#now may there have been some stage direction in the script to indicate bits of this. idk maybe

[callixton]

barba and benson with an intense platonic relationship is my happy ending and i’m so glad the writers didn’t make it romantic. that said. there is something so entertaining about watching raúl and mariska make charged subtext out of the least meaningful dialogue in the world. they’re so insane and also so right for that

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

It’s Just a Movie: Part 15 (Poly!Lost Boys x reader) fic

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: angst, depression, blood mention

Word Count: 2081

(( This chapter is mainly just exposition cause I actually want to finish this story and not lose mojo for it!! Hope you guys enjoy!! ))

Nightly visits to the boardwalk never seemed to get boring, even if it’s what you had been doing for months. With the boys, your boys, you could never be bored. Time passed like grains of sand in an hourglass, each day slipping out of your fingers and down to the bottom. As the summer months got closer, the less you felt like going home. 

Of course, you had your days, and your phases. Something would happen, usually small, and you’d find yourself reaching for your phone. You had stopped bringing it with you to the boardwalk, finding that you couldn’t take it out on the boardwalk and it wasn’t like you could use it much anyways. And sometimes that was it. You’d remind yourself that you hadn’t brought it with you, that you had no use for it, and that was it. But not always. There were days, days that didn’t start occurring until after you’d been there for over three months, where that realization would encircle your heart like a cruel fist. It’d squeeze, and you would suddenly feel out of place. Wrong. Lost. 

Those moments racked through you, and there was hardly much you could do to stop the aftermath the first time it happened. Sobs would escape your mouth before you could stop them, and the boys had been just as taken aback as you were. They had, unfortunately, seen you cry before. But that had been from their own actions. Your sudden break, sudden sorrow, had been confusing to all of them. Though, of course, there were a couple of them who were more vocal than the others. You were lucky that you hadn’t left the cave yet. You had cried for nearly hours, with the boys trying in various ways to get you to stop until they finally just let you let it out.

When you were finally able to explain, you found that they understood more than you thought they would. It was then that you reminded yourself that they were lost too.

You had been lying in your bed with David besides you. They were taking turns trying to cheer you up before, but there was something about the blonde that comforted you just a tad bit more than the others. Perhaps it was that he wasn’t telling you it was going to get better. Or trying to make you laugh. Or trying to cheer you up at all. He was simply there, smoking in your room no matter if you asked him not to. You were laying your head on his chest, which was silent under your ear. After an hour of silence, David decided to speak.

“We all went through, well, something similar.” He said suddenly, and you lifted your head. Confusion was evident on your face, and you said an audible, 

“Huh?” David blew the smoke towards the ceiling and shook his head, gesturing to you.

“Your- whatever it was. I guess your denial stage is over.” He said, and you sat up. Denial? For some reason, David was the best at flaring your temper, and his words did exactly that. You had been dating all of them for two months at that point, and David knew what anger looked like on your face fairly well by then.

“Denial?” You echoed, and you watched as the blonde took another drag. In the past months that you’d been dating them, you’d learned to read all of them fairly well too, and you could tell David wished he hadn’t said anything. As annoying as he could be, you found that he just liked getting on your nerves. Not getting into actual fights. He sat up as well, but he leaned back against the mountain of pillows that the boys had collected for you.

“Denial. You were telling yourself that this wasn’t really happening. That you weren’t really staying here.” He said, and you couldn’t believe that he had the nerve to bring this up again. You scoffed, shaking your head as you moved away from him. Now, some things made sense. Why he’d dropped the topic so many months before. He knew you couldn’t control it, and he chose to chalk up your reluctance as denial. You couldn’t believe him, and you had half a mind to tell him to get out before he was reaching for your hand. “I’m saying this because we went through it too, y/n. We all had to mourn our old lives.” He said, and you stared at him in a whirlwind of confusion and anger. But there was something about what he’d said that struck you. It never occurred to you that the boys had anything to leave behind. Sure, you had read the prequel script, but there wasn’t anything solid. Anything that had made it to the screen. You shook your head.

“But I’m not- I’m not like you. I’m not a vampire. And I’m not- We don’t know if I’m staying forever.” You said, and he stared at you. You watched the way his eyes changed. How just the tiniest bit of disappointment had crept into them. In the two months since you’d started dating, David had become more affectionate. You weren’t surprised when he reached out to cup your cheek, and you let him. Even if your anger was still brewing. 

“I know.” You could tell that he wanted to say more. Hell, it was rare that he was ever this quiet, and now you almost wished that he would monologue at you. But, whatever he wanted to say, it seemed he had decided you weren’t ready for it yet. Or that he didn’t want the fight that would follow it. Instead, he held out his arms and said, “C’mere.” It was a small command, and you narrowed your eyes at him before you sighed and gave in. You crawled back into his arms, tucking your head under his chin as his arms wrapped around you. Neither of you spoke of the topic anymore, even if his words had caused a new flurry of thoughts inside your head. 

You’d been depressed for a few weeks afterwards. Angry and irritable. And, sometimes, just the tad bit resentful of the four. But, you quickly reminded yourself that this wasn’t their fault, and those feelings dissolved as time moved on and the wound began to heal. There were other moments when the wound would reopen, just as painful and wrenching as the first time that you realized you may be stuck there for good, but those times became fewer and farther in-between until the approaching summer brought on a whole new wave of something else. Excitement. Anxiety. Doubt. 

And the closer it got, the more difficult it became to ignore your situation. It was finally a week in late March that you asked David what he had in mind for when you met Star, and it had taken all of the boys by surprise. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been planning for the summer, but none of them had dared to discuss any plans that involved factoring you into it. And when you asked, you couldn’t help but notice how it had pleased your boyfriends. Even if they did their best to hide it, though some were better than others. It was growing increasingly difficult to pay attention to David’s ideas when Paul kept kissing down your neck, and Marko wasn’t helping either. He was holding your hand, and if you dared to look in his direction then he would take that as an opportunity to lean in and steal a quick press of your lips. And if you didn’t? Well, he would simply nuzzle your cheek instead. Finally, after a glare from David, you had settled to sit in Dwayne’s lap. Even then, the brunette kept squeezing your waist every so often, and you swore that you could feel him smiling, just ever so slightly, into your hair.

By the time June arrived, acceptance was inevitable. It was officially summer, and there you were. Still in sunny Santa Carla. Not that you got to see the sun that often. But you had been in their world for seven months, and your world seemed like a thing of the past. And as your nerves for the upcoming events grew, you could hardly spare a thought for your home. 

There was no clear indicator as to when the Emersons would arrive, and you didn’t have the internet to research. The best you could do once summer arrived was wait. You weren’t the only one that this was proving difficult for, and certain boys seemed ready to pull their hair out when a hint of what was to arrive finally came. Max, no matter how well the boys hid you, had asked if the boys had started seeing anyone. He assured that he hadn’t actually seen you, but he’d said he could rather smell you. Apparently, a feminine scent was hanging off of all of them. The boys did their best to dodge the topic, and dodge mentioning you. The five of you were worrying about how you were going to cover your tracks when you finally caught sight of a curly haired brunette just at the turn of the month. 

