#can you tell i used to want to be a playwright

[lune-moon-nuit]

The Invisible Cage: How 1980s Society Shaped the Psyche of Closeted Gay Teens Like Mike and Will

We have unfortunately already seen, through anti-Byler arguments, the level of ignorance and homophobia they radiate — how deeply they downplay the widespread homophobia that forces gay people to conform, to hide, and to date girls under compulsory heterosexuality. And we constantly have to remind them of the time period in which the story is set, and just how complicated it was to be gay in the 1980s. These young teenagers act as if being gay has always been something easy or accepted, without even realizing that their own refusal to acknowledge a closeted gay boy like Mike (and of course, Will) stems from homophobic bias.

But while watching a documentary about a French comedian who was widely loved by the stage and the public from the 1980s, I couldn't help but think about all of this. In short, Pierre Palmade is a French comedian, playwright, director, and actor, born on March 23, 1968, in Bordeaux. He rose to fame as a comedian in the late 1980s and became a well-known figure on television. In theatre, he wrote, directed, and performed in many plays.

In February 2023, while under the influence of drugs, he caused a serious car accident for which he was later convicted of “aggravated involuntary injuries” and sentenced to five years in prison, two of which were firm. You’re probably wondering why I’m bringing up this fallen man who ended up in prison. Well, it’s because of the reason he fell into drugs in the first place — which sheds a harsh light on how homophobia and heteronormativity can be deeply (self-)destructive, like a tragic butterfly effect.

Of course, losing his father in a car accident when he was a child — a grief he never managed to process or express — laid extremely fragile emotional foundations. But Pierre Palmade himself admitted that his vicious cycle with cocaine began as a way to free himself from the shame he felt about being attracted to men. He started using drugs gradually while attending Parisian high-society parties after his career took off in 1987. And even though some close people around him (whether in show business or in his family) were aware of his sexuality, Pierre had a very hard time accepting it himself.

He even shared that his mother used to tell him: "You can do whatever you want, but you're not gay, so don't go shouting it from the rooftops. Think about your family. Don't shame me." You see the message clearly here, don’t you? This so-called acceptance from his mother was no acceptance at all. The classic “gays can do what they want — just not in public.” The very same mentality we see from anti-Byler people.

Anyway, dear Pierre began to live a daily cycle of work, performances, elite parties, and gay nightclubs — all accompanied by cocaine. He said cocaine gave him the courage and strength to dare to live out his homosexuality. But every time, it remained purely physical — he never allowed himself to fall in love. A part of him still hadn’t accepted his homosexuality and believed he couldn’t love or be loved as a gay man.

Doesn’t that remind you of a certain quote? “I’m not gonna fall in love.”

Society — and most likely his family, at least his mother — made it clear to him throughout his childhood that being gay wasn’t normal, that it was a problem, that he was a mistake. Eventually, Pierre ended up marrying a woman — Véronique Sanson, a French singer-songwriter and pianist twenty years older than him. He of course invited the entire French press to the wedding so that everyone would talk about it.

They stayed married until 2004. Véronique eventually became aware of Pierre’s homosexuality, but because of a deep platonic love, she accepted for several years to be his “cover,” because they were emotionally in sync, which allowed Pierre not to feel alone. Because despite his affairs with men — including male sex workers — he was clearly suffering from loneliness.

But despite repeated stints in rehab, Véronique eventually left him and filed for divorce, unable to bear his cocaine addiction any longer. His showbiz friends had all tried to talk to him and feared the worst, but nothing worked — he kept relapsing. After Véronique’s departure, while suffering even more from isolation, he sank further into three-day parties, orgies with male prostitutes, cocaine, alcohol, and other substances.

It was a car accident in 2023, caused while under the influence, that left several people gravely injured — including the loss of a baby still in the womb — that finally forced him to detox while awaiting trial. He served two years in prison, and the remainder of his sentence is under house arrest, where I assume he is regularly tested for drugs. He lost everything.

It’s a very sad story I’m telling you here, but I wanted to share it because he’s said more than once that he used drugs as a way to dare to live and accept his homosexuality. And I need people who minimize or don’t understand the devastating psychological toll of internalized homophobia and a homophobic, heteronormative society on queer people to really understand what that damage looks like.

Pierre Palmade’s way of dealing with his homosexuality was, quite literally, self-destruction through drugs. And this — in a world where he was relatively more accepted within his artistic circle in the entertainment industry. The most tragic part is, he had made some progress. He publicly came out in 2008. In 2009, he even created a show where he talked about how his homosexuality had shaped his life.

How many anonymous young gay men across the world have experienced similar patterns, similar behaviors?

And this brings us back to Mike. Obviously, in a far more toned-down and subtle way, he finds himself in a self-sabotaging situation, driven by internalized homophobia and repressed homosexuality — damaging his own relationships in Seasons 3 and 4 and creating that whole complicated dynamic with Will and El.

Psychologically, both Mike and Will live in a world where being gay is not just taboo — it's dangerous, humiliating, and almost unthinkable, especially for boys raised in small-town America. During the 1980s, homosexuality was still classified as a mental illness in the public imagination (despite being declassified by the APA in 1973), and even in more liberal circles, being openly gay came at a heavy cost.

For boys like Mike — who, unlike Will, might not even have consciously admitted his feelings to himself — the pressure to conform, to perform heteronormativity, and to suppress any deviance becomes a matter of psychological survival. This leads to internalized homophobia, where a gay person absorbs society’s hatred and fear of homosexuality and turns it inward — denying their own desires, sabotaging potential intimacy, and often projecting discomfort onto others. Mike’s distance from Will in Season 3, his inability to express genuine affection, and his overcompensating behavior with El are all symptoms of this inner war.

In the 80s, especially in middle-class, white suburban America, conformity was not just encouraged — it was enforced. Any sign of difference, especially in young boys, was policed through bullying, family pressure, and institutional silence. Being a “real man” meant being tough, stoic, straight, and emotionally detached.

Boys who displayed sensitivity, artistic inclinations, or emotional vulnerability were instantly labeled “queer,” “fa***t,” or “sissy” — often long before they themselves had the words or understanding to identify what they were feeling. Will, labeled "queer" by bullies and even by his own father, becomes the emotional scapegoat for this homophobic culture. Even if he had never come out or expressed romantic feelings for a boy, society had already decided who he was — and punished him for it.

This constant scrutiny forces boys like Mike into performance mode: dating girls not out of genuine desire, but out of social obligation; repeating phrases they don’t truly mean (“I love you”) because they believe it’s what’s expected. The sociologist Erving Goffman called this "impression management" — the need to present a socially acceptable version of oneself to avoid rejection.

No discussion of 1980s queerness can avoid the AIDS epidemic, which reinforced the vilification of gay men. In mainstream media, gay men were portrayed as deviant, diseased, or dead. This was not just a health crisis; it was a moral panic. Gayness became synonymous with death, sin, and societal decay.

Even though Mike and Will are too young to be part of the adult gay world, they are not immune to the collective anxietysurrounding it. Messages absorbed from the media, their families, church, and school all contribute to a worldview in which being gay is dangerous, shameful, and unlivable. This fear gets lodged in the psyche before a boy even understands his sexuality, creating trauma responses like avoidance, emotional detachment, or compulsive heterosexual behavior.

The story of French comedian Pierre Palmade echoes these themes with tragic clarity. Growing up in a similarly conservative and heteronormative context, Palmade repressed his homosexuality for years, despite being surrounded by artists and creatives. His drug use began not as a recreational indulgence, but as a means of survival — a way to dull the shame, loosen his defenses, and allow himself to experience queerness in secret.

His mother’s attitude — “Do what you want, but don’t say you’re gay, don’t shame the family” — mirrors the double standards still present today: tolerance without visibility, acceptance without pride. The result was self-destruction. His inability to love or be loved as a gay man — the deep belief that he was inherently unworthy — led him to sabotage every attempt at intimacy, burying himself instead in addiction and denial.

This is the tragic cost of internalized homophobia: it doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it whispers, “You don’t deserve love”, “You can’t be gay — not really”, or “If you are, you’ll ruin everything.”

Will’s line — “I’m not gonna fall in love” — is a subconscious refusal to admit he even can fall in love, especially with his best friend Mike.

What stories like Palmade’s — and fictional ones like Mike’s and Will's — reveal is that even in spaces where queerness is tolerated, it is rarely celebrated. The trauma of being closeted isn’t just about secrecy — it’s about believing your desires make you unworthy, your love less real, your identity a threat.

We must ask: How many young boys have lived this exact same story in silence? How many turned to self-destructive patterns because they were never allowed to see themselves in the light? How many never got a Will or Mike to love them back?

This is why representation like Byler matters — not just as a ship, but as a mirror held up to decades of erased stories. Mike and Will are more than characters: they are reminders of everything that was stolen from queer boys growing up in a world that never wanted them to know love could be theirs, too.

[teenagediirtbag]

‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ALA / across the multiverses

‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ “ if i speak of two, three fuckers, just know that they're ” ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ my multiversal and most bestest people/friends, they're with me ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ in every reality to exist, i‎‎ ‎‎‎‎won't elaborate further. my s/o is one of them, ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ he's my lover in every reality.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎JUJUTSU KAISEN ( HIDDEN INVENTORY )

follows the main story, but better? i'm a girl jujutsuing her way through. i don't have any more explanations, just know that IT'S my favorite dr ever ever ever.

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. high school hallways ; introduction

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎FAME

years of uploading songs to soundcloud just because i liked to sing—then one night it all changed. now me and my 3 best friends are eating ice cream on the floor, reading articles about me, and they're all screaming and plotting merch drops and accidentally scheduling meetings at 3am. i hired them, obviously. who else could i trust with this?

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. behind the veil ; introduction

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ALMOST HOME ‎

aka my better cr. where whimsy is the currency to living, where nonchalantness is a mere concept, where being a girl isn't a sin.... i love it there.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎CYBERPUNK 2077

night city never sleeps—it glitches and coughs up smoke and neon like it's trying to forget what a sunset looks like. everything's loud, really loud. there's a billboard yelling at you to buy synthetic emotions, and a few blocks away there's a drone scanning your face to guess your childhood trauma. beauty is rust with good lighting.

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. a nomad ; introduction

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. 6x6 ; moodboard

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎THE WIZARDING WORLD

ancient walls soaked in secrets, corridors folding like origami under our feet, portraits gossiping behind our backs, and every single corner is alive. (mainly hp. because i enjoy the plot.)

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. broken spells ; introduction

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ THE ‎SPIDERVERSE

everything spiderman—no, really. the amazing spiderman, the spiderverse movies. (they're my favorites) you name it. i am spiderman, i am gwen, i am mj, i am ned, i am everyone.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎INFAMOUS

i touched someone and my hands started emitting smoke—now the D.U.P wants my head in a box. also, i light cigarettes off my fingertips then scrawl my signature in spray paint on every surface like it's gospel.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ARCANE

not vi. not jinx. but a secret evil third thing. purple. that's my nickname. it has to do with a shimmer accident. i run with three other fuckups who feel like home in the way a collapsed building does: unstable, dangerous, and weirdly comforting if you squint. like, really squint. juuuuust kiiiiddiiiing, i would lay my life down for them, every single time, no—i mean it. i really mean it. i lov—

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. shimmer and glitter ; introduction

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎LITTLE WOMEN

playwright, storyteller, director, whatever you call it. i'm jo, and he's laurie—but if jo liked laurie back….. i live with my family. we eat well despite being poor. we read everything we can get our hands on. we talk over each other. we love loudly, you can hear it from here.

also, i have my best friends. they're always around. we meet at dawn and tell stories until one of us laughs too hard and ruins their clothes and we're forced to go back... but only for a little while...

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎CRUELLA

i'm cruella. he's jasper. the other two (yes, those two) are horace and the dog—but the dog is not a dog, she's a girl, a human girl... yeah. we're not a crew so much as a disaster held together by bad intentions and even worse decisions. we steal things. we scheme. we survive. fashionably, and dramatically.

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. born to be bad ; introduction

‎‎ ‎��� ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. the things i love about you ; me & him

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎MIKEY 17

i die. i wake up. i crash into him like clockwork dressed as coincidence (a sheep in wolf's clothing) + (yes, i changed it.) he looks at me like his dreams were a poor imitation.

the multiverses are screaming "THIS ONE", and i'm pretending i don't hear them. he also pretends he doesn't hear them. because what's love if it doesn't peel you then feast?

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. an expendable ; introduction

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. but nasha, she's always loved me ; me & him

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎THE BLACK PARADE

set in the 1800s. i'm a knight. he's a prince—utterly in love with me, and IS absolutely pathetic about it. he's on the verge of fainting when i so much as unsheathe a sword. he watches me train from his balcony and excuses himself saying 'he was out for air.'

this one was made because i AM crazy.

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. pledge your souls ; introduction

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. hand me the scrolls ; rumors in the castle

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

it's the 1900s. i'm a poet......... in.. the... tortured.... poets..... department...... cool right...............?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎1001 NIGHTS

it's like tangled, but twisted. i'm a thief—he's a prince. there's a dagger between us most days, and fake peace some other nights. i steal things. he lets me get away. over and over. and really—all the time. i guess this is the only time nepotism is encouraged.

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. trials in gold ; introduction

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎MADAGASCAR

crash landing. dust in our teeth, wind in our ears, sky spinning like a vinyl record stuck on the wrong track. we were aiming for home but ended up in the middle of africa. oh and we're humans.

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. flying suitcases ; introduction

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ PETER PAN (1953)

an open window and a boy who doesn't knock. he just barges in like he's been here a thousand times and this is the 1001th time. he flops down like the floor is a throne and says, "i want my shadow back." i help him—because it's ought to be a shame to lose your shadow.

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. second star to the right and straight on till morning ; introduction

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎. told by the lost boys ; me & him

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ SILENT HILL

yeah..... don't ask. it's only fun because the 3 fuckers are with me.........

‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎there's more, many, many more, but these are the ones i have the energy to write about—for now.

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎

[twinsarekeepers]

READ MY PINNED POST PLEASE!

I literally have to laugh every time I see that “Katara is supposed to be Zuko’s replacement sister!” argument against zk shippers. The evidence for it is always “well, Katara is Azula’s foil.” Right, you know who else is Azula’s foil? ZUKO. You know who THE narrative foils of the show are? AANG AND ZUKO! Like, unless you want to say that all these characters have interchangeable relationships, basically making zutara canon anyway, what’re we doing here?

Not to mention, that argument implies a pretty fucking weird concept that Zuko was choosing between his “sisters” in COD and SC. There’s a lot wrong with that, but we can just focus on how that would mean that Zuko and Katara would have to be set up as a sibling relationship and… oh boy, would that be one hell of a trip to Alabama, wouldn’t it.

The show itself never frames Zuko and Katara as siblings or sibling coded at all. All of their scenes together have a very blatant non platonic, non familial vibe to them and it starts IN BOOK 1. There’s a reason that “I’ll save you from the pirates” scene sparked the flame for so many zutara shippers. His lines to her in the spirit oasis fight are definitely not what someone would write to signal a future sibling like relationship, because that would be fucking weird. The entirety of the catacombs scene would have to be reworked because…

DUH! This is not how you direct characters who are supposed to have a sibling relationship.

These characters were written to have chemistry (the romantic kind), which OTHER characters notice, too. Like, please tell me why Iroh, Jun, and some random Earth Kingdom playwright are shipping those two together if they’re supposed to have the sibling bond Zuko’s always wanted with Azula?

And if we’re going down that line of thinking, Zuko literally doesn’t stop thinking of Azula as his sister ever, and there’s absolutely no way he’s trying to replace her lmao?? That’s his sister no matter what. It would be incredibly unhealthy for him to go around trying to replace her and project the bond he wants with her onto someone who literally doesn’t feel the same way. This isn’t some Uncle Iroh situation where it’s a reciprocal feeling, and also he’s Zuko’s actual uncle. Even then, Zuko never stops claiming Ozai as a father because he can’t change that shit, all he can do is face the fact that he comes from that family and do what needs to be done.

Also, how would Katara, a random girl with no previous relationship to Zuko and who already has her own brother, feel being viewed as some damn replacement for his sister instead of, you know, her own person in her own right with her own relationship to him that they created out of mutual respect for each other? Because if you use the argument that Azula is Katara’s foil to say that she can just replace Azula as Zuko’s sister, you’re completely disregarding the actual character of Katara because she exists outside of being Azula’s foil. She’s literally the deuteragonist who has an existing dynamic with Zuko, the other deuteragonist, before Azula is even introduced as a character.

AGAIN READ MY PINNED POST PLEASE!

[blueiight]

“what can the damned really say to the damned?” is what this episode asks. and well… “nothing.” is what the show answers us with.

we are introduced to louis and claudia as ultimate outcasts to the mortals around them and vampiredom: louis attempts to maintain the illusions of humanity in similar structures once more, casting grace as his lost wife and claudia as his daughter, as claudia seeks to find other vampires. armand, clearly pissed about the interview as is, decides to draw upon 150 years of prior work experience as a playwright toward the end of this episode, which is quite frankly, a bit much considering how daniel’s already scared shitless. and theres a terrible romantic specter in europe following louis thats named lestat. its a lot going on here, and im bound to not cover everything. i do want to cover dreamstat, and me and you(5x) but i will wait for the season to progress to do that^_^

‘He asked me if we could go home. Home? Can there be a more offensive question? Run back to New Orleans. Pry up his bones, why don’t you? Louis de Pointe du Lac, dead weight.’

louis and claudia’s tension in this particular episode revolve around the killing — or the betrayal that prevented the killing — of lestat. et tu, louis? stowaways on ships, trains, and wagons and a totally alien environment where even the blood is hostile to them, is it any wonder louis dreams of lestat? is it any wonder, having access to louis’s mind, in pursuit of some understanding of vampires beyond the facismile of the nuclear structure, that claudia continues to feel betrayed? i always think to myself, if claudia had qualities that made the average fan more sympathetic to her, would they understand how she was betrayed by louis specifically that night? would they be able to sympathize with claudia’s incredible perserverance despite, and because of, everything thats happened to her? and how that betrayal is the underlying tragedy and romance alike of the narrative that made 1940 mardi gras’s aftermath so haunting that louis in dubai did not remember it or was made not to until the other night?

following that in the flashbacks is when dreamstat first appears, clearly an extension of louis’s own mind at this own point, and he asks louis:

Four years of grim wayfaring, and still no sight of the benevolent vampire. So how does denial manifest itself tonight? … Was she worth it?

its so telling that lestat is the image louis calls upon to embody his most bitter feelings toward claudia in this sequence. dreamstat deserves his own breakdown, especially in relation to louis& claudia’s conversation when she first finds the revenant, as well as the wider events in dubai…

speaking of revenants, morgan in the show is a proto-daniel of sorts an abandoned journalist whos interest in photography exposes the illusion of grace the wife and claudia the impossible daughter, and tries to understand louis through the perspective of the mortal hes been given — did he go AWOL, or is he a black bolshevik? louis when questioned absconds, and closes up what little of himself he’s sold to morgan. its a smart way to include him in the narrative, as morgan is witness to emilia’s beheading after she was attacked by said revenant… and louis turns his head, truly embodying the detachment of the vampire in this moment. human affairs, their problem. this is a really good example of whats meant by ‘human affairs’ in the show, by the way. this episode features claudia & louis facing racism from military to children, and thats not framed as a ‘human affair’, but as one of many haunting aspects of their immortal existences.

claudia, in the pursuit for vampires, continues the metaphor of adoption in how she tries to find some sort of companionship and her current understanding of romania as this ancestral home to the vampire. whats also noticeable here is how claudia trying to make sense of centuries of legends is a striking parallel to how louis in the present day attempts to make sense of whats ‘true’ and ‘untrue’ from her diaries. claudia’s private accounts in the present that she never intended to be so deeply analyzed as anything other than her internal narrative in the moments she wrote them has become, to louis, a similar sort of legend thats necessary to decode for his own sense of self.

She writes here, ‘I do not dream.’ I can confirm that. At least, that’s what she said to me once when I was talking about one of my dreams which were erratic and often in those years. Of course, she might’ve just said that to shut me up, but yet… she writes it here so… let’s believe it. She continues. ‘We traveled light in our ancestral home. We slept in the earth, took circuitous routes around the mad army goose-stepping its way toward mother Russia…’

I woke that night to the sound of chaos erupting nearby. Claudia was, uh.. . she was dreaming. Her head twitching like you would. […] No, I can feel her. I can feel her next to me. She’s having a nightmare. What’s worse than a nightmare? If your soul’s projecting out its fears, at least it’s up and running. But the absence of anything? The void, the nothing, pieces… coming back. Hours, nights, objects surfacing in water… It was just something she’d wrote. But it wasn’t true. She could dream.

dubai louis’s recollection of claudia and the existential dread of eternally being damned, the terror of lacking a soul, a rather catholic fear but still having a sequence of memories that cycle back into an immortal brain, replay in this inversed sleep cycle, can be malleable, forgotten, poke a hole in louis’s attempt to utilize claudia’s diaries as but an extension of his own narrative, and offers a glimpse at what is truly at stake in this second interview.

[magicalbats]

Missing Pieces

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 18,168

Warnings: Afab!reader, ex lovers, forced proximity, bratty/immature behavior, pining and yearning, light smacking (cheek, tit, pussy), piv sex, biting, marking, some scratching, implied creampie but I didn't really talk about it in detail here lol

A/N: Aaaand here is the fourth commission! They wanted to stay anonymous for this one so I'll just take the chance to say again, thank you so, so much for bringing me such a fun comm! 🙏🥹

⭐

“That should about do it.” Faruzan announces with a huff of satisfaction. The last of her luggage now loaded into the cart, she wipes her hands of the task and turns to smile over at you. “Ready to go? We should make it to the coast by nightfall if we leave right away.” 

“I think so.” You murmur, tallying off a mental checklist in your mind. Hopefully you haven't forgotten anything. “It’s too late to go back and grab any last minute items, so I guess I’ll have to make do or hope we come across a traveling merchant on the way if I missed something important.” 

“Don’t worry, your always prepared and reliable elder packed plenty of extra necessities. You can just borrow mine if you need to.” She says, sounding quite pleased with herself. 

Sitting at the front of the wagon, the hired Eremite driver takes up the reins in preparation to set off at her signal, ready to go before the road got any more crowded than it already was. 

You smile at that, grateful and immensely glad to be making this trip with her rather than anyone else. A better resolution to your predicament couldn’t have been orchestrated by even the most talented of playwrights. 

The short few weeks of summer break at the Akademiya usually saw a peaceful lull in activity for the bustling city while teachers and students alike took the chance to recoup from the last semester. Under normal circumstances you would have spent this time at home, tending to your small herb garden that was more of a hobby than a real need, and preparing materials for the next course. 

But this year it’s different. The square is jam packed with people coming and going, sumpter beast drawn carts rattling off down the dusty road on a constant stream of departure, all with but one destination in mind. 

A particularly old ruin had been unearthed along Sumeru’s vast coastline just a few months ago when, at the height of typhoon season, one of the raging storms took off half of the rockface cliff looking out over the sea. Although there had always been long whispered rumors of the Kedarnath temple existing, no one had ever been able to pinpoint its exact location until now so it made sense that everyone wanted to see it for themselves. Amurta, Kshahrewar, Haravatat, it didn’t really matter. There was no telling what all would be found inside so every Darshan wanted in on the action. 

The demand had been so great, in fact, that you almost hadn’t been able to secure a ride for yourself at all. Even the rickety old farmer’s carts that were typically only used for transporting produce were a prime target for desperate researchers hoping to haggle them off the hands of their owners. It was only pure luck that your path had happened to cross with Madam Faruzan’s before you’d given up entirely. 

Looking at her now, you feel a swell of eager anticipation building in your chest. You couldn’t wait to explore the ancient ruins together. 

“Thank you again for bringing me along with you. I know you didn’t have to extend the offer but I really appreciate it.” 

“Oh, don’t even give it another thought. After all, I’m -“ Her gaze shifts just to the left of you then, focusing on something over your shoulder, and you watch as a delighted grin quickly spreads across her face. “My, if it isn’t another one of my precious juniors! Are you making the journey out to the coast too?” 

Turning in place, you glance to see who it is. Somehow you’re not the least bit surprised to find Kaveh standing there amidst the crowd, looking disheveled and deeply frazzled, but next to him is …

Your good mood instantly plummets and crashes into the ground at your feet. Anything but him. 

“Madam Faruzan!” The blond architect cries out, practically sobbing in high strung distress as soon as his eyes land on her. Completely oblivious to the sudden chill that’s come over you, he hurries up to the two of you with his arms loaded full of luggage. 

Carrying only a single pack slung across his back, Al-Haitham trails in his wake to come join you as well. 

And you don’t miss the way his calculating gaze lingers on you while he does it. 

“Goodness, what’s all this?” Faruzan asks, equally unaware of the sudden turmoil that’s kicked up inside your cramping gut. “Are you alright, Kaveh? What’s wrong?” 

Groaning a long suffering sound, he drops his burden in a haphazard pile at his feet and straightens up. “It’s all this idiots' fault! I told him we needed to leave before summer break started or we’d never make it out of the city, but did he listen to me? Of course not!” 

The idiot in question shifts his attention, utterly dismissing you now as he speaks to the group at large. “And I told you I still had administrative duties to attend to so I couldn’t just pack up and go. Not everyone is as under employed as you are.”

Hackles raising, Kaveh whips his head around with a low snarl. “You - -!” 

Your hackles raise too, not out of any particular need you felt to defend the blond, but on principle. Al-Haitham was still the same insufferable, pompous ass you remembered him to be. 

For better or worse, though, Faruzan cuts in before either of you can properly lay into him. 

