grown. Come with me.” Forde immediately ran off.

Franz panicked and chased after him.

Eirika refocused her mind. “We’re going too, Brother! There are still enemies left to fight. We’ll have to enjoy our reunion after the battle.”

“Yeah. You’ve become so brave, Eirika. Even though it’s only been a few months since we parted, I hardly recognize you.”

“Please don’t tease me…” She told him, but within his smile was only happiness. She felt as if all the sadness and suffering she’d experienced until now was already entirely gone.

Eirika and the others ventured deeper within Renvall Castle. The enemy army was in turmoil over the appearance of Prince Ephraim, and the soldiers were all very agitated. Towards the end, some even dropped their weapons and fled.

ー

By that evening, Renvall Castle had been completely seized by Eirika’s army.

They defeated Tirado, then Eirika once again ran over to her brother.

Even Seth showed a smile of satisfaction unlike any that he’d made since their journey had begun. “What’s most important of all is that you are safe, Lord Ephraim.”

“Yeah, I really made you worry, didn’t I? Thank you for protecting Eirika, Seth. When I think of what might have happened if it wasn’t for you, it sends a chill down my spine.”

Eirika looked up at him, feeling the exact same way, but Seth was being straight to the point. He quickly changed the subject.

“More importantly, Prince Ephraim, I’d like to ask you about Orson. I’ve been wondering why he betrayed Renais.”

“...I don’t know. I still can’t believe it.” Ephraim’s eyes clouded over. “It was because of his communication with Grado that our movements were leaked to them. Whenever I think that if I had noticed it sooner, then I should have been able to lower the number of sacrifices, I blame myself.”

“Orson was known as a knight who was twice as serious and loyal as any other man. Of course you trusted him. For him to betray us…”

“He chose the Grado Empire over me, right? Though I hate to say it, it is because I am still so inexperienced.” Ephraim looked up at the ceiling.

“No, he…” Seth’s words were cut off before he could finish them.

Eirika followed his line of sight, and was surprised to see a child she did not know standing there. She was a young girl who looked completely out of place on this bleak battlefield, and had an innocent face.

She’d likely been hiding somewhere within the castle during the battle. She tiptoed over towards Ephraim with a nervous look on her face.

When he noticed her, Ephraim said to her in a kind voice, “Oh, Myrrh! I’m sorry I left your side. But the battle is over now. The Grado soldiers are no longer here. You can relax.”

Though his words were soothing, the girl's unsure expression did not change. She simply looked up at Ephraim with eyes that conveyed a look of pure and genuine trust.

Her hair was a rare indigo color. Eirika felt as if it reminded her of something, but she could not remember what.

She tugged gently on Ephraim's sleeve to get his attention, then said, "...Something is coming from over there."

"Hm? What is it?"

"It is black… and big... and there are many of them…" She whispered, her voice shaky, while looking towards the window.

Eirika looked out it as well, but only saw a partially cloudy sky. “Brother, who is she?”

“Her name is Myrrh, and I met her during my travels… Sorry, but it’s a long story. I can take my time explaining later. For now, we should move out of this castle quickly.”

“Yes… But…” The soldiers were tired, and it had been a long time since they’d slept in a decent place with a roof, so she wanted to let them relax at the castle for at least one night.

But Ephraim shook his head. “Myrrh’s premonitions are very reliable. If she senses that it is dangerous, we should do what she says.”

‘Brother trusts her so much… just who is this girl? What kind of power could someone who’s still only a child have?’ She wanted to ask him, but he had already walked away, and was giving everyone orders to leave the castle.

Some people may not have looked happy, but Ephraim didn’t let them get even a single word in.

Eirika’s army left Waterside Renvall just as the sky was beginning to darken.

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #nintendo #gba #game boy advance #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #eirika #fe8 novelization translation

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back-and-totheleft · 3 years

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"Hollywood rabble rouser"

Late one night in the summer of 2008, I found what turned out to be a stockbroker’s iPhone in the back of a NYC taxi. Turning it on in order to contact the owner, I noticed that amongst the stock watch apps and currency converters was an icon of Gordon Gekko, the corrupt market raider immortalized by Michael Douglas in Wall Street, Oliver Stone’s 1987 tale of insider trading and corporate excess. Intrigued, I hit Gekko’s pixilated face (it felt good) and a website flashed up with an entire transcription of his infamous “Greed is good” speech — one of Hollywood’s most iconic parables to the pursuit of unrestrained greed. Whoever owned the phone found those words as important as checking Facebook or texting his girlfriend. Gekko was his hero, his daily inspiration.

Watching back Wall Street a few weeks later as news of the Lehman Brothers collapse and global recession spread, it struck me that a whole generation of financiers must have grown up, like Charlie Sheen’s character Bud Fox, yearning to be Gekko. He was the business equivalent of a rapper wanting to become Tony Montana, another Stone creation. And some of these brokers, as we’ve all since discovered, were willing to trade money that didn’t exist in pursuit of pin stripe suits, corner offices, penthouses, boats, women, and stacks of cash. Perhaps the perks made the 22-year prison stretch Gekko received at the end of the film seem like a viable risk. Or they deliberately chose to ignore his downfall.

Inspired by financial fiends like Bernie Madoff, Stone decided to spring Gekko out of prison for Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. Set in 2008, he is a reformed character that tries, and fails, to warn business leaders of the impending credit crunch. Many fans are understandably nervous about Douglas reprising his Oscar winning role, especially since his hair gel and brick phone have long been put into storage. Stone, who only agreed to direct the film because he felt that current financial climate lent itself to a sequel, understandably feels that it’s time for bankers to grow up. As the director of Natural Born Killers, JFK and Platoon he’s used to Marmite reactions. But, after giving Dubya an easy ride in W, will Gordon 2.0 be one step too far? Is the world ready for goody Gekko two shoes? Or will traders across Wall Street be deleting their “Greed is good” iPhone bookmarks forever? As they say on the stock market floor, let the bull charge.

Tim Noakes: When you were 18 your father got you to work on a financial exchange in France. Was that your inspiration for Wall Street?

Oliver Stone: No, it was a great summer job actually, because it was very exotic. My father was always into the stock market, into numbers. He loved that world in New York and I grew up on the fringes of it but I wasn’t particularly attuned to it. So it was a chance to see it first hand but I didn’t do very well as a trader. In those days you’d run from the phone booth in the back to the floor. It was cocoa and sugar. It was violent and busy. They used to elbow each other to get into the inner circle, like matadors. It was a real crush. I elbowed my way through it and got up to be assistant buyer, which was very complicated because you had to make the orders for everything right. You couldn’t screw up. A lot of money’s involved. So then I thought I should be one of the cocoa buyers. I was a little too ambitious for my own good.

Your father died before you made Wall Street. What do you think he would have made of it?