The five of you had been on the boardwalk together, going on one of your weekly group dates. Dwayne had his arm around you, even if Paul was trying his best to snatch you out from under him. Your breath had hitched when you saw her. You had to admit. She was gorgeous, even if the sight of her made you feel like you were going to faint. Or throw up. Or both. It was Dwayne that called your name before he asked,

“You okay?” And you quickly looked up at the brunette. You looked ahead, pointing with your eyes, at the barefooted and red lipped girl floating through the crowd. When the others saw her, it sobered any fun that they’d been having. It was time. You’d all been discussing it for literal months, and now it was time to put that plan into action. You reached out for the boy besides you, your hand tangling into Pauls’, and you gave it a hard squeeze. The thought repeated in your mind. It was time. 

You didn’t know if it was anxiety or adrenaline, but the night seemed to pass by in a blur. You remembered David approaching her, the drive back to the cave, and now you were sitting on the couch with the girl, Star, sitting besides you. You felt a similar feeling as to the first time you met the boys. Disbelief. Surprise. A strange feeling that this couldn’t be real, even if the past seven months made it obvious that it was. 

You didn’t expect to get along with her, but it came as a welcome surprise. Stars face had a way of lighting up as she laughed, and it was helped with how much Paul joked with her from his spot on the wall. Both you and Dwayne smiled, Dwayne’s arm wrapped around the back of your seat on the couch. Marko stood besides David’s chair, egging Paul’s joke on further while David sat in his chair, smoked, and laughed at their banter. You were having a good time, even if what was going to happen soon itched at the back of your mind. Even if you knew the events of the future, it was hard to imagine, at least right now, that Star would be alright with betraying them. Even if you had just met, you had to admit that she fit into the group almost a little too well. And you tried to not let jealousy crowd your thoughts, even if it was David's flirting that had gotten her to come to the cave. You reminded yourself that she ended up with Michael. Whatever she thought of your boys now, it'd change the second she saw Michael. If not the second she turned.

When David finally offered her the bottle, you almost felt bad. Almost wanted to stop it. You even went as far as flicking your gaze to David's. But you couldn’t change what needed to be done. Not when she was the one who reeled in Michael. Not when Max was starting to become suspicious. Not when the boys' lives were at stake. That's exactly what David's eyes told you. So, you watched as Star drank the blood.

[xerxia31]

the Big Bang - an Everlark ficlet

Inspired by a story I read on CNN, that I couldn’t get out of my head. A warning - there are shades of dub-con here that may be disturbing to some readers. Rated M.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Peeta Mellark was fit to be tied.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here, boy,” Haymitch drawled. “You knew where these characters were heading when you signed on.”

“Come on, Haymitch,” Peeta growled. He was standing in Haymitch Abernathy’s office, holding the week’s script while Haymitch, head writer and executive producer of the hit series The Arena, in which Peeta starred, stared at him from under a mop of greasy, overlong hair. Until now, Peeta had loved working on the show, loved the ensemble cast, loved the interesting storylines and well-written scripts.

But not today.

“They’ve been growing together slowly for three damned seasons and now, this week, bam!” Peeta clapped his hands for emphasis, “out of nowhere you have three fucking sex scenes in the script.” For three seasons the show had been teasing a relationship between the character Peeta played, macho FBI agent Barley St James, and his shy, brainy colleague, Allium Winterland. It was a fantastic story, well paced, the dialogue between them always fun. Nearly three years they’d been teasing the audience with it.

And now this week’s script turned everything on it’s head. “You’re just screwing with us.” There was no way the timing was coincidental. Because the actress who played Allium, the actress he’d be stripping down to his skivvies and dry-humping with on national television? She was none other than his now-ex-girlfriend.

Haymitch glanced away. Peeta thought it was in shame until Haymitch spoke.

“You might as well come in, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said, and Peeta spun to look behind him. “We were talking about you.”

Katniss Everdeen was standing just outside Haymitch’s open door. It was the first time Peeta had laid eyes on her in the flesh in two weeks. Two fucking weeks! He hadn’t seen her since the night she walked out of their house.

He knew where she’d gone though, the whole fucking world did. All of the gossip rags, and even the more reputable news sites, were reporting how her on again off again affair with one Gale Hawthorne, star of multiple movie franchises and People magazine’s sexiest man alive 2018, was definitely on again. 

“Story of my life,” Katniss muttered as she walked the rest of the way through the door, schooling her expression into a dispassionate scowl as she did. Peeta had no idea why she went into acting, he could read her every emotion through the impassive mask. He always could. Today was no exception, her mask might be in place, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

She didn’t acknowledge Peeta at all, striding into the room on silent feet and stopping a solid six feet away. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, but her copy of the script was clenched in one fist. No doubt she’d been planning on storming in here to blast Haymitch. But Peeta beat her to it.

“Save your breath, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said. “Like I told the boy, you knew this was coming.”

“It’s fine,” she said, shooting a cool look in Peeta’s direction. “I’m a professional.” Then she turned, and strutted back out the door, back straight, long, black braid swinging. He could only watch, jaw clenched.

“Brrr,” Haymitch said. “You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime.” He was right, of course, and Peeta knew it. The audience would be expecting a pair of lovebirds. Not two people who could barely look each other in the eye.

“Whatever,” Peeta grunted. She wanted to play it that way? He could be cold too.

o-o-o

The table read went smooth as silk. Katniss sat on one side of the room, chatting lightly with their costar Delly Cartwright between scenes, Peeta sat on the other, joking with Cressida Faulkner, who was directing that week’s episode. Most of the cast had no clue Peeta and Katniss had broken up, because most of them never knew they’d been an item at all. Haymitch had figured it out somehow, clearly, but none of the other cast noticed anything was amiss. 

The following day’s rehearsal, not so much. Rehearsals were always in costume and filmed, so that the production team could splice in any good bits that came out of them. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in TV, especially in a weekly series where time was tight. Peeta was used to it.

His first few scenes were fine, his lines came easily, he hit every mark. Then came the first scene he and Katniss shared that week, the one that led up to the first of the three fucking sex scenes. 

She walked onto the set, and Peeta’s heart did a slow tumble in his chest. She was utterly beautiful, her hair loose and flowing, and wearing a dress patterned with autumn leaves. Soft orange, his favourite colour.

The colour of heartbreak.

They both stumbled through their lines, avoiding each other's eyes, interacting stiffing and unnaturally. Cressida halted the scene over and over again. It was a huge drag on the rest of the cast, slowing down everything.

Peeta’s only solace was that Katniss looked as miserable as he felt.

Peeta left as soon as rehearsal ended and headed for the gym. The call sheet had them both in an evening meeting at the studio, and he was going to need to work off some steam before he faced her again.

He should have asked, though, what the meeting was about. Because when he got back to the studio he found Katniss, dressed in leggings and a tiny little tank top, her face bare and so pretty, sitting cross-legged on a gym mat and chatting with a willowy brunette who gave off crunchy granola vibes. “Did I miss the memo about mandatory yoga?” he drawled. 

Katniss scowled, but the brunette smiled beatifically. “Hello Mr. Mellark,” she said softly, her voice like windchimes, musical and irritating. “I’m Annie Cresta, your intimacy coordinator.”

Peeta was too confused to make a joke. “My what now?”

Annie laughed. “Intimacy coordinator,” she repeated. “It’s my job to choreograph simulated sex scenes for actors.”

“I think we know how sex works,” Peeta grumbled, and Katniss flushed, obvious without the stage makeup caked on her skin, then looked down at her lap. But Annie was undeterred.

“Of course,” she said gently. “But it’s about more than just choreography. It’s about helping you both to be comfortable, about navigating respect and consent and keeping the set safe.”