“Now, now, children. There’s no need to fuss. We were just about to head out there ourselves so why don’t you join us? There’s plenty of room left in the cart.” 

All three of you snap your attention at her in near perfect unison. 

“What?” 

You watch with nothing short of fast mounting horror as Kaveh all but flings himself at her, dropping to his knees to clutch at the voluminous skirt of her dress. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Madam Faruzan, a million times thank you! You have no idea how much that means to me!” 

Sighing a doting sound, she consolingly pats him on the head while you try very hard not to panic. This couldn’t be happening. 

“W - wait,” you stammer at last, rousing yourself enough to shoot an accusing look over at Al-Haitham. “Why are you coming too? Kaveh at least makes sense as an alumni of Kshahrewar, but - but Haravatat doesn’t even focus on the study of ancient runes anymore! What are you possibly going to get out of this?” 

Sedately dragging his attention back around, he just looks at you with that uncomfortably piercing stare for an extended beat before he finally deigns to answer. “I could ask the same thing of you with that logic. But if you want the truth, I actually have very little interest in the temple itself. I was hoping to use this chance for a nice, quiet and peaceful vacation on the beach while everyone else was off exploring. Unfortunately since it looks like we’ll be traveling together I can probably kiss that quaint idea goodbye.” 

Instantly seeing red, you take a menacing step towards him. “Oh, I’ll give you something you can kiss - -“ 

“Children!” Faruzan calls out, drawing not only your attention but that of a few passersby’s as well. 

Teeth gnashing, you glance back at her but the disapproving scowl on her face stops you from flying off at the handle, at least for the moment. Seated behind her, the Eremite driver grumbles something unkind under his breath and impatiently drops the reins in his lap as if he expected this to take a while. 

“Come now. There’s no need for you to antagonize each other, is there?” She goes on chidingly. “We’re headed the same way and on top of that we’re all accomplished scholars in our respective fields too. We should be able to get along for the duration of a single trip, right? Unless, of course, there’s something you think I should know about?” 

Your shoulders stiffen slightly when she directs that question at you. 

The muscles along your back ache from how tightly you’re holding yourself but it only takes one look around you to know that you couldn’t possibly divulge the truth to her, not here. Not while you were standing in the middle of the city square and certainly not right in front of the eternal object of your consternation. Your ex lover. 

It was also much too late to back out of the expedition now when all of your stuff was already loaded into the waiting cart. You’d just make an even bigger fool of yourself if you tried to collect your belongings while everyone just stood there and watched on. Dammit. 

“No, Madam Faruzan. There’s not.” 

Nodding once, she turns her sharp golden eyes on Al-Haitham. “And you? Have you got anything to say?” 

“You’d better not ruin this for me.” Kaveh mutters as he climbs to his feet to stand next to the diminutive professor. The two of them made quite a pair staring him down like that, and it brings a bittersweet smile to your face as you turn to look at him too. 

Maybe with enough pressure he’d decide to just stay at home where he belonged. 

Unfortunately he takes one long look at each of you in turn and then sighs a heavy sound of relent. “There isn’t.”

“Good!” Faruzan chirps, giving her hands a single clap to signal that the matter was closed. “Then hurry up and get your bags loaded in so we can get moving. All of the best spots to set up camp are going to be taken by the time we get there.” 

Whooping a happy sound of relief, Kaveh quickly springs into action to get all of his luggage thrown into the wagon with Faruzan’s help. Neither you nor Al-Haitham immediately move though, and you just stand there looking at one another for a drawn out moment of terse silence. 

“What?” He demands at last. 

You petulantly lift your chin, daring him. “Are you really going to behave yourself on this trip?” 

“That depends. Are you?” 

“I’m not the one who — you know what. It’s fine. I don’t care anymore. Just stick to your stupid little beachside vacation and don’t bother me, alright? I’ll do the same and maybe we’ll both get through this ordeal in one piece.” 

Snorting a quiet laugh, he crosses his arms as if in outright challenge of that entreaty. “That’s just fine by me but I’d listen to my own advice if I were you. I have no problem keeping my mouth shut while you on the other hand …” 

A wordless growl claws at your throat but you remind yourself not to take the bait he was so very adept at laying. You’d had to learn that lesson the hard way years ago but you were better than that now. Older and wiser. He couldn’t goad you anymore if you didn’t let him. 

Of course that was easier said than done when he had such a particular talent for getting under your skin but you were determined to show him that he no longer held any sway over you. That period between the two of you had come and gone, so you turn your nose up with a delicate sniff as you pivot on your heel. 

“We’ll see who can outlast who then. You’ll owe me a stiff drink when we get back if you lose, as compensation for all of my pain and suffering.” 

“And what if I win?” 

“I’ll reconsider dumping your luggage into the ocean when you aren’t looking!” 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The ride out to the coast is not a very pleasant one, all things considered. 

Even when Al-Haitham manages to stay true to his word, keeping himself preoccupied with a book and only speaking when one of the others speaks to him first, you still find that just the simple act of looking at him inspires a very unpleasant feeling in you. 

Not that that was particularly surprising or unexpected, of course. You’d done everything in your power to avoid even finding yourself in the same room with him over the last couple of years for this exact reason. 

He’d hurt you. Maybe not physically, no, certainly not that. But the emotional wounds ran deep and you’re quite annoyed to realize that they still have the capacity to ache despite how much time has passed. At one point you’d even thought you might have loved him. Really, truly loved him in the way that lasts for a lifetime. 

It was not to be though, between the busy, mismatched work schedules that demanded so much of your time and his general attitude about everything which clearly had not improved one ounce since then. Worst of all, he still didn’t seem to have the self awareness to recognize when he was the problem rather than assuming everyone else around him had the issue. It was enough to have you grinding your teeth down to a fine powder. 

But you bite your tongue, determined to best him at his own foolish games and prove that he no longer held any influence over you like before. It almost seemed like the only thing that would save you and your sanity in the coming days. 

Desperate for a distraction from Al-Haitham’s presence there in the cart, you look around for something else to focus on.  

But Faruzan is much too preoccupied with chatting up the cart driver to give you her attention right now so you turn instead towards Kaveh who’s sat next to you on the groaning bench seat, working as an effective buffer between you and the source of your ire. It’s hard to keep your expression pleasant when you feel this on edge but you still offer him a smile that you hope isn’t too grim. Surely you could count on him of all people to chat with you. 

“I’m glad you caught us before we left. Making the whole trek out there on foot would have been a real pain.”

“Ugh, tell me about it!” He sighs, groaning softly in either exasperation or relief. You couldn’t always tell with him. “I probably would have just called the whole thing off if it hadn’t been for the two of you. It’s not like I need the research material for a thesis or anything but …” 

“But what?” You gently prod him. “What made you want to check this old place out then?” 

Kaveh shrugs at that, looking ever so slightly sheepish now. “Well, it’s always nice to study different kinds of architecture anyway, but if the rumors are true then this place should be pretty unique. I’ve heard that this temple dates back to the very start of the Dendro Archon’s rule, so it’s probably unlike anything I’ve seen out in the desert. I was just thinking … if something suddenly comes back into style now that everyone’s making the pilgrimage out to see it then I should have some idea what the layout is like and how it looks in person.” 

A genuine smile creeps across your mouth now, finding his reasoning charming and a testament to his commitment in the field of architecture. What an admirable guy. 

“So you want to be as accurate as possible if one of your clients asks for a similar aesthetic? That’s really amazing, Kaveh. I think most people would have crossed that bridge when they got to it instead of being this proactive.” 

He scoffs a quick laugh at that, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong, but if I didn’t take the chance now I wasn’t sure I’d have the means to make it out there when I really need to. I just wish it hadn’t been such a mad dash from everyone in the damn city trying to leave all at once. I’m really sorry for burdening you and Madam Faruzan like this.” 

Hesitating, you send a concealed look at Al-Haitham but he still has his nose firmly shoved into his book. As usual. 

“It’s no burden at all.” You murmur a little more tightly than you’d meant to. 

To your mild pang of surprise Kaveh does the same, shooting a sidelong glance at the scribe before bending his head closer to yours, speaking in a quiet whisper now. “I don’t mean to pry but … you and that idiot have a history together, right? I suspected, of course, just based on little things I’d noticed here or there. But the way both of you were acting back in the city …”

He gives his head another solemn shake and you feel your face quickly warming, embarrassed heat settling deep into your cheeks. 

“It’s not like that.” You rush to say, dropping your voice as well. But then it immediately occurs to you that no amount of adamant denial was going to change what he’d already seen with his own two eyes and you exhale slowly. “Not anymore, I mean. Whatever we had is long done and we’re both much better off this way. I don’t care what he does at this point.” 

His brows furrowing slightly, Kaveh searches your face for — something you can’t place. “Did he treat you badly? I mean, it’s not really any of my business or anything, but … you don’t feel unsafe with him here, do you?” 

You hadn’t thought it possible for your face to get any hotter but somehow you manage. “No, that’s not it at all. I appreciate you worrying about me, I really do, but I promise it wasn’t like that. He just … doesn’t know how to compromise. Or meet anyone in the middle.” 

“Tell me about it.” The blond snorts, rolling his eyes. 

A strange sense of camaraderie comes over you then with the realization that Kaveh was familiar enough with Al-Haitham to understand even a small fraction of what you’d gone through. He knew exactly how stubborn and unbudging the scribe could really be, and how difficult it sometimes was to deal with these quirks in his personality. 

It wasn’t even so much that he was unkind, necessarily, but … he was certainly hard to get along with at times. And maybe some of that was your fault too. You, who were impulsive and hardheaded, quick to anger, probably weren’t very easy to deal with either. 

Maybe if you’d pushed just a little bit harder to find a peaceful balance between the two of you … 

Banishing that decidedly dangerous thought from your mind, you reach over to take Kaveh’s hand in yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Thank you. I’m glad someone gets it but don’t feel bad about this. Al-Haitham and I agreed to keep our distance so we’ll just leave each other alone. No harm, no foul.” 

A flash of relief crosses his face, and he gives your fingers a brief squeeze back. “That’s good to hear. And I’ll try my best to keep him busy elsewhere when I can.” 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” 

Sliding your hand from his, you settle back against the bench seat to get comfortable again — or as comfortable as you can be in the shuddering cart. 

A stilted motion at your peripheral catches your attention though and you glance up just in time to watch Al-Haitham drop his attention back down at his book. You tense slightly, wondering if he’d been watching that exchange with Kaveh, but it’s not like you’d caught him staring full on or anything, so you couldn’t exactly call him out on it. 

Besides, you still had every intention of winning this silly little gambit of seeing who would break first and you flick your attention elsewhere with a huff. You wouldn’t let him bait you into a reaction no matter what he did. 

Famous last words and all that. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s late into the first evening when everyone finally finishes getting their tents set up and, at Madam Faruzan’s insistence, the four of you gather to share a communal meal with each other. 

You’d strongly considered telling her the truth when the cart had finally reached the long stretch of beach on the coastline and the two of you were blissfully alone. But even for as much as you trusted the crackwhip professor, you just couldn’t figure out how to broach such an awkward topic or how to convey the necessary information without sounding like a whiny teenager who’d been jilted. You didn’t want her to feel bad for inviting them along, for one thing, and you also weren’t sure how she would react to the news for another. 

More than anything you just wanted to get through this ordeal without everything blowing up in your face, so you ultimately decide not to say anything. 

And you were already exhausted from trying to navigate this frustrating situation as a result, knowing he was in such close proximity to you and liable to break your shaky truce at any moment when the thought to do so happened to strike him. The one and only comfort you had was Kaveh, finding solace in your earlier chance to confide in him and the fact he’d kept his promise to you by insisting that they erect their camp a little ways off to ‘give the girls some privacy’. 

You would have liked it much more if he could have convinced that idiot to go to the opposite end of the beach and break off from the two of you completely but, well. Beggars can’t be choosers. 

Now you’re sat on a blanket in the sand, grumpily picking at your plate of rice and meat, while Kaveh and Faruzan talk up a storm about … nothing at all that you could decipher. You liked them both just fine but together they had a habit of getting swept up in their own topic of conversation. That was probably just what happened when like minded geniuses got together, though. 

Across from you with only the crackling fire there to stand guard, Al-Haitham sits cross legged with his own plate in hand, disinterestedly watching them go back and forth about some interesting mechanical component or another. You didn’t really get it, truth be told. Although you were plenty intelligent you weren’t what most would label a genius … and that may have also played a part in the relationship’s eventual downfall, if you were being honest.  

That thought irritates you a great deal more than you’d like to admit. Of course you’d known exactly how intellectually gifted Al-Haitham was going into it but at first it hadn’t seemed to matter. He was smarter than you, so what? That didn’t bother you at all. 

It still doesn’t bother you. Why would it? 

You don’t even notice how hard you’re stabbing at your food now until Al-Haitham slides his attention towards you, peering at you over the little fire. This gives you a bit of a start and you belatedly realize you’d been staring at him. Dammit. As if this couldn’t get any worse. 

Forcing your lungs to expand on a long, deeply inhaled breath, you remind yourself that the relationship was long finished so there was nothing to get upset about and focus back on your meal. You weren’t really all that hungry though, truth be told. Your stomach had been in knots for most of the day thanks to him and you just didn’t have much of an appetite. 

Honestly you wanted nothing more than to go to bed and stew on everything where no one could see you pouting. And it didn’t exactly help your sour mood that you were so inexplicably out of sorts because of this either. 

You shouldn’t have felt anything at all for him at this point, whatever tender emotions you’d once harbored for him having been long neglected and left to wilt, but then why … 

Waiting until a sufficient stretch of moments has passed, certainly long enough for him to glance away, you warily lift your gaze to peer across the fire again. 

You give a small jolt though when you find him still looking at you, his expression unreadable but his observational interest in you was as clear as day within the reflection of his eyes. He was obviously watching you like one watches a lab rat to study its behavior, and that makes you prickle defensively. The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide it! 

Impulsively, and not really knowing why you do it, you childishly stick your tongue out at him and then quickly move to stand up. You had to get away from here. 

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Faruzan asks, disengaging from Kaveh to peer up at you when you stumble to your feet beside her. “Are you done eating already?” 

“Yeah, I think I’d like to clean up and go to bed.” 

“But you’ve hardly touched your food.” 

You hate seeing the flash of concern that crosses her face but you knew it would only get worse if you told her the truth now. She’d feel bad for you, guilty for inviting them along without asking you first if it was alright and she’d probably be a little mad too. At you for not being so forthcoming right at the start and at him for going along with it as if he were oblivious to any wrongdoings or bad blood between you and him. 

No, you’d just have to keep up the pretense that all was fine and dandy, at least until you got back to the city in a few days. 

“It’s alright, Madam Faruzan. I think the journey out here just took its toll on me, that’s all. I’m not exactly used to getting tossed around in a cart for hours at a time. I probably just need to sleep it off and I’m sure I’ll feel much better tomorrow.” 

“Alright, if you’re positive.” She relents, looking hardly convinced, but luckily she doesn’t try to push you on it. 

Gratefully stepping away from the campfire, you wander further out into the relative darkness of the beach, glad to put some distance between you and them. You needed a chance to breathe, to think.  

The cool breeze coming in off of the salty ocean current helps chase away some of the Sumerian summer heat and with it so too does some of your bad mood start to ease up. It whips at your hair and clothes as you meander further down the shoreline, guided by the flickering dots of other campsites. There are so many people here, each small group with their own blaze going to dot the sand well into the distance in either direction, that it’s not nearly as pitch black out here as it otherwise would have been. 

You can see where you’re walking, at least, as you wind your way a little higher up the hill that leads down to the water towards the collective Eremite camp waiting on standby at the top. They’d brought a few dogs between them, you’d noticed; all gruff, wild things that were coated in a seemingly permanent layer of sandgrit. You’d feed them the rest of your dinner and then crawl into bed. Honestly you might not even get out of it again until it was time to go home. 

But you only make it halfway up the incline though when a passing stranger loses his footing in the fine sand and stumbles into you, nearly sending you toppling straight down to the bottom again. The only thing that saves you is your quick reaction time and a hand snapped out to grab onto the offending arm of the man who fumbles at you to steady your balance. What remained of your dinner was not quite so lucky though, and you glance down in dismay at the now empty plate you were holding. 

Well, so much for that idea then. 

“Geez, I’m sorry.” He murmurs, partially slurring some of his words. Likely buzzed from whoever knows how many rounds of good luck toasts for the next day's expedition, if you had to guess. “I didn’t mean to trip into you like that. Are you okay? Do you want me to find you another plate of food somewhere?” 

Sighing through your nose, you give your head a terse shake. “No, that’s alright. But thank you. I was finished anyway.” 

The young man, an ambitious student at the Akademiya if you placed him correctly, lingers for another moment longer to issue more apologies before finally shuffling off on his own again. You just stand there and watch him to make sure he can make it down to the bottom safely before heaving a very tired groan. He hadn’t even recognized you as one of the Spantamad professors. Likely not in any of your elementalism courses, then. 

You click your tongue, undeniably annoyed by this, and turn to head back the way you’d come — only to plow directly into Al-Haitham’s rock solid chest. 

Reeling back with a startled squawk, you widen your eyes up at him in confusion. “You - -“

Catching yourself at the last possible second, you slap your free hand over your mouth. Shit. You’d sworn not to let him beat you and if he decided to be an ass about it (which he probably would) he could have easily insisted that you’d already technically broken your silent truce with just that one carelessly blurted word. 

That wasn’t fair though. It hadn’t been on purpose. He’d just surprised you, that’s all! 

Scrambling to find your resolve again, you narrow your eyes up at him over your fingers. Just daring him to try it. 

But all he does is cock his head ever so slightly to one side before drawing a purposeful breath. “I think we should talk.” 

Utterly flabbergasted now, you drop your hand to point an uncertain yet accusatory finger at him. “You broke first! That means you lose!” 

Irritably clicking his tongue, Al-Haitham bats your finger away with the backs of his knuckles. “I don’t really care about that right now. I’ll buy you an entire vault full of wine when we get back to the city if that’s what you want. I will say though, I hadn’t realized you’d developed a drinking problem since we were together. No wonder you and Kaveh were getting along so well.” 

Your brows shoot straight up to your hairline. “Is that what this is about? You want to talk about Kaveh?” 

“Hardly. I just thought it was cute, that’s all, the way the two of you were whispering about me.” 

“You … you were eavesdropping?” 

“I was sitting right there. What did you expect?” He volleys right back, and you start to feel the familiar curling of anger that only he could seem to inspire in you. 

“I expected you to mind your business, just like we agreed. Besides you always have those damn headphones on. I can never be sure when you’re listening or tuning me out!” 

He nods once, evidently in total agreement with that. “Which is precisely why I wear them. You know that. I’m not sure why you’re acting like this is something new.” 

For a moment you just stammer at him, so enraged by his attitude that you can’t quite find the words to snap at him with. But you finally settle on an impotent, half strangled shriek, and move to step around him. 

“This is exactly why I wanted you to leave me alone, I knew you couldn’t help yourself!” You grumble under your breath as you start to pick your way back down the hill, clutching the empty plate down at your side. “Any time we’re in the same place together you just can’t be normal and polite. You always have to push me until I give you the reaction you want!”

His hand is suddenly on your elbow, pulling you to a stop before you can reach the bottom and escape him. 

“Wait. I really do want to talk. Can you just listen to me for a second?” 

Practically snarling, you whip around to bare your teeth at him, trying to wrench your arm free but he won’t let you go. “I don’t want to hear it, Al-Haitham! There’s nothing I have to say to you and at this point I think you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’ve got nothing nice to say to me either. We’re clearly much better off apart, wouldn’t you agree? Now unhand me!” 

His mouth settling into a firm line, he pins you with an unrelentingly hard look. “No. I won’t. Not until you talk to me like an adult instead of throwing a fit like a spoiled brat not getting her way.” 

You positively see red. It flashes across your vision, drowning out and swallowing everything else in your line of sight. You’re left functionally blind for all of a split second and, hardly even realizing you’re doing it, you lift your boot and viciously bring it down on top of his foot, maliciously aiming right for that little peephole on top of his shoe with your heel. 

It’s hard to tell if you hit your mark or not but he gives a stiff jerk all the same, his expression pinching to accompany the soft, seething hiss that slips out of him. It still doesn’t look like either of you is going to back down though when he refuses to let go but you just grind your heel down on what you sorely hoped were his toes to further drive your point home and incentivize him. 

“Archon’s help me, Al-Haitham. I’ll scream at the top of my lungs if you don’t get off of me!” 

You can see a muscle in his cheek tick as he grinds his teeth, looking like he was considering the pros and cons of heeding your warning or not. 

“Don’t do this. Not right here in front of all these people.” He growls, low and dangerous. “Just come somewhere with me so we can discuss this in private.” 

At the sharp breath you proceed to suck in he evidently concludes that you aren’t bluffing and he finally snags his hand back from you, allowing you to jerk your arm away with an unintentionally dramatic flourish of your robe sleeve. Good call on his part, you think as you stumble back a step. At least he still had some sense left in that big head of his. 

You hated to act this way but it was a side of you only he seemed to be able to bring out. No one else infuriated you quite this much or insisted on pushing you further and further until you finally snapped. It was his own fault for never leaving well enough alone the first time you told him to drop it. 

Slowly straightening up across from you, he pins you with a glowering stare. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”  

A sharp, bitter laugh punches out of you. 

“Pot, meet kettle.” You snarl right back, practically spitting in your anger. “You’ve got a lot of nerve to put your hands on me like that. You lost that privilege a long time ago, you ass!” 

“What exactly do you want me to say?” Al-Haitham asks of you, sounding dangerously close to exasperation as he spreads his empty hands out to either side in what was clearly meant to be a show of innocence. “I’m sorry? I screwed up? That I’ll take all the blame and let you scream at me as much as you want if you’ll just hear me out for one goddamn second?” 

Huffing a bitter laugh, he shakes his head and drops his arms before going on. 

“I don’t think that’s very fair of you to lay all the blame on my shoulders but if that’s what it takes then so be it. You’re mad at me and I get that. I might even deserve it. But how can I expect to make any amends with you if we can’t even have a normal conversation without you lashing out at me?” 

You stand there, impotently trembling, while you try to figure out how to respond to that. He was being perfectly reasonable, sure, and what he’d said even made some amount of sense. But you really didn’t want to hear it right now. You weren’t sure if you would ever want to listen to him break down every little thing you’d done wrong, everything you’d ever said to him that could be used against you, of which you were certain there must be plenty. Al-Haitham was much too intelligent to have missed any of it or to forget, and he certainly had more than enough brain capacity to store it all away for later use even years down the line. 

Maybe you were equally at fault for the relationship falling apart, but you weren’t even close to being in the right headspace to hear him list out every single one of your shortcomings and personal failings in excruciating detail. Honestly you probably never would be. 

“I don’t care.” You finally hiss. “That’s your problem, not mine. Figure it out yourself.” 

Quickly spinning around, you don’t give him a chance to respond any further as you stumble down the rest of the hill as fast as you dare to go on the uneven terrain. Coming here had been a mistake. You should have put your foot down as soon as it looked like he and Kaveh would be traveling with the two of you, even if it had made you look like an overly emotional dolt. 

You should have just stayed home and tended to your herb garden like you’d originally planned to before this godforsaken temple had been unearthed. 

You should have, should have, should have! There were too many to count. 

The timing of all this was so strange though, almost too perfect to be mere coincidence or happenstance. Bumping into Faruzan when you had and then your ex. The whole trip that you wouldn’t have even thought to take under normal circumstances. Maybe the Kedarnath ruins were actually cursed and this was just their way of punishing you for your hubris. 

In all honesty you probably deserved it. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A curse …

That thought keeps ringing in your head, over and over again, even when the next morning rolls around and you find yourself standing at the foot of the ancient, stone carved staircase that leads up into the side of the cliff. Was it really possible that this place was cursed? 

You’re not so sure of that yet, not entirely convinced that such things were real or that they had any bearing on reality. But what you did know beyond any shadow of a doubt was that if curses were real and this bygone temple housed one then you were most definitely a victim of its preternatural powers. 

Exhaling a deep, long suffering sigh, you glance to your right where Kaveh stands, mouthing a silent ‘I’m sorry’ at you. On the other side of him, tall and proud, Al-Haitham doesn’t even glance over or acknowledge your presence, though you’re sure he’s just as hyper tuned to you as you are to him. It seemed like a fate you just couldn’t escape no matter how hard you tried. 

Standing before your intrepid group of unlikely explorers, Madam Faruzan looks down on the three of you from her vantage point on the second step up while handfuls of people file by, eagerly chatting away. With her hands braced on her hips like that, she looked more likely to scold you like misbehaved children in her classroom than to rally everyone together with a rousing speech about camaraderie and teamwork. 

This trip truly could not have gotten any worse. 

“Well, well, I see you decided to join us today.” She says to Al-Haitham, clearly quite pleased to see him standing there ready to embark with everyone on this ill fated expedition. “I thought you said you had no interest in the temple. What changed your mind?”

“Nothing in particular. I guess curiosity just got the better of me.” He tells her but then, making his tone pointed and deliberate, he adds, “I hope that’s not a problem?” 

You ball your hands into tight, angry fists down at your sides. That had definitely been meant for you. 

But before anyone else can speak, Kaveh rather roughly clears his throat. “Ah, sorry. That was kind of my fault. I tried to convince him to stay behind so he could have that peaceful vacation he wanted so badly, but he wouldn’t listen to reason. He never does, honestly. I understand if this is more trouble than it’s worth to bring us along with you.”

“Nonsense!” Faruzan insists. “All are welcome here. The more the merrier, right?” 

Beaming, she looks at each of you in turn rather expectantly but no one has much to say at that moment, either keeping their attention down or averted, or simply refusing to acknowledge that question with a response.  