I think he would have appreciated that I had done a business movie. We always talked about it. He loved movies and he took me to them. We discussed them afterwards, which was an invaluable experience, and he would say that there weren’t many business movies. And there weren’t. There was not a specific genre. Hollywood was not into the business movie concept. It’s hard. I can understand why. It’s all financial talk, it’s not interesting to most people and it lacks those human emotions. Money is an interesting subject, however, for America. That’s why I addressed it in 1987. I thought, ‘Americans love money’, and what lengths they will go to get it is what that movie is about. Especially coming off Platoon, which is a different kind of movie. I was trying to prove that I could do something domestic with ‘Wall Street’.

The original was very much of its era.

It was the era of “Greed is good” and Reagan. With Wall Street 2, I’m obviously more mature, I’ve done more films, I have more confidence, I hope. I’m trying something a little bit deeper in the relationship field. There’s no Darryl Hannah in the movie. There’s a real English girl this time (Carey Mulligan). She anchors strongly the emotions of the film, because she is damaged. She’s the daughter of Gordon Gekko, if you can imagine what that can be like.

Michael Douglas once said that your style of directing is like taking people into the trenches. What did he mean by that?

He makes it sound like I dress him up in uniform and have a military hierarchy. Every single actor that I’ve worked with, and there’s obviously dozens now, you’d have to talk to every single one of them to get their perception. I would say some would disagree. Maybe Michael, because he hasn’t been in the military, would regard it as a military experience. I didn’t think of it that way. I think of a movie as an organisation that has to work at a very fluid pace involving a large amount of people who have to move quickly over a landscape. Call that what you will. It could be an adventure party or a military organisation. It’s really a satellite business. You form, you group, you rehearse, you shoot, you separate. It’s very nomadic. In that chemistry you bring together so many conflicting types of people who have different kinds of egos. It’s quite a mix. At the end of the day, if you look back at the — what is it? 19, 20 films — that I’ve directed, it’s just a mix of styles. Sometimes it really works with people. It clicks. I think Michael did great work on both films, so I’m very pleased with his result. My style might not have been good for him, but it works for other people. Some people, like Shia LaBeouf and Josh Brolin, were digging it. They loved the way I worked because it was intense and to the point and relatively fast.

Do you see yourself as a hard taskmaster or a disciplinarian?

No, I’m not a disciplinarian. I’m disciplined with myself and I think I try to lead by example not by imposition of my will. I try to lead by example. That’s just to say that people know that I’m trying to get this thing done. My approach is that we’re all in this together. The idea is king. We all serve that king. It is not a democracy, it is a constitutional monarchy, so to speak, with strong legislative power in the House of Lords. No, but the idea is king. I repeat that. Not the director. The idea. I serve the idea.

How do you balance the logistics with trying to create a piece of art?

Oh boy, if I didn’t tell you I wasn’t humbled so many times, you would not believe it. It’s a very humbling experience to make a movie, because you’re at the mercy of the elements. Of the winds and the weather as well as conditions that can go wrong — disease, sickness, bad tempers. All sorts of stuff can happen. Given that nature, to pull off a movie is extremely difficult. The editing room is another humiliation. All your mistakes are thrown back in your face. No matter how many good choices you make, and making a movie involves thousands of choices, you’re constantly having to question yourself again. I find it a very difficult position. I don’t think I enjoy it. I think I’m more experienced at it but I don’t think I completely enjoy it. I think sometimes it’s so painful you want to scream bloody murder and run somewhere.

What’s the cut-off point? How do you stop?

How do you stop? A famous director once said that every film is abandoned, never finished.

So you just let it go?

Some people won’t but I do let it go. I’m not looking for perfection. I don’t believe in it. I believe that a film is many things to many people and it changes over time. I think you have to feel good about it and about what you did. It hangs together and it’s going to be a story that can move an audience. It’s so difficult to pull off quickly. It takes time.

The world’s moved on since Wall Street. Were you apprehensive about creating a sequel to such a well-loved film?

Apprehensions? No. I’d have had more apprehensions if I’d had to do it in 1990, I think. Twenty-three years is a long time to call it a sequel. I think of it more as a bookend.

Don’t you think that’s laying you open for even more criticism? Look at what George Lucas did with Star Wars..

We’re not going back into that period. The beauty of this thing is that there’s a new period upon us, which is quite different, technically. It’s a different kind of Wall Street. The landscape has changed. It’s no longer 1987. It’s really a computer game now. The money has accelerated at a square root that is beyond belief from millions to billions. Hedge funds invest 30–40 billion dollars. Even to have one billion dollars is an enormous amount of money. When you hear these guys say, “Oh, it’s just a billion dollar hedge fund” it’s unbelievable arrogance. The heights are dizzying, and the losses are dizzying. It’s just unbelievable what happened. By all accounts it was a near-fatal heart-attack.

Were you planning on revisiting Wall Street is the crisis hadn’t happened?

No, that was the catalyst for it. It wasn’t the only reason. It was a wonderful idea for a script, that Gekko would be a different type of person. That he would start from the outside. He didn’t have power or connections anymore. Time had passed. He was dated.

Is Michael Douglas in danger of becoming a pastiche of what made Gordon Gekko good?

I feared that. That’s why we approached it in a wholly different way. Michael is playing it twenty-two years older, he’s coming out of prison. Michael has changed in that interim. He was a charming rogue, certainly, in the Eighties. You saw a lot of that in his subsequent performances. You saw a lot of Gekko in later films, so I think it was smart to move away from that pastiche, as you call it, because it would have been boring after a while. There are flashes of the old Gekko, which I love, but it’s not like the charming reptile, so to speak. It’s a different man now. I’m not saying that he’s a wholly reformed figure looking for a martyrhood, but what’s interesting about him is what he’s going to do, and how he’s going to play the game to get back. He has suffered extensively in prison, his family has fallen apart, his oldest son has committed suicide. It’s very tough on him.

How did you persuade Michael to get back on board?

Frankly, I didn’t convince anybody. I passed on the script in 2006. It wasn’t important for me to make it. I felt, what was the need to make this movie if it was going to glorify the pigs on Wall Street? They were really making money and it was ugly. There was a spate of books too like The Wolf of Wall Street, which was a big hit and they are going to make a movie out of that. There was kind of a surfeit and there was sickliness to it all. I got turned off by it. I passed, and I moved on with my life, and I did W and World Trade Centre and stuff like that. Then there was this crash and the crash changed the equation I think, I hope.

Do you think the original message of Wall Street failed because young traders ended up idolising Gordon Gekko?

That’s a very good question. Frankly, I wondered at times. The original Wall Street came about because of my experiences on Scarface. I was living in New York and I was hanging out with the dealers and the mob. That whole scene in Miami was a very shocking thing in 1982–3. Wall Street, was like Scarface north. I was suddenly seeing people my age, in their twenties, making millions of dollars, so easily, so quickly. Moving inordinate amounts of money. Also, snorting and drinking. The partying scene had really kicked in big time in the 80s. It was all new to me, so that’s how that was born. Then it went to excess. But I was very clear that Gekko was the antagonist in the movie, but as you say a lot of young people caught on to him. I do think, and perhaps I’m retrograde, that although he was not feted at the time the anchor of the movie is Charlie Sheen.

But no-one wanted to be Bud Fox.