Peeta had heard about this, once before maybe, in the wake of the #metoo movement. But he’d never worked with one before. Katniss must have requested it. Figured she couldn’t even trust him to be a professional on the set. “With all due respect, Ms. Cresta,” Peeta said. “I don’t think we need this. We’ve both filmed scenes like this before.” Not with each other, but that was a minor point.

Katniss, to his surprise, looked inclined to agree. Annie just smiled.

“Not negotiable, I’m afraid,” she said. “All of Panem Entertainment’s productions must have an intimacy coordinator on set.” Peeta frowned, they were in the third season of filming, he’d never seen Annie before. As if reading his mind, she nodded. “I worked with Thresh Watts and Rue Lamonte last year.” That scene had been filmed on a closed set, Peeta had seen the finished product, but not any of the lead-up, and it hadn’t occurred to him at the time to ask about it.

Peeta sighed, and resigned himself to having a stranger teach him how to have fake sex with his real ex-girlfriend.

“Have a seat,” Annie said, indicating the mat beside Katniss. Peeta gritted his teeth, but he sat, his knee brushing hers.

She didn’t react.

“Now,” Annie said. “Communication is key.” Peeta snorted, and Katniss scowled at him. Communication. With the woman who had spoken a single word to him in the past 15 days. Sure. "The most important thing is that the people involved feel safe.”

“Why would we feel unsafe?” Peeta interrupted. There was a Cubs game on TV tonight, he’d rather be watching that.

Annie was unperturbed. “You're revealing a lot in a scene, you're going to places where you're vulnerable, and that requires an awful lot of trust," she said, looking pointedly between Peeta and Katniss. He wondered with some annoyance just how much Katniss had revealed to Annie about their situation before he’d walked in. “I have the script, and an outline of how your director wants it to look. But you two will need to talk with each other and with me and say, 'What are you comfortable with? What are you not comfortable with?'”

“I don’t want kissing,” Katniss blurted, then flushed again. “I mean,” she amended, “I’m not sure I can concentrate on both that and lines and choreography.” Peeta knew that was bullshit, in three seasons he could count on one hand the number of times Katniss had forgotten a line or missed a mark. 

She just didn’t want to kiss him. And it stung. 

Annie nodded. “We can work around that,” she said. “There will need to be some close up shots of you kissing, but they can be filmed separately from the simulated sex.”

Great, Peeta thought. Their characters had kissed a lot over the past three seasons, but that had been easy. They were both professionals, and kissing Katniss for the camera had been no big deal. Fun, even, in a comfortable, familiar way. Never sexual, there was always too much lipstick and stage makeup to worry about for there ever to be more than a peck. But steady, and comforting.

He doubted it’d be like that now. Or ever again.

“Let’s start with directorial expectations,” Annie began. “I’ve been given a timeline for the scenes and an outline of the specific angles that are expected. The most challenging part, from an intimacy perspective, is likely to be the third, which will be shot side angle with you, Peeta, on top of Katniss and no sheets to shield anything. We’ll have to block arms and leg placements carefully, and it’s likely you’ll both feel very vulnerable.”

Peeta didn’t see how that would be difficult, yet when Annie positioned him kneeling between Katniss’s thighs, a ridiculous little brocade cushion between their bodies, it was incredibly awkward. Katniss couldn’t hide in this position, with their faces only inches apart, and he couldn’t ignore, looking into her silver eyes, just how much he’d lost.

Two hours of rolling around on the floor, blocking arm and hand and leg movements sucked any sexy out of the scene. It felt robotic and contrived and awkward as hell. Katniss, for her part, looked fucking miserable. “Well,” Annie said finally. “I’m sensing some discomfort, so I think we should close for the evening.”

Peeta rolled onto his back on the mat and stared at the ceiling. Why was this so fucking hard? He was an actor, for god’s sake. He’d filmed sex scenes before, and none of them felt this shitty.

“I think we could do with a couple more rehearsals,” Annie said. “I’ll ask Cressida to schedule some.” Just fucking great, Peeta thought.

Annie floated away like an ethereal being. Katniss hung back, maybe to talk with him, maybe just to avoid Annie. But he wasn’t in the mood. He’d been subjected to her stony silences for two days, his heart hurt and his pride was dented and he just needed to get out and lick his wounds.

“Peeta,” Katniss said softly. Peeta held up his hand.

“Not now,” was all he said.

She scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Peeta almost leapt to his feet, his exhaustion morphing into rage. “Look, you haven’t said a damned word to me in weeks, you haven’t even come home for your things, and now you want to talk?” Peeta spat, cringing internally at his use of the word home to describe the house where they’d been living together until two weeks ago.

Katniss looked puzzled, under all of that anger. “Jo said you threw everything away.” Johanna Mason was a mutual… well... not quite friend. Peeta had often accompanied her to awards shows, in the early days of her career when she was concerned that if it got out that she preferred women, it would stop her from getting leading lady roles. She didn’t need to worry about that anymore, she was a bonafide A-lister these days, and her relationship with an adorably bubbly talk show host was in every magazine. But Jo generally had her own unknowable agenda and sometimes she liked to stir up shit just for fun. 

“You think I’d do that?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. He might have thought about it, fantasized about it really, when he found out who she was staying with. But he had more dignity than that, and she damned well should know it.

In fact, everything was exactly as she’d left it when she stomped out of their home, out of his life, 15 days ago. Her toothbrush was beside the bathroom sink, her favourite sweater on her favourite chair. A shabby silver-framed picture of her parents nestled between their awards. All of the homey pieces of her life, all of her simple treasures, abandoned. 

Katniss shrugged, like she didn’t care, like his worth, his honour, the life they’d built together, was inconsequential, and it just pissed Peeta off more. He hated her ice princess routine, hated how fucking above it all she was. She’d always been good at freezing him out, at making him chase her, but no more. He didn’t have to put up with her stone cold shit.

“Get you crap or I will toss it,” he seethed, walking away. She didn’t call after him, but then she never did.

o-o-o

Haymitch dropped two of the three sex scenes from the script. Peeta should have been relieved, he was relieved. But he also felt sick about it. Like he was destroying his career.

The tension on set was obvious and palpable now, and he knew it looked like he was the cause. Katniss, always quiet, remained quiet. But Peeta couldn’t fake it, once the cameras stopped. Cold didn’t come naturally to him, and too often he veered into mean and snappish. 

He had to figure out a way to get past this, to get past his anger, his hurt, and work with Katniss again. But he had no idea how.

Peeta leaned back in his favourite club chair, in the cozy den at the back of his house, and allowed himself to relive that day, the day it had all come crashing down. Until then, he’d thought he had it all, had the world in the palm of his hand. A great job, a comfortable home and the most radiant woman in the world in his bed every night. 

Katniss Everdeen had been a child star on a hugely popular sitcom. He knew her only by name when she showed up to screen test with him. He’d been expecting a cute little moppet. Instead, she was a silver-eyed stunner. And right off the bat, he was a goner.

They clicked, in almost every way. Working together was a joy, chatting together between takes a delight. He loved her intelligence and wry sense of humour. They moved from friends to more at breakneck speed, but it never felt too fast.

She was insistent that they keep a lid on their relationship, even when they eventually moved in together. He understood it, her previous relationship, also with a costar, had been documented to death, she’d been hounded and harassed by the paparazzi constantly, even now they followed her everywhere. He didn’t love keeping them a secret, but he loved Katniss, so he acquiesced. 

And that day, the day it all fell apart? It was supposed to be a good day, a great day. The first day of their two-week mid-season filming break. They had grand plans to do nothing but each other. Peeta had run a few errands, then stopped by his agent’s office to sign a couple of endorsement contracts.