Her smile slowly fading, she glances between everyone again. “And what’s with the long faces, huh? Don’t tell me you’re not excited about exploring the ruins.” 

“Uh, that’s not exactly it, Madam Faruzan,” Kaveh starts to say but you decide to take the plunge and step forward to stand center stage. You may as well just get this done and over with. 

“I don’t have a problem with it. I’m looking forward to this even if we do have a few unexpected tag alongs with us.” You say, keeping your tone neutral. “I’m sure once we get inside we’ll probably want to split up anyway, since each of us specializes in a different field and everyone might not be interested in the same things as the others.” 

Faruzan starts to look a little perplexed now, curiously putting her head to one side, but she still slowly bobs her chin in agreement. “Very true, and we can always reconvene back at the tents later. That way we can all get what we want out of this trip.” 

You almost breathe a sigh of relief at that, even though you can tell by the sharp gleam in her golden eyes that you were going to have some explaining to do the second you and her were alone. It seemed like she couldn’t overlook the strange behavior any longer — but Al-Haitham suddenly cuts in before either of you can make another move to speak. 

“As logical as that may be, I don’t think we should overlook the fact that this is an only recently unearthed ruin. There’s no telling what sort of conditions the structural foundations might be in, especially with this many people coming and going after so many years of neglect. It’s probably smart if we stick together in case something were to happen.” 

At that Kaveh heaves a very tired sigh behind you, muttering under his breath. “Al-Haitham …” 

You just close your eyes and count to ten though, telling yourself again and again that you couldn’t afford to lash out at him here. It was one thing to do it in front of strangers who wouldn’t dare to intervene when one party was the big, scary grand scribe of the Akademiya but Faruzan was another matter entirely. She’d probably try to cuff both of you by your ears for squabbling like children in front of her. 

At least you’d tried though. 

“Fine. Do whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me later that you're bored.” 

With that thinly veiled warning tossed over your shoulder, you step up onto the stairs and loop your arm around Faruzan’s, using it to tug her into motion with you. She sends you an odd look as the two of you begin to ascend the aged and cracked stonework steps together but you only shake your head. 

“I’ll tell you what’s going on later.” You whisper, earning a quick scoff from her. 

“You’d better. The tension between you and that boy has gotten way out of control.” 

You internally cringe at that, wondering when she’d started to catch on and how much of it she’d willfully chosen to overlook. It seemed likely to be the whole thing at this point, if you were being honest with yourself, and you really weren’t looking forward to the way she was going to lay into you when it came time to confess everything. 

For now though you decide to focus on the temple. It was of an interesting architectural design, and you understood where Kaveh’s interest in it had stemmed from. 

It had been carved directly into the rockface inside of an existing cave system, according to historical texts as well as the early field reports you’d been glued to back in the city, pouring over each and every single one that came in. That’s how it had remained hidden for so long from probing human eyes but that had not protected it from the sometimes harsh elements of the sea. The typhoon that had finally torn away the exterior wall of the cliff side had just been the final nail in its coffin. 

The evidence of its destructive power is all around you in the form of large, craggy boulders that had only been moved aside enough to allow entry into the temple grounds. It looked like the storm had kicked up enough power to cause a partial cave in, and you could see that at least one side of the stone pillar entranceway had been completely crushed in the process. But the monument itself seemed to be tucked inside the belly of the limestone enough to have only taken some surface level damages here or there, though it would have been much worse had it been out in the open this entire time, slowly being buffeted away by the wind and the rain. 

Instead it looked like it had seen regular flooding of the cave network over the long centuries, seeing as everything down at the ground level was covered in a thick layer of algae and the now dried remains of barnacles. The heavy odor of low tide was thick down at the bottom but the steps are steep, and as you climb higher and higher, you gradually start to escape the clinging smell of saltwater and old fish. The air begins to clear little by little until, at the top, the only thing you can truly smell is the salt wind on your face. 

Upon crossing the small landing and stepping into the long forgotten temple, you’re greeted by over a dozen researchers and scholars, students eagerly investigating the inscriptions on the walls, the statues of a goddess wreathed in vines and flowers. Your excitement quietly flares back to life, feeling the same eagerness as before to learn the ins and outs of this place. 

But unfortunately you’re much too hyper aware of Al-Haitham and Kaveh trudging along behind you just at your backs to truly enjoy any of it so you quickly decide it’s too crowded here. 

Steering Faruzan along, you lead her through a series of short halls and antechambers, past decorated doors and interesting looking mechanisms that Kaveh ooh’s and aah’s about, whining when you refuse to slow down long enough for him to get a better look at any of it. To his credit, though, he seems reluctant to leave Al-Haitham with you unattended and he doggedly keeps in tow despite his steadily increasing grumbles. You felt a little bad about that, in truth, but you appreciated his kindness all the same. 

You’d have to remember to properly thank him for it later. 

It feels a little too much like Al-Haitham is actively pursuing you like this for you to stop trying to outrun him though, and you end up blindly zigzagging your way deeper and deeper into the temple in your futile attempt to lose them. 

Eventually you even notice the crowds of people starting to thin out until it’s just the four of you shuffling down a random corridor with only the gentle glow from a small ball of anemo Madam Faruzan had summoned into her palm to light the way when your lanterns couldn’t pierce far enough into the darkness anymore.  

And it suddenly occurs to you then that you really have no idea where you are now, and Al-Haitham was still pretending to be your ever present shadow. Burn everything. He really never knew when to give up. 

“Sorry to be the one to ask this but are you going somewhere in particular or is your goal simply to get us lost?” He says, the sound of his voice bouncing off the stone walls around you to make it seem like he was pressing in on you from all sides. 

Claustrophobia wasn’t usually a problem for you, but the deeper you wander into the side of the cliff and as it gradually becomes stiflingly hot deep within its bowels, the more you can feel panic starting to grip your chest. 

“Shut it. I don’t want to hear that from you right now.” You grumble, focusing on the end of the path up ahead. Looked like it opened up into a room, or perhaps yet another antechamber. 

“My apologies.” He concedes, surprisingly affable. “When would you like to hear it then? After you’ve gotten us stranded so deep that no one can find us or right before we all die of dehydration?” 

“You know what - -“ 

“Look.” Faruzan snaps at the both of you to get your attention. “I think this might be some kind of vault.” 

You whip your attention back around just as your unlikely band of adventurers reaches the stone archway. What kind of vault? 

The answer comes as soon as you step over the threshold, head tipping back, back, back to take in the high vaulted ceiling overhead. It’s the widest room you’ve stepped into thus far, and for that you're immensely grateful. It felt like you could breathe a little easier now as you slow to a halt just inside the room, and you take a moment to simply feel the oxygen moving through your lungs. 

Meanwhile Kaveh noises a curious sound and shuffles off to the side to look at something, Faruzan trailing after him with equal interest. As she moves further away the strength of her little light fades and you find yourself standing in relative darkness when Al-Haitham comes to stand next to you. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, much too bluntly for you to believe his sincerity, and you scoff. 

“As if you actually care.” 

“I do.” He insists, making you squint up at him through the heavy shroud of shadow hanging over the room. You weren’t sure what he was playing at here but you didn’t appreciate it. 

“I’m not falling for that just so you can give me more attitude about everything I’ve ever done wrong.” You hiss at him in a viscous whisper. “What were you just saying a moment ago about getting us lost in here? If it was that much of a concern for you then you should have gone off on your own where I couldn’t bother you so much!” 

Drawing a clipped breath, Al-Haitham shifts a little closer to you until you can feel the vague sensation of body heat coming off of him. “You don’t bother me. It’s your way of thinking that sometimes does. You’re standing here looking like you’re about ready to faint but you won’t even give me a simple answer to let me know whether or not you’re okay. How does that make any sense?” 

A cold note of surprise stabs through your grumpy irritation. “Are you seriously watching me that closely?” 

He gives a soft click of his tongue, unseen when your lantern was hanging down at your side but certainly not unheard. “It’s a little hard not to given our history together, wouldn’t you say?” 

For a harrowingly long moment poised right there on the precipice of some monumentally great freefall, you have no idea how to respond to that. It was sweet, wasn’t it? That he should still care for you on some level rather than desperately clutching at whatever bitter feelings he might have had. Unlike you. 

But you don’t exactly like having your own petty streak thrown back in your face like this, and you bristle defensively. “That’s some amazing powers of observation you’ve got there. Too bad you couldn’t have employed them when I was still sleeping in your bed to notice when I was unhappy with the way you were treating me!” 

Al-Haitham stiffens there in the darkness. You’re so attuned to him even after all this time apart and at odds with each other that you can sense the way his body gives a faint jolt in response, and you’re immediately swept up in a numb swell of guilt. Oh, why had you said that?

But before either of you can continue the exchange, Madam Faruzan calls over to you. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but you two should come check this out as well. I think we found something quite interesting here.” 

You hesitate to heed her summons, unsure if you should leave that last statement hanging like this. But Al-Haitham manages to shock you when he quietly relents, carefully reaching out to touch a hand to your elbow. At his gentle nudge, you allow him to turn you around and guide you towards the faint glow of teal on the other side of the room. 

Coming up alongside the others, you glance down at what they’re looking at to find a stone array built into the floor, directly in front of what appears to be an altar of some kind. Faruzan and Kaveh’s interest in the mechanism made perfect sense but you were not overly familiar with puzzles or ancient technologies to grasp what it might be used for or its significance. 

Humming a thoughtful sound, you reach out to lightly brush your fingers against the top node that was currently empty but looked like it should have housed … something. 

And your brows immediately take an expeditious trip up to your hairline. “It’s faint but I can sense the lingering traces of elemental energy in this thing. It must need a vision wielder to …” 

To do what, you’re not sure. 

Ever the sharp witted one, Al-Haitham helpfully chimes in to finish your thought. “It’s probably safe to assume that there must be a secret room or compartment behind the altar that opens when this is lit. It could be the key component of a much larger mechanism too.” 

“Right?” Kaveh eagerly adds. “I don’t think anyone else has made it this far into the temple yet so no one’s checked this out. Who knows what might be behind this thing.” 

“But which element does it need?” Faruzan asks, glancing over at you. 

You’re a bit surprised to suddenly have everyone’s expectant attention on you but in all actuality it wasn’t so strange that they would look to you for an answer. You were the only elementalism specialist on the team, after all — so you focus all of your concentration on the node and try to pick up on the residual energy inside of it. 

It’s futile though, and you finally click your tongue. “No good. The elemental particles are too old and decayed, I can’t distinguish what they are. Could be pyro or maybe … electro?” 

You glance up, expecting to find expressions of disappointment all around. Between the three of them there was only dendro and anemo readily available, and you were not lucky enough to have been blessed with a vision yourself. It makes you feel useless and even more insecure to be standing there as if you were their equal, undeserving of someone as accomplished as Al-Haitham. 

To your surprise, however, Faruzan looks anything but put out. 

“Don’t fret. We’ll just have to find the answer for ourselves then.” She says with a reassuring grin. 

“She’s right.” Al-Haitham agrees, surprising you most of all. “There might be clues in here that can point us in the right direction. And if all else fails we can always figure it out through process of elimination. Let’s try looking around.” 

You’re admittedly a bit taken aback by the abrupt unity of the mismatched group, not having expected this level of cooperation to come out of such a trying ordeal. But, reminding yourself that all of you were first and foremost scholars, you turn and start to make your way further down the wall while Kaveh and Faruzan go the opposite way together. 

And then you realize a certain someone is trailing behind you like a lost puppy. 

“Why are you following me?” You hiss over your shoulder, lantern swinging from your hand to cast odd shadows around the room. 

“I’m not. We just so happen to be headed in the same direction, that’s all.” 

“Then pick another direction!” 

Al-Haitham outright scoffs at that and you whirl on him, glowering through the gloom. 

“I do appreciate you being somewhat civil for once but this doesn’t mean we’re back on speaking terms. Especially not when you’re acting so strange. One minute you’re being a complete ass and then the next you’re acting like you actually care … I really don’t understand you sometimes.” 

“Oh, the feeling is mutual, trust me.” 

Gnashing your teeth, you growl a low sound of warning up at him. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care. But leave me alone!”

Spinning on your heel, you stomp away from him with a frazzled huff. You were starting to lose your already tentative grasp on the situation each moment you spent together. Did he hate you or not? Did you hate him? You’re honestly not so sure. Nothing made sense anymore, and at this point you’re not quite convinced it ever did. This was a spectacular disaster of a summer break. 

“Hey, watch your step.” He calls out behind you, but you really don’t want to hear it right now. 

“Just mind your business. I don’t have to listen to you!” 

And that’s where everything suddenly goes wrong. 

You stomp your foot once on the ground, feeling childish and petulant for doing it, but your boot goes straight through what you’d thought was solid stone. A squeak of surprise slips out as you fall, your balance disrupted by the unexpected jolt. 

But when you land hard on your ass the floor drops underneath you with a violent shudder. You only have a split second to comprehend what’s happening, to hear the alarming sound of rock crumpling and giving way, and then you’re free falling. 

It all happens so fast that you’re only distantly aware of Al-Haitham shouting your name but it’s too late. Your stomach lurches up into your throat, threatening to choke you as you tumble head over heels amidst the rain of rubble and debris. Something grabs at your flailing arm in the rush of motion, snagging it and holding on so tight it hurts as you drop for what feels like a disorienting eternity. 

Until you suddenly aren’t falling anymore and you slam into a freezing cold body of water that rushes up around you in the blink of an eye, swallowing you whole while you’re still reeling from the sudden shock. 

You realize then that it’s a hand wrapped around your wrist like an iron manacle when it yanks you upward, stopping your descent and instead pulling you back up towards the surface. Instinct takes over as you kick your legs out, following that unseen but much appreciated guiding force until you at last break free, gasping and blinking through the salt water that stings your eyes. 

Bobbing in the shallow pool next to you, Al-Haitham roughly gathers you to his chest to help keep you afloat, encouraging you to use him like a safety buoy.

“Are you alright?” He barks, a little more forcefully than he probably meant to as one hand comes up to gingerly feel over your sopping wet hair. “Please tell me you didn’t smack your head on the way down. I don’t know how fast we can get you to a medic if you’ve got a concussion.” 

Wildly trembling, from the fall as much as the soul sucking chill of the water, you struggle to find your voice. “N - no, I’m okay … I’m okay, Al-Haitham. I’m just a little — shellshocked, I think.” 

His hard expression eases slightly, soothed by the broad brushstroke of plain faced relief. “Good. Just put your arms around me and I’ll get us out of here as fast as I can.” 

You look at him through the numb haze of disbelief then, belatedly realizing that he’d jumped in after you. He hadn’t even hesitated, had he?

“Are you guys okay!” Kaveh’s panicked voice rings down from above before you can examine that thought any further, the sound bouncing off the walls, and both of you glance up to see him as well as Faruzan peering down the hole at you. 

You’d lost your lantern in all the chaos but Faruzan’s once tiny, spinning ball of anemo had swelled in size to illuminate a much greater area now. It pierces through the dense shadows and gloom to reach the bottom where you were, making the two of them look like saviors sent from the heavens. 

“We’re in one piece!” Al-Haitham calls back. “Think you can help us out of here?” 

Faruzan immediately straightens up, clearly bracing to jump. “I’m on it!” 

A swell of relief washes over you. Thank the gods one of you had an anemo vision on this trip. 

But before she can take the plunge Kaveh suddenly shouts and yanks her back from the edge, seconds before a large chunk of rock comes crashing down on top of the you-shaped hole in the ground. You have a split second to think that you’ve inadvertently caused a massive cave in but Al-Haitham is quick to jerk you away from the center of the pool where fresh debris was now raining down on top of you. 

Small rocks and chunks of stone pelt at your heads as he swims the two of you further out to the edge of the water that had flooded the center of this chamber. There you find higher ground and both of you stumble up onto relatively dry terrain, waterlogged and shaking, but still relatively unharmed. He practically drags you with him, in fact, taking you right off your feet until he seems to deem that you’re far enough from the water to set you back down. 

Groaning, you sink to the floor and swipe the hair out of your face before glancing upward again. You’re more than a little surprised to find Faruzan’s swirling anemo ball hovering just under the ceiling, flashing every few seconds as if in time with her heartbeat. At least she’d left you with the means to see. 

Thanks to that, you’re able to make out more of the room as well as the fact that the hole through which you’d fallen seemed to be covered now with whatever had collapsed on top of it. Honestly it was probably a miracle that you and him hadn’t been crushed. 

“We’re trapped.” You announce, not knowing why you say it but feeling like you need to. That much was obvious with just a quick glance at your surroundings. 

Standing over you, Al-Haitham seethes a low sound while he tries in vain to ring out the sleeve of his heavily sodden cloak. “Just sit tight for a moment. We’ll figure something out.” 

Tipping his head back, he raises his voice to reach the next floor up. 

“Kaveh!” 

“I’m here!” The blond’s voice filters through the stone, muffled and distant. “The pillar in the corner collapsed and I don’t think we can move it by ourselves! Are either of you hurt?” 

Al-Haitham glances at you, waiting until you shake your head. “No! We’re fine, but we need your help to get out!” 

“I know! We’ll have to find someone with a geo vision, otherwise I think this whole place is going to give out! There has to be at least one person here … just wait for us there while we go ask around!” 

“As if we could even go anywhere.” He murmurs with a heavy sigh. 

Evidently trusting Kaveh to see to this task without further input from him, he then turns towards you. Al-Haitham hesitates for only a moment before he drops down to one knee, reaching out to once again brush a careful hand over your head. “Are you sure you’re not injured anywhere? That was quite a fall you took and all that debris … you need to be honest with me so I can check how bad it is if you’re hurt.” 

“I’m fine.” You assure him in a small voice. It had been a very long time since he last touched you like this, so tender and deliberate, and you’re quite embarrassed by the warm flutter it kicks up in your gut. “What about you? I wouldn’t have thought you’d jump in after me like that.” 

Breathing a tight exhale through his nose, Al-Haitham eases back to look at you full on. “And why is that? I already told you I still care about you, didn’t I? I’m not some heartless beast, you know.” 

“Then why didn’t you show me that when we were still together?” 

An odd expression crosses his face. “You want to have this conversation right now? I can’t say your knack for timing has improved much over the last few years but alright. I suppose I can bite.” 

Settling more firmly on his knees there in front of you, he levels you with an unexpectedly sincere expression. 

“In all honesty? I thought I was. I tried to make time for you as much as I could, whenever I could, but you were even more busy than I was. It’s difficult to make plans when both of us have a bunch of obligations to attend to, isn’t it? And I’ll just remind you that that’s exactly why I didn’t take a teaching job at the Akademiya. I didn’t want such a full schedule.” 

Even though he would have gotten top priority for almost any position if he’d wanted it.

You flush slightly at that, hating to reopen this bitter wound yet again when it felt like you’d done nothing but pick at it relentlessly since yesterday morning. For once there was no easy escape route though and you didn’t see any way to skirt around the topic. The two of you had nothing but time on your hands while you waited to be rescued, after all.  

It seemed you’d just have to swallow your pride and face this head on. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I know it’s partially my fault too and you’re not the only one to blame. I could have tried harder or been a little more patient with you but … you have to understand how you talk to people sometimes, Al-Haitham. Even if you didn’t mean it that way, it always felt like you — like I wasn’t good enough. Like I didn’t belong with you because I wasn’t as smart or as accomplished, or as blessed by the gods. I don’t even have a vision. What do I possibly have to offer you?” 

His mouth tugs into a genuine frown at that instead of the usual neutral set of his jaw that you were used to. That makes you feel a little nervous about how he’ll respond, half expecting him to lay into you with a scathing remark or two, but all he does is ponder over it for a drawn out moment. 

Then he finally draws a purposeful breath. “I don’t care what you have to offer or not offer me. That’s irrelevant to this and any other discussion.”

“Huh?” Confusion makes your brows knit together as you sit up straighter in front of him despite the hunched shuddering of your shoulders. Gods, you were cold. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means exactly what I said. Don’t start getting cranky now. You were right to say that you’re partially at fault too, and that defensive streak is exactly what always gets you into trouble. There’s no deeper meaning behind my words no matter how hard you try to look for one or obsess over it. I’m always upfront with everyone, including you. It’s not my fault if someone doesn’t like that.” 

“B - but then …” 

Al-Haitham nods in agreement, not needing to hear the rest of your unasked question. “I don’t find you lacking or undeserving of my time, and certainly not because you don’t have a few more academic accolades under your belt. And really, a vision? That’s the farthest thing from my mind when I consider if someone is important to me or not. The exact opposite, in fact. I’ve always admired how hard you push yourself despite having no natural advantages or innate abilities to make life any easier for you. You’re not a genius, so what? You’re still one of the smartest people I know — when you’re not acting like a brat, that is. And you got there all on your own merit. That’s far more impressive than someone who’s naturally gifted reaching the same milestones.” 

You’re not quite sure if you should feel immensely flattered by that little speech or if you should reel back from him in shock and demand where the real Al-Haitham was. Brutally honest, yes, but this candid? That didn’t really seem like him at all. 

But you finally settle on some confounding combination of the two, feeling yourself warm up to his presence there with you. It was like the ice around your heart was slowly starting to thaw. 

“Thank you.” You murmur, tentatively smiling. “For that and for trying to save me when I fell. And … I’m sorry too. For always being so stubborn. This is what you wanted to talk about last night … isn’t it?” 

“It was.” He dips his chin in a curt nod. “But between the both of us, I’d say we can both be equally stubborn at times. I understand why you didn’t want to hear me out, and I’m — also sorry for how our relationship ended. Believe me, I didn’t want it to come to that. When you said you wanted us to go our separate ways I thought of nothing other than trying to stop you and convincing you to change your mind, if that counts for anything.” 

“… then why didn’t you?” 

Momentarily dropping his gaze, Al-Haitham seems to think on that for a moment before lifting his attention again. “I wanted to respect your wishes, first and foremost. If you weren’t happy with me then I wanted you to move on and find your happiness elsewhere. It only seemed like the logical conclusion at the time. But … you haven’t been with anyone else since, have you?” 

Your eyes grow round as saucers at that. “Have you seriously been paying that much attention to me this entire time? Some would probably call that stalking, ahbal. Should I report you to the Matra when we return to the city?” 

That earns you a scoffed laugh. “Hardly. I hope you haven’t forgotten that I’m still your superior at the Akademiya. Even though I don’t enforce it and just let you do whatever you please, you do technically fall under my jurisdiction. Considering that, it’s a little hard not to pay attention to what you’re doing, habibti.” 

You give a small, involuntary jolt as if he’d just slapped you across the face with a wet rag. 

And then you look at him — really look at him, for the first time in what felt like ages. Soaking wet with his hair plastered to his face, his forehead and his cheek where it sticks to him in clumps. He looked not unlike a big, grumpy cat that had taken an unexpected dip in the water. But Al-Haitham simply peers back at you, unguarded and without expectation in his gaze which remains steady where it’s locked onto yours. It’s … real sincerity staring back at you, isn’t it? 

That realization makes something in you crack irreparably, and you impulsively reach for him. You hadn’t even understood how much you’d actually missed him, or perhaps you’d simply never allowed yourself to acknowledge that perpetual yearning for his touch until now. 

But he manages to beat you to it, surprising you a great deal when his hand flies up to grab at the side of your face. His large palm cupped around the meat of your cheek, he keeps you held in place as he swoops down and crashes his mouth into yours. A stilted gasp catches in your throat but you don’t even pretend to fight it or cling to the pretense of this being unwanted. You can’t. 

So you press into him, meeting the heated kiss with equal fervor, and move your mouth against his with a hitherto unknown voracity. Everything seems to surge and swell up in you all at once. All those lonely nights spent in your own bed instead of his, all the missed little touches and brief pecks down a secluded hall between classes. The meals you’d once shared together, quiet chats over coffee, even just the simple act of reading in shared silence in the same room. 

You wanted it back. Craved it more than anything, even if it meant sacrificing your own stupid pride. But did this mean he wanted you too, or …

“Al-Haitham - -“ 

He follows after you when you try to retreat, gasping in the scant space between the two of you seconds before his lips collide with yours again. 

Whimpering a frazzled sound, you give in without putting up much of a fight at all, allowing him to devour your mouth as you wind your arms around his neck. You clutch him to you, fingers digging into the heavy clumps of his hair as you kiss him back, just as hungry and unrestrained as he is. You’re not quite sure what’s come over you or what suddenly clicked into place, but it feels as if something that was once missing had been returned to you. 

A fragment of your soul, the lost puzzle piece you could never seem to find and complete the scenic impressionist painting in your heart with. Nothing else fit other than him. It was always him. No one else’s edges were as strictly defined and obtuse, but they were perfectly moulded to the shape you’d had to mourn and leave empty this entire time. 

Even when he pissed you off so badly you could just scream he was still the only person you’d ever known who could make you feel this way. 

So you relent to it, readily give yourself over to the demanding push and pull of his lips while his hands greedily descend upon your waist. He pulls you closer to him, gathering you to his front much like he had in the water except this time he doesn’t let you go. Instead he possessively clutches you to him and mercilessly pins you there, keeping you locked in place when he takes a punishing nip at your bottom lip. That brief starburst of pain makes you gasp and he takes quick advantage of your parted mouth to delve his tongue inside, tasting you for the first time in ages.  

Groaning against him, you slide your eyes shut to stop them from rolling back in your head. You don’t remember Al-Haitham being quite this unrestrained, this pent up with need that he seems to be trying to swallow you whole. It feels good though, like some unspoken testament to his feelings for you, his quiet craving, and you eagerly arch in his arms to press your breasts tighter to his chest. 

Your nipples are almost painfully stiff after that impromptu dunk in the water and just the simple act of rubbing them across his firm pectorals inspires a pleasant shudder down your spine. Even through your wet clothes you can feel it in stunning high definition, groaning softly into his mouth. 