Well that’s the movies. They want to be heroes. They want to make money. I did meet a lot of people in their 40s that said, “When I saw your movie I was studying this-or-that at this-or-that school, I was going to do history or medicine or law but then I saw the movie and I moved to Wall Street for that reason.” The the kicker was that some of them were multi-millionaires, one of them was a billionaire, and they had moved to Wall Street because of the movie. I said, “Oh boy, I wish I had a royalty on that.” These guys are really rich.

I find that quite worrying.

I gave birth to some rich people. But some of them did good. Some of them created something. That was the whole point of the original. Not to shit on Wall Street but to basically say, ‘Look, this is an engine of capitalism’. This can work. My father always felt that Wall Street was a good thing. It creates companies, it finances new companies, creates research and development, and it does. It still does, by the way, it’s not forgotten but it’s been buried in the greater picture of making bigger profits and more greed, but it’s still there. Wall Street is a good thing. It was a good thing and it can be a good thing.

Throughout your career critics have said you shouldn’t glamourise the people you put on the big screen. Do you like to provoke that reaction?

No, I like to make bigger-than-life characters but ‘World Trade Centre’ is about two very ordinary men who were real heroes. On Bush I guess you could say I supped with the devil and brought out all the reasons I thought why people voted for the guy. There is this fundamental thing which Americans like in him, and I was trying to root that out and how he became President.

You were criticised for making Bush too likeable.

You can fault that, but he was re-elected. I didn’t like him. I was very clear — I empathised. Empathy means I walked in his shoes, or tried to. As opposed to sympathised. I don’t agree with anything he said. Anything. I think he was a disaster. It was a nightmare eight years.

Do you think you were too soft?

No. I wish I’d done it a year earlier and it would have been more timely. He was out of favour when it came out, because of the economy, but frankly the movie was about the national security state which concerned me more.

Why are you drawn to these anti-heroes?

They don’t do me any good. Nixon, too.

I see a lot of similarities between Tony Montana and Gordon Gekko. In Scarface, Tony says “You need people like me to point the finger at and say, ‘That’s the bad guy’”. Do you think film critics see you in that light?

I think you’re right. I think film critics have me as a punch ball. It’s an easy target, I guess. I’ve been misidentified with the characters, but I think over time you see that there’s a whole assortment of different characters. But I agree, I think that’s true and I think that’s hurt me. It’s hurt my career as well as some of the political statements I’ve made and positions I’ve taken in documentaries I’ve made. They’ve hurt me too and they’ve given me a profile that’s not necessarily me, it’s just a profile. Absolutely.

There’s been huge furor recently that you’re reported to be attempting to humanise Hitler, Stalin and Mao Zedong.

I think it’s out of context. I did use the word ‘scapegoat’ and I think that was an unfortunate word, but frankly it’s a very interesting history that we’re putting together. We’re using the facts that we have, that are known but have been forgotten. There’s no question that Hitler had a big hand up the ladder. He didn’t come out of nowhere. He is a Frankenstein, he is a monster and I have no sympathy for him, but he was created by a Dr Frankenstein. That Dr Frankenstein is a very interesting mixture and you have to study cause and effect to understand history, otherwise you don’t learn anything from it. It’s my fault because I’m interested in the world, and I’m willing to go out there. I’m not trying to provoke, I’m trying to look for the truth. I’m trying to shine a light. For Christ’s sake, I feel like we’ve become so politically correct that you can’t do shit anymore. You’re not supposed to turn around.

Do you feel like you sometimes exploit sensitive subjects too much? More than some people can take?

Well, that’s why I like the English. They’re much more out there and they’re willing to explore subjects that the Americans are not. Having been to war, having seen the devastation America visited onto Vietnam, I cannot just be another typical American and live in isolation. My taxes are going as we speak to blowing up people in Afghanistan. I don’t feel good about that.

Back to Wall Street. Gekko says “Every dream has its price”, what’s the biggest price you’ve paid to get to where you are?

I’d have to talk to my psychotherapist, who I haven’t seen in ages. I suppose the price is that you do have long absences from home and normal quotidian values, at times. Your children grow up and you have to readapt to the fact that you haven’t been the attentive father. That’s a big issue, but I have been as attentive as I can be in taking care of them. Still, there’s gaps there. Divorces have happened. Those things.

I see Wall Street as epitomising the ruthlessness of the Eighties. During that era did you find yourself being a slave to the success that you had earned?

Yeah, I suppose everybody can become a mental slave to the need to produce. Remember, I was on a roll in the sense that I had to get financing for very complicated movies. I felt like I had a mission. To get JFK made in that era was very tough, still. You need heat. To make that movie after The Doors you need to keep rolling. In a sense I worked very fast, and hard, but I knew that I could get things done. Nixon was sort of the end of the line. I was making movies all those years. Platoon was impossible to get made. So was Salvador. Every single fucking one. ‘The Doors’. They were always problems. There were always tremendous issues. You asked what the price is? The price was to keep going fast, before they change their mind. The idea was ‘Wrap it up, get another one done’. These are tough subject matters. With ‘Nixon’ I’d done eleven or ten, I was exhausted. Frankly, I needed to take a break.

What kept you moving on? Obviously the pressures that you’re talking about manifested in different ways. You had your drug problems earlier on, but how did it manifest when the financing started to crumble down? Did you resort to those kind of vices?

I think there’s other factors. There was a lot of living. A lot of pain. Children. Divorces. This and that. But I think I have been very successful. I got movies made that wouldn’t have been done in the normal radar. They were not on the scope.

In Wall Street 2 Shia LeBeouf says, “No matter how much money you make, you’ll never be rich”. With all your success, do you empathise with that sentiment?

Of course I do. I don’t think money is the solution to happiness. Life is complicated, but certainly money can have the opposite effect. It can make you unsatisfied with life, and make life harder for you. There are two effects of it. One is that it leaves you unsatisfied, you always want more, as we see from these billionaires. Two, it leaves you falsely content and over-satisfied.

And you’re not either?

I don’t feel that way, no. I feel like I’m one trade away from disaster.

The new film is called Wall Street 2: Money Never Sleeps. What gets you off to sleep?

What gets me off to sleep? Sonata. Medication. I’m just joking. The best solution for sleep is having lived a full day and tried hard to live life fully. That makes you feel the reward of sleep.

-Tim Noakes, "The Hollywood rabble rouser sets his sights on a new generation of Wall Street wolves," Medium, Mar 3 2010 [x]

#medium #tim noakes #w.#wall street #wall street: money never sleeps #oliver stone

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radrita · 3 years

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Radical Forgiveness!