That’s when the shit started.

“I figured you’d want to hear it from me first,” Finnick Odair, the best agent in the business, said with a grimace. He handed Peeta a tablet. Loaded up was the National Enquirer, his mother’s smirking face beside a promotional shot of Peeta and Katniss, and the headline, ‘It’s Real’. His fucking mother had struck again. It wasn’t the first time she’d sold Peeta out to the tabloids.

“Shit,” Peeta murmured. Not because the headline wasn’t true, it was. But Katniss guarded her privacy with clenched fists, and for two years, they’d barely let anyone in on their secret. Finn knew, but he was very discreet and like he’d said when Peeta had first hired him, he couldn’t protect Peeta unless he knew all of his secrets.

“She’s going to be pissed, huh?” Finn said sympathetically.

He didn’t know the half of it.

Peeta was in a foul temper and all he wanted was his quiet house and a couple of fingers of scotch before he had to deal with Katniss, who was sure to be furious. But no, he wouldn’t even get that. Because Rye was standing at his front door when he arrived home. Peeta groaned, and parked in front of the house, instead of pulling into the garage, where the door he generally entered by was. They’d chosen this place because the gated community was supposed to offer them more privacy and security. He was going to have to talk with the guard at the gate again. Just because Rye looked like his brother didn’t mean Peeta wanted him here. 

“Peet,” Rye said genially as Peeta unlocked the seldom-used front door. 

“What do you want, Rye?” Peeta really had no time for his brother’s bullshit, not that day of all days, and he hadn’t bothered hiding his annoyance.

“I can’t just pop by to see my little brother?” Rye never came by unless he wanted something. Often it was money. Rye seldom worked, preferring to live off his association with Peeta There were a lot of people in LA who would wine and dine the families of celebrities, looking for an in. Rye had brought him a few abominable scripts over the years from people who’d promised him a big finders fee if he could get Peeta to sign on.

“Cut to the chase, Rye,” Peeta said impatiently. There was a small liquor cabinet in the living room closest to the front door. Not that they ever lived in this room. It was only for show, the place where outsiders were held, away from the parts of the house where they actually did their living.

“Fine,” Rye laughed. “Tell me it isn’t true, little brother,” he said. There was no point pretending Peeta didn’t know what he was talking about. Rye was a terrible gossip hound. Peeta shook his head. “Thank god,” Rye said. “You can do so much better than that. She’s not very big, and definitely not hot.” 

Peeta sighed. Rye’s taste in women only included girls who fawned all over him. Katniss would never make that list. 

“Where did Mom come up with that idea anyway?” Rye asked, eyeing the single glass Peeta poured with interest. Peeta was not going to offer him a drink. He wasn’t going to do anything that suggested Rye was welcome to stay. “It’s pretty fucking crazy, even for her.”

“I don’t know,” Peeta grumbled. He knew exactly where. She must have listened in on one of Peeta’s calls with his father. His dad was his best friend, Peeta just couldn’t keep secrets from him. But the old man wasn’t always careful when he talked to Peeta.

“Katniss Everdeen. As fucking if. You have much better taste than that,” Rye laughed. “Remember that chick you were with a couple of years ago? The one who was in Playboy?”

“Cashmere Solomon,” Peeta muttered half under his breath. He’s gone out with her twice, and she’d been a nightmare, only interested in what he could do for her celebrity.

“She was hot,” Rye nodded. “I hooked up with her, after.” That was more than Peeta needed to know.

“Look,” Peeta started, an attempt to get rid of Rye, to get back to his plans for a few quiet minutes before Katniss got home and he’d have to have another, very different conversation on this topic.

“Mom’s a mental case,” Rye interrupted. “Like you’d ever stoop low enough to fuck that Everdeen chick. Stuck up little bitch like that? You’ve got more pride.”

“Are we done?” Peeta was bone weary, and not at all in the mood to listen to one of his brother’s diatribes. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tonight.”

“Right, right,” Rye said. Peeta didn’t give a damn whether his brother believed him or not. He started to guide Rye back to the entryway. “I don’t know how Hawthorne puts up with her, “ Rye said. “Rumour has it she’s completely frigid.”

Peeta laughed, he couldn’t help it. Katniss was the furthest thing in the world from frigid, she was a live wire in bed, far and away the best sex of his life. And she had broken up with Gale Hawthorne some four years earlier, but the media still wrote about them as if they were just taking a break.

“Listen,” Rye said, though Peeta was already shepherding him towards the door. “I know this girl, Glimmer her name is. Tits for miles! She’s working on a pilot.” Working on a pilot was LA code for unemployed. “She’s so hot,” Rye continued, oblivious to Peeta’s irritation, “spend a little time with her, I’ll get my pap friend to follow you. That’ll make the Enquirer story go away. Kill any hint of association with that little piece of work.”

“Bye, Rye, Peeta said, pushing his brother through the door.

“Call me,” Rye said, and Peeta slammed the door in his face, flipping the bolt. Idiot. He exhaled slowly, then turned.

Katniss was standing behind him. Shit. How much of Rye’s crap had she heard?

“How could you let him talk about me that way,” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peeta cringed. Evidently most of it. “What was I supposed to say? You don’t want him to know we’re together.”

“We have to be together for you to defend me?” Katniss asked, incredulous. “Women are only worth defending if you’re fucking them?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he said. “You know I’m not like that.”

“Do I?” Katniss was pacing, little mincing steps that would fit on a pie plate. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Peeta was yelling. He flung his arms wide, expensive scotch sloshed over the edge of his glass, splashed his watch. Just great.

“How about ‘Katniss isn’t a stuck up little bitch’ for starters?”

“Jesus, Katniss, why do you even care? You know he’s an asshole.”

“He said awful things about me, in my own home, and you just stood there and nodded, like you agreed,” Katniss snapped. “That was a total dick move.”

“Well excuse-fucking-me,” Peeta said, “but it’s not even your house.” She lived there, but the lease was in his name. Her official address was an empty condo in Van Nuys, so that people wouldn’t figure out they were shacked up together. He hated the cloak and dagger bullshit, but she’d insisted.

Katniss froze, face twisted in disgust. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s not.”

Before Peeta even had a chance to respond, the door was slamming behind her.

Peeta knew, even before she’d gotten to her car, that he was wrong. But he was angry, angry with his mother, angry with his brother, and pissed as hell that Katniss insisted on hiding, like he was some dirty secret instead of the man she’d been dating for two years.

She didn’t come home that evening. Peeta wasn’t completely surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d frozen him out. He’d give her the night, then apologize in the morning.

But when morning came, his phone had blown up with texts. TMZ was running a spread of pictures, grainy and obviously through a long lens. Katniss, standing on a balcony, and not alone. With her was Gale-fucking-Hawthorne, her ex. She was locked in his embrace wearing only a robe, while he was in boxers. The gossip sites were having a field day, former lovers reunited.

Peeta, still in bed, dialed his phone. She answered on the second ring, voice hoarse. “Are you with Gale?” Peeta asked with no preamble.

There was the slightest of pauses. “Yes,” Katniss said.

“You couldn’t fucking wait to go rushing back to his bed?” Peeta yelled. “Or maybe you never really left?”

The line died in his hand. It was the last time they’d spoken, until now.

o-o-o

Katniss made no further attempt to talk to Peeta, outside of what they said on the soundstage. She’d doubled down on the ice princess routine, speaking to him in cold, overly formal tones when the cameras weren’t rolling.