Responding in kind with a low, masculine growl, Al-Haitham drags his lips away from yours to press hard kisses to your cheek, your jaw and finally the pounding pulse in your neck. You seethe a wounded sound at the way he proceeds to bite at you, feeling almost more like a beast than a man at that moment, but your head is spinning much too fast for you to protest. All you can do is kneel there with him on the vaguely damp floor, mewling soft little sounds of pleasure while he works a possessive love mark into your throat. 

The far distant, fuzzy thought that he was marking you as his, laying his physical claim on you, very nearly brings tears to your eyes but you stubbornly blink them away. Even without such proof you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d always been his despite the distance between the two of you, at least in spirit. There was no one else for you but … was it also the same for him? 

“W - wait,” you suddenly blurt, hands flying down to grab at his blocky wrists when he begins tugging on the sash around your middle. “Right here? Are you sure? The others could come back any minute now.”

Rumbling a low sound, he gives the now tender skin on your neck one last, clinging suck before slowly withdrawing, sitting back enough to look at you. The teal of his sharp eyes seems darker now despite the illumination from Faruzan’s hovering anemo ball overhead as he searches your face for — something. You couldn’t even begin to guess what. 

But then his gaze drops to regard your soaked clothes, the chilled bunch of your shoulders where you were still trying very hard not to shiver even with the shared body heat between you and him. 

“I can only do so much to keep you warm until we get out of here.” He murmurs, his tone of voice sounding a little deeper than normal. Thicker. “I think we should probably get you out of those wet clothes, at least for a moment. Just long enough for your skin to dry before you catch a cold. Besides, it’s not like geo visions are all that common here in Sumeru” 

You aren’t exactly fooled by that excuse but when he tries to pull at your belt again you let him do it this time. And you quickly return the favor, snagging at the sash around his hips to fumble it loose. He snorts a quick laugh at that, though it’s obvious he’s much more interested in other things than teasing you at the moment. 

Leaning back up into his space, you kiss him again while you collectively work to get each other undressed. This is not the slow and deliberate approach he typically employed though, but rather something that bordered on desperate. His hands can’t seem to get your clothes peeled away quickly enough as he tugs and yanks, in too much of a hurry to take his time with it. 

It’s only his last lingering traces of self control that seem to stop him from ripping everything off in tattered shreds and for that you’re quite grateful. You would have hated to walk out of here naked or having to figure out how to explain it away to the others, but that doesn’t stop your excitement from ratcheting up another notch. You’d never seen him like this before. 

So keen to have you, impatient. It was utterly intoxicating. 

And as the pile of discarded clothes next to you grows, so too do you find yourself shedding any concerns you might have had of potential discovery. He was right. It would probably take them some time to find someone who could move the column and you’d have plenty of warning beforehand to make yourselves decent. Sating this need, this hunger, was far more important than anything else you could think of. 

You’re still trying to peel away his clinging black shirt when he finally gets you disrobed down to your brassiere and you shudder at the sensation of cool air wafting against the thin cotton. Al-Haitham helps you slide the straps down your arms though, even when you can’t quite seem to stop shaking, and then unhooks the little clasps at your back. 

The material tries to stick to your skin as he pulls it away from you, leaving your nipples to cut up through the empty space between your body’s. They’re so tightly coiled it almost hurts and, hissing at the sensation, you glance down at yourself for a brief moment before renewing your efforts to strip him as well. You couldn’t even recall the last time you’d felt so tightly wound and in need of release, if you’d ever felt it to such an extent at all. 

But he manages to thoroughly distract you when he cups your breasts in his palms, lifting them and kneading the plushy swells with his rough hands. For as sizable as they are they seem to fit perfectly in his hold, as if the two of you really had been made for each other, or at least you for him. Your sensitivity is so high thanks to the cold chill from the water that you can’t help the way you cry out the moment his thumbs brush over your teats to nudge them back and forth. 

Gods, save you. It was too much. 

“You seem to be enjoying this. I didn’t anticipate you being so very receptive after all this time.” He says quietly, watching you tremble for him with a great deal of interest. “I wonder, is this just what happens when you go so long without getting attention … or is it because I’m the one touching you right now?” 

“Nnghn … I’m not going to answer that … ass.” 

He noises an amused sound in response, almost humming, before withdrawing one of his hands from your chest. 

Only to bring it back down on the swell of your tit with a quick, biting swat. The suddenness of it startles you more than the fleetingly brief pinprick of pain, and you hunch forward with a squawk. 

But he’s quick to bring his hand up, catching your chin with his fingers to tilt your head back and make you look up at him again. You just stare at first, almost too stunned to speak, and then your pride catches up to you, pulling your mouth into a frown. 

“What the hell are you - -“

“Relax.” He cuts across you smoothly. “I’m not going to make a habit of it or start throwing my weight around. I just wanted to see that look on your face, that’s all.” 

You bark a short-lived laugh at him but it’s almost immediately interrupted by a low moan when he uses his other hand to tweak your nipple. It wasn’t hard to see what he was doing. Balancing the pleasure with the pain, a light smack for a coaxing pinch. 

“Ahhn … what look, habibi? If you’d wanted me to get mad at you again you could have just said so.” 

“No, not that. Although I can admit you look pretty cute when you’re angry too.” 

He’s still playing with your nipple, making it exceedingly hard for you to concentrate on anything else. Damn him. 

“Then what …?” 

“It’s that face you make when I do or say something you don’t expect. It’s not surprise, exactly, but … almost a look of affront. Like you can’t believe I have the audacity or the daring to do it. You secretly like it, don’t you? No one else makes you behave this way.” 

You think that’s an understatement, and a gross one at that, but he’s shifted his attention to lightly flicking back and forth over the tip of your breast, and you just can’t think straight. He was right though. You knew it to be true deep down inside, and that was the worst part of it. 

There was something exciting about it, wasn’t there? The way only he could seem to stoke such big feelings in you, even if they weren’t always positive ones. It was annoying and frustrating, and sometimes you really did want to pop him a good one for always pushing you past what felt like the point of sanity but … 

Trembling at the fleshy nudge of his finger against your nipple, you blindly reach out to latch onto his shoulders, digging your nails deep into the skin. Was this just the fate the two of you shared? The inevitability that you would someday rip each other to shreds?

Somehow that didn’t sound so bad, at least not in the heat of the moment. 

“Ah - Al-Haitham …” 

He taps your chin, encouraging you to keep looking at him before sliding his hand away just to bring it back down on your cheek. He keeps his fingers loose when he does it, hardly using any strength at all, but you still jolt, exactly like he’d known you would, and your mouth warbles open — to groan or to curse him, you’re not sure. 

And you never get the chance to decide, for he issues a hungry sound that sets your guts to vibrate, his seemingly heavy lashes drooping even lower as he leans towards you to close the distance. 

Secretly basking in the warmth of his palm on your face and the faint, lingering sting, you tip your head to better accept the heated kiss he places on your mouth, but it’s not enough. He just keeps coming, shifting even closer until he’s practically sitting right on top of you, and still he isn’t content. 

Breathing out a terse exhale through his nose, Al-Haitham slides his hand further back to tangle in your damp hair, carefully threading his fingers through the matted mess. His gentleness in this almost manages to surprise you, but you quickly realize why he’s doing it when he closes his fist down at the root. You have but a split second to gasp when he backs off just enough to disengage his lips from yours, and then he’s using your hair to yank you backwards. 

You seethe and hiss the whole way down but, under the steady guidance of his arm, you quickly find yourself being laid out on the floor underneath him. Looking up at him like that with the glow from the softly whirling ball of anemo casting light down on the sordid scene, you feel an excited shudder work down your spine. He almost looked like something ancient and powerful kneeling over you in that long forgotten temple chamber. Almost like — 

“It’s a shame we have to be somewhat quick about this.” He says, sounding oddly offhand and casual as he reaches for the hem of his black top. With practiced ease, he tugs it up and off over his head to be tossed in the heap of already discarded clothes, leaving him naked from the waist up now. 

Which does absolutely nothing to help the sticky state of your cunt, and you eagerly press your thighs together in squeezing anticipation. He almost looked like an ancient god of the past, ready to claim and to conquer, and to subjugate. 

May the Dendro Archon save you, when did you turn into such a willing martyr? 

“I’d like to take my time with it and make up for the years spent apart but … I’m afraid I can’t wait to have you.” Al-Haitham goes on, oblivious to the whirlwind he’s kicked up in your reeling mind. “It feels like I’ll completely lose myself if I don’t have you now. I can’t believe I ever let you go in the first place. I should have told you no instead of going along with it.” 

He follows you down then, covering your body with his and damn near crushing you under the sturdy weight of his muscular frame. It’s been so long since you last felt this, since you last had him laid out on top of you this way, that for a split second it almost registers as uncomfortable. Like you were being crushed and pinned to the point of pain. 

But that thought immediately dissolves from your mind when he settles his hips between your legs, grinding the hard outline of his rigid length into your cunt on a stilted, slow motion thrust. It’s like a switch has been flipped and you mindlessly buck against him, moaning a deeply frazzled sound as you roll your pelvis up to meet him. Suddenly that same crushing sensation registers as pleasant, like you were safe and secure, and oh so very close to feeling that final piece slot into place. 

You didn’t just want it, you needed it. 

And you claw at him in your desperation, frantically scrabbling at Al-Haitham’s broad back in an attempt to latch onto him and find leverage, to physically pull him into you. But he only ignores the bite of your nails in favor of carding his hands into your hair again, cradling your skull there against the stone floor. 

Keeping you still like that, he bends his head close to kiss you once again, and you take a vicious nip at his mouth in your mindless distress. You were starting to feel like the one who couldn’t control themselves here, so keen on feeling him sink inside you after all this time that you don’t stop long enough to consider the logistics. All you knew was that you wanted him deep in your guts, as deep as he could conceivably go. 

“Don’t be a brat.” He growls low in warning, seconds before his lips crash against yours in another hungry kiss. 

You moan a harried sound as he rather expertly works your mouth open so he can dip his tongue inside where it flicks possessively at the back of your throat. His narrow hips continue to work between your legs while he does it, steadily rolling the hard length of his cock into that sensitive slit. 

The only things standing in the way now are your underwear and his slouching pants, everything else already long discarded in that initial rush. If you’d had the presence of mind and the wherewithal to consider it, you’d probably realize that he was trying to make sure you were sufficiently wet and ready to take him without having to touch his hands to your pussy. There was no telling what was on them after being dunked in the water, after all. 

But you’re hardly in your right mind and all you knew was that he was still holding back and treating you like something fragile. Something that he could break if he wasn’t careful. And that only serves to further frustrate you, squealing a muffled sound as you try to turn your head away and escape the concerted attack of his mouth. It’s no use though. His hands remain like vices on either side of your head, keeping you trapped in place while he takes his time leisurely drinking from your kiss swollen lips. 

It’s enough to nearly drive you insane, making you squirm and writhe underneath him to no avail. It didn’t seem fair that you should be so out of your mind with arousal while he was still at least partially in control. But, well. This was Al-Haitham you were talking about here. One of his most frustrating personality traits was how he never seemed to be truly rattled or shaken up by anything. 

In the end all you can do is take it in grudging silence until he finally withdraws his tongue from where it had so thoroughly tangled around yours and then eases back enough to give you a chance to breathe. 

Softly wheezing in the aftermath, you peer up at him through the thicket of your damp lashes, struggling to find your voice. Your throat already felt cracked and raw, and he hadn’t even started to fuck you yet …

“Please,” you finally manage to mewl, bowing your spine in a supplicating, needy arch. “Want you …”

“Oh, do you now?” 

A confident, knowing little smirk settles into place as he bends close to deliver a quick bite to the opposite side of your neck. The sensation of his teeth sinking into flesh makes the previous love mark throb with renewed intensity, and you shudder fiercely for him there on the floor. 

“Nhgh! Don’t … ahh, don’t be an ass. You want it too, don’t you?” 

Groaning a rumbled sound of agreement, Al-Haitham backs off again but this time he pushes up to kneel over you. The slick, bare expanse of his chest and tight abdominals almost manages to distract you but the way he proceeds to reach for the top of his pants with purpose and intention quickly snaps you out of it. Your hands fly up in a rush to help him tug at the series of buttons along the waistband, the two of you working in shockingly harmonious cooperation to get that final obstruction out of the way. It was funny, actually, how much a shared goal could bring two people together. 

“I want you to tell me something first.” He intones, breathy and so terribly strained, even as he helps you shove his slacks half way down his hips. “Tell me you’re mine. Say you’ve always been mine, habibti.” 

Your heart momentarily stalls out and you whine a faltering sound, hearing it bounce back at you off of the water and the walls. For him to ask that of you, to demand it …

“I’m yours, ahbal. Always. Even when I wish I wasn’t, even when I don’t want to be.” 

He softly seethes in response, but you can’t tell if it’s because of what you were saying, drunkenly babbling for all intents or purposes, or if it’s due to the hand he wraps around his cock. Fishing himself out, he gives it one good tug to make the foreskin bunch and ooze a heavy droplet of precum that drips down onto your stomach with a tiny little plap. 

Then he’s releasing that galvanized length and reaching instead to dip between the spread of your thighs where he curls that possessive palm over the center of your panties. The warmth of him bleeds through the clinging wet material instantaneously and only seems to highlight how very swollen your sex is for him. Labia flushed and puffy, the sticky sensation of arousal gathering along the lips. You feel all of it unlike ever before, and you outright hiss with a full bodied shudder. 

“And this?” He goes on, commanding and hard. “Who’s pussy is this, sweetheart?” 

“Yours!” You squeak only to let out a startled yelp in the next breath when he smacks at your cunt the same he had your tit and your cheek. It doesn’t exactly hurt but it still comes as a shock to your system, and you clench painfully tight as you roll your pelvis up to grind yourself against his fingers. 

“Gods above, Al-Haitham, please. I can’t take it, I can’t, I’m yours. Always yours. I’m suh - sorry I ruined everything! I didn’t mean to …” 

An uncharacteristically brutish noise slips out of him then, something caught between a growl and a deeply satisfied moan. It registers in your punchdrunk, reeling mind as something that should frighten you and make you think twice about engaging with him like this. The kind of man who would make that sort of sound at a woman was up to no good, surely. 

But he doesn’t give you enough time to react, to sort through your whirling thoughts and decide how you really feel about it before he springs into decisive action. 

All at once he’s hooking his fingers into the center band of your underwear and roughly yanking it aside. The air hits your inflamed pussy in a rush and you babble some mindless sound as your legs instinctively curl up to better accept him. You’re not even sure if it had been a conscious decision on your part when it felt like you were floating somewhere in the ether, far removed from your own body. He doesn’t stop long enough to question it though, quickly moving to settle fully between your thighs and guide himself to your waiting entrance. 

The immediate push on your guts has your mouth flying open as if to scream but nothing immediately comes out. It’s like the intense pressure, the blinding sparks that flash across your blurry vision, has effectively robbed you of your voice. All you can manage is a pitiful little groan of pleasure as he starts to sink into you one stilted inch at a time. 

And it’s perfect. Exactly what you remembered it being, this gradual stretch along your inner sleeve and the way he seems to fill you out and fit against every single ridge and contour in your body. Like you really, truly had been made for each other. 

It’s different too, though. Either due to the extended time spent apart, not feeling this merging of your body’s with the same regularity as before, or maybe it’s simply due to the extreme height of your emotions pinging back and forth between the two of you. It doesn’t really matter in the end, but it feels much more intense than you recalled. As if something that had been broken was now whole again, untarnished and without any lingering scars to mark the damage. 

It damn near bowls you over right on the spot, and your body heaves underneath the slow stretch of penetration so dramatically that you almost come right up off the ground. 

But then he’s right there on top of you again, laying out over your fitfully trembling frame to pin you and keep you relatively still. You cling and clutch at him in blind abandon, nails scraping at whatever flesh you can reach while your legs futilely spasm in the air over his locked hips. 

You only realize he’s sunk in you straight down to the hilt when he starts to grind his pelvis into the plushy cradle between your thighs, forcing you to acknowledge how deep he really is. It pushes down on your womb and your cunt positively weeps in response, drooling an excess of sticky slick around him where he’s wedged tight. You’d never felt quite so stuffed, so very crushed under the pleasant weight of him on top of you. 

It drives you absolutely wild, and you dig your hands deep into his hair to grab fistfuls in a knuckle aching grip. Al-Haitham just moans a heated sound against your face though, panting softly as he gradually begins to move in earnest now. 

His skin tries to stick to yours where both of you are still wet but he doesn’t let that stop him or slow him down, snapping his hips with punishing precision to drive himself in and out of you. He’d always been good at this, a little too smart and observant not to be, and yet you don’t remember him being quite this brutal about it. Not in anger but desperation. High strung need. His deep seated desire to have you, to reclaim what was his, was far too great for him to approach it with the same levelheaded patience as before. 

He’s anything but that now, and the meaty sound of flesh colliding with flesh rises sharp and loud in the cavernous room. Your whimpering groans and half stifled shrieks quickly grow in strength as well as pitch until everything seems to bleed together, creating a carnal melody that matches the rhythm of his thrusts. 

You just can’t hold it back despite your best efforts to keep quiet, ever aware of the looming fact that the others could return at any moment and catch you red handed. It’s like he’s punching those harried sounds of pleasure right out of you though, every time his rigid cock spears through your guts. And the longer he fucks you there on the floor with bestial abandon, the less you seem to be able to control it. 

But he eventually grows tired of your haggard bleating, likely understanding exactly how precarious this situation was as much as you did, and your next guttural moan cuts off with a half strangled gurgle when he slides his hand around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze but pushes upward on the column of your neck just enough to tip your head back against the ground and stem the constant stream of vocalizations. 

It works, too, and suddenly all you can do is squirm on his cock while you mewl breathless, half formed sounds of ecstasy while your cunt excitedly flutters around him. You were getting close. Almost alarmingly so. Although he’d always been talented even in bed you couldn’t conceive of a time when he’d had you this close to cumming so quickly. It was dangerous, oh so very dangerous. 

Al-Haitham seems to realize it too, either that you were about to reach your peak in record time or the risky nature of carrying on like this, you couldn’t say for sure, but he brings his face close to hover just over yours. He looks into your eyes from only a scant hair’s breadth away, grunting softly in the back of his throat while he continues to fuck you sensless. You could almost laugh at the stamina of a supposed scribe, a simple paper pusher, if only you’d had the extra oxygen to do so. He didn’t even look particularly fatigued … 

“Are you going to cum for me? For old times sake?” 

You force your chin to bob with a stilted nod, struggling just to keep your eyes open and locked on him. Everything in you ached and throbbed for release, so close and only getting closer. He wasn’t just going to make you cum, he was about to have you imploding in the most literal sense. 

“Good. I’ve missed seeing that look on your face. And I hope when we leave here … oughnn, I hope you remember this. I know I certainly will.” 

Pausing, he flicks his attention across your slack expression, almost as if he were searching for something. Looking for an answer to some question he hadn’t dared to ask aloud. His gaze was still cool and calculating even now, if not shuddered with carnal enjoyment, but there’s something else there too. 

A gleam that is almost … hopeful? 

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve fisted my cock thinking about you since you left?” He goes on, rough and gravelly. Tortured. His expression pinched so tight it appears to be causing him physical anguish. “Even if this is just a — ahhn, a mutual moment of weakness between us … even if it’s just one last hurrah for the books … I’m going to carry this with me for the rest of my life. Just like I’ve been carrying the memory of you with me this entire time. You’ll always be mine. Do you understand me?” 

You can’t take it anymore. Not the constant drilling of his cock nor that fierce look on his face, and certainly not what he was saying. It mirrored your own feelings on the matter a little too much, even if you would sooner die than ever admit it. 

Screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught, you wheeze a threadbare groan into the small space that separates you from him. The building pressure in you soars dizzingly fast, doubling and then tripling until you can hardly tell which way is up anymore. Everything is abuzz around you, every little atom and speck of dust vibrating in perfect frequency with your shuddering body. You were about to cum, you can feel it boring down on you with punishing vengeance, but … 

“I’m yours.” You manage to get out with no shortage of effort, so tiny and weak you’re not even sure if he can hear what you’re saying over the fleshy cacophony that rings through the room. “I’ll always — ough! Be yours … -Haitham. Ooh gods, habibi. I’m yours, yours, yours! Always!” 

Growling a truly animalistic sound, unlike anything else you’d ever heard come out of him, he slams his mouth into yours, kissing you so deeply it has your eyes rolling back in your skull. And as his tongue invades yours, pushing in on it and twining in a sensual, demanding dance, the dam finally breaks. 

You hurtle over the edge into oblivion with a violent jerk, cumming so hard you seem to momentarily black out. All you’re aware of is how hard you shake, how wildly your pussy spasms and milks at his cock, instinctively trying to squeeze every last ounce of pleasure you can from him. You’re not even sure how long it takes him to follow after you but you know he must, for he seethes a deep, masculine groan into your lips and shudders with you. 

It’s simultaneously the best orgasm you’ve ever had and the worst, because even when you’re still reeling from the mind numbing surge of adrenaline and potent endorphins, a tiny little part of you understands what this means. Your fate was well and truly sealed now. It was very likely that it always had been, given your inability to fully move on from him, but now it was as good as a signed death sentence. 

You’d never be able to escape him. Not in this life and, knowing your luck, probably not even the next either. 

But rather than being gripped with panic you find that you’re quite content basking in the warm afterglow that gradually descends upon you as the two of you start to come down from your mutual highs. Al-Haitham slowly relaxes on top of you, letting the lingering tension drain from his satiated body, and then he settles back on his knees just enough to take some of his weight off you. 

He doesn’t completely retreat though, something you're immensely glad for as you wind your arms around his neck and hold him against you. It was a jail sentence, perhaps, yet it was one you would go into willingly. 

“Are you happy with this?” He eventually says into the still quiet, his cheek pressed into your shoulder. Just listening to your heartbeat slow and even out, synching his breath to yours. Intentionally or not, it was hard to say. 

Idly toying with a half dried lock of his hair, you think on that for a long moment before sighing quietly. “With the venue? No. With you? … I think I am. Or I can be, anyway. If you’d like to try again, that is.”

Snorting a soft sound, Al-Haitham lifts his head to find your eyes, holding them with his stare when he speaks next. “You sure about that? I thought you couldn’t stand to be around me.” 

“I can’t. But I can’t stand being apart from you either. It’s a lose-lose situation no matter how you look at it, so … I guess we should probably try to make the best of it?” 

A brief smile plays at his lips then, such a subtle curling of his mouth that you would have missed it had you not been so very close to each other. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again, but he beats you to it before you can make a move to follow through on the impulse. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal then.” He murmurs, just brushing his lips against yours at first before sealing them together and drinking deeply from you for a long, drawn out moment. Simply enjoying the closeness, the intimacy that both of you seemed to have missed since the breakup. 

But he has to pull away eventually, and when he does you find that you can’t quite keep the smile off your face any longer. Maybe this wasn’t such a terrible summer break after all. 

“We should probably figure out how we’re getting out of here first. Come on, I’ll help you get cleaned up and dressed. I don’t want to have to explain myself to anyone if they come back and find us still wrapped up together.” 

A furious blush immediately settles deep into your cheeks at the reminder. Burn everything, what were you going to tell Madam Faruzan about this!?

⭐

Crossposted: here

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen: ‘I have considered going into politics’

It would be a surprise to no one when Michael Sheen reveals that he has considered getting into politics.

Viewed as one of Wales’ most inspiring individuals, a firebrand speaker renowned for his political and social activism, many people have long tipped the Port Talbot-born star to head into the political sphere.

It’s something that Sheen himself admits he has at oft times thought about.

He has never been one afraid to discuss ‘political’ issues or make his voice heard at the Senedd or the Houses of Parliament.

He has variously made calls for discussions about Welsh independence, aired forthright views about the institution of the Prince of Wales title, showed support to a cross-party campaign of Plaid Cymru and Welsh Labour focused on devolving the Crown Estate to Wales and most recently called for a Fair Banking Act to help tackle the unaffordable credit crisis in the UK.

“It’s something that I have thought about for many years now,” he says. “Ultimately, I come back to the same thing, which is that I feel like I don’t want someone else to tell me, ‘Oh, no, you can’t vote for that’, it’s that I don’t want to be beholden to other people.

“I’ve got a freedom and a platform for what I believe in, and I don’t necessarily have to edit or censor that to toe some sort of party line for now. Now, I can see why that’s the case in politics and see why you need to be able to do that, but I feel like I’ve got more license and more ability to create the change I want to see by being independent.

“So whilst that remains, then I wouldn’t want to get involved. But you know that can always change.”

Speaking to Nation Cymru as he launched the Welsh National Theatre, described as ‘a new dawn for theatre in Wales’ with a vision to create world class work from the country, it was created as a result of the demise of National Theatre Wales, when the company’s funding from Arts Council of Wales was cut.

It’s yet another grand statement of intent from Sheen, who will be the theatre’s artistic director, using his own money to get the project off the ground.

Never one to trade in empty platitudes, his unyielding ambition and desire to showcase the best of Wales, has now manifested itself as he heads on a theatrical journey which he hopes will reverberate for generations to come.

“This is a new dawn for theatre in Wales.” he says. “We’ll be a home for our greatest talent, bringing them together to create ambitious theatre which makes our national story come alive. That’s what national theatres should do.

“Wales has such a rich storytelling history but our stories are underexplored in the English language, both at home and internationally. I’ve spent much of the past year on stage playing Aneurin Bevan in Tim Price’s ‘Nye’ to packed houses, both in and out of Wales. Audiences have a huge appetite for our stories if we give them the chance to experience them.