Pain like I never knew entered my life on August 23rd, 2018. And believe me when I tell you I've been in pain a lot as a child. When I was three, my mom left my brother and me with our dad and grandpa (his dad). When I say left, I mean, never came back. I should mention when I was 15, I found out my mom lived two miles from me my whole life and had another family, complete with a new husband and 3 kids she raised that I never knew about. I met up with her and spent the rest of my days until she passed away, trying to get her to love and accept me like the children she raised. But that would never happen. When my sister, who was raised by my mom, was told she had cirrhosis of the liver from alcoholism and would succumb to it, my mom wished it was me that was going to die instead. Those words would pervade my soul for a LONG time!We were in some foster homes from the ages of 3 to 5. Then our dad, who was an alcoholic, couldn't take care of us anymore, so we were sent to live in an orphanage, and I remained there for seven years. My brother got to go live with our dad and grandpa when he was around 13. I didn't, and I will explain why. We visited home on weekends and holidays until my dad molested me on a few different occasions between 10 and 12. I finally told someone, and then I wasn't able to see him anymore for several years. It may seem to you that it would have been the rational thing to do. But I already lost my mom, and my dad was all I had left. So, it was very heart-wrenching to tell someone. Also, my grandpa (my dad's dad) would pleasure himself in front of me all the time for several of my early teen years. And when I was pregnant with my daughter, my stepdad tried to get me to give him oral sex. Ugh, no wonder I had men issues.

When I turned 15, I had a chance to live with my dad and grandpa again. My caseworker (I was a ward of the state) had me explain what my dad did to me. I was screaming in my head (no, please don't make me). But she did, and his then-wife blamed me, saying I dressed sexy around him (I was 10 lady, geez), and my dad chose her over me. As a result, I only saw him one time over the next 30 years when his mom died (my grandma), and we saw each other at the funeral. Even though my dad and his wife said they would be in touch with me, they never did. I probably don't need to say that my life took some dark turns through addiction and lots of self-abuse. Ready for the real pain that surpassed even all that excitement?

Here is the story of losing my daughter when she was just 33 and the lengthy voyage through anguish like I've never known! Nicole Marie Cuneo was her birth name, and she was the angel in my life that lit up my whole world. I never knew love like that before she was born. It's like my heart didn't even know how to beat before her. And she was the happiest baby and always smiled. At least until she was about 2, and then something changed in her attitude. I didn't know until she was 5 when I started taking her for counseling that she was sexually abused. It occurred while I was working, and she was in her father's care. I can't even tell you the sick feeling that came over me, and as a result of the changes in her, I would spend years taking her for counseling. It was like I had a different child, and I did. Because when you have something like that happen to you, especially at such a young age, it changes your DNA.

When this beautiful child was twelve, she started on the road to using drugs, and as a family, we would watch her struggle with that for the rest of her days. I should mention that I met a man (a wonderful man) that adopted Nicole and my other daughter Samantha Lynn. And, to this day, he is still the constant, stable man in Samantha's life. For that, I will be forever grateful. There are so many details I'm not covering about this journey because it would become a book. I aspire to keep the focus on the journey to forgiveness, but for now, It's time for me to take a break from writing because it's still too painful for me to focus on the loss for too long…... I'm back after a night that was once again filled with tossing and turning physically and mentally. I mentioned that I also had struggles with addiction, which would plague my life from the time I was in my early thirties, and I still battle it as a 56-year-old. For the most part, I have a program and a higher power that keeps it at bay. Still, as all addicts know, it takes daily commitment contingent on our spiritual condition.

Forgiveness is a term defined in the dictionary as: in a psychological sense, is the intentional and voluntary process by which one who may initially feel victimized, undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding a given offense, and overcomes negative emotions such as resentment and vengeance. So, by this information, it means I wish no ill will on the people in my life that have caused me harm or malice. Phew, let me tell you that I have had numerous times that wasn't the case! Visions and thoughts in my mind had me showing up and shooting the people that hurt my sweet girl.

My daughter, as I mentioned, struggled with addiction, and due to that fact, she had three stints in prison. The last stretch, she was sentenced to six years, and she served all but five days of it. She was about to be free when……two weeks before this, she was pounded in the head on two different occasions —once with soap in a sock and one instance with a payphone. I was told she died from long-term methamphetamine use, and it caused a brain aneurysm. This means she was using the entire time while being incarcerated. Oh God, NO, and please help me was all I could think when I was given that news. It's a complex kind of hell to not know what your child died from, and almost 3 years later, I still don't understand a lot of the details. Was it, in fact, the beatings, or was it the drug use? Prisons aren't forthcoming, as you can probably assume. Did they have something to hide? I'm pretty sure they have plenty to hide! Nicole was a sweet, kind, and caring person. Her nickname in prison was Shine because she always spread Sunshine and tried to keep up everyone's spirits. And she was capable of being that way while incarcerated and having to literally fight for her life.

This leads me to the how and why of my journey to forgiveness. I think I was somehow inspired to forgive from a very young age. When I was a kid, I lived my life feeling like I wasn't of this world because nothing made sense. Meaning, how could so many things go so wrong so early in my life? But I also remember thinking numerous times that people do the best they can, so I didn't judge them. And I felt that way pretty much my whole life and still do. A friend brought to my attention that maybe I didn't forgive people as the dictionary defines. But is it possible I had a twisted understanding of what forgiveness meant? And that perhaps I thought I was excusing people's behavior but that I didn't go through the emotions and changes needed in my heart and soul that were required. And that, in fact, I possibly just didn't love myself enough because of all the trauma I endured, that I just thought I forgave them? In other words, I thought I did, but because I didn't love myself, I was just saying It was ok that they hurt me, and (oh well) life goes on?

Um, no, I do love myself! And believe me, when I tell you, I hurt from those offenses against me to my essence (hence addiction, low self-esteem, and pushing people away for a good part of my life). Radical forgiveness doesn't derive from the belief that it's the right thing to do. Therefore, I'm just going to forgive them. And when I hear people that have lost a loved one to murder say that they are evil or are monsters, it makes me sick to my stomach. I feel we are all humans and connected to the universe and each other. If I genuinely accept that, how could I want someone to be eliminated because of my hatred for them? If you look in someone's eyes (soul), how can you want them to die? I didn't and can't give life, so taking it away is also not an option. I know it's revolutionary thinking because when I talk to most people about this topic, they look at me hastily. I TRULY, in my heart and soul, know that there is NOTHING anyone can do to me or anyone that I couldn't forgive. I also love myself enough to know that I will be the one to suffer if I don't. It's like peeing on yourself and expecting someone else to feel the wetness and embarrassment from it.

I love my daughter with the most heartfelt essence of what love means. I grieve every day that I will never be able to smell her scent, feel her embrace, see people's faces light up when she walks in a room, hear her witty sense of humor. And even miss the fact that she was a pain in my ass because of her addiction. When people ask me how many kids I have, it still throws me for a loop. Initially, if I would not have read a book about it, the response they offered the readers to make would have been incomprehensible. They said to say how many kids you gave birth to and not how many you have now. Thank God I read that book! Because that circumstance and several others I probably would have never known how to manage could have been a moment to drive me literally insane.

I have another daughter and Nicky left us a son, and the last thing on earth I want it's for her to lose me on top of losing her sister. I will never be ok that I will never give Nicky the love I have for her again. But hurting others will never provide those moments back to me!