 Working with Annie Cresta hadn’t gotten any better either, but at least they’d managed to memorise a routine—hand here, thigh there, twist this way, arch like that. Annie insisted it would look a lot more natural than it felt. Peeta wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the thing done.

The scene was set for late afternoon, after the rest of principal photography was done for the episode and the lion’s share of cast and crew had left. “Saving the best for last,” Cressida chirped, but no one really believed that.

Katniss had a rider in her contract specifying no nudity, Peeta knew that. He hadn’t bothered with one himself, he didn’t care who saw him, but Katniss had always been uncomfortable baring everything. In other scenes, the production sometimes used a body double for Katniss. But this scene, the scene, would be her and him, on a bed, doing choreographed dry humping. It had to be her, there wasn’t any other choice.

Haymitch wasn’t on set, something Peeta suspected was Katniss’s doing, but he appreciated it. The crew was at a bare minimum, to make it easier for the actors, but it was still a lot of people. Cressida was directing, busily setting up the scene. Two female grips he’d never met before were behind the stationary cameras, two of his favourite camera guys—Castor and Pollox—had the handhelds. Two more grips had the boom mics, a gaffer adjusted the lights, and a set designer, Octavia, was fussing over the bedding, rumpling it in an artistic way that Peeta knew from rehearsal would last about twelve seconds before they destroyed it. Annie, strangely, was nowhere to be seen. He’d thought that, as their intimacy coordinator, she’d be there to coach when they actually filmed. Apparently not.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cressida called out, affecting a carefree tone. Peeta knew it was an act, an attempt to get all of them to relax. The antagonism and animosity between the two leads wasn’t exactly a secret, not anymore, and the mood on the small soundstage was tense. No one was looking forward to this.

Katniss had seen him naked a thousand times, had touched and stroked and tasted every inch of his body. Still, it was strange, even on a closed set, to be standing in front of her wearing nothing but a sock tied to his dick. She was clutching the edges of her pink silk robe so tightly her knuckles were white, and looking everywhere but at him.

Cinna approached and helped Katniss out of her robe, careful not to disrupt the cascade of windblown curls Peeta knew had likely taken an hour and several cans of product to achieve. Katniss’s hair was naturally pin straight, yet they were always curling it in the show, and she hated it. So focussed was Peeta on her hair that he didn’t notice what she was wearing until Cinna stepped away, leaving Katniss standing beside the bed in a pair of pasties and an adhesive pad that covered her pubic hair and not much else. Peeta couldn’t help but stare. It was far less than he was expecting, Annie had told him Katniss would be wearing a pair of flesh coloured panties and a little tube top over her boobs. “The sides of her underwear showed in the test shots,” Castor muttered in his ear. “Haymitch insisted on that instead.”

For half a minute, Peeta felt really bad for Katniss, knowing her discomfort, knowing what it was costing her to stand under the lights and in front of so many people wearing little more than three bandaids. But then she sighed, and barked, “can we just get this over with?” and any sympathy Peeta felt for her evaporated like spring snow.

The scene opened with them both on the bed. They’d practiced the routine, both on floor mats and on a set bed. But in rehearsal, they’d been clothed, pillows between them to minimise contact.

No longer.

Now, they were essentially naked, skin pressed to skin, staring wide-eyed at each other. She was so soft under him, fit him so perfectly. Her breath—sharp, nervous little pants—caressed his jaw, his throat. Her hands, small but so much stronger than they looked, clutched at this back.

His dick twitched and hardened, he couldn’t fucking help it. They’d fucked a thousand times over the previous two years, he’d always been insanely attracted to her. His dick didn’t know that this time it wasn’t real. He clenched his teeth and kept going. There was no way, positioned as they were, to prevent her from feeling it. 

Katniss smirked at him, just a fleeting little hint of amusement, but coupled with his embarrassment at getting turned on when the ice fucking queen clearly felt nothing it was too much. Rage flooded his veins like venom. He sneered down at Katniss, uncaring if the handycam caught his expression. Then he deliberately rocked against her, rubbing his hard cock against her core, only a little strip of fabric and a glorified sock between them. 

Her breath caught, a choked little sound. 

“Like that, princess?” he spat, lowering his mouth to her ear. “You like knowing that you can still get me hot?”

She moaned softly. It just made him angrier. Was she acting, or actually responding? Was she thinking about Gale while he was grinding against her? Had she always been thinking about him?

The few lines he was supposed to say flew out of his head. “Does your boyfriend get you hot like this?” he groaned instead, anger and lust combining. “Do you moan for him like you did for me?” Her hands, which had been moving through the choreography much more fluidly than in rehearsal suddenly froze. “Does he fill you up as good as I did?”

“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, a hint of warning in her tone. But he was too mad. Mad and heartsick and wildly turned on, it was a potent brew. He couldn’t stop. He ground harder against her, his chest rasping against her breasts, bare but for a pair of stickers. He nipped at her earlobe with sharp teeth, and her gasp was loud over his harsh breaths.

“Do you melt for him, ice princess?” She said nothing, but he didn’t care. He angled his hips and thrust hard, the way he knew she liked. He rocked over and over again, forgetting about the others in the room, lost in Katniss, however fake it might be.

“Do you want to give them a show,” he growled against her throat. “Take off the guard? One last fuck, for old times sake?”

“Stop,” she said, so faintly it was barely a breath. “Please.” Peeta pulled back. Beneath him, Katniss’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners. The anger rushed away, leaving him horrified and utterly ashamed. 

He rolled away and climbed off the bed. “Need a break,” he grunted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katniss had curled onto her side, facing away, naked and vulnerable. The need to comfort her battled with the sick feeling in his gut over how cruel he’d been. How completely unlike himself.

Cressida called out to him, but he didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. Couldn’t stay another minute on that set.

He pushed past Castor who was staring open-mouthed, the camera on his shoulder still blinking as it ran, and stomped to his dressing room. There, he sank into a chair, the leather sticking to his bare ass. He pulled the modesty bag off his now-deflated cock and dropped his head into his hands.

How had it gotten to this?

How had he gotten to the point where he was tormenting the woman he loved more than life with fake sex on their job site? Bullying her to tears in front of their crew. 

He was disgusted with himself. That wasn’t who he was.

He needed to go to Katniss and apologise, for more than just the scene. 

Fifteen minutes later, he’d calmed down and thrown on sweats. Katniss’s dressing room door was closed, but he knew she wasn’t in there. He walked past the small set and the little office Annie had used, but he knew she wouldn’t be there either.

Down the hall, past craft services stood the door to the electrical room. It was never locked. Peeta pushed inside. Past all of the clutter and detritus of broken light stands and boxes of cables was another door, narrow and unmarked. A steep set of metal stairs lay beyond it, and at the top a door he had to duck to walk through.

Then he was standing on the roof, a soft Burbank breeze ruffling his hair.

It wasn’t anything special, this part of the roof, gravel-topped and housing the building’s HVAC system. But it was their spot, a place no one else ever went. A place they could find some measure of solitude in the midst of a busy studio. No one ever disturbed them up here.

Katniss was sitting on the low ledge that bisected the roof, wrapped in a robe, her pink silk clad back to him. He knew she must have heard his approach, the gravel beneath him crunched with every step. But she didn’t move, didn’t react as he straddled the cement to lower himself beside her.