“Our plays and performances will tell the stories of Wales’ past, present and future, as well as classics seen through a Welsh lens. They’ll be produced on the grandest stages around the world, by world-class Welsh talents. We want truly ambitious writing from Welsh playwrights for the best actors in Wales, to be the pinnacle of our creative talent, raising the bar for excellence in entertainment.

“We want to help create a world where the stories of Wales help us make sense of tomorrow. Where the people of Wales understand their power to change society thanks to the spark of a performance on our stage. Where Wales is respected as a nation with a powerful voice and a story to tell.”

Since moving back to Wales more than a decade ago, Sheen has thrown himself into service to the people of the nation he loves, giving back to the ‘country who made me who I am’.

In 2019, he famously sold his own houses to fund the Homeless World Cup in Cardiff when its £2 million funding fell through at the last minute.

The Welshman has declared himself a ‘not-for-profit actor’ announcing that he would be giving all of his future earnings to his various charitable and community causes.

His altruism and philanthropy can be seen with such ventures as Mab Gwalia, a community organisation giving the underprivileged in Wales the opportunity to fulfil their potential and A Writing Chance, which gives new and aspiring writers from working-class and lower-income backgrounds resources and access to the writing industries.

Most recently it was revealed that the actor, who is a prominent campaigner on issues surrounding debt, had written off the personal debts of hundreds of people in South Wales.

He did not publicly announce the move, but fans discovered it when they spotted Facebook posts in local community groups from a television production company who are making a documentary about Sheen’s highlighting of the debt crisis in the UK.

The Good Omens actor, who gained glowing reviews for his performance as Aneurin Bevan in ‘Nye’ at the Wales Millennium Centre, describes his motivations simply as repaying a debt of gratitude to Wales.

If you want use historical metaphor he can be seen as a Welsh Atlas carrying the weight of a nation on his shoulders. Having done so much for so many for so long in Wales, he does however admit to feeling a pressure on himself to ensure these various ventures and pursuits are ultimately successful.

“I do, I do feel pressure, but I would feel a lot more pressure if I wasn’t doing anything about it when I knew I could,” he says.

“I know I would feel far more pressure if I was sitting there thinking, ‘well, I could do something about this, but I’m not going to, because I’m a bit scared or it might not work out , or what would people think, then I would feel a lot worse pressure. It’s good pressure and it also gets more than balanced out by the kind of joy of it and the feeling of being of service and contributing and using what I’ve got, what I’ve been given by this country.

“Everything I’ve got, everything I’m putting in, I wasn’t born with it. It was given to me by my parents, by my family, by my local community, by a local education authority when I was growing up, by all those people who volunteered to be part of youth theatre, all those people who give up their time to do all this stuff, I stand on their shoulders.

“So any pressure is completely balanced out by a feeling of the privilege to honour what those people gave me.”

No one should ever doubt Michael Sheen’s sincerity nor his humility. His fire is forged from a burning passion for a nation that he says has given him everything and made him the man he is today.

We are lucky to have him.

[george228732]

''Nova, you're boiling..."

''Apologies for me worrying you, sire... Although, It's just a fever, there's no need for being worried."

''You say that when I literally had to give you a cup of tea and my robes so you could be fine. Although, guess I can't complain since it's summer and I would die of a heatstroke if not.''

''...I am sorry.''

''Well, don't be! I still gotta keep that promise we made! We take care of eachother until that caretaker of yours brings us to the afterlife or whatever it's called.''

''...''

''...Soooooooo... Now that you have retired from being a knight and all that... What do you have planned to do now? Slacking off isn't something you'd do, so I'm curious!"

''...Well... I've been thinking about it, and I have some ideas...''

''Feel free to tell! I ain't going anywhere!''

''Well, I've been trying to delve into other things, like... Theater, and the sort.''

''Oh, theater? That's odd, I never thought that you'd like it!''

''To be fair, I never knew you got a liking of sewing, and yet you told me you made your own clothing.

''Touche.''

''But yes, I have been interested in it. My Father used to be an actor for theater plays when I was a kid. He had an acting that only the gods could compare, and he probably still has the talent deep within him. You can imagine all sorts of shows and scenarios when it comes to that topic and I have been wanting to delve deeper into it.''

''...Huh...! What if you become a playwright?''

''Oh?''

''Y'know! The ones that write plays for theater and such! Your writing is pretty nice, and I know people like it! Even though I have to pull out a thesaurus each time you do so.''

''...That doesn't sound like a bad idea.''

''Perfect! You'd make a nice playwright, let me tell you, I'll support you a lot!''

...

Meta Knight still had a high fever, so after leaving the cup that he was drinking from on the nightstand, he shoved his face down to Dedede's belly feathers like a cat rubbing their face on the carpet, with his claws grabbing onto him too with his meaty arms but thanks to how thick his feathers were, it didn't cause harm.

''...I apologize for how unprofessional this is...''

''Wait, what? No! Don't apologize! I am actually very happy that you feel so comfortable around me, so hey, if this is the pillow you wanna sleep on, I ain't gonna complain a bit."

It was then that Meta, whether in a way of saying thanks or for the embarrasment, he kissed him, not moving an inch from his position, and his wings started glowing with that constellation pattern he was known for ever since he got the Spade Spear, he felt safe in a way he hadn't experienced before.

Dedede simply chuckled a bit and curled up around Meta, using his tail and hands to welcome him too, along the robes that covered both, Meta could be hardly seen amongst all of that blue, and soon enough, both fell into a deep slumber.

The King, before dozing off, thought about what place could be appropiate to build in a theater.

[sergiosimptellitto]

Ecce: Femina

Chapter 14: Cathedral Veil

Mi amor, I know I haven’t written in a while. Three months. Three whole months. That’s the longest I’ve gone in years. I’m writing that like it’s a gold medal, I know, but I need you to be proud of me. Even if you just fake it — tell me you are. I didn’t go back. Not even once.

I am terribly sorry that I did not wrote to you earlier, but I did not want to spoil it. I still can’t sleep properly. I still have dreams about being thirteen. I still look over my shoulder twice when I go out, and sometimes I count the cracks in the sidewalk until I forget why I left the house. But I haven’t used. Not anything. I’ve been clean for ninety-one days. And you told me once that the Israelites had to walk forty years for a promise. So I think ninety-one days is something. The cat I told you about? She ran away again. Typical. Maybe she just needs to find herself. Like I did. Like we all do, huh? I read the Psalm you sent me. I didn't understand all of it, but the part about bones rejoicing — that one stayed with me. I want to get there someday. I want to dance like my bones forgot what sadness feels like. I found a church, more like, Stephen found it and referred me there. It's... weird. But nobody touched me. Nobody made me sing. They just gave me tea and told me I could sit as long as I needed. Speaking of which, we broke up are taking some time apart, we have not broken up but we both need time for our own projects, I don’t feel like his gospel choir would be jumping of joy to the new that he is with some poor white trash. I miss you. I miss how your voice gets low when you read from the Gospels. I miss the way you hold your tea, like it's the only thing tethering you to this planet. If I can make it to one hundred days, I’ll call. I promise. I’ll let you hear my voice, shaky and real. I’ll even let you scold me if you want. I love you in ways I don’t even understand and my heart breaks because that means you may never feel it. Yours, Valentina Elektra Saint-James, Esquire, Duchess of Nowhere

The theatre basement always smelled like sweat, greasepaint, and black coffee. It was their second week of rehearsals for a student-run play no one would remember, but Stephen and Maranata were already acting like Broadway had called.

“Don’t give me that look,” Stephen grumbled, sitting on the makeup chair with exaggerated despair. “You said you’d do my eyeliner and now you’re abandoning me.”

“You keep blinking!” Maranata shot back, waving the pencil like a dagger. “I swear, if I stab your eyeball it’s on you, not the Lord.”

They laughed, loudly, obnoxiously. They always did.

She was in her element—hands smudged with powder, clipboard tucked under one arm, flitting from mirror to mirror like a stage manager with a savior complex. Stephen teased her endlessly for it. He said she looked like a nun in training and cursed like a kindergarten teacher. She told him he had the emotional maturity of a communion wafer.

They loved each other in the way theatre kids often do—too loudly, too much, and in full costume.

“Make room,” a voice drawled behind them.

They turned in unison. At first, all Maranata noticed was the cigarette.

Then the girl.

She was lean and jittery, with messy light brown hair and skin that looked a little too translucent under the stage lights. Her eyeliner was perfect—somehow both smudged and deliberate—and her eyes were glassy, red around the rims.

“This is Stephen,” said the makeup artist, too buzzed to stand straight. “And this is—uh—Mara—Mary?”

“Maranata,” she corrected politely.

The girl nodded like she hadn’t heard a word.

“I’m Valentina,” she said, in a voice that was both sleepy and sharp.

“Valentina what?” Stephen asked, ever the nosy playwright.

Valentina grinned slowly. “Valentina is enough.”

She moved like smoke—hovering near the mirror, pulling out a compact without asking, lighting a Marlboro even though there were ‘No Smoking’ signs all over the walls. Nobody stopped her. It was like she carried her own atmosphere.

“Stage makeup is garbage,” she muttered, dabbing at Stephen’s face with a precision that caught them both off guard. “Your undertones are neutral, not warm. Who did this to you?”

“I did!” Maranata protested.

“She’s from Texas,” Stephen offered like an apology. “She thinks ‘peach’ is a universal shade.”

Valentina just snorted. “In the year of Our Lord 1983?"

“You live on campus?” Maranata asked, hoping to reroute the conversation into safer territory.

“I live in my van,” Valentina answered, deadpan. “It’s parked behind the community center. Real cozy. Lots of incense.”

“Is that even legal?”

“Nothing about me is legal.”

There was a long silence. Then Maranata laughed.

Valentina looked up, a little startled. Then—almost shyly—she smiled back.

They weren’t supposed to be friends. Not by any reasonable standard.

Maranata wore sweater vests and had memorized the Path of Romans by twelve. She brought highlighters to Bible study and apologized to furniture if she bumped into it.

Valentina—well. She smelled like tobacco and lavender and that burnt sweetness of someone who lived with one foot in another dimension. She didn’t believe in curfews, wore fake pearls with ripped jeans, and was probably high half the time.

But somehow, it worked.

By the end of the week, they were sneaking out together after rehearsal. Valentina would take Polaroids of Maranata under the streetlamps—dramatic lighting, high contrast—and talk about how beautiful her hair looked unbraided.

“You ever think about sin?” Valentina asked one night, out of nowhere, like she was asking for the time.

“All the time,” Maranata said.

“I mean—like—if it’s real, or just fear with a church organ soundtrack.”

“Sin is a human’s second nature, is the way we actively choose to be away from God.”

“So I am sinful? So all I do is sin? Was I born this way?”

“Yes. And that is why we all need to be born again, there is not a human on earth that is not a sinner, there is not a single one that can enter heaven, that is why Jesus had to die for our sins.”

Valentina blinked, then nodded. “Okay. I can work with that.”

No one ever understood why they got along.

Stephen would joke that Valentina was the devil on Maranata’s shoulder, and Maranata was the angel on Valentina’s. But that wasn’t it, not really.

They were both lonely in opposite directions.

And for a little while, they found a middle ground.

The fire is low in the common room when Geoffredo limps in, the early smell of strong coffee already clinging to the corners of the furniture. Lucas is leaning back in a chair, balancing it on two legs with reckless confidence. James sits on the floor like he belongs to the space. And then there’s the new one.

She’s perched on the arm of the couch, barefoot, a steaming cup in her hands, sleeves rolled to the elbow like she’s about to paint a barn. Her accent is mild and soft, the kind that makes everything sound forgiving.

“…Well I think it’s lovely, what she said,” she’s saying to James, eyes dreamy. “God is love, isn’t He? That’s the root of it all. Why dwell on darkness when we’re meant to walk in light?”

James nods. Lucas smirks like he’s enjoying the performance.

Geoffredo clears his throat — he hates clearing his throat. It always feels performative.

All three heads turn. Only one pair of eyes doesn’t waver.

She looks at him and smiles gently. “You must be Father Geoffredo. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes flick toward Lucas. “What’s this?”

Lucas shrugs. “New arrival. Daphne. Linguist. Interfaith studies. Got stuck with James and me.”

“Lucky me,” she says brightly. “We were just discussing Maranata’s little monologue yesterday.”

“Gospel of love,” James says, tongue half in cheek.

“Oh yes,” Daphne says, setting her cup down on the edge of the table. “I think it’s beautiful. I mean—yes, the world is complicated. But love is simple. That’s why it wins.”

She means it. And somehow, that’s worse.

Geoffredo doesn’t sit. “Love is simple?” he repeats, as if the phrase tastes like vinegar.

Daphne tilts her head. “God is love, no?”

“No,” he answers coolly. “God contains love. God commands love. But He is also fire, and sword, and judgment. Love without holiness is sentimentality.”

She blinks slowly, her smile softening but not fading. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It’s scriptural,” he replies.

From the hallway, Maranata appears, holding a folded towel and a letter in one hand. She takes one look at the room and blinks. “Did I miss something?”

Geoffredo doesn’t take his eyes off Daphne. “Not yet.”

The light from the tall windows is waning. Geoffredo is scribbling notes with the erratic energy of a man whose soul is always a few inches from combustion. Maranata stands near a shelf, sorting through papers. The air is dense with silence and shared focus — until the door opens.

Daphne.

Her hair is tied up with a silk scarf that feels out of place in the musty cottage. She carries a clipboard like a prop, not a tool.

“Hi,” she says, sweetly. Her voice stretches the vowel like she’s smiling even when she’s not. “Maranata?”

Maranata turns. “Yes?”

Daphne steps closer, too friendly. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday… and I just wanted to say, I loved your little sermon. About love. That’s what this world needs more of.”

Maranata doesn’t smile. “Which part?”

“You know—when you said that love is what matters more than quoting Scripture.”

“I never said that,” Maranata answers simply.

Daphne blinks. “Well, not in those words…”

“Not in those meanings, either.”

Geoffredo looks up now, amused.

Maranata breathes gently through her nose, keeping her tone calm. “God is love, yes. But ‘love’ is not God. We don’t get to define the Creator through the limitations of our feelings.”

Daphne’s smile flickers. “Well, that’s a lovely opinion.”

“It’s not my opinion, dear. It’s Scripture. The same Scripture that says ‘God is love’ also says that God disciplines those He loves. That He is just. That He casts down the proud.”

“Well, that part is... probably written by angry old men.”

“So was the part about love,” Geoffredo interjects, without even looking up.

Daphne shifts on her feet. “I just think... people shouldn’t lead with judgment.”

“I agree,” Maranata replies. “But correction isn’t condemnation. And if grace doesn’t come with truth, it’s not grace. It’s indulgence. Romans makes that quite clear—”

“—‘Shall we go on sinning so that grace may abound? By no means,’” Geoffredo finishes smoothly, finally raising his eyes.

There’s that click again — the way their speech folds over each other’s without effort, like laced fingers.

Daphne’s smile is a tight line now.

“I see.” She backs toward the door with the poise of someone pretending not to lose a debate. “Well, thanks for the... perspective.”

“It’s not perspective,” Maranata says softly. “It’s the Word.”

“You know,” Daphne says, arms crossed, “you still believe in the white man’s religion.”

Maranata looks up slowly from her notebook. No emotion on her face, just that calm, terrifying clarity.

“Jesus was Palestinian.”

Daphne blinks.

“No evidence of him being white,” Maranata continues, voice steady. “In fact, given the region and the time, it’s likely he was dark-skinned. Brown eyes, rough hands, dirt under his nails. A poor man. A refugee child.”

Daphne tries to regroup. “But Christianity was used to colonize people.”

“And so was democracy, and schooling, and clothing. Are you naked and illiterate for the cause, Daphne?”

Maranata continues, unwavering. “Christianity comes from the Middle East. From deserts and mountains and empires that no longer exist. Jesus wasn’t American. He wasn’t European. He was a Jew under Roman occupation.”

Daphne frowns. “But the church—”

“Is full of sinners. Like every institution. Like you. Like me. That’s why we need grace.”

Maranata closes her notebook.

“I don’t follow Jesus because of white men. I follow him in spite of them.”

Daphne leaves.

The door shuts.

Geoffredo sets his pen down. “You like her?”

“I think she likes herself more than the Lord.”

He chuckles low. “Then she won’t last long around you.”

The afternoon sun had dipped just enough to filter gold through the lace curtains of the study cottage. The place smelled like dry wood, lemon balm, and something flowery—something she wore that lingered in the air long after she left a room.

Maranata sat at her desk, pen in hand, notes splayed like petals around her as she organized the day’s findings. She was bent forward in that way she always was when she was focused: elbows up, brow furrowed, lips slightly parted in thought. Geoffredo watched her for a moment longer than he should have.

Then he limped in.

Without a word, he quietly reached back and turned the lock on the door—soft, subtle, but deliberate.

She didn’t turn around. She’d heard it. She always heard things.

“I just wanted to... browse,” he said casually, already walking behind her. “Stretch my legs.”

“Mm.” She didn’t look up. “Of course.”

He picked up a paper at random from the table, pretended to read it, then sat on the edge of the nearby chair as if he just happened to be there.

“You know,” he began, “the Council of Trent definitively established the seven sacraments. It’s quite elegant, really, the balance of it. One for birth, one for death, two for healing, three for spiritual growth…”

“Fascinating,” she murmured, a small smile forming on her lips as she underlined a word.

He tilted his head at her, gauging.

“Baptism, confirmation, eucharist, penance, anointing of the sick, holy orders, matrimony. Seven. A perfect number. Not arbitrary.”

She nodded, seemingly absorbed in her work. “You forgot indulgences.”

He blinked. “I didn’t forget them.”

“Oh,” she said sweetly. “Just ignored the add-ons.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You’re Protestant. You wouldn’t understand apostolic continuity.”

“Mm,” she hummed. “Probably not. You should explain it to me. In great detail.”

Geoffredo narrowed his eyes. She wasn’t mocking him exactly—but something about the way she kept writing, deliberately not meeting his gaze, told him she was playing with him.

Still, he liked the game.

“It’s like this,” he said, moving a little closer. “Your denomination—whatever blend of evangelical it is—assumes sola scriptura gives you the whole story. But without the magisterium—”

“You’re assuming my beliefs.” She finally looked up. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Dangerous thing to do with a woman.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, a little too quickly.

She bit her lip, hiding her grin.

He stood now, hovering behind her. “If you were baptized Catholic, you’d carry that sacrament for life.”

“If I was baptized Catholic,” she said, turning back to her notes, “my family would’ve burned the church down.”

He laughed. Then, softer: “You’d look beautiful in a chapel veil.”

“You say that to all the Protestant girls?”

“No.” His voice dropped, earnest. “Only to you.”

The air thickened.

Maranata turned one page slowly, letting her fingers rest against the edge just a little longer than needed.

He leaned closer, breath nearly grazing her temple.

She was fully aware of how close he was. And how not-close he should be.

“I hope Etienne doesn’t need the office today,” he said.

“I locked the other door,” she replied without missing a beat.

He smiled.

She smiled wider.

They said nothing for a long moment. Then she dipped her pen in the ink, and without looking at him, said:

“So... is this part of your strategy? Seduce me into the Church?”

He hesitated.

She finally looked up. “Because if so, Dottore, you’ll have to do much better than a list of sacraments.”

He laughed—low, throat-scratching. “That wasn’t my intention.”

She tilted her head. “Of course it wasn’t.”

He stepped back, hands raised in mock defeat. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you keep locking the door behind you.”

Touché.

He lingered by the window now, fingers twitching near the curtain.

“Don’t worry,” she added lightly, “I’ll let you evangelize me... eventually. I enjoy the effort.”

He looked over his shoulder, brows lifted.

And she just smiled—bright, serene, amused.

Back at her desk, she wrote one final word in her notes, underlined it twice, and murmured just loud enough for him to hear:

“Heretic.”

He chuckled. “Witch.”

“Papist.”

“Seduced.”

That one made her falter—just a second. But she didn’t turn around.

Instead, she grinned to herself.

And kept writing.

“Let me show you something, I found some place your…canonized eyes need to see.”

She takes him to a special place.

It was Reinauld’s property, technically. A crumbling, overgrown estate tucked between the forest’s shoulder and the lake’s fog-touched edge. The chapel was half-forgotten—a stone husk with vines curling around its windows, stained glass cracked but still dappled with the last light of day.

Geoffredo helped her up the narrow path. His crutch sank into the soft dirt as she held a lantern up to the carved door.

“Are you sure no one uses it?”

“Reinauld doesn’t believe in using anything he can’t intellectualize,” Maranata answered, gently pushing the heavy door open. “Besides, Etienne said there were old books inside. Thought you might enjoy them.”

The chapel’s silence was thick. Dust swirled in the golden light like incense smoke. Wooden pews sat rotting in uneven rows, a baptismal font dry and cracked at the front. The air smelled of lavender and moths. A swallow, startled, darted toward the roof and vanished.

Geoffredo ran a hand along the wall. “It’s been consecrated.”

“How can you tell?”

“It feels it.”

She tilted her head at him. “Your leg still hurting?”

“It’s not the leg I’m thinking about.”

She rolled her eyes—but smiled.

They wandered deeper in. At the back of the sacristy, behind a warped wooden door, they found it: an old cedar wardrobe, slightly ajar.

Maranata opened it.

Inside—yellowed lace, satin, soft folds of preserved tulle and embroidered white silk.

A wedding dress.

Perfectly intact. Never worn.

“Oh.”

She reached in slowly, touched the sleeves reverently. There was something almost superstitious in how she brushed her fingers along the collarbone stitching.

Then, tucked at the back of the wardrobe, barely clinging to a velvet hanger—

“Is this a chapel veil?” she asked, voice thin.

Geoffredo looked up from where he’d been thumbing through a hymnal. When his eyes landed on her, he went very still.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s... so impossibly long,” she breathed, lifting it. The lace unraveled like breath, yards upon yards of pale gauze descending from her arms.

“I love it.”

She didn’t say it for him. She said it like a confession—like a memory she’d forgotten was hers.

Geoffredo stared. His throat tightened. His grip on the hymnal slackened.

He didn’t speak.

Because if he did—if he opened his mouth even slightly—he’d say something wrong.

Something unholy.

Something honest.

Maranata turned to him, smiling faintly, almost embarrassed by her own wonder. “What kind of bride wears something like this? Can you imagine?”

His voice came low.

“Yes.”

And then quieter:

“I can.”

They didn’t move. The dress hung between them like a question neither dared answer.

Not yet.

But soon.

Soon.

He swallows, Geoffredo wants to beg her.

Get on his knees and propose there and then, what better place to get on her knees to worship that a chapel?

And to whom else if not God and the woman He sent her?

“You would make a beautiful bride.”

“You too.”

He blinked, startled. “What?”

“You heard me,” she grinned wickedly. “You too.”

Before he could protest, she reached up and gently placed the veil over his head. It drooped over his shoulders like mist, the delicate lace catching on the stubble of his jaw.

“Maranata,” he warned, low and sharp.

But she was already laughing, delighting in his horrified expression. “No, stay still—this is perfect—yes, yes, turn a little—Geoffredo—”

“I am a man of God,” he muttered, frozen, stiff as stone, the image of disgraced piety in a ghost-white bridal veil.

“You were the one who said it was beautiful,” she teased. “Is it only beautiful on me?”

He glared at her from beneath the lace.

She was breathless with laughter now, the kind that made her double over. “You—you—you look like a Gothic oil painting. All tragic and tortured. My little virgin martyr.”

He ripped the veil off with one swift motion, crumpling it in his fist like it had burned him. His face was red.

“You’re insufferable,” he growled.

“And you’re a good sport.” She stuck out her tongue.

He shoved the veil back into her hands, and despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched. Just a little.

She stared at him.

“You would make a beautiful bride,” he said again, softer this time.

And this time—she didn’t laugh.

Geoffredo’s smile fades. Just a little.

“I will one day,” she says, her voice light but not hollow—soft, full of something harder to name. Her smirk rises like it always does, but her eyes don’t match it. They stay thoughtful, almost sad.

“…For a handsome, good Protestant boy.”

The words land like a stone in water—still, then rippling.

Geoffredo says nothing at first. His jaw shifts slightly. The chapel is quiet around them, full of dust and old echoes.

“I see,” he murmurs.

She shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t ache when she says it. “I mean, that’s what everyone expects, isn’t it? My mother would prefer it. My stepfather would rejoice. And I—”

She glances at him, pausing. He’s looking at her, really looking.

“—well, I’d rather not start a war over wedding vows.”

Something burns behind his eyes, something that doesn’t flare, just smolders low. “You’d rather be safe than faithful.”

“To what?”

His mouth parts slightly—he doesn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he steps a little closer, but not enough to cross the line. Just enough to challenge its existence.

“You think a Protestant boy could handle you?” he says, tone unreadable. “Could carry the weight of you—your mind, your fire, your sleepless hunger for truth?”

She blinks. “…Handle me?”

“You’re not a girl to be ‘handled,’ Maranata. You are to be followed.” He nods slowly, deliberately. “To be challenged. And to be worshipped.”

She goes quiet.

Then—deflecting, always deflecting—she rolls her eyes. “That’s some Catholic idolatry speaking, Dottore.”

He smiles faintly.

But this time, his eyes are the thoughtful ones.

[maryonmega]

Timeless Starlight

(an In Stars And Time fanfic)

The early summer sun touched the Poteria cobblestones to create a layer of cosy warmth, yet to become a bothersome heat. The trees and statue in the piazza providing shade and a nice place to sit down and rest the legs while taking in the picturesque looks of the decorated homes and small shops around.