I want people to know that forgiveness restores your soul and allows you to be of service to others and yourself. Without it, I know I will continue to struggle in life, and she would NOT want that for me. She always said that I was a strong person and that she respected me for that. I can't in good conscience have resentment for the ones that hurt or possibly murdered her. I don't want anyone to suffer pain for their actions. Just learn from them. I believe we all just live according to our experiences and do the best we can with what we have learned thus far in life. The ONLY thing I want to come out of losing her is for change to occur in the justice system. An addict that is imprisoned due to addiction is injustice! I'm not a religious person; I'm spiritual. That means we are all connected and equal and should try our best to understand and comfort those in need. And yes, that includes those with mental illness. After all, addiction is a disease (dis-ease) and is a mental illness and should be treated as such.

I'll close with this; perhaps I can forgive because, in my addiction, I have done so many things I vowed I would never do, and it has been excused too many times to count. This has given me the ability to go on and keep trying to be a better person in my life. As I discussed earlier, as a child, I felt I was able to forgive. I soundly believe part of that is the spirituality (higher power) that has always been and always will be in my life. This story is my endeavor to hopefully help others who struggle with forgiveness. And possibly give them what they need to move on past the judgments and/or stigma. I have struck the wall, cussed God, blasted the people that hurt her, and questioned how I would live another day without her. God help me has and is the continual prayer since the day I lost her. She exists in my heart memory, and I prefer to cherish all of the memories, good and heart-wrenching. Because that is the sum of the person that was given to me. She will forever be my angel. I stated that she was the light in my life and the first love in my life when she was born, and that's why I gave her the nickname Angel. She will eternally be that light, and I choose to not put darkness on that by not being able to pardon. So, if you grapple with forgiving someone, think about the freedom that will thoroughly transform your world and those around you if you can let go! I still struggle with my addiction from time to time, but I know it's a process. Forgiveness is an extraordinary place to start because it empowers me to have the opportunity of growth and faith that life is worth living in all its glory and pain.

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whirling-star · 3 years

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I made up a thing. There may be more chapters of this, or maybe not as my track record is very bad with these things. Please let me know what you thought of this in the notes or in an ask or something.

From Within

An AU of a Spiritual Realm

Chapter 1

Once, two species ruled the world in peace and harmony:

Humans.

And Monsters.

However, over time the Humans came to fear the power that Monsters had...

The power to take their souls.

A power that had not emerged in many years, a power half-forgotten by all but the oldest of monsters...

Perhaps this is how it came to be so feared.

This fear was the driving force behind the terrible War that split the very world in two.

The Monsters, far weaker than the determined Humans and fearful of their lives and the lives of their loved ones, scattered to the hidden corners of the world.

The Humans could not hunt them all down.

But this issue would not stop them.

Seven of their most powerful wizards cast a spell with all of their determination, all of their magic, and all seven of their souls.

The spell created an incredibly complex, twisted cube as a prison for the remaining Monsters- a prison that sacrificed not only the seven wizards, but also the very magic making up the Monsters all around the world, in order to power itself.

Without their magic, the last of the Monsters were reduced to mere spirit and soul. They became translucent and incorporeal, much of their powers lost and the rest scattered and broken. Their weakened souls showed through their spirits.

Only those with at least the barest hint of hope left survived the process, leaving a relative few behind.

With the Monsters no longer able to defend themselves and barely holding themselves together, the prison fulfilled its purpose- to absorb every last one of the Monster’s souls, trapping them within its dark and shadowy depths for the rest of time, leaving pile after pile of dust where each Monster once stood.

Within the prison, which the king would later call the Monster Realm, the Monsters panicked and fought to escape, to no avail.

King Asgore and Queen Toriel fought together for nothing more than hope- the hope that, despite being trapped, the Monsters could live a better life than the War that had gone on for so long.

Their souls, visible within their new wispy and incorporeal forms, lit up the Realm with the sheer intensity of this one hope.

Like a beacon, it called the scattered Monsters together as one group once more. Soul after soul shone with hope- that things weren’t as terrible as they seemed. That the fighting, the killing, was finally over. That life could one day be better, if one could truly call this “life”.

As time went on, the Monsters built homes and structure into their mysterious little space. Food... water... sleep. Such things were no longer necessary, nor possible.

As more time went on, they found that no monster grew any older and no new monster could ever be born. That they were simply stuck like this, unable to change.

The king and queen, having once been the last Boss Monsters, found this less strange than most as Boss Monsters do not age past adulthood until they have a child... though they, in private, lamented their inability to have one now.

There were those who were bitter, jaded, made cynical by the reality of the War.

There was one such Monster, a tall, armless lizard who found a single touch of peace in knowing that her smaller, younger and clumsier sibling would never grow up to become like herself. She tried not to think about the fact that said sibling would never grow up. Period.

There were those that, in their own ways, would never give up. The Royal Guard (including a tall skeleton), spurred on by their Captain, constantly battered at the Six Walls with what magical weapons they’d managed to take with them... to no avail.

The Royal Scientist and his assistants had a plan that was different, yet exactly the same: research their prison until they found a way out.

His protégé, a nervous lizard with a talent for creating machines, used every resource she could in the attempt to build a machine that could do what the Monsters couldn’t.

Despite it all, they too had no luck.

As the decades passed, one by one the Monsters lost all hope. One by one they slowly but surely faded away to nothing, leaving only their soul to crumble away.

It was the only way to sleep. The only path left to death. perhaps, a tired skeleton idly thought, we’ll all live here in peace and quiet until we all fall down.

Then the First Human arrived.

It was spectacular- their HATE and determination alone created a web of cracks in the far left wall near the city of Home that nearly blinded those who lived there at the time.

Through this newly made opening a red Human Soul swept though the Realm, inspiring all who came upon them to hope once more.

Not for peace. But for FREEDOM.

Never before had the Realm glowed so bright! Never before had this been possible! The Royal Guard battered at the new “weak point” with all their might!

But it was the Royal Scientist who changed the game completely.

For to him, it mattered not that The Human was a child, or that they had come because they HATED humanity with all their power, or that they deeply wished simply to hide away forever...

Nor that the king and queen had joyfully adopted them as their own, filling the hole ever present in their eternal lives.

What mattered was that The Human’s powerful soul could BREAK the walls of their prison. That their determination could combat that which had created their prison to begin with.

He became obsessed with discovering the secret to harnessing The Human’s determination, a worthy goal that at first had his whole team behind him.

The goal was thus: together, the Royal Scientists would discover the secret and build a machine to harness the determination and therefore break the Monsters free.

The secret they sought was not hard to find, hidden in ancient history as it was. The reason behind the War’s beginning.

The power to take a human soul.

So it all came full circle. So it all fell apart.

The Royal Scientist’s protégé, who was again excellent with machinery, gladly built the required device but balked upon discovering its power source.

She, unable to take the pressure any longer, went straight to the King and Queen. They were furious, electing at once to confront the Royal Scientist, taking steps to protect both their child and the terrible secret that would only serve to harm them.

Their eavesdropping child had other ideas.