She didn’t turn towards him, but she didn’t need to. Her profile said everything: smudged makeup, red nose, puffy eyes. The breeze caught loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them around her face but she was still and silent save for her uneven breaths. An island in a tempest. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, past the endless parking lots and low studio buildings to where the sun was sinking low, bathing the sky in soft orange. Her silence wasn’t icy tonight. Pain radiated from every line, every curve.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta started. Katniss nodded, her posture otherwise unchanged. “I was a complete dick in there, and you didn’t deserve any of that. It was inexcusable.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I don’t want to go on like this. Making out for the cameras, then ignoring each other when they’re off. I was hoping that if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends?” It would certainly make their jobs a lot easier.

“I’ve never slept with Gale,” she said softly, and Peeta startled. That wasn’t even possible. She’d run right back to him, was living with him again.

As if reading his mind, Katniss continued. “He’s been a good friend to me, a brother in some ways. But we’ve never had a physical relationship.”

“Bullshit,” Peeta sputtered, conciliatory tone gone. “You were with him for years.”

Katniss glanced at him then, a half smirk twisting her lips. “You were with Johanna for years too,” she said.

“You know that wasn’t real. And Gale isn’t gay.”

Katniss shrugged, and turned back to the horizon. 

Peeta continued to watch her. He knew all of her expressions, her every tell. She wasn’t lying.

“Why,” he started, then stopped. That wasn’t the question he really needed an answer to. “You let me think you were together.”

“Maybe I wanted to hurt you,” she whispered. “Like you hurt me.”

Mission accomplished, he thought. He’d been in fucking agony since he saw the TMZ pictures, and the ones that followed; Katniss and Gale riding in his convertible, Katniss and Gale leaving a trendy LA cafe, Katniss and Gale sipping wine on the balcony of his oceanfront estate. It had been a form of masochism, adding her name to his news alerts and reading the day's gossip about her blossoming relationship with Gale Hawthorne.

Could it really have all been fake?

Katniss and Gale had been on the same sitcom as children, had played cousins. So when, years later, they moved in together, of course everyone assumed they were together. They’d certainly never done anything to contradict it.

“You never mentioned that before,” Peeta said quietly. Not that Gale’s name had come up often in their time together, but they’d talked about past relationships, and she’d never said that Gale had been nothing more than a friend. She’d really never said anything about her years with Gale, and that had always made Peeta insecure, wondering if she’d still harboured feelings for him. If she kept their relationship a secret not from the world, but from Gale Hawthorne. Katniss shrugged.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You’re in the business, you know how often dating is just for show.”

He did. But he’d been upfront with Katniss about Jo, he’d never let her think there was anything there. That she hadn’t given him the same respect, hadn’t trusted him, was gutting.

“He kissed me, once,” Katniss said, and Peeta’s stomach clenched in inappropriate jealousy. “I was seventeen. It was the summer after we’d both finished filming Seam Street, but before he got his big break on that superhero movie. Back when we thought we might still be normal.” She was smiling sadly, lost in the moment. “We both gagged,” she continued, and Peeta’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Katniss laughed softly, but it wasn’t at Peeta. It was at whatever she was remembering. “All of those childhood friends to lovers tropes, it definitely wasn’t like that for me and Gale. Kissing him was…” Katniss trailed off, shuddering. “I love Gale, he’s mine, I’m his. But not like that.

“But it didn’t matter. Once the media decided we were together, they invented stories. Every time we went anywhere together, they took pictures and manipulated them to fit whatever story they’d decided to write about us that week.” Katniss sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “We couldn’t have a life, outside of each other. Anytime either of us was seen with another person, the tabloids went crazy. I got my own place, tried to put some distance there. But it didn’t stop.

“And after he started dating Claudia, it all got worse,” she said. “The media, and fans who decided that he and I belonged together, they couldn’t let it go. They hounded her incessantly, called her a homewrecker and things far worse. Trolled her on social media, harassed her family, and anything either of us tried to get them to back off only made things worse. When she finally broke things off with him, he blamed me, at least a bit.” She paused, and sniffled. “It’s why we’ve barely talked over the past few years. First because it bothered Claudia, and then because Gale was so pissed off. It came close to destroying our friendship.”

Peeta sat in stunned silence as realisation washed over him. “That’s why you wanted to keep us a secret,” he said. “You were protecting me.” 

“Private,” she said. “Not secret. And that’s what you and I do, protect each other. Or did,” she added softly. 

But he hadn’t protected her. Not on the set, and not from his brother’s vitriol.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta said. “I shouldn’t have let Rye talk shit about you. And I shouldn’t have been all defensive when you rightly called me on it.”

She nodded again, but didn’t turn towards him. And he didn’t know how to bridge the gulf. He’d been wrong, on so many levels. But she hadn’t trusted him, and still didn’t. She could have eased so many of his insecurities just by being honest. But she hadn’t.

He wanted to fix things. He wanted to be with her again, this time with more openness and honesty. To build a better relationship, one they both deserved. He wasn’t sure if it was possible with so much hurt between them. But he wanted to try. He just needed to get Katniss on the same page, and he knew from experience that wasn’t likely to be easy. 

“We should go back,” Peeta said what felt like an hour later. The sun was almost gone, and though the air still held the perpetual California heat, Katniss was shivering in the breeze. “I’m done being a wounded prick, I promise.”

Katniss turned to him, finally. She still looked so sad, with her red eyes and ruined makeup. His heart clenched. “Cressida called shooting for the day,” she said. “Didn’t think either of us was in a good place to continue.” Haymitch would doubtless be pissed, any disruption in the schedule was tens of thousands of dollars wasted. Peeta sighed, but he knew it was the right call. 

“Probably for the best,” Peeta said. “We’re a mess.”

Katniss laughed, just slightly, and Peeta grinned at her. When he extended his hand to help her up, she took it, and it felt so good to feel her fingers entwined with his again, not for show but in actual friendship.

They walked back to the dressing rooms together. “Do you maybe want to get dinner together?” Peeta asked, and he knew he sounded small and uncertain. But to his surprise, Katniss nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They walked out to the lot thirty minutes later, and Peeta led her to his car. She was wearing jeans and a little tank top, her hair pulled back in a no-fuss braid and a pair of sunglasses shielding eyes that still bore traces of the evening’s emotions. She was in every way Katniss, the woman he loved. But he could feel her holding back, feel the stiffness and uncertainty in the way she looked at him, spoke to him. Not intentional, simply reflexive, like she was trying to keep her heart safe. From him. The wall between them loomed large. It was going to take a Herculean effort to break it down.

There was a restaurant, Sae’s, not too far from the house they’d shared. It catered to people like them. The front was nothing so much as a shabby little diner, but in the back were private, windowless rooms where they could have a meal without prying eyes.

Peeta ordered pasta and Katniss got her favourite goat cheese and apple panini. But the way she pushed the food around on her plate spoke to how distressed she still was. Katniss typically ate with gusto, like she was afraid she’d never see food again. 

He left her be, keeping conversation light, trying to ease her back into being comfortable with him. Joking with her, the way he always had. She smiled, but it felt hollow. If anything, she seemed to get more sad as the meal wore on. Peeta’s spirits flagged.

He paid the bill, and they headed out the back door. There, he stopped, and pulled Katniss to stand in front of him. 

“Talk to me,” Peeta said, voice gruff with guilt.

“About what?” She wasn’t being flippant, if anything, she sounded defeated.

“Katniss,” he sighed. She looked up at him, eyes unfathomable, dark pools in the lamplight. He could tell she was trying to psych herself up to talk. So he leaned against the restaurant wall and waited.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said finally, and it wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m sorry that keeping us a secret hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Peeta opened his mouth, to say he understood better now, but she pushed on.