It was the impression given to Odile and Pétronille, while having a quiet moment on the place, the designated meeting spot, after each decided that splitting to do their own things was an acceptable thing. Before too long, the others started arriving, one by one. Mirabelle with Bonnie, Isabeau, and finally Siffrin. But, unlike the others the last had something other than just excited comments to show: a flyer for a play.

" 'Timeless Starlight'?" Odile read, brows furrowed " 'New production from acclaimed playwright Fortunato Amato, based on the real story of the country of Vaugard, the time freezing curse, and eventual salvation. His sources include bards, unfrozen citizens, merchants, pilgrims, and a self declared acquaintance of the Saviors.' Why did you bring this?"

Siffrin's half contained grin became even less contained:

"Isn't it obvious? I want to check it!"

"A play based on us?" Mirabelle looked at the flyer with a nervous gaze, not very encoraging "Are you sure this is a good idea? Even plays based on books can be hard to watch because they always change things..."

"Oh! Come on! Don't you think it might be fun? Looking at the struggle as an outsider?"

"You're really into Poterian plays, aren't you, Sif? Have you see this troupe before? Or writer?"

"Not even once! It's gonna be totally new!"

Odile sighed, ans shook her head.

"I did not travel nearly half of the planet to see the visual form of a gossip hill."

At the end of the afternoon, all six were sitting down at the theater building, snacks at hand and trying to be discreet so others wouldn't notice they were the real deal. The number of people in costumes made it easier. Nille seemed to be eager, almost as much as the resident theater nerd.

"Maybe it's gonna be a good way to catch up on what I didn't see."

"Maybe. I hope in a good way." Mirabelle responded, taking her seat beside Odile in the middle. Nille, Bonnie, Odile, Mirabelle, Isabeau, Siffrin - the pairs of siblings and couple at the ends of the row. A bit of luck to find six seats on straight line.

And, soon enough, the lights on the audience turned off, and the curtain opens.

The backdrop was actually pretty well made. It was easy to tell it was supposed to be outside of Dormont. The actress interpreting Mirabelle takes a couple of steps before falling to her knees on the middle of the stage.

"Who... Who was that man? To make time stop for my home? To threaten to do the same for the country? Is my escape for naught? Am I only to wait to be cursed anyway? Where to even go from here?"

Straight to the point, eh?

Curious, Siffrin leans foward to see Mira's reaction. She's frowning, but doesn't look very bothered. Being fair, naturally. Viewers aren't mind readers, thoughts need to be turned into monologues to be passed on.

... Not that it excuses the weird tone. Why did she sound like she was pretending to act for a bit? It sounded like something Siffrin would try to replicate for a bit.

The main lights turn off and a dim light goes on somewhere behind. Decent choice, helps give a bit of a dream-like impression. "Decent" is not "great", but, some plays do have unimpressive starts and pick a little later, so no pouncing on the first impression.

"There is more to you than merely awaiting for stagnation, lassie. It shall never reach you, even if the very source tries to."

Yeah, the logical part of his brain is saying that the writer can't be blamed, but the rest wants to crackle.

There isn't a lot of buildup for the set off to Jouvente. Character Mirabelle starts to look for the orbs without much explaining. It makes it seens like, she was on her way for an orb and the city was kind of, in the way? And arriving there she remembered that it has what's supposed to be a good Defenders body?

"The curse has taken over my home, and it will spread! He made it clear he wants to spread it to the whole of Vaugard! I can't stop him, not alone. I need help! As much as one can get!"

On the middle of the row, Mirabelle, face twisting in embarrassiment, patted Isabeau's arm to get his attention.

"I didn't actually sound like that, right?... Right?????"

"Kinda?" Taking a page from Siffrin's book, she pulled her shawl up to her eyes, so the sympathetic smile went unseen "If it helps, you weren't acting, and, the phrasing was less awkward. And, you were more anxious than damsel?"

"So not at all?" Odile asked, more amused than was called for.

"... Sure, let's go with that."

That seemed to be the best choice. For Mira's pride. Enough to lower the shawl on time for the next piece of dialogue.

"You sound like you need help, indeed, but not from us. We can't just take your word that someone with power to freeze a country even exists. And, if he does, that we should jump on the call of what sounds like a glorified suicide."

"... Aaand that's not even worth a 'kinda'."

"Do you actually remember how that went down?" Mira's eyebrows were raised with interest, a nervous smile appearing after "I think I blocked it out."

"Not pretty. Honestly, I don't really want to lay it out now. It's more irritating than anything else."

After that, there was a moment that was likely meant to be melancholic of the actress kneeled at the curb, but a little hard to take seriously with the bright illumination and very, very fake sobbing.

Dramatic lighting ensues. Oh! Time to introduce the next character?

Yes, exactly that!

Classic move, step out of the shadows, looming over the present character.

"Fear not, miss. You won't have to go through this alone."

Between Siffrin and Mirabelle, Isabeau leaned foward and squinted. His expression was hard to read.

"Is that... two people on top of each other?"

Odile rolled her eyes, not even looking at his direction.

"Yes. I know, ridicu-"

"Crab yeah! I'm tall with a capital T!"

"That's... one way of looking at the bright side." Mira added with a nervous chuckle.

"I wonder if the bottom half is hot, though. Who would think I would be a role to suffer for?"

After that wasn't very story heavy: looking for the first orb with some action - the part where they brainstormed who to find the orbs must have been deemed too boring. Fair, but kind of funny that it made such a headache look like it was common knowlege.

Credit where credit is due, the way they portraited the fight against the sadness to get into the dungeon was nice. There's only so much one can do to make three people come across as a big monster. Using ribbons and cloth to simulate craft waves. To...

"We did it, Sugarplum! The first big step done!"

Aaaaaaaaaand the mild respect when out the window with a two squeaks and and an undignified wheeze.

"Sugarplum?!?!?!???!??!?!??!!?!"

"Belle! You and Za were being gross?!?!"

"Change, no! This is not accurate at al- Isabeau! Stop laughting!"

"Alright, alright, I'm stopping..." The fighter says, still giggling and waving a hand, before taking a few deep breaths to make the impulse die down "... Sugarplum."

Odile and Nille had to physically stop Mira from pulling out her sword.

Path for the second orb. Under the protection of the owner of a big librarian. Enough for the near rapier experience to stop and Mira sit up straight.

"Oh! I remember him! Nice guy, even if I don't get how he knows when someone's lying."

"Wait, really?" Nille bent over to look at Mira "There were people who thought you were lying weeks after leaving Jouvente?"

"Oh, yes. Downsides of it starting at the borders, news reach center a little slower."

Nille nodded and got back to sitting properly.

"Dear miss, I was entrusted with a tool meant for the greater good. And I don't believe there is someone threatening the whole continent right now."

"You've got it!" the Isabeau actor (top half) all but jumped in "Three more and we'll punch that King's face to next year!"

Hesitantly, Siffrin took a peak at how his boyfriend was reacting. Silent giggling. Guess that was alright?

In the middle, Odile crossed her arms and legs, an eyebrow raised, clearly paying extra attention.

Sure enough, the next actress walked into stage. She had a fair amount of makeup and the wig had more light hairs than would be accurate. Consequences of not fighting the hag allegations.

"My, oh my, looks like some people here are after more than knowlege."

The interest got an amount of sourness. Maybe not what was said as much as the tone. Who the heck play teases people they just met?

"We are not doing anything shady!" Stage Mirabelle said, her hand over the orb in stage Isabeau's hands like someone trying to hide a shady thing "We need the orbs to reach the person causing the time freezing curse!"

"Oh, I'm well aware of the curse. I cannot research on a frozen country, so guess I'm going with you too."

"Crab yeah! The more the merrier! Right, Mira?"

On his seat, Siffrin fake gasped.

"Did he say crab? Oh my, there are kids in this theater!"

"Oh please." Nille scoffed "Some kids are worst than me when someone messes up in a way I told them not to."

Her gaze drifted to Bonnie, who gave a sly smile and looked away.

The third orb was hidden in a more "classic" way, in an underground dungeon which location was kept secret by a specific group of people. The backdrop to simulate that was actually well made, credit where it's due.

Mira remembered that. It had been a tough thing, at the tail end of withdrawal symptoms from her left behind medicine, in a dark place crawling with sadnesses, not as strong back then as she was later on. It had also been an important moment. Odile taking the orb and walking on the front for safety while Isabeau helped her up the stairs.

The Mirabelle on stage...

"Have it, doctor. A proof of trust."

"Just like that? That's cute, young lady."

And then the stage Mirabelle led the way with her head up. Even when the stage Odile gave her a headpat from behind.

"Keeping watching your back, lassie. You never know."

The two women make eye contact. It was clear that, if they weren't in the middle, they would be backing away from each other.

The change of scene was smooth, and, like in reality, they got ambushed by a sadness mere meters away from a road. But, because unlike reality they weren't worn down by sadness hoards and medicine withdrawal, the difficulty against it made the stage trio look straight up clumsy.

And them, the person is costume collapsed, to reveal the stage Siffrin. The wig was already darkless and too long for that point in time. Little by little, those small things were starting to kind of slip throught. Mix with the background.

Stage Siffrin flipped their not curved at all dagger, as if getting rid of good that wasn't there, and smirked at the group.

"Stars, what a stabulous meeting."

The real Siffrin was a bit too busy thinking about how he could have had that introduction to notice that the stage Siffrin sounded oddly snarky.

"Now, how come there are people that choose to fight a sadness to the end instead of running?"

The tone was a bit weird to read, but there was n way to let the words escape. Blinking a few times, the rogue looked at his teammates to see if they heard that too.

Nille looked back, looking about to laught of shock.

"Is this serious?"

"No?? If I was that bold from the start I wouldn't stay out of the group hugs!"

"Cute!~"

On stage, the Isa actor was bumping his fists.

"How else can we grow stronger?"

"You do have plenty of strenght!" Stage Mirabelle, now. Did, it really have to be so on the nose? "You must know by now of the curse freezing our country. We are getting better but any help is good help."

"Of course I know! And, I want to keep this country safe, too."

After the recruitment scene came a camping scene, with some kight tricks to make it look like night and a campire. The stage Odile was the one cooking, despite that role having been Isa's back then - the one member of four that actually had to do so before joining.

"So, by the accent, I guess you're a foreigner like doctor Odile?"

"Where did they even pull the 'doctor' thing out of?" The real Odile said with squinted eyes.

Nille leaned over to look at her better.

"Well, they don't call you doctor, but you've got those diplomas, don't you?"

"I dropped out of high school."

"WHAT????"

"WHAT?!"

Odile smirked to herself, despite the people hushing the concerned housemaiden and the fascinated child she was sandwiched between.

"What? I never said I have a doctorate."

"But you came here to do a research? Isabeau is still trying to find out what it is about?"

"I never said it was for college."

"Still, dropping out? Not even finishing the classes you started?"

"Of course the housemaiden who took more classes than there are days in the year would be the one to have an issue with that."

There really wasn't much more to it aside from an opening for a bit of Siffrin slipping on a banana peel. Including a whacky sound effect. What?

The scene of finding Bonnie was... anticlimatic. Just waltz into some bushes and get the short actor that would have to pretend to be a preteen. Infirmary in a House of Change time!

"Let me come with you! I don't want to stay and freeze!"

On the audience, Bonnie almost jumped out of their seat.

"What the crab is that voice!? And I don't talk whinning!"

On stage, Siffrin's actor nodded.

"We don't want you to freeze, either. Guess there's no choice, then."

"Change, if that was how that went down, every single one of you were getting the hammer." Nille commented, cringing at the direction.

Odile nodded.

"None of us would blame you."

On the way to the fourth orb, a nice backdrop for a forest with multiple rivers. Had been a bit of a pain to get throught, specially to Mirabelle and Siffrin, with their layered clothes.

Stage Isabeau moved to retrieve it, and almost fell on one of the shallow rivers. Getting caught by the stage Odile, the orb in question caught by stage Siffrin.

"Thanks, mom." Stage Isa said, and then squeaked. 

"Mom? Really?" Stage Odile rolled her eyes, not even trying to disguise her smile.

"Awn, I wish that moment had been cute." Real Isa said over Mira's head. Odile looked at him with a sharp enough look to make the joke recap die midway.

"Well, if the pair need a mom-ent, I can go ahead."

Soemehow, that got an audience laughter.

The fifth orb was anticlimatic - Odile was the one to solve the puzzles and sadnesses fell to the power of four. And then it was time to head back to Dormont.

Before arrival, however, another camping scene. With Odile cooking. Again. Bonnie scoffed and crossed their arms.

"They made a whole crabbing play and didn't even know who the chef was?"

"They don't know a good cook when they hear of one, Bug." Their sister said, gentl patting their shoulder.

On stage, Mirabelle, as usual there, was the one to break the silence.

"This smell delicous, Madame. Ka Buan too?"

"Not really. More of a family thing."

"A family thing?" The stage Bonnie made a face that was the stereotype of an excited kid face "And you're sharing with us? Wooow."

"Ha, yes. A little something my mom used to make me..."

And Mira and Nille had to physically stop Odile from pulling out her fish book.

"Just two more days, and Vaugard will be able to move and change again." Stage Mirabelle said, not even pretending to be eating.

"You guys sure love change, don't you?" Stage Siffrin asked, that same smirk still plastered on his face.

"How not? Can you think of a life with no change?"

A shrug.

"It's not hard. As far as I can remember I've been Siffrin."

And then, Dormont.

Light tricks to simulate night, and three beds in a row. Mira and Isa cuddled in one bed, Odile and Bonnie in another. Siffrin, who was alone on the third, slipped out of bed, took the orbs, and got out. Lights to show daytime coming, and the two duos waking up.

"Frin?" The stage Bonnie called, the bad imitation of a childish voice mixed with a abd imitation of a sleepy voice. Then a clumsy attempt of acting like they fell from the bed "Frin? Where is Frin?!"

The real Bonnie didn't get to really witness the rest of the "frantic search". Too busy cringing.

On his seat, Siffrin was picking at the leather of his gloves. Was it a blessing or a curse that they didn't put (or didn't know) about him blowing up at their friends?

Their attention was caught when the search led to the Favor Tree, by a shape... A star shape... A costume of a person-sized star with limbs sticking out.

"Finally, what was taking so long? Now, listen to me and pay attention, because your traveler is about to do something stupid!"

On the row on the front, someone scoffed and turned to the person beside them.

"Can you believe this? The thing is based off a real story and the writer still pulled a Deus ex Machina!"

The five behind them exchanged looks comparable to kids caugth stealing cookies. That... was arguably the most accurate part.

Also stopped around there, because the too-much-star person went into the House with the four.

It's hard to reproduce going from floor to floor on stage. Instead, the lights got turned on or off with the actor's movements to give the illusion of going to different places. Including a flash involving the Mira actress flipping throught a book. Smart choice.

And, soon, all lights on to reveal the "long corridor". At the end of it, an actor on a decent reproduction of the King's armor, stage Siffrin standing in front of him.

"Siffrin!" The Isa actor called out at the start of the corridor "Get away, Siffrin! You can't defeat him alone!"

The King actor moved his head to the group's general direction, fists still in front of his face.

"Contrary. The one who could stop me was the Bright one, and this won't happen. Now, goodbye!"

Ribbons were used to simulate craft, and a translucid cloth to simulate Mira's shield. In complete silent. 

The stage Siffrin stood up, showing that he wasn't frozen. Hand over mouth, and bangs brushed back to show a pair of bonding earrings.

Of everything wrong there, what Siffrin kept thinking was that his ears aren't even pierced.

The stage King reached, to get on the pose the real King froze on, for the stage Siffrin, who was doing such a good job in looking sad and conflicted that it felt like a waste.

"My King!"

"Siffrin, my Bright Star, there is still a way. Take the crown. Use my power."

"My King, I- I don't know if I can. So much happened. Things changed. My King, I changed!"

"No! There will be no more change! We shall stay together in stagnation, my Bright star. In timeless starlight."

"Sif! You and the King are divorced?" The real Isa asked clearly holding back laughter. And Siffrin didn't know if he found it funny or wanted to puke.

The stage Siffrin kept that emotion (stars what a waste!) and took the crown just before the King fully froze.

"Yes, we shall."

The crown was put on. Lights out. When the lights came back on, the four Saviors (and Loop?) where looking up on a curtain with a band to simulate the cloak shape, some sort of craft being use to make wind on the stage.

"I CAN'T LET YOU LEAVE!" Came a scream from off stage. It didn't exactly sound like it was coming from above, but that was the least.

The stage Mirabelle took a step foward.

"Siffrin! Even if you started on the King's side, he's gone! You don't need to do his binding!"

"No! I must finish what we've begun!"

A painted rope whipped around to simulate an attack, that got "blocked" by the stage Isabeau. Stage Odile grasped his shoulder.

"It's no use! He won't listen to reason!" A gasp, and a hasty reach "Bonbon!"

Attention was brought, and, sure enough, stage Bonnie was climbing the curtain/giant cape.

("Do you think I c

[autism-autobot]

Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 91:

Part 90:

Li Jing entered Erlang Shen's office long after Nezha had left to his own quarters.

Erlang and Jing were going to have a dinner meeting anyway, might as well discuss the day's events.

Jing: *face red from crying* I know he needs time and space and I'm not about to intrude just to try to talk things out with him. I don't want to hurt him further. But-

Erlang: But this is something that needs to be talked about. I understand. It would be beneficial for you both.

Jing: But I can't just... walk up to him and expect him to talk! Being within his line of sight might trigger him further.

Jing: I don't want that, and I fear that if you were to tell him that I wish to speak with him when he's ready that it'll scare him and he'll avoid me for even longer!

Jing: I just don't know what to do... I hope he knows to come talk about it when he's ready but what if he doesn't? We've been improving by leaps and bounds before and I don't want us to relapse in our relationship now.

Jing: We were doing so good. Every part of my life and his were doing so good.

Erlang: Don't worry. I know he knows to come to you. We spoke about it earlier.

Jing: You didn't tell him he had to, did you?!

Erlang: No. In fact, he brought it up on his own. He knows himself and what he needs to feel better and not let this set you both back.

Jing: If you don't mind my asking, what would that be? If there's anything I can do on my end, I'd happily do so.

Erlang: I granted him permission to call home. Wukong is a good comfort to him. He'll know what to say to soothe him.

~~~

*phone ringing*

Nezha: Come on! Pick up, pick up, pick up!

PIF: *answers phone* Hello, this is Pr-

Nezha: Iron Fan!

PIF: Nezha! I'm gue-

Nezha: Can I speak to Wukong? Is he with you?

PIF: Yes, he's with me. We're at book club. I'll get him so you two can talk.

Nezha: Please do!

*sounds of heels clacking and muted conversations and Wukong's happy chirping*

SWK: *chirping*

Nezha: Darling Mushroom, is that you?

SWK: *happy squealing and squeaking*

Nezha: *sighs* Oh darling dearest, how I've missed you so.

SWK: Something wrong? You sound upset.

Nezha: Father and I had a sparring match during training. It... was a bit much for me to bear. My own fault, really. Both of my fathers asked me if I wanted to go through with it, to which I agreed.

SWK: Oh poor Daffodil. Sometimes it can be hard to tell when we're about to reach our limit. That's okay. Are you okay?

Nezha: *sighs* I'm getting there. Slowly. Just hearing your voice is help, though.

SWK: How much time do you have to stay on call?

Nezha: Not sure. Erlang didn't give me a time frame. Honestly, I don't have much to say other than I miss you and I just want to hear your voice.

SWK: Would you like me to read to you? We've been reading some "modern classics" as one of the ladies called them.

Nezha: Of course, my darling! That would be lovely.

SWK: We've been reading Shakespeare. He's a playwright. This one's a comedy called The Tempest. It was written in 1611.

Nezha: That's not that long ago actually.

SWK: Half of our grandkids and even great-grandkids didn't exist yet when it was written.

Nezha: Do you tell time by the number of grandkids you had at a given point?

SWK: Maybe a little. I think one of my daughters was in England when The Tempest was being written. I could be wrong. Anyways, wanna hear it?

Nezha: With pleasure, my darling husband.

SWK: Husband?!

Nezha: Oh wait, are you my wife today?

SWK: You called me your husband!

Nezha: Was I no-

SWK: I would kiss you if you could feel it through the phone!

Nezha: *blushing and flabbergasted* I... I would too. I've been thinking... if I were to give you a ring... would you wear it?

SWK: *shocked gasp*

Nezha: *suddenly remembers Ao Lie's ring* I-I-I mean... you don't have to if you'd prefer. You're still loyal to him, I know that so if you don't-

SWK: That would be amazing! I'd never take it off for the rest of my life!

Nezha: *gasps* You would?!

SWK: Yes!

Nezha: Okay! I'll get you one once you've put on enough weight. I don't want you outgrowing it the second I give it to you.

SWK: About my weight, actually...

Nezha: ?

~~~

*the next morning*

Pekoe: Did she ever actually read you the play?

Nezha: No. But we had more important things to talk about!

Yi Min: Like what? What did he say?

Nezha: You know how my wife has been struggling to regain her weight?

Liang: Yeah, it's been like, the biggest concern you've had about her besides her weakened immune system.

Nezha: Well, she gained 20 pounds!

Liang: She what?!

Pekoe: Oh my gods, that's amazing!

Yi Min: That's such good news! How'd she do that?

Nezha: Iron Fan and her husband have been forcing her to rest instead of her usual physical activity. She's only been doing the amount of exercise the doctors prescribed to her.

Nezha: And she's been binge eating too. Being away from me has been stressful for us both and she's prone to anxiety cravings. For once it's proving to be a good thing. And don't worry, my in-laws have been making sure it's mostly healthy foods.

Nezha: I still wish she wasn't stressed though. Wukong said she's trying her best to be calm and mindful but she's a former widow so you can imagine how difficult that must be for her to be away from her partner who has a medical condition.

Nezha: I didn't bring that up, by the way, she did when she was listing her concerns to me.

Yi Min: Poor thing!

Pekoe: I hope she's doing okay.

Liang: Please tell me you didn't mention to her that you fainted last week from dehydration.

Nezha: I did mention it. But only to say that was the only issue I was having medically while I've been here. You can imagine the scolding I got from her.

Liang: Ha, she went all Mama Monkey on ya, didn't she?

Nezha: Yeah, didn't hold back in the slightest. *laughs*

Part 92:

Masterpost

@weaverpop @istopaskingmemate @ainnur @fruit-fight @cutvdo @vivyainou @delighteddistractions555

[rodricksfilipinagf]

Rhysand x Playwright! Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

  “You’ll regret it, darling…” The voice reverberated in her head, but Y/N batted it away. The last thing she needed was Rhysand’s phantom voice today haunting her. Especially today. Because today she’d be unveiling her newest creation to the High Lord of the Day Court, Helion, his court, and all of his people. 

         The Night Court weren’t necessary enemies with the Day Court, but Helion and his people certainly got a good laugh at her plays poking fun at the brooding High Lord. Best of all, if Helion liked her play, then she would get the Helion Award for Playwriting Excellence. Maybe then she could use that clout to write about whatever she wanted. 

         The Day Court had a rich culture, and history, and Y/N yearned to write plays about those. Unfortunately the only way in to the world she loved so much was to create works honoring Helion, and making sure he came across the best out of all the other High Lords. 

         Surely Rhysand’s threats at the ball meant nothing, she thought as she straightened the jacket of the actor playing him backstage, just for something to do. He just wanted to seem scary. Which was entirely the point of tonight’s play. To take the wind sails out of him. Once people laugh at something, they cease to fear it. She hoped it would work on her too. She’d paced the rooms of one of the Day Court’s many libraries in anticipation of this night. She’d be damned if Rhysand found a way to ruin it. 

                                                        ~

         Thousands of miles away, Rhysand primped in his bedroom at his well-lived in townhouse in Velaris, the City of Starlight. A city that the rest of the Night Court, and the rest of Prythian in fact, including the part Y/N lived in, did not know existed.

         Aside from a whole city, the rest of the world had no idea of the genuine friendship Rhysand had with his tight knit group of friends he called his Inner Circle. They weren’t afraid of him. Not in the slightest.  

         “Please let me come along,” Mor said with a grin, settling on Rhysand’s bed as he got ready for his not-so-welcome guest appearance at Y/N’s play.

         “Mor,” Rhysand began, but then Cassian poked his head in too.

         “An entire play devoted to making fun of you? Tell me again why I can’t come,” Cassian drawled, barely containing his laughter. 

         “I won’t look as intimidating if I come in with other people,” Rhysand said unconvincingly. 

         “It works for the people of Hewn City,” Mor protested, twisting her long blonde locks. “What about if we go in through the back, and Cassian pretends he’s in costume, or something?”

         “People don’t usually go in costume to watch plays,” Rhysand replied, brushing invisible lint off his jacket.

         “Rhys, have you been to a production of Rocky Horror in Velaris?” Mor asked, shocked. 

         “Oh, he’s a Rocky Horror virgin?” Cassian grinned. “As soon as you kidnap that girl, we should take both of you. Rocky Horror is the place to hook up.”

         Rhysand tried to laugh off his best friends’ comments. “What makes you think I want to hook up with her?”

         Morrigan gave Rhysand a knowing look. “Anyone else you would have killed. Well, in the Court of Nightmares anyway. Anywhere but here. What’s so special about this girl?”

         Rhysand thought about it for a second. “We met at one of Helion’s balls, and when I threatened her with certain death to stop, she still didn’t back down.”

         “Seems like theater is very important to her,” Mor noted. “That or pissing you off.”

         “I like her already,” Cassian crowed. “Promise we get to meet her soon? We can give her some new material for her next plays? Azriel and Amren too once they get back from that mission.”

         “No,” Rhysand insisted. “She can’t meet you guys right away. Especially not you and Azriel. She has to be scared of me and think she’s coming here to be punished.”