The Queen’s first priority following the disastrous confrontation was to find her child and hide them away.

The King’s was to destroy the machine that would, in theory, free them all at the cost of his child’s life.

His child, who quite suddenly stepped ahead of his rapidly lunging trident.

His child, who gave a triumphant grin as their soul was torn away from their translucent spirit.

His child, who died in an attempt to save the Monsters who cared for them as their own kind had not.

The horrified Queen arrived just in time to see her child die at the end of the King’s trident, just in time to see the machine absorb all that was left of her child, just in time to see it fire their power as a concentrated red beam straight into the cracks of the Realm’s left wall.

It tore through the confused and panicking Royal Scientist on the way out and in the ensuing chaos, he would be forgotten and his team would scatter apart; never to reunite again.

The cracks upon the left wall next to Home split into many tiny holes and grew worse, spreading their bright white glow across every one of the six walls surrounding the Realm.

The event both lit up the Monsters’ world and revealed to the Monsters just how insubstantial they all were. Not one of them could ever forget the possibility of freedom now.

The Protégé, now the new Royal Scientist by default, made the unfortunate mistake of predicting that as the left prison wall wall was now as holey as a sieve and the thin cracks had spread everywhere, more humans were sure to be drawn into Home by their prison as it attempted to steal their power to fix itself.

In response the King, maddened by grief, immediately declared all humans the enemy again from now on and swore to keep collecting human souls until their prison was no more.

The very second the Queen caught wind of this awful conclusion, she declared that she would protect any human who arrived, forced everyone out of the former city of Home (now nothing more than Ruins) and sealed the great door closed behind them.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

#Undertale #Undertale AU #Chapter 1 #Please let me know what you think of this #I’m genuinely curious #Spirit AU

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book-of-curse · 3 years

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The Twin Peaks Guide to the Occult [3]

The Summoning of Spirits

Summoning is such a quintessential part of magick practice. This has been the case historically as well as currently. What is summoning? It is a particularly involved way of communicating with the self, and of picking and choosing aspects of our memory and personality that we then give animation to. We create a spirit within ourselves with these dimensions. The mind is incredible - particularly in its ability to model and to imagine. We are limited only by the boundaries of our imagination and memory.

Below is a method to summon entities. It is particularly easy to give animation to elements of our memory that we have a defined stereotype of. The characters of a show, people we know in person and have a long relationship with - drawing on our internal stereotypes of people we have a strong “sense” of is one of the easiest ways to develop an animate point of consciousness within our mind’s eye that can be talked to and influence our behavior in a way that feels abstracted from our main sense of self.

This can be used for many things. Gaining perspective. Modeling character interactions in a work of art - imagining and then modeling what will happen next in a story you are writing. The abstracted nature of these animate characters we can create in our mind lends themselves to spontaneous psychological effects and moments of inspiration - things that feel somewhat outside of our control. This adds variability to our thoughts. It’s also just a fun practice and it is interesting to play around with the mind and what it can do.

A Consideration of Character

The interactions between the various parties in Twin Peaks in addition to the general social context of the town serves as one of the main points of interest in this show. Twin Peaks presents a compelling and immersive community of characters. Understanding and analyzing their motivations is a good place to learn the general logic behind the idea of entity contact or summoning spirits.

For this summoning ritual, the only materials needed are your imagination and a quiet space. Enter your mental space that you set aside for considerations related to Twin Peaks and, perhaps, your studies of the occult more broadly. Model all of your senses in this space; attempt to immerse yourself as vividly as you can in your internal reality. This is now your entire reality; repeat this idea to yourself as you disavow information offered to you from your circumstances outside of your mind’s eye. Let go of daily life concerns, unpleasant physical sensations, and so on. All there is, is the internal world.

There are two main divisions in types of spirit work. Perceiving the other consciousness outside of yourself (evocation or summoning), and perceiving yourself as becoming this new consciousness (invocation or possession).

A third type involves hallucinating the other consciousness. A study of imposition (learning to consciously create hallucinations), which is outside of the scope of this post, can be used to provoke this third type. It is similar to the other two types but with a slightly different focus. A fourth type involves altered states such as dreams or the use of entheogens. A fifth type uses a ritual or other external cue. These latter three types are all different ways to obtain one of the former two types of entity experiences.

It is furthermore possible to integrate or transform the resulting abstracted consciousness into the self to change the self in the direction of that integrated consciousness. By being forced into direct contact with the consciousness as it integrates, the main self decides its own answer to the internal conflicts encountered by that consciousness.

External places and ideas have a type of consciousness to them, although it is experienced slightly different by the magick practitioner. This is likely due to the way the mind remembers information. It remembers information along certain axes. We have a division in our place vs. our person memory and the way we handle perception related to these two things.

Some people find it easier to shapeshift into a new consciousness. Other people find it easier to animate a consciousness that feels separate from themselves. Repeated attempts to access and animate the same concept/character increase the elaboration and complexity of the resulting spirit/animated and abstracted aspect of the self.

While in your internal space, visualize the character you wish to model. Imagine their appearance, their mannerisms. From there, it becomes a matter of modeling their mind. Focus on your internal stereotype of that person, focus on your sense of that other person, your feeling when you think of that person.

Route 1:

Draw your sense of that person into yourself. You become that person. Everything you do is checked between your logic vs. that other person’s. Everything in this trance state is done in the shape of that other person. All of your thoughts are this other person. After 10-15 minutes, more or less if you want, you can stop.

Route 2:

Imagine that other person separate from you, either in your mind’s eye or outside of yourself in your physical location. Have a conversation with that person. Model what they would say. After 10-15 minutes, stop for the day. At first, it will feel awkward and as though you are talking to yourself via a puppet, but after enough times it will become more natural and automatic, and you may find yourself slipping into that alternate perspective or hearing its internal logic comment on what you do throughout the day. Don’t forget to regularly remind yourself of the division between yourself and this part of your memory/personality/perception.

If you want to reintegrate with this abstracted sense of self, reverse the process. Take the feeling of that self and integrate it with your main sense of self. Visualize a picture, something symbolic, maybe of colors mixing to become a new color. Blue and red becoming purple. Keep reminding yourself that the only voice you hear inside your head is yours, and this is your thought process. It will quickly integrate into your main sense of self.

Don’t forget to come up with a cue that signals the beginning of a summoning/possession session and a cue that signals the end of it. Clean compartmentalization of behaviors and mental states is essential for a particularly vivid psychological experience.

Bob, Leland, and Mr. Robertson

Leland is one of the most compelling characters of the show. We see aspects of his psychology expressed indirectly in the events of the show. Leland, as Bob, is a character that affected the lives of not only his daughter, but of his co-workers and the people he engaged in criminal activity with. The various moves he makes to cover his second life are found peppered throughout the show; 25 years after the events of his daughter’s death and his subsequent suicide, his attempts to cover-up Bob are still being discovered - like with his attempt to hide his daughter’s journal entries in the police station that is only discovered in the third season.