“And it didn’t mean I loved you any less.”

“Loved?” Her use of past tense gutted him. “Not anymore?”

In the deep shadows of the single street light, he could see her face crumple. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if shielding herself from another blow. “Does it matter?” Her words were choked, he could hear she was fighting tears again. “I know what you think of me.”

“Katniss,” he said, the word regret-soaked. 

“Frigid little ice princess,” she parroted, but there was no anger. Only pain. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Peeta said. “I know that’s not you.” She played at being cold sometimes. But underneath, she was a flame, burning bright.

“Everyone thinks that about me. They always have.”

“I don’t,” Peeta said, and he let the pleading come through in his voice, let her hear his own pain. “I know you’re not cold. You’re the girl on fire.” Katniss’s lips twitched at the old nickname, one she’d gotten as a teenager in an action movie. But her heartbroken expression didn’t change. “I was angry, and wounded, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, then she was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Peeta pulled her in close and buried his face in her hair. It was the first time he’d felt whole in more than two weeks, like the broken piece of his soul had returned. 

Her little body shook against him, he knew she was crying. “Shhh,” he said, stroking her back. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay.” It was. He’d make sure of it.

“Just missed you so much,” she muttered. His heart soared.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Please come home.” 

She didn’t say anything. But he felt her nod against his chest. And it was enough.

He took her back to his place, to their place. They were both exhausted, emotions raw, and had an early morning call, to redo the evening’s ruined scene. But she climbed into bed beside him, and he held her all night.

They were quiet the next morning, tentative and uncertain around each other, but they were together, and Peeta was committed to making things better, for both of them. He’d be patient. He’d communicate better. He’d lost the love of his life once, he wouldn’t let it happen again. 

They climbed back into his car, since hers was at the studio, but as soon as the garage door opened Peeta saw Rye there, waving his phone. Beside him, Katniss tensed, and shrank down into her seat. He could almost smell her pain. Just fucking great. The moron had to show up now, when they had barely started patching things together. 

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Rye said as soon as Peeta stepped out of the car. It was just past eight, Rye didn’t typically get up before noon. Peeta suspected he hadn’t yet been to bed.

“Go home, Rye,” Peeta said. “This isn’t the time.”

“They’re saying this is you and that Everdeen chick,” Rye insisted, shaking his phone in Peeta’s face. Sure enough, on the screen was a dark and blurry shot of him, holding Katniss in his arms. Her face wasn’t visible, but her long black braid and sweet little ass were perfectly recognisable. Fuck. He thought they’d be safe at Sae’s. But he’d been wrong. Again. “I already told the Hollywood Reporter it was fake, that you wouldn’t slum with the likes of that—”

“Shut up!” Peeta roared, and for once, Rye stopped talking. “Katniss is the woman I love, and I won’t listen to you disparage her anymore,” Peeta said. “Now get the fuck out of here and stop fucking talking to the media about me.” Peeta was seething. He was going to make sure that security guard was fired. Maybe his boss too. And his boss’s boss.

Rye backed away, hands held up in supplication. “Sure, yeah,” he said quickly. “I’ll just get out of your hair. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

Peeta didn’t dignify that with an answer. He spun on his heel, to head back to the car. But Katniss was there already, standing just behind him. She must have heard everything they’d said, and worse, Rye would have seen her there. He flinched, but she just smiled at him, then walked straight into his arms.

“Thank you,” she said. 

Fuck. She didn’t need to thank him for defending her, it’s what any decent person would do. “I should have said that last time,” he admitted, tightening his hold on her.

“You said it this time,” she said. Then she stretched up onto her toes, and kissed him.

Relief and disbelief and so much love flooded Peeta. He cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her into his arms, his lips never leaving hers.

He knew Rye was watching. Knew that some of their neighbours could see them too. “We should go back to the garage,” he whispered between kisses that were growing too hot for the street. “People are watching.”

“Let them,” she gasped. “I don't want to hide how I feel about you. Not anymore.”

He laughed against her lips, and kissed her more.

o-o-o

She was sitting in her favourite chair, a mug of camomile tea forgotten beside her, when Peeta got home. He glanced at the television glowing on the wall and groaned. “Access Hollywood? Really?” Katniss, his Katniss, was watching the creme de la creme of shitty tabloid TV. 

Their relationship had been dissected endlessly by the gossip shows in the four months since they’d been outed, first by his attention-seeking mother, then by a slightly risqué public display of affection in front of their house that had been captured on cellphone video by multiple sources. Peeta understood so much better now why Katniss had tried so hard to avoid unwanted exposure. He was sick to death of the coverage.

But they were handling it together. 

“Shhh,” she said, grinning. “They’re discussing whether we really did the deed while shooting Allium and Barley’s big scene.” Peeta glanced back at the television. The banner read 15 Times 'Love' Scenes On Screen Were Real.

“Oh my god,” Peeta groaned, and sank into the chair beside Katniss’s, covering his face with his hands.

The day after their disastrous first attempt at filming, they’d gone back to the set and found Haymitch waiting for them. The crusty old bastard had actually apologised for putting them in such a shitty position, and told them he’d take the scene out, make it a fade to black.

“No,” Katniss had said, silver eyes brighter than they’d been all week. “The script needs the scene. Our fans need it. And we’re ready this time.”

The second attempt had been so much better. It was still awkward, the choreography still felt strange. One of her pasties came unstuck and ended up caught in his chest hair. Twice they had to cut filming when Katniss started giggling. 

Peeta had been loath to watch it, once it’d been edited. Afraid to reopen the barely healing wounds. But the end result, just as Annie promised, looked real. The cameras caught their very real joy at being reunited, their very real love for one another. And those things made the very fake sex look like something more.

They’d filmed several more sex scenes over the course of finishing the season, each easier than the last. Communication, it turned out, did make the scenes less awkward. And it helped with their real relationship too.

But the first scene, the one that Peeta still cringed thinking about, that episode had aired just days ago.

The television sound cut off abruptly and Katniss burst into laughter. Peeta peeked out from between his fingers. Frozen on the big screen was a shot of Peeta’s ass in all of its hi-def glory, and Mario Lopez was pointing to a spot just between his thighs where apparently a hint of nutsack had been caught by the camera. 

Well that brought unwanted exposure to a whole new level. 

Peeta groaned. “I’m putting a nudity rider in my next contract,” he mumbled.

[moribundanchor]

The Pelle/Dani Receipts, Post 11: The May Queen

The last lap of the film is the culmination of two separate tracks: one, Dani breaking with Christian, coming to terms with her grief, and sloughing off her old life, and two, Dani being embraced by her new family and, with that final, slightly-mad smile, finding joy with them. Much as in the “Do you feel held by him?” scene, Ari masterfully keeps the final scenes of Midsommar walking that tightrope between validating the Pelle/Dani romance and minimizing it in order to center Dani’s broader character arc and story, and to that end, he doesn’t even wobble. Still, he can’t get out of this without some explicit (though not explicit) mushy stuff for the OTP, and that, of course, is why we’re here.

We already mentioned the dance competition in the context of Pelle and Team Hårga winnowing Christian real good so he can be Maja’s baby daddy, but this is yet another opportunity for Pelle to demonstrate to Dani the contrast between him and Christian. As Dani begins to dance, Pelle is right up front, attentively, patiently, smilingly watching. She has every bit of his attention and support. Meanwhile, Christian stumbles into the audience late, burdened and internally roiling after his meeting with Siv. 