         “Well, we can,” Cassian began, but Rhysand interrupted, “No,” firmly. 

         “Don’t be too hard on her,” pleaded Mor. “You should know what it’s like to love something so much you’d do stupid things for it.”

         “I do,” Rhysand admitted. “You know, I still don’t have a mate yet.” Cassian clapped his back at this and chortled. Rhysand continued, “If she’s willing to make an enemy of me, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, over this, then she can be just brave enough to be High Lady of the Night Court.”

                                                        ~

         Backstage at Helion’s Theater, Y/N joined hands with her actors. She did not tell them about the threat she got from Rhysand, or mount even more pressure on them by mentioning the award they might possibly get. That way, she decided, they would perform their best and not be nervous. She passed the energy to the male next to her that she got from the female on her other side. It was a beloved, time honored tradition that Y/N was eager to partake in. 

         Her heart was in her throat as the play started, but as it went on, she started to relax a little. The roof didn’t cave in from shaking mountains so close by. She didn’t get any jump scares backstage.

         Then Act 3 came. Everyone was laughing at the actor in the Rhysand costume talk about feminism as if he’d only taken a freshman year womens’ studies course at the local university. It was to poke fun at how behind womens’ rights were in the Night Court compared to…at least the Day and Dawn Courts. Y/N was grateful that since Helion was queer himself, everyone in his court was made to feel comfortable to be their true selves publicly. Rhysand would probably have them hung up and shamed publicly. So he deserves this, she thought. 

         Suddenly a huge thunderclap sounded through the theater. Then came a swirling black cloud onstage. Oh fuck, Y/N thought. There was only one person who could make an entrance like that. The actors were frozen with fear. Hmmm, maybe in hindsight I should have told them that Rhysand threatened me, Y/N thought.

         Rhysand didn’t say anything for a while, drinking in everyone’s fear. He’s probably loving this, Y/N thought, rolling his eyes. 

         “Helion,” he announced. “I’m surprised at you. If you wanted war, you could have just said so.”

         Helion scoffed from the balcony. “Come on, Rhysand,” he shouted from the balcony. “Can’t you take a joke?” But there was a tremor in his voice. 

         “I let this go on for much longer than you deserve, Helion,” Rhysand said steely. “I demand retribution, if you really don’t want war.”

         Helion sighed as if this was a big favor, probably to look good in front of all his people. “I suppose. What do you want?”

         “The writer of this play,” Rhysand said simply. “Or everyone here will die.”

         Oh shit, he was serious about that? Y/N thought frantically. 

         “Oh good,” he said as if reading her mind. “She’s here. Come on out darling. I won’t bite...here.”

         I could run, she thought. I could make a run for it. But then he’d catch me since he could hear my thoughts. 

         “You’re right,” he chuckled, to the confusion of the audience. “Should I give you until the count of 3? I could kill three people as I do so.” He surveyed the audience of now frantic theatergoers. “Will that be funny enough for you?”

         Fuck, she thought as she reluctantly stepped out onstage. She could see Helion with his head in his hands in the balcony, narrowly avoiding a political disaster. She guessed she would be the sacrificial lamb for that. And to think doing the plays for Helion was going to be a way to catapult me into a better life of creative expression and freedom and making change through art.

         Now she would be sentenced to torture in the Night Court, all because Helion wasn’t brave enough to take on Rhysand. But she was. “So what?” she demanded. “You’re going to kill me? Go ahead. Then everyone will see how horrible you are and how right I was.”

         She closed her eyes, bracing for impact. The she felt something horrible. Her mind being cleaved open and something creeping in. 

                                                        ~

         You’re really not afraid of me, are you? Rhysand thought, and it echoed inside her head. 

         No! she shot back. But then she thought about the legendary Court of Nightmares and it took everything in her to keep from trembling. She couldn’t live like that forever.

         So you are scared, Rhysand taunted, raising an eyebrow.

         Please don’t take me there, Y/N relented. Just kill me now. Make an example of me, or whatever. Please just don’t let me-

         But Rhysand merely said, “I warned you, darling.”

         Y/N’s heart started beating faster and she started looking for a prop dagger, hoping if she stabbed it into herself hard enough, she could take herself out of this. It would look bad for both Helion and Rhysand. But Rhysand wrapped an arm around her, whispering “Oh no you don’t” and the black cloud that circled him before started circling both of them. When they were out of sight of everyone else, he whispered, “It won’t be that bad. There was no need for you to try that. Not that it would have done anything.”

         “I hate you,” Y/N said, truly dreading her time at the Night Court with this monster. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt swirling winds. 

         “I know,” Rhysand replied as Y/N stopped feeling the whipping wind against her face and her nose was engulfed with, rather than burning flesh, notes of jasmine and freesia. 

(1642 words.)

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Backstage Story Translation - Sakyo Furuichi SSR - Today’s Star: Nine - Part 1

Izumi: Hmm… Okay, finished!

Sakyo: Are you finally done?

Izumi: Sakyo-san! You’re still awake?

Sakyo: I should be asking you that. Geez… Working this late’s not good for your health.

Izumi: I’m sorry. I was thinking of just doing some of the paperwork, but before I knew it, I got so focused I lost track of time…

Izumi: (I guess Sakyo-san came to check on me because he was worried.)

Izumi: I’m sorry.

Sakyo: … You don’t need to apologize.

Izumi: Okay. By the way…

Sakyo: Ah?

Izumi: The results for your side character survey are out.

Sakyo: Oi, you can tell me about that tomorrow, or the day after, even.

Izumi: That’s true, but I was kind of looking forward to this survey’s results, and they made for a nice change of pace.

Sakyo: How are you using work as a breather from work… Guess there was no point in worrying.

Izumi: It wasn't just so I'd take a break, of course.

Izumi: These past months, I’ve felt like everyone who had their role chosen had a lot of concerns about them.

Sakyo: … We need to dig deeper into the role than when it was just a supporting role, after all.

Izumi: Yes. That’s why I wanted to compile the results as quickly as possible so you could all start preparing early.

Izumi: I thought that if you had as much time as possible, you’d be able to think it through to your heart’s content.

Sakyo: … So, what’s my role?

Izumi: Nine from “Stranger”, the second performance.

Sakyo: Nine…

Izumi: Did you think a more recent role would be chosen?

Sakyo: I did think roles that are more fresh in people’s minds would get more attention.

Sakyo: But I’m grateful a role I played so long ago is still loved to this day.

Izumi: I understand. But still, all your roles are quite popular. It was a pretty close vote.

Izumi: It’s proof of just how many people are watching and supporting you, Sakyo-san.

Sakyo: … You’re right.

Sakyo: Minagi will be writing the story this time too, obviously, but have you told him the results already?

Izumi: Yes. He’s planning it out already, I believe.

Sakyo: I see.

Sakyo: …

Izumi: (I’m sure Sakyo-san will consult Tsuzuru-kun even without me telling him to do so.)

Sakyo: Got it. Thanks. You should clean up and head to bed, too.

Izumi: Okay! Good night, Sakyo-san.

-

Sakyo: Minagi, did Director-san tell you my survey’s results?

Tsuzuru: Yes, she did. I figured you’d come to discuss it with me.

Tsuzuru: Let’s get straight to the point; Sakyo-san, what kinda story would you like to see?

Sakyo: I thought about it overnight, and I’d say fans would want to see how Nine was created, or what happened to him after the story.

Sakyo: Thing is, I think leaving Nine’s ending as is is good ‘cause it gives everyone room to imagine the continuation for themselves.

Tsuzuru: …

Sakyo: So, if possible, I’d like you to write a story about Nine’s creation.

Tsuzuru: I got it.

Sakyo: But you’re the playwright here. You can write whatever you want. I’ll simply act that out.

Tsuzuru: Good to know I’ve got your trust. I’ll do my best.

Sakyo: I’ll be looking forward to it.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

[rwrbmovie]

#RWRBMovie: deleted scenes

Matthew López:

The Cornetto scene. The breakfast scene at Kensington Palace. Everybody’s wondering what happened to the scene [at] the campfire. You know, in the course of making a movie and in the course of telling a story — runtime is less important in the streaming age than it is in theatrical distribution, but what was important to me is that the film be the right length. You cut things for pacing. You never want the audience to get ahead of you, you never want the audience to be bored. You know, there was originally a whole scene where Alex comes to the polo match. He meets Princess Bea. Henry and Alex have a little exchange after Henry gets off the horse. They go to the tack room together. What we found as we were watching the film was that Nick and Taylor were so good together in the scene prior, in Alex's bedroom. And actually when we did a version of that scene in Alex's bedroom, we got a note from the studio, from producers, asking if we could try and make that scene shorter. “It’s good, but it’s long.” So we did our first test screening and I did a shortened version of that scene in Alex's bedroom. I was really hesitant to cut it back. But I wanted to be a good collaborator and prove that I can take a note and I'm willing to try things. We actually got more than a few comments back literally saying, “We wish that scene were longer.” So that, of course, was great for me. That scene in Alex's bedroom is the entire scripted scene. There's not a single cut from the script to the final cut. As a consequence, though, of that being a rather lengthy scene, I needed to then regain momentum. We've spent it all on this scene and it's worth it because that scene between the two of them is so dynamic and wonderful. But now we gotta get things going again. So, I had a new editor come in halfway through because my first editor, Christina Heatherington, who's wonderful, had another project that she had committed to doing. And our post dates got extended a bit and she had to leave, so Nick, my new editor coming in, took a look and he says, “I wanna try something with that polo match.” He spent a weekend of his own time doing something, and then he was ready to show me. He sat me down and said, “I’ve done something crazy.” I’m like, “Great. We love crazy.” He showed me what was largely the version of the polo match that is in the film and with that music. I was laughing with glee the whole time I'm watching it. He was nervous, 'cause he is taking like six minutes of story and condensed it into two and a half minutes. But it has so much drive. It's sexy. It tells the story. It was a real lesson for me as a first time filmmaker: if you expand time, then you need to maybe also learn how to contract time. So that was a big lesson to me in pacing. With the Cornetto scene — that scene in Kensington Palace Gardens, it does everything I needed it to do. Weirdly, the Cornetto scene actually relieved some of the tension between them. I was like, look, if you take the Cornetto scene out, then the tension from that first scene remains when they go into the interview scene. I learned a lot of it is about taking the energy from one scene and using it to help you get into the next scene. One of the things I learned as a playwright, which I found was applicable to cutting a movie, is if a scene isn't working, it might not be the scene itself. It might be the scene before. “Why isn’t the interview scene playing as well as we think it should?” Look at what came before: the Cornetto scene … The Cornetto scene is charming. But we also understood, narratively speaking, it was unnecessary. And more to the point, it sapped the tension out.

(source)

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

Hi hi!

I loved your rants on the Traveler and read your pinned post and was just curious to hear about your destiny OCs (or anything else you want to talk about honestly)! Please ramble as it's always a good time to read to have someone go on in detail about their interests.

Light be with you!

Greetings!!!

This was such a sweet message and I’m delighted that you found an interest in the things I discuss on this blog!!! Thank you so much for the kind words and for wanting to hear about my ocs!!

Okay so we have- *I fall down a comically long flight of stairs with my box of ocs as they go everywhere* Sorry, sorry!

Truth be told, I have a LOT of ocs from all the different species and societies of Destiny as I have been into the game for practically two-thirds of my life, more than I can possibly disclose in just one post (especially because I can talk forever about these things!!)

So, I thought it would be fun if I described my many characters and their stories as silly blog/news titles and opening statements! This is only a small handful of my ocs, but if you guys want more or see one idea you’d like to hear more of, I’ll consider posting additional content of them!

Here we go:

Infamous deathsinger-school drop out meets agoraphobic Eliksni captain at Eliksni-Hive bar, requires his and his sardonic, elder dreg‘s protection against her vengeful knight sister.

Small Uluran girl tends to her family farm with her Psion in-house caretaker, finds out the only thing more troubling than a poor harvest is Torobatl politics as her caretaker brings his fragile partner into the household.

Local Last City ghost sees success at the opening of her new therapy café despite not having hands and only employing other guardian-less ghosts.

Top ten activities to do with the goat your Witness does not approve of, but your acolytes adore! (Number 4 will certainly unleash its rage!)

BREAKING: Awoken guardian and her exo best friend are kicked out of Spider‘s Palace after starting a drunken fight over a gambling dispute for the 20th time. “I remember being young, desired, out until dawn, and unbothered by responsibilities” says their middle-aged Psion fiduciary.

This Vex harpy enjoys listening to a vagrant exo hunter play his flute and doesn’t enjoy Minotaurs at all according to the vagrant hunter that menacingly approached us.

EXCLUSIVE: We interviewed the Young Wolf on why they continue to slay gods and they said “There really isn’t much else to do and my only friends are Ghost and Crow”.

Hundreds dead and thousands more injured after a fairy betrayal in the Court of Understanding left the Great Navigator paranoid that necromancy was spreading amongst his closest circle (A fairy is a Hive class I invented that is akin to court jesters for the upper class, especially the Osmium siblings. They are light-weight and agile, possessing the ability to float, while also wielding long-range weaponry. I definitely plan to explain this concept in the future and perhaps provide artwork for them!)

Long lost sibling of the architect of The Witness found in reclusive cabin with non-verbal child, told us to “Fuck off” and “Tell that disturbed prophet I want nothing to do with them”.

How to answer your young child when they start asking questions like “Why do our neighbors have four arms?” and “If the Final Shape happens, do I still have to go to school?”: A guide written by an average Last City dad with a curious daughter.

Whats better than the daughter of a baron and a cynical knight running away to live a life of piracy and blasphemy together? Studies show it’s the daughter of a baron and a cynical knight doing all of that AND being lesbians.

Renowned Hive romantic novelist takes acolyte playwright under his wing after their work reaches acclaim in the Court of War for its depiction of the Eater of Hope’s trials with redemption and love. “This will definitely win back the hat loving wizard that I had spawn with” the novelist claimed as he flipped his decadent cape.

Old Psion yells “All paracasual beings need to die in their rotting entitlement, especially that red bloated bastard and that big eyed freak he calls ‘My Mistress’!”and immediately dies after telling his aids about his time spent directly under Nezarec.

HEARTWARMING: This Lubraen stalker welcomes newcomers by giving them a tour around the city and making their bigotry apparent.

Is this the style of the summer? Qugu person sports new curled tendril mane as they embrace the end of everything.

She’s a beefy wizard, he’s a scrawny knight, they are irritating rivals: The couple that fell in love again after becoming lucent thanks to their devoted spawn.

Potential assassin of the Witness found and held under that black liquid it comes out of until their will falters. “I had to do something to protect them. No one protected my planet. I didn’t care how much I’d pay for it” stated the now-disciple fish creature.

I have tons of concepts remaining and I thoroughly love all these characters, but I don’t want this post to be too long!! I adore expanding on unexplored areas of Destiny lore and I wish I had the time to make content for my ideas!!

Thank you again for the question and I hope I adequately answered it!! Light be with you too!!

[popculturebuffet]

Pride Month 2025 Finale: Exit Stage Left: The Snagglepuss Chronicles: The Fights that Need Fighting

Hello all you happy people and welcome to my grand finale for pride month this year. I haven't covered as much as I wanted to but i'm proud of what i've covered: DC's First Trans superhero Coagula, the excellent and revlatory I Saw the TV Glow and as my final act, we're looking at a concept that's insane, creative and should not have worked, let alone easily been the best comic of it's line.

Exit Stage Left: The Snagglepuss Chronicles was part of DC Comics Hanna Barbera Beyond line, a late 2010's line using the fabled animtion studio's characters in new exciting radical ways. Scooby and the rest of mystery inc became adults dealing with the end of the world.. an end Velma had a hand in without realizing what her brothers were planning, the Jetsons became a climate change parable, and the Fred.. well i'll let him tell it

These comics easily could've fell into

Territory, the kind of edgy bullshit that takes an innocent property and tries to make it dark and bloody for the sake of money. This did happen in the line with Wacky Raceland, which somehow wasted the dope surefire concept of "Wacky Races but it's mad max" by taking itself way too fucking seriously. The recent attempt by dynamite is also not great. Just let it be nonsense guys, come on. You can add mythology and depth but remember what your working with.

Instead these themes were handled well: Scooby Apocalypse didn't forget the camp, while still focusing on powerful men making decisions for the little people without their consent and having intresting takes on the cast. Future Quest was an okay attempt to create a shared superhero universe. Jetsons had some really wild swings that paid off.

The best of these by far were the works by Mark Russel, who wrote today's comic and the Flintstones, easily the biggest breakout of the bunch and the one that still holds up the most. Out of context and in lazier hands, Fred and Barney participating in the genocide would be edgelord nonsense. Instead it takes the idea of society itself, the empowering of the rich and everything and uses it for clever satire, as the society in this version of the flintstones is still forming. We see some ideas sink in, how our heroes are adapting from hunting gathering to the horrifying captalist hellscape we live in. It's changes are purposeful: the genocide makes a point about how some wars, ESPECAILLY a lot of the US's military intervention, are done for money or to make a quick enemy for the more powerful, the stress vetrans go through, and gives bam bam a powerful and heartrending origin. They also took the Great Gazoo from weird punchline of a character to a space game warden who looks out for us. They also took the "animals as objects" thing and made it a heartbreaking subplot. Russel took a huge gamble, something that could easily have been a punchline and ot many out of context was.. and made it a masterpiece.

So it's weird and wonderful he pulled it off TWICE. For his encore, and sadly last gasp with the Hannah Barbera characters as HB Beyond would end soon after. (Though DC was smart enough to keep him around), he went with an evern bigger ask. Flintstones but as a dramedy.. was a reach, but one that was bold and within the specs of the adult tone of the earlier franchise. What he had in mind next... was truly bonkers in the conkers and I love it.

So Exit Stage Left is an exploration of the red scare, timely in 2018 mid trump and even more timely once again mid trump as he actively hunts queer people for sport and plans a war for the reasons you'd expect

It does so.. using Snagglepuss as a thinly closeted playwright , Huckleberry hound as his miserable closeted novelist best friend, Peter Potumus as his director, and many more we'll get to in supporting roles, as he deals with HUAC's attempts to destroy him. And while there are some jokes here and there, it's primarily a tragedy. With a hopeful ending, but still a very sad, soulful work. And.. it works. Similar to bojack horseman it uses the animals alongside humans and as actors trope masterfully. IT dosen't have as much time for worldbuilding, but it still manages to be engaging, flesh out it's cast and be moving, relevant and heartbreaking all in 6 issues. It's a work that's high concept in a way I hope gets done more and I hope Dynamite considers. While I do love their comics for Space Ghost and Captain Planet, both taking the idea and modernizing it without going too edgelord, I wouldn't mind more weird, wonderful experiments like this and i'll show you why under the cut. Featuring Sasquatch Detective:

I Wasn't Kidding About Sasquatch Detective

So before we adresss the main feature when the comic ran it had a delightful backup feature, you can guess the name. Sasquatch Detective is a fun breezy backup about Tonya, the titular detective, her surly but supportive partner, and her hyjinks. It got a reprint as a 64 page special complete with a feature story I won't cover for now but seems to have just vanished into the either after. Creator Brandee Stillwell advertises it on her socials, as she should, having written and drawn it all but it seems DC just didn't want more than this. It seemed like they were gearing up for a full mini with the special and leaving the backups out of the snagglepuss trade, but it just didn't happen. There's a lot of reasons why this might be: Stillwell might of just left the company, COVID might of meant DC simply didn't have the budget for it, or the George Floyd protests made the idea of a polcie procedural with a light breezy tone impossible. It's shame as the work was just before the big quirky detective boom we've had with Poker Face, Elsbeth and High Potetial, all bangers and all telling me James Gunn should seriously consider adding Tanya to the DCU as soon as possible. The man loves weird obscure characters, let him know she exists.

The backups have Tonya, perky as ever and her more dour very tired partner Berzek solve arious mysteries, with Tonya opening the series getting added to the force then a year later disgusing herself in her best pretty woman. Tonya is a wide eyed kind sasquatch who works hard, is an ace at what she does and is simply at worst awkward in a world of human stuff that isn't sized for a sasquatch. Brotoman's faviorite installment, and mine has a lady they came to interview calling animal control.. forcing Tanya to deal with Gary

And you may be thinking my asking for the DCU is weird. I mean this is the kind of goofy premise that would've been perfect for an actual Hannah Barbera cartoon..and still would be. Well ate the end of the gary debacle, after he's tased and arrested for shooting Tanya with a tranq for his incel racisim.. this happens

So while this work could easily be standalone if James Gunn dosen't want it to be, it could at the very least be a fun cartoon and a nice side piece to canon dealing with the weirder corners of the DCU. I also want to see her in the main dc universe again. I mean the justice league just took on an EVERYONE IS HERE mentality, give Tanya a card. Let her team up with the creeper in a buddy comedy. WE need more creeper two dammit. Though props to dan slott for possibly giving us more.

I highly recommend checking these out if you can find the special online or want to snag a copy or something. Or your a singles person. Either way check these out. It was a fun concept that REALLY needs a comeback.

So onto our main event. I COULD have covered each backup as they came up. While I adore Sasquatch Cop.. it just dosen't fit tonaly. It's good stuff... but why they put it in the back of a mildly serious reboot I don't know.

And now our feature presentation, entering stage left

We begin our story not in the mini series itself but in a teaser that's part of the trade, a little prelude published in Suicide Squad/Banana Splits

It follows Snagglepuss as he goes in front of Huac, the kind of sentence that makes me thrilled that this is something I got paid to write. He runs circles around them, responding to their every attempt to paint his plays as garbage or him as subversive with sarcasm and a witty one liner. They look. .bad and this will be important for the mini series.

For now Snag talks with a young writer who idolizes him and wants to change the world like he does, Auggie Doggie, I assume senior given what we'll see at the end.

So filling in these characters as we go along, Snagglepuss was one of Hanna Barbera's first breakouts, having a succesful small role on the Quick Draw McGraw show before getting his own shorts as part of Yogi Bear's show> He was known for his camp nature, snappy patter, many catchphrases and when hannah barbera became a collection of characters doing stuff with yogi bear rather than their own things in the 70's and 80's, he became a part of the gang. He later made it to Jellystone played by Dana Snyder> He's not used a ton but is still a valuable part of things and like a huge chunk of the cast is very gay.

Auggie Doggie was part of a double act with his proud father Doggie Daddy..

I haven't seen much of them but they were added to the touring company all the same. He'd become a large part of Jellystone and one of it's best alongside a gender flipped Auggie, apparently having lived out every disney movie to get a daughter and being hilaroiusly clingy.

So Snag relates a story: he was doing summer stock directed by Peter Potomus, who had his own show where he drove around in an arc with a chimp sidekick making movies makin songs and fightin round the world. Here he's a director and was doing some light follies when the theater caught fire. When Snag told peter this.. he didn't exactly take it well.

So Snag tried to warn the audience, dressed as a clown.. only for them to laugh, taking it as all part of the shows and leading to one of the worst disaster in Kentucky Theater History till the Ghostly Rampage of Col Sanders in 83.

Snag uses this to illustrate an important, all too resonant message

It .. it hit like a truck. Because it's the truth: We may not win, it's a long game and being a queer person in a country that hates and fears you has been historically a long hard road to getting a shrug of acceptance at best. But you fight anyway because every inch you gain, every ground you get or get back, is worth it.

Proving Snag's point... while I liked the work at the time.. I didn't see the deeper meanings or let them sink in. I saw it as thought provoking.. then let the thoughts it provoked scatter. I didn't see that just because you win one fight and get rid of one tyrant dosne't mean he can't come back.

So we open the series possible with two people late to see the show... and you can just tell it's not the show we're about to see. More on them later. For now we see the arrival of the man of the hour, the vip who gets the first slice of the p-i-e. Snagglepuss in this unvierse is an award winning playwright, married to actress Lila Lion, Snag's love intrest from the cartoons now his beard as he attends the last performance of one of his plays, Heart is a Kennel of Theives. Snag admits his inspriations are the Algonquin Round Table, a group of actors, writers and others whose jokes, japes and witty banter were world wide legend and to a small boy in misssipi with not much else, it was everything.

We see the play best summed up as

Though a nice touch I like is that the actors all wear dog ears, both the humans and the pink puma playing the lead role.

The finale's a smash and Snagglepuss bids his wife adew.. and goes to see his boyfriend at the Stonewall. The Stonewall is a historic gay bar, a safe haven for queer folk. Sadly it would not last forever, being destroyed thanks to a three day riot after Police did a homophobic raid and many queer people rejected owned by the mob, but is thankfully back, having reopened in the 90's and being rightfully declared a historic landmark.

At the Stonewall, Snagglepuss and his boyfriend Pablo watch a hearing from Huac on the tv for novelist and playwright Lillian Hellman, who refuses to sell out anyone she knew while in the Communist party to huac. SHe's a friend of Snag's but he dosen't take HUAC seriously assuming SURELY it couldn't happen here. Pablo.. is quick to correct his dumbassery, pointing out he once dealt with a politican who was a buffon too: Batista, the dictator of cuba and the reason why he's here. They assumed he was a clown, a has been who had no real power.. and his crackdown on meetings of queer people and killing one of his friends who stood up to them proved otherwise. Pablo fled.. but feels horrified by it. And when snag tries to brush it off

This line is not only brilliant.. but gutting as .. it's what we're dealing with now. We thought Trump couldn't come back. Even I, utterly nerverwracked about the apocalypse that would happen if he won again thought surely the nation couldn't do this. Surely we wouldn't surrender to this monster again.