Leland is one of the most interesting characters from this show to model, least of which being the wealth of information the show contains on his character. Leland is implied to have been a user of cocaine, and that fire was his metaphor for the high of cocaine. “Fire, walk with me.” Leland’s relationship with Mr. Robertson from his childhood is left mostly in the shadows; was it a sexual relationship? Did he witness Mr. Robertson kill someone? In either case, the psychological impact of Mr. Robertson on Leland’s childhood changed him as a person, leading to his possession by Bob in the show. It is a wonderful metaphor for the process of introjection itself, and how traumatic experiences and individuals can seem to haunt us for the rest of our lives. Not only did Leland find himself personally haunted by his experience with Mr. Robertson, but the way it affected Leland as a father to Laura affected her as well. Bob is a terrific metaphor for the psychological affects of these cycles of inherited trauma.

The Duality of Leland Palmer and Laura Palmer

Laura and Leland were similar and opposites in many interesting ways. There is an important contrast between the two that is worth considering. Laura and Leland both had difficult upbringings; Leland’s implied traumatic past and the implied trauma Laura witnessed from living in Leland’s household with its particular demands (his involvement in organized crime and drugs, and so on.) At the same time, it’s heavily implied that this makes them similar in some ways. Leland has a difficult time controlling his behavior, up to the point that Ben Horne calls for his murder (it is implied that Bob’s possession of Leland and his subsequent suicide may have been a metaphor for the psychological effects of Leland dodging Bob Horne’s hit) because he’s attracting too much attention. Leland was a man who could call a hit or kill a prostitute for fun, and it was implied he regularly practiced both things. Laura was not this sort of person at all and wanted to bring him down after discovering these things, making them opposites in a sense; however, this was Laura’s own approach to death, and it could be said this was how Bob manifested in Laura. Death by prison isn’t much better than death by hitman.

#witchcraft #witch #occult #twin peaks #pop culture magick #evocation #invocation #spirits #spirit work #fictives #otherkin #summoning #possession #mediums #mediumship #hedgewitch

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imaginaryelle · 4 years

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Turnabout and Start Again Part 2

Confinement

Rating: Teen (may change in later segments) Warnings: temporary character death, blood, suicide mention, imprisonment Tags: MDZS, Wangxian, Role Reversal AU, Soulmates AU, Canon Divergence, Extremely AU okay, I’m warning you, soulmates + WWX living changes tons. Note: for the day 2 prompt: Music for @wangxianweek 2020. Many thanks to @miyuki4s and @morphia-writes for awesome brainstorming and feedback! Summary: The clan elders made sure Lan Wangji would not be present for the siege of the Mass Graves, but even the discipline whip can’t cut a soul bond, and pain can’t dim Lan Wangji’s determination, even if his efforts consume him.

Wei Wuxian lives. The siege fails.

Thirteen years later, Lan Wangji wakes in a body that is not his own.

Read on AO3 Read part one here.

Lan Wangji looks down at the array again. Around the outer edge, shaky characters spell out: Destroy Jin Guangyao.

For a brief, childish moment, he wishes his brother was here to explain things. Then he realizes that the ends of a forehead ribbon are clenched in his fist and panics—could his brother be involved in this? Could he be the one who—but no. The ribbon is an outer clan ribbon, frayed with age and improper care, and these hands are not his brother’s hands, and the voice he heard was not his brother’s voice.

It is only a small relief. There are still many, many things he doesn’t know. He examines his surroundings more closely and can come to only one conclusion; this is a cell, and a poor one. Worse than the few makeshift camp prisons he’d seen during the Sunshot war. There is no table. No seating mat. No bed to sleep on or blanket to sleep under. No water to drink or wash in, and only an open hole in the flooring of one corner for a latrine. There is one open window, closely latticed and placed high under the eaves; it is the only source of light, thin wavering twilight that it is. The other windows have been shuttered from the outside. The walls are composed of a solid, dark-stained wood that implies this room was adapted, not purpose-built as a cage.

There is just one door, a single heavy piece of wood hung on iron hinges. It is locked, and also sealed with a talisman from the other side. He presses his hand against the tingling line of the seal and reaches for his spiritual power, but finds only a vague sputtering warmth. His physical strength and reflexes have also deserted him: attempts to batter the door down end only with sore hands, feet and shoulders.

No one comes to investigate the noise.

Lan Wangji sits and extends his senses as far as he can, which is not nearly as far as he is used to. The only sounds are the creak of the building in the wind and the chirps of bats outside, seeking their evening meal. He can smell nothing past the stink of blood. Something tugs at his awareness, burning too bright for him to examine it with clarity; there may be a ward around the place.

When he opens his eyes, the shadows have moved. The sun will fully set soon. He examines the array more closely, careful to step so that he will not smear the marks. Desire. Exchange. He can’t decipher the rest of its purpose so he does his best to fix it in his mind. Wei Ying will—someone will know.

Wei Ying must be alive. Lan Wangji would know, wouldn’t he? Even now. Even in this changed physical form, product of desperation deep enough to spill blood and spirit for.

He would know.

He pushes the fear aside. It can serve no purpose here. Better to continue learning as much as he can.

His only other clues are a shard of pottery, still slick with blood, and the talisman. The pottery is likely what made the cuts on his wrists, which seem to have stopped bleeding. The talisman is a spirit attraction lure of the sort Wei Ying uses, blood carefully dabbed onto a strip of cloth torn from the hanfu’s bottom edge. Lan Wangji estimates its effectiveness to be minimal, barely more than a marker. Perhaps that is all that was needed.

The light fades. His limbs tremble with exhaustion, and his eyes ache. If this body was once used to exertion, it has become weak with inactivity, or hunger, or blood loss, or all three. He finds a spot well clear of the array and opposite the door and carefully folds himself into a lotus position to meditate.

Peace evades him. Questions hammer at him—how much time has passed, if any? How could he be called to this new form? What are Jin Guangyao’s crimes, to inspire such a desperate response? Where is his brother, and does he have knowledge of them? Did he himself truly die? Did he succeed in saving Wei Ying?

He must have. He felt it.

He concentrates on the flow of his breath, counting inhale and exhale until only the rhythm itself holds his attention. When he is certain his mind is clear, he turns to relaxing his muscles one by one, in preparation for sleep. Even with so many unknowns, even with blood drying to flaking rust on his skin, these are somehow not the worst conditions he has ever slept in. Even this exhaustion, this weakness, this stink of blood in the air, is better than the fever and fear and stench of rot that was omnipresent in the Xuanwu’s den.

In the Xuanwu’s den he had Wei Ying’s company, frustratingly bittersweet as that was at the time.

He is halfway through humming Wangxian before he even realizes he’s started.

His throat aches. He loses the breathing rhythm.

He inhales slowly, and begins to count again.

on to part three

#wangxian #wangxianweek2020 #lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #mdzs fic #turnabout verse #cw: blood #cw: imprisonment #soulmates #alex writes

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grandhotelabyss · 3 years

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My Year in Books, 2020

Introduction

I don’t want to waste your time, dear reader, with a list of all the books I read in 2020—you can track that on my Goodreads, if you care—nor even a list of all the books I wrote about on my site. But I would like to take the occasion of New Year’s Eve to revisit some of my favorites. Please click below for the list. Happy New Year!

1. Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

Reading old books can help us understand the present better than reading new books, which are often too caught up in today’s doxa to offer a true perspective on today’s world. Austen’s first major novel is a good example; what can help us understand class and gender better than this 19th-century narrative? As I wrote:

Marianne Dashwood (or Lily Briscoe or Sula Peace) has triumphed: today, she issues defenses of desire on podcasts and Patreon and posts pictures of her swollen ankle and putrid tonsils for the fetishists among her OnlyFans subscribers. If Elinor still functions as her conscience, she does so in the administrative bureaus of the corporation and university—human resources, diversity and equity—where her job is to intercept and interdict threats to the untrammeled unfolding of Marianne’s consciousness. This metamorphosis has undoubtedly liberated the individual from the stifling convention of bourgeois domesticity, but is the place where it has installed her now, where she must sell soul and body by algorithm just to stay alive, any less a prison?

I thought I’d get cancelled for that one, but nobody seemed to notice. Here’s another chance, cancel crew!

2. Giovanni Boccaccio, The Decameron

Like everyone else and for obvious reasons, I read The Decameron in 2020, but it didn’t make much of an impression, besides its historical interest. This might be the problem:

The late medieval personae and settings are different from the postmodern ones: clergy in place of technocrats, princes in place of corporations, and a network of land and sea routes where fiberoptic cables now run. But Boccaccio himself, in writing a comic prose work that has, according to the scholar Robert Harrison, been called “a mercantile epic,” did much to prepare the way for our world.

I’m sure this is a mix of presentism and philistinism talking, but a literary culture divided between Dante and Boccaccio would seem to have something wrong with it. The best writers earlier and later—Homer and Sophocles, Shakespeare and Joyce—seem capable of synthesizing what in Dante’s divine comedy and Boccaccio’s human comedy are held forcibly, artificially apart.

3. James Miller, The Passion of Michel Foucault

I review a scandalous biography of the theorist who may or may not have made our contemporary world:

His identification of a new oppressed class, and his observation of oppressive power structures working in precisely those institutions meant in the modern period to correct the “barbarities” of ages past with their torture chambers and ships of fools, would change the western left forever. The “abnormal” subject (rather than the worker) was now the protagonist of history, power (rather than exploitation) the mechanism of oppression, and modern scientific and liberal institutions (rather than capitalist economics) the enemy. Foucault’s anti-psychiatry stance is now in abeyance—a recent viral Tweet promised that “under socialism all men will be sent to therapy,” an old chestnut of Stalinist terror that redefines political dissent as mental illness in an instance of exactly the thinking Foucault meant to challenge. But the drift of his thought, toward the emancipation of western reason’s underside, still defines for many what it means to be on the left today. If the left once promised, per the Internationale, “reason in revolt,” Foucault offered unreason in revolt.

4. Plato, The Republic

A much misunderstood book, in my view:

Socrates clearly describes the defects of the soul’s non-rational divisions; by contrast, reason, ordained as it is to apprehend the perfection of the idea, is presumably faultless. Yet I would suggest that Socrates’s forgetting that divine inspiration is the source of poiesis, even as he utters poetry in praise of reason, is a flaw. If the fault of the soul’s appetitive part is an insatiable quest for more and more physical satisfaction, and if the fault of the soul’s spirited part is a desire for victory or conquest without limit, then might we not theorize a parallel danger in the soul’s rational part? And doesn’t Socrates exemplify this danger when he follows the autonomous logic of his argument past all experience, including the poet’s experience of divine inspiration?

What if we took up the hint and patterned contemporary novels on Platonic dialogues?

5. Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

I have mixed to negative feelings about this cult classic, but I had fun introducing its conspiracy-laden plot with some paranoia of my own:

Finally, canvassing the Wikipedia entry on the novel before I read it, I found that among the endless occult paraphernalia Eco packed into the text was “[a]n obscure one-time reference to the fictional Cthulhu cult through a quote from The Satanic Rituals—‘I’a Cthulhu! I’a S’ha-t’n!’. The words closed a ritual composed by Michael Aquino.” Aquino was a high-ranking Satanist and a psychological warfare expert for the U.S. military; he co-wrote the notorious Pentagon position paper “From PSYOP to MindWar: The Psychology of Victory”. Understandably, he recurs again and again in the annals of American conspiracy theory: the politically paranoid on the right abominate him for his Satanism, while those on the left loathe his anticommunist and militarist commitments. Through a vector I’m not at liberty to disclose, I am only two of the proverbial degrees of separation away from Aquino, though I have obviously never met him or had anything to do with him or even discussed him with anyone who has. I imagine conspiracy theorists will promulgate this curious fact widely on the Internet to discredit me whenever I finally become as famous as I deserve to be, considering that I am one of America’s great writers. (Megalomania and paranoia: like horse and carriage.)

And no, I still won’t tell you how I’m connected to Michael Aquino.

6. Thomas Mann, Mario and the Magician

Writing on this classic semi-anti-fascist novella, I wondered whether “anti-” is always the solution:

It is an old problem: how not to become what we behold, how not to transform into one’s enemy—how to be sure anti-fascism doesn’t become fully indistinct from fascism itself. Given our psychology, with its tendencies toward projective and dichotomous thinking, and given political realities, which often make violent confrontation seem fated, this may be an insoluble problem. Perhaps every anti-[X] is doomed by the occult law of similarities to become [X]; perhaps our time is better spent in simply not being [X] rather than defining ourselves against and therefore by [X].

7. Cormac McCarthy, The Orchard Keeper

I took the opportunity of McCarthy’s preternaturally eloquent first novel to clarify a point of political economy:

As I insist on reminding everyone from time to time, even at the risk of repeating myself, Lenin argues in Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism (a book I don’t claim to understand in every particular) that the monopolization of capital is the necessary and final stage of history before communism. Monopoly represents “a new social order, a transitional one from complete free competition to complete socialisation”—i.e., let the corporations do the work of centralizing production so that the biggest corporate body of all, the state, can easily assume the economy’s commanding heights. Marxism, therefore, is not really a challenger to neoliberalism but only the loyal opposition. Hence the chief theme of McCarthy’s corpus: how the inherent flaws of humanity and nature, those organic defaults that make the marketplace a necessary evil in both serving and curbing self-interest, immeasurably worsen when magnified to the scale of organized planetary warfare in the very name of their correction by rationality—or, as a pair of unorthodox Marxists called it, the dialectic of enlightenment.

Conclusion

Speaking of the economy, though, my most important literary event of 2020 was the publication of my novella, The Quarantine of St. Sebastian House, my attempt to turn contingent crisis into permanent art. With that, I leave you. Let’s hope the poet had it wrong when he said, “Nothing changes on New Year’s Day.”

#literature #literary criticism #philosophy #critical theory #literary theory #jane austen #giovanni boccaccio #plato #michel foucault #umberto eco #thomas mann #cormac mccarthy

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