Now, we don’t know how Christian ultimately answered the Matriarch when she asked if he would mate with Maja. Ari, the imp, cuts away. Not to taint our favorite scene with comparison, but very like Dani’s protests in “Do you feel held by him?” Christian’s evasions, more pronounced in the Director’s Cut (“I’m here with somebody,” “We haven’t even talked.”) are frail, toothless things against the truth joined with temptation. He doesn’t love Dani. And he does want Maja. By the time he comes to watch the dance competition, Dani dancing is the furthest thing from Christian’s mind, even though betraying her is the crux of his dilemma.

And do please remember that Siv proposes this ritual snuggling to Christian as something Dani will not know about, so he really is contemplating betraying her, as opposed to what Pelle suggests to Dani. 

This is the contrast that waits for Dani during a break in the dance. Pelle smiles at her flirtatiously, even proudly, and silently applauds--totally here for you, Dani--while Christian is literally looking the other direction, back towards where Maja--oops, I got myself eliminated, teehee!--has taken her seat. During the dance, Dani is, yes, tripping balls and speaking gibberish, but she is still having the best time ever. So, initially exhilarated, Dani wilts the moment she sees Christian, and if we were going to argue that Dani doesn’t reciprocate Pelle’s feelings, the visible heartbreak on her face here would be Exhibit A. Except people are more complicated than that. Relationships are more complicated than that. Dani is definitely more complicated than that. Letting go still can hurt long after you know it’s over.

All that being said, even the most complicated relationship stuff can get simple real quick with a grand, unambiguously romantic gesture, and as Dani is crowned May Queen, finally, finally, finally, we get one. No evasions, no apophasis. Stunned, still kind of high, Dani’s new family washes her away in a tide of congratulations. Odd welcomes her home again, in Swedish this time, and it’s just a lovebomb lovefest all the way down. The only ones who don’t hug and/or paw at Dani are hallucinations (or are they) of her parents in Hårgan garb, her mom laying one surrendering caress on Dani’s shoulder as she passes by, and, of course, Christian, poor dope, standing by the maypole, looking every bit as alone and lost as Dani probably has felt up to this point. The Fire Temple is a ways off, but he will never again be allowed close to her. They are over.

At the end of the procession, for maximum dramatic effect, Dani’s happy Hårgan sisters tilt her toward OHAI PELLE. As Pelle bends down to her, initially he appears to be in supportive friend mode, (“My God, Dani! May Queen!”), but then he just sweeps Dani up in a kiss that isn’t long enough to stop the ceremony, but just long enough to be undeniably romantic. In the script, the kiss is actually described as a “blunt, passionate kiss.” While so much of the Pelle/Dani ship is not scripted, here it is plain: Pelle, now wearing the Wunjo rune, is Dani’s wish for an understanding, loving partner come true, and for the minute she can be spared from the procession, he is kissing her for all he’s worth. Let’s just watch this on a loop for a while.

This is the moment that has launched several thousand “Did Pelle like Dani?” Google searches, and it looks like a freaking wedding because it kind of is. Look at all the Hårgans bursting with happiness, not just for Dani, but for them. We are all Hårgans because all Hårgans are clearly Pelle/Dani shippers. (Okay, there’s something going on with Inga, but that’s a different analysis post.) Dagny in particular looks like she’s going to cry. My sweet brother birthmate found him a newblood and they are the cutest. Both Pelle and Dani are in full Hårgan dress for this kiss, as though their relationship always had to be consummated with Dani fully planted in the fifth panel of the spoiler tapestry. Also note that the pink flower in Dani’s crown reflects her heartbeat. Notice how it speeds right on up while she’s in Pelle’s arms. At this point, Dani might yet equivocate--not that she’s very equivocal in the moment--but crown flowers don’t lie.

Christian probably doesn’t see this moment. In addition to succumbing to “the tea with special properties,” he’s watching from the maypole, and Dani and Pelle would have been obscured from that vantage by a few dozen white-clad bodies. But if he cared enough about Dani to celebrate her triumph instead of blankly witness it, if he had been able to refuse the tea...but then, if he cared that much, we wouldn’t have had a movie.

Once Pelle surrenders Dani, the happiest and proudest of all possible soft cult boys, she’s urged toward a litter in the shape of the sun and lifted high off the ground. The Hårgans serenade their queen in a procession to the dinner table, Pelle prominent among them, his hands arranged in a cradling gesture previously seen when the Hårgans burned Dan’s body. This is an assumption, but it seems a fair one, that the gesture conveys Pelle bearing Dani’s spirit, even if he’s not one of those physically carrying her litter. In the wide shot, you will notice they are sailing Dani right past an image of Terri hidden in the trees. In this scene, Dani is very literally leaving her birth family and Christian behind. When Dani takes her throne at the head of the mirrored banquet table, Pelle will placidly sketch the moment, and as previously mentioned, we’ll see him reflected in the table surface, indicating how he’s still plotting even in that idyllic moment which would seem to be the culmination of all his hopes and dreams. After all, Christian’s still breathing.

Sadly, this concludes the dramatized Dani/Pelle content. We know. We’re sad, too. In the major scenes around the kiss itself--the serenade, the photograph, the dinner after her crowning--Pelle is near Dani, but not next to Dani. No more close communicating reaction shots. We can see Pelle enthusiastically toast Dani at the dinner table, and she seems to trade a sly, flirty smile with him immediately afterward, but that’s it. We can’t even see Pelle’s reaction when Dani gags on the pickled herring. In the final ceremony, Pelle’s crowned, too, just as the movie has been promising all along, but he and Dani don’t share the stage or even a single shot. Blocking and camerawork, so suggestive of their love story up to the point Pelle lays a good ‘un on her, suddenly becomes a blue-nosed chaperone. But consider what the film would be like, what it would have to become, otherwise. Midsommar isn’t primarily a romance anymore than it’s primarily a horror movie. Nope, it’s not a horror movie either, not really. It’s Dani’s story; it just happens to have smooches and blood eagles in it. So the kiss is a great moment, but it’s going to have to last you. (Hey, would you like to see our fanfics?) 

Green Man/May King or not, it would appear there’s more post-canon wooing for Mr. Pelle to do (though Ari has confirmed more than once that Pelle has an excellent chance with Dani, wink.) The script specifies that Pelle is one of the Hårgans that bears Dani’s throne to scoop her up after she stumbles in her May Queen raiment before the film’s final shot, but like so much Dani/Pelle content in the script, that doesn’t actually end up on film. The last we see of Pelle, he’s on his knees scream/crying as the Fire Temple burns, and the last we see of Dani...well, the last we see of Dani is the final, iconic shot of the film. Insane? Eh, maybe. She’s synced up with her new family and having her unholy affekts burned away. Probably should check back later for that one. Happy? Definitely. Ever after? Sure looks like. And why not? Girl got her wish.

Oh, but there’s one more topic we have not quite explored. The writing on the wall. And the ceilings and the tapestries and the clothes and the footwear and the decorative flourishes and the furniture and the tables and plinths and the...

For more, click on The Pelle/Dani Receipts Masterpost

[jaz-xedarix]

The Return of the Star

Thank you so much for your patience and your nice words. I really appreciated them too much. 

So finally I have finished part II, and things are starting to get really interesting.

As I promised there’s a new coloring among the text, I really hope you like it, and I put another one, but a bit older, since I couldn’t resist to post it in this part XD

Thanks so much to @buffaloborgine​ and @trinity-blood-