I was wrong. Many were. From people like me who simply wanted to reassure themselves he can't win to the dumbasses who helped him: the throngs of people who could care less about the trans people or immigrnats trump would harm as long as he helped them, something he's completely and utterly failed to do and was never gonna do but he sure has harmed immigrants, trans people and anyone who dares speak against him. The democratic party who treated this like a normal transition of power and not a fight for the future till the other shoe dropped and who could care less about the people getting hurt due to their waffling. The lefter than thous who refused to vote for anybody, refused to compromise, and now STILL blame Biden as much as trump does for their own shortcomings when we have bigger problems to deal with. And of course the rabid assholes who always existed but we assumed were the minority. All of this lead to the shit sandwitch we're all stuck in now. We all have a tendency to belivie the worst can't happen and then it does. And while things have held.. we can't be complacent. I wish I knew what to do but I badly want to find it, a way to fight back against this. But for now I was warned the house was on fire... and didn't grab a bucket till it was already nearly gone.

Snagg has lunch with legendary writer and his hero dorthy parker, who warns him both that his idols have faded.. and that it'll happen to you.

That night an old friend of Snag's stops by, Hanna Barbera star, cartoon legend and thanks to the simpsons, this work and Jellystone gay icon Huckleberry hound. They party.. but it's clear Lillian isn't in a great place after everything.

We finally see where that couple was going.. an execution

It works as unsubtle as it is, the simple idea that america loves a spectacle.. that their just as entertained with thought provoking life changing material.. as they are watching death and treating it like a late show.

We end the issue on our main antagonist, Gigi Allen, whose joind the hearings and plans to target Snagglepuss, claming a nation becomes what it enjoys.. which isn't wrong but in her mind means SNagg must go. The comitte is hesitant given he beat their asses last time.. but she has an ace in the hole.. a picture of him going into the Stonewall.

We open issue two with Gigi saying a whole not of nothing loudly. before Snagglepuss gets through his day: dealing with an actor criss as the actor, Marion aka John Wayne himself, can't find his motivation, visits a man in hospice whose son also went into theater and has a noose next to his bed because he used to be a judge.

He ends the evening introducing the future king of assholes to Huck, who delightfully is enjoying a tv dinner. Snagglepuss has been a good friend not asking questions till now but to be a true friend you have to ask your buddy sometims why they suddenly showed up out of the blue after not talking to you for months.

The short and less heartrending version?

The long soul punching version, Huck was a closeted novelist. His wife was suspscious and sent detectives after him.. who caught him with a man and for some reason rather than just you know.. blackmail him or.. maybe don't, they agreed not to get him arrested if he left town and never came back, forced to abandon his son. It's a contrast to snagglepuss who does the same things.. but tells his wife about it. Still it's hard not to feel for Huck: He couldn't exactly be out, he had few choices and unlike Snagglepuss didn't leave home where it's easier to find someone willing to be your beard. He didn't want to leave his son like his father left him. Still Huck is shown to have some poor choices, trying to hit up a guy.. and getting punched in the face by what turns out to be a bigot with it easily going much worse for many other queer people. It's why for so long I repressed by attraction to men more.... part of me told me I could take my time which I could.. but i've realized this month that part of it was just being afraid of being myself, that I know my family will accept me.. but I can't say the world will. I haven't hid it.. but I also haven't explored it for fear of being beaten up or catfished.

Snag offers to take Huck to the Stonewall some night. For now he fist runs into his friend from earlier.. whose leaving the US. She received 5 rejection letters... all in the same print so she's going to Paris.. and warns Snagglepuss that the first comittee meeting is simply to see if they'll bend the knee. The second is to destroy them for their insolence.

It's proven too as Gigi invites Snaagglepuss to dinner.. and to try and get him to play ball. It goes as well as you'd expect

It's brutal as it is honest and it's really what any culture war is about: It's not about OH WON'T SOMEBODY PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN, it's not about real moral honesty.. you just want to control what people think. Trump didn't bomb iran because it was the right thing to do he did it because right now he's the enemy and he wants to give the people who voted for him who aren't drinking the kool aid anymore something to boo and hiss about while he dismantles the country from the inside out. It was the same then it's the same now: they go after people they other because their easy targets and "hollywood" because it's creators are often fucking honest and do everything they can to get past censors. Even now we get shit like Disney censoring queer content, firing a queer creator and trying to say nothing while brave men , women and everything inbetween and beyond fight to actually say their stories.

So we end the issue with war being delcared: HUAC sends a letter calling Snag back

We begin issue 3 with a jumpscare

So we open with Snagglepuss being interviewed on a tv show, bringing Huck with him to try and help revitalize Huck's career. When asked about his low opinons of tv, Snagglepuss gives us the diffrence between an actor and a star, a stage actor and a tv actor. A star is who we want to be, an actor is who we are.

Snagglepuss wakes up from his afternoon nap by the pool to deal with two problems: The first is that one of the actors in his current play is bad and should feel bad. Snag decides to deal with it.. but has to deal with something else: Playwright arthur miller, the man who made the crucible among many other thought provoking plays.. and also had a longstanding relationship with screen idol Marilyn MOnroe... and her current boyfriend and soon to be first husband Joe Dimaggio is coming to murder the second before it gets that far. Snag is brought in because well.. yeah. It's really that obvious so being seen with him is a smokescreen. He reluctantly agreres and we get WHY Joe adores her so much: as a son of immigrants who had their livelyhood taken away just for being immigrants, she's his american dream, the kind of acceptance he craves... yet he can't see he's objectifying, her a means to deal with his pain instead of actually dealing with it himself. Snag defuses things.. but tellingly for the first time all comic we see him PISSED when he calls arthur afterword

Artist Mike Feehan who does the full mini series does a fantastic job making the characters look realistic. The humans can sometimes look a bit dead eyed, but it helps the animals pop more. And this might be my faviorite panel, showing Snag feral and pissed.. and for good reason. Arthur abused their friendship to use Snag's sexuality as a prop to get him out of a problem he got himself into.

He lets it slide off though shifting back into his charming usual self efortlessly and introducing Huck to the stonewall... his reaction is beautiful.

As unrest grows in Cuba snag is glad Pablo is here.. but Pablo isn't, pissed and lashing out that Snag would rather he be a kept man than fighting for somethign he belivies in. It's telling Snag just.. can't understand that Pablo wants to fight and wants to be there with his people trying to make something better instead of hoping to ignore the rising tides till they wash him over.

Next day, Snagglepuss visits his friend in the hosptial, bringing LIla along this time, with said friend resenting his son for leaving his mother.. and seemingly killing her with grief. More importantly Snag's going to another party and until sitting down to write the review I never realized that there's one in every issue. Huck takes Quickdraw Mcgraw as his date, having been el kaboining him. Quickdraw has been seen a few times at the stonewall, a closeted police officer who collects the bribes. Huck is.. happy for the first time since he got here, not wallowing having found someone and thanking snagglepuss for it.. and knowing what's coming... it fucking hurts. You'll see why shortly but if you've read this comic you know and you can see why it took me this long to go back.

Snag runs into Marilyn who apologizes for the whole mess. She explains what she sees in Joe.. that he's a person, not some dumb brute but someone with complexity and pain we saw earlier. The problem is .. Joe dosen't see hers: like most men he sees Marlin as either a sexual prize to be won.. or a dumb bimbo to be torn down instead of a person... which is what Arthur sees. Snag not only makes it clear he's not going to tell joe but thanks Marilyn for being this vunerable for him, for showing the part of her that few get to see. It's a tender moment and one of the best in the comic.

This whole subplot could be cut... but it makes a point about people , especailly in snag and huck's case as queer people in the 1950's, have to cut part of ourselves off, segment ourselves, and how being seen.. is seeing all of a person. Unlike some of the celebrity cameos like John Wayne or as we find out Clint Eastwood as the actor Snag realized wasn't good for stage (but does hook him up with a western as he sees his talent as a star and for talking to empty chairs), it feels necessary, not only hooking snag to the world but into things. There's a LOT of cameos here and i'm not skilled enough at the 50's to spot them all and i'm only googling the ones that impact the plot. As the interview ends we get a truly magificent line i'll let speak for itself

We end issue 3 with everything going pretty well even with the hearing. Now's the part where it all goes to shit.

We open issue 4 with Gigi again and another scene that's more tone setting than actually plot relevant. She's in Nevada after assuring the comittee she'll have leverage on snagglepuss. For now after another jingoistic classroom lecture she talks with a tecncian at a test sight who makes it clear why their buliding so many fallout shelters: it's not because the goverment ever thought they'd work.. but it gives the ILLUSION of victory, that america really would be stupid enough to start nuclear war and MIGHT survive it. It's letting your oponent THINK you'll pull the trigger when neither of you can, and letting people think their safe when really... no. Their dead and their fate isn't in their hands.

So let's stop a second and talk about Mark Russel's writing style: Mark likes to take breaks like this to set the tone and to say stuff about society to really go off about a topic. Sometimes it works, sometimes it dosen't, but he's good at intercutting it with panels and showing the insane underpinnings of our society. It mostly works here, with everything tying in thematically: the cold war their using to do this prosecution bullshit.. is just smoke and mirrors. Theirs no war just two countries darring each other to "end the world pussy!"

At the play we find out it's about Snag and Huckleberry, complete with masks.. and it makes Snag reflect on his past. he and Huck knew each other as kids. Were best friends.. but Snag had to go. As he poignantly puts it

So Snag left.. and deals with it.. and into present day as while he's mostly cast the mask off privately... he still wears one. Lila had zero idea till this play he and huck were lifelong friends, with Snagglepuss barely letting her in. She was completely aware she was his beard going into the marriage, she's fine with that. .but she wants to at least be let in emotionally... which is a fair ask and Snag knows it as he dodges the questions. He knows he's not being fair but it's very clear across the story Snagglepuss.. has trouble opening up. His viacious personality is part who he is.. but part another mask. A way to put a wall up so he never has to deal with his emotions or issues. He geniuinely if platonically loves lila.. but he can't be vunerable with her or Pablo, he can barely be vunerable with himself. He talked about parts of yourself you hdie from everyone.. but he hides his pain in his work and in himself.

And this extends to Pablo whose tired of hiding, tired of the masks and wants to be himself... or at least something more than meeting one place every day. And Snagg..s naps for the second time this series, and in a way that's heartbreaking as it is telling

It's a line I honestly didn't notice on my initial read for this review, a line that proves what i've been saying: that Snag WANTS to be free but is constraind by a society that would destroy him for being queer. He's a caged lion unable to be who he deserves to be.. but he's boxing in others to do it.

Snag.. does end up doing the right thing in a truly heartwarming moment that in other works may be a turning point for his life: Instead of the stonewall.. he realizes Pablo was right and that he's hurting the people he loves.. so he introduces Lila and Pablo. He may be closeted.. but he can live and have the loves of his life, his best friend and his boyfriend, his family.. be family.

Sadly... this is intercut with a tragedy. While Snagglepuss embraces who he is as much as he can... Huck alraedy has. His relatoinship with Quickdraw is going great, everything seems fine... then Gigi lowers the hammer. See she intended to go after snagglepuss with the stonewall, pressuring the cops into a raid knowoing their taking bribes, but his change of heart saved him.. but dosen't save Huck.. who has his heart broken

McGraw chooses his career over Huck and instead of warning him and moving on with his life.. destroys him. Huck is arrested and humiliated , forcibly outed by a horrifying world.. and by Gigi who ruined his life just to get at his friend.. and is closeted herself. It's a damming statment.. that it's one thing to struggle with not being out, the world can be hard and as seen with Snag sometims you do the best you can and find a way around till the world will let you be who you are. But as McGraw and Gigi show... sometimes.. you sell out your own just to get ahead. McGraw is broken by what he's done while Gigi..s leeps peacefully entirley okay with having destroyed a man and preparing to destroy him further for her own goals.

Huck is understandably not doing great, the cop discharging him to Snag, who leaves practice at once to go bail his friend out, making homophobic remarks. But he at least admits.. he's out. That a man can't hide forever.. but he also admits that you can change the world or be destroyed by it.. and god help him Huck can't decide which.

Kruchev has a general arrested for daring ot speak up against him.. the moral is important to this: dance to the beat the goverment once.. or else.. and how the us despite claming ot fight communisim.. is using the exact same tactics.

Back to the main event. The Comittee is a bit pissed as Gigi misssed her target. They want to call the hearing off.. but it's too late and Gigi makes a valid point: The goal was leverage and while they dont' have our hero directly.. they have one of the few people he'd die for in the crosshairs.

So the two enemies meet again. And while she TRIES the "we're sorry we didn't mean to" card... Snag shuts that shit down on sight

Gigi offers to make it all go away for huck if he bends the knee.. and it becomes clear her right wing bullshit about "the culture war determining if we win the cold war".. isn't bullshit for her. Some part of her GENUINELY seems to belivie this is a battle for america's soul and if they all dont' bend the knee and obey, we loose. The sad truth is the real powers controlling the right like hers, then and now don't want any moral victory. These crusades are so they can other people to create enemies. They go after queer people because we do not fit into the mold that's easy to control. We do not bend the knee as easily. As this work and real life has proven some do. But it's a lot harder to control and control is the whole game. A war, culture or real isn't the goal.. its blind obidence. It always has been. She's deluding herself thinking this is about anything else.

The worst part though.. is it's actually working. Snagglepuss is considering bending because she has his best friend held to the fire. Lila is concerned he might while Pablo is just furious at the notion. Yet whlie he's right that the monsters will never stop begging for a pound of flesh and want more and more.. Snag has a point. It's easy to call someone a monster when they sell out for their own comfort like Quickdraw or because they've deluded themselves into thinking it's the right thing like Gigi. But Snagglepuss wonders if his work is at all worth the life of his best friend. It'd be very easy to condem him but the story and the world has backed him into a corner he cannot get out of.

Huck is likewise stuck. It's been clear all story Huck has depression: his stories are all about how miserable he is, he can't stop about it, but there's just not a lot of language to help him. He was almost doing better.. but loosing his lover, his ablility to write, it's destroyed him. He points out he's a goldfish in a glass bowl.. even with Snag's offer for him to move in.. it's just moving the bowl. And while Snag admits he could make it go away, Huck has doubts. Huck.. is a complex character: he's naive, depressed.. but always had a current of hope. A tv dinner is a modern marvel, love is something he needs and yearns for and embraces when he gets it. That hope is gone.

The final breaking point is that HUAC reveals to snag their suppoening Huck. He calls LIla , planning to fully sell out.. but as she tries to tell him before having to shout it

It's the reason this review has been so damn hard to write, not helped by being a person with depression whose had suicidal ideation. Huck hung himself, not able to deal with this anymore.. and HUAC might as well have handed him the noose. They knew he was vunerable and they pushed simply to win a political fight. A man died... because they broke him all to get at someone else.

Snag is devistated, the art doing a perfect job capturing his shock.. before he decides to go down fighting. They nearly had him and they pushed too hard.. and now he's going to break them back. But he also makes it clear he's going to push LIla away, something she's devistated by and worried about.. but he has no choice. Anyone attached to him will be destroyed and it's a truly devistating sacrifice, giving up his friend.. for her saftey.

He also has to give up opening night, with Peter talking him up: after the fire incident his rep was understandably done, justifably so.. but Snag gave him another chance. So while he'll have to pretend like they never knew each other.. for tonight... this is for Snag.

Snag's demeanour is diffrent. It's a change I hadn't noticed before but hits like a truck once you do: he's colder, angry. He does make a joke or two, i'd be impossible for him not to.. but the jokes are less pithy and light. He's thrown away the mask, the playwright, the jokester, the man with the iron wit.. and is speaking plainly, bluntly and nobly. The him before wasn't bad and is a good way to deal with facists.. but it's not the snagglepuss their getting. They thought that snagglepuss would be their downfall... instead their getting him with his teeth bared ready to tear them apart and when asked about his arts subersivness..

It's a beautiful statement. It's the truth. All these idiots saying ART SHOULDN'T BE POLITICAL are really just saying "I don't like this art's politics". The best they can muster is stuff like Mr Berchum which isn't art but someone screaming their opinon at you. The whole point of art is to crack open your world view, to help you see beyond it. The reason the widening perspectives we're getting is so great.. is that we see beyond ourselves. To use a recent example i'll be covering for next year's Juneteenth, Sinners tells an entertaining action story and has wonderful memorable characters... by framing it through the black experince, through the south and through the commodification of black art and people. The rich history embeded in the film makes the work what it is. I"m sure some jaggoffs are claming "OH WELL IT'S WOKE OR DO THEY HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THIS". which.. yes they do. When we stop thinking just in what we know and open our world, the world is better for it. There's so much queer content and queer coded content these days.. because our stories matter. They deserve to be told. And the harsh truth of what the powers in this coutnry, the very white powers that run it have done NEEDS to be laid bare so we can fucking change it.

Gigi is pissed , trying to frame the thing as "obdeicne or oblivion..a nd snagglepuss obleterates her. He explains WHY entertainment is so important and I wish I could use more panels here but the final scene o fthe issue is several pages of back and forth I simply can't properly put on screen. It's well worth reading. But he points out pop culture puts people's fanaticism somewhere somewhat healthy. And otherwise.. it turns to goverment, the state, to tolataranisim.. and that isn't healthy. he can't say there isn't an exestital threat, the cold war was and the threat of nuclear Armageddon still is.

So Gigi brings up huck.. and it HORRIBLY backfires as she had no idea he committed suicide and then says "If he just kept it private". Snag explodes... pointing out that keeping it private destroys people. having to hide who we are is a cage, a mask we can never take off that eventually becomes part of us and consumes us

As snag ends his speech Pablo leaves, his divorce papers are sent.. and he decides to live with himself rather than hide in shame. Issue 5 is an explosive climax to the story, the big final confrontation between two powers.. and while Snagglepuss wins the moral victory and easily smokes his opponents.. he ultimately dosen't win. It was good to have this, full of iconic lines and fantastic moments.. but it also shows how easy it is to win.. and still loose.

We begin the next chapter years later. Nixon is talking with kruschev and Kruschev makes a valid point: while america props up our culture.. we also abuse it, comodifying stars of color or who are queer than treating them as lesser

This is of course hypocritical given the soviets werne't exactly friendly to quee rpeople.. but it dosen't make it not true.

Issue 6 is more of an epilogue: it's valuable and important to the story and good it didn't end here, but it ends sometime later and deals with the aftermath, the rubble left and the good and bad of Snag's brave stand.

The bad is evident early on: a bunch of gawking idiots rescognize him as "from being on the communism show". They missed the point entirely and Snag is understandably bitter. He meets with Augie Doggie, now a succesful novelist having written a book about snag and disgusted he got blacklisted, and giving him a copy. He may be lightly comodifying his friend.. but it's clear he did so for the art.

Snag once again says something profound: when Auggie reflects that maybe writers strive for happy endings because the unvierse is cruel and uncaring and we don't want to admit that. he offers something diffrent

Snagglepuss returns to his lonely apartment, consigned to the same frozen dinner Huck once had, and suprised to find Lila has remarried... happy for her too. She finally got the ending she deserved.

Someone who dosen't get what they deserve in that moment is McGraw who shows up at the door and is VERY lucky he dosen't get a punch to the face. He's here to make amends.. though Snag isn't in the mood. While McGraw feels guilty... Snag points out the why: Quickdraw was caught a few years later so what he did to huck amounted to nothing, and he feels bad in part because of that.. rather than because he choose the badge over his boyfriend.

Still he at least offers what he has: a cartoon show. He's gotten a role somehow, and offers snag one. I'ts a brilliant twist I didn't see coming reading this first run: that the hanna barbera cartoons snag would star in.. are canon to this universe. As in universe productions, sure, but given how cheap they were I can buy they were shot in live action with genuine furries. Snagglepuss objects this as nonsense.. but it's only if he wants it to be. For now he reads Huck's suicide note: that we should forgive ourselves.. and find forgiveness.

He then gets a call: his friend that he's been visting all story, the cranky old mah has passed.. and turns out.. it was his father. It's heavily hinted and I can't belivie I missed it on my read throughs but it's another thing lost in a painful life... the two having reached SOME kind of peace but never having the courage to tell his dad who he was. Maybe he knew.. maybe he didn't.

Snag in his depression goes back ot the stonewall, where a bear witha n eyepatch serves cocktails. Snagg feels his fight.. was for nothing. He proved nothing, the world is still cold.. what did he exactly win. And the stonewall bartender reveals exactly what; More bars. It used to be the only place.. but more and more sprung up while the stonewall istself persisted. The bust didn't kill it.. it showed these places exist and mroe people found and created them. You can't kill an idea.

And he figures they'll win> Why, because w'ere not going anywhere. Snagg spots pablo on tv, having participated in the revolution against batista and won. Also there's a farmer telling nixon to stay out of his corn. I refuse to give you any context.

So Snagglepuss realizes he can't just.. lay over and die and that maybe just getting back out their, existing in spite of the blacklist is enough.. and he takes the job.

So we end on Quickdraw bringing SNag in. Since they need all the stars they can get to crank out stories they don't care but just as a precaution we get a fantastic mythology gag: they paint him gold and call him snaggletooth, what snagglepuss was called in his first apperance and how he looked. It's a stupid trick.. but one that should work, it gives them deniablity and if no one cares, then he can perform under his name and color again.

Snag has one non negotiable... another star he wants brought on. Huck's son Huckleberry Hound Junior... who takes huck's name as a stage name in his honor. So we end as the duo visit huck's grave

It's a beautiful ending an da postscript tells us the show was a success, both would get their own cartoons.. and they'd have a long happy career. It's as close to a happy ending as I need.

Exit Stage Left is a masterpiece. A beautiful work that takes a batshit concept that should not work... an dmakes it work swimingly. It feels like it'd make an excellent companion piece to bojack horseman, the same use of animals who are a bit jarringly real in places as actors to deal with our own fucked up world and an ending tha'ts not exactly happy.. but still better than we thought following a flawed, if not as fucked up character. It's a fantastic piece of art that proves wild swings do work you just have to know where your aiming. It's well worth a read if you can find it, and should be held up as one of THE comics of the 2010s and reprinted as soon as possible. I doubt warner will but hey, stranger things have happened. If nothing else they could do a dc by mark russel omnibus and include this, prez, and his other works like flintstones. It's painfully timely, beautiful, and biting and i'm honored to have covered it. Thanks for reading

[justzawe]

Zawe Ashton Covers AMAZING Magazine | Issue 4

Actor, author, playwright and new mum Zawe Ashton adds another string to her bow: supervillain. As she joins the Marvel Cinematic Universe, she tells AMAZING about her love of poetry, getting physical on the set of The Marvels and the unwavering support of her own parents.

Zawe Ashton is no stranger to playing the antagonist. From her very first film role as rude schoolgirl Bianca in 2009’s St Trinian's 2: The Legend Of Fritton's Gold, to playing the intimidatingly cool Violet “Vod” Nordstrom in four seasons of student sitcom Fresh Meat and – more recently - as the rejected Julia Thistlewaite in 2022 period drama, Mr. Malcolm’s List, Ashton has a knack for taking on characters who appear unlikeable on paper… and making audiences fall in love with them. However, for her latest role as Dar-Benn in The Marvels, she had to go full villain.

“Very little can prepare you to have to embody an antagonist at this level, in a Universe that is literally not known to anyone – like our Space - and to make it real and impactful,” says the London-born actor, a new recruit to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. “There's something deeply humbling about having to return to the sandbox; you have to go back to the playground and that was something I was not expecting. You have to indulge in adult play and it’s surprisingly vulnerable. I know that there are gamers out there, there are cosplayers out there, there are adults who have managed to keep that level of childlike play going and I respect it so much. There's a self-consciousness that can take over if you are not careful. Trying to react realistically to a laser coming towards you is not something I’d done since I was seven years old, and I had to get to that level of childlike confidence to just delve into the imagination. Once that was all clearer, the villainous elements came so much from the physical world, with costume and hair.”

For 39-year-old Ashton, adult play will likely become a more frequent fixture in her life, thanks to her most exciting new role – as a mother. She welcomed her first child in 2022 with fiancé Tom Hiddleston, her co-star in the 2019 revival of Harold Pinter's Betrayal on London’s West End, later transferred to Broadway. “What has genuinely surprised me about motherhood is how much I don't feel ready to talk about it,” she laughs. “And this isn’t to shut down the conversation. I have gained so much insight from public people who have this incredible candour and this disarming, relatable dialogue about it very early on, but it's something that I am just dedicating time to absorbing. I’m listening rather than expelling energy. That genuinely has surprised me, because it's something you want to shout from the rooftops about; it's the most unparalleled, most important role in my life. The surprise has been how quiet I want to be about it. Maybe that's also me as a writer and this is something that will come through the pen at some point.”

Ashton attended London’s Anna Scher Theatre School from the age of six and was a member of the National Youth Theatre, before getting her degree in acting at Manchester Metropolitan University, but writing has always been significant in her life. She won the London Poetry Slam Championship in 2000, becoming the event’s youngest winner, at 17. “I may have been knocked off that pillar long ago, but in my head I'm still the youngest,” she laughs. “I love poetry. I had not written for a really long time; during the pandemic I lost a huge chunk of my creative soul when it came to putting pen to paper, which was really scary and was clearly the fallout of being in survival mode and feeling quite fearful. People's attention spans just went all sorts of different ways, didn't they? It was very hard for me to read, and it was very hard for me to write, which is very strange for me.

“More recently, a friend of mine from drama school who I used to do open mic nights with in Manchester – I used to perform poetry and she used to sing - asked me to write a poem for her wedding. I had a few moments where it was really tough, but I did it. I love her and I'm so happy for her, and being inspired enough to get a poem out and read it aloud really opened the floodgates. So, weirdly enough, I've been writing a lot of poetry recently and found a new love for it. I will always continue to use poetry as a way to understand the world. It's just so much part of who I am.”

For Zawe's full interview and shoot, order your copy of AMAZING issue 4 now. The Marvels is out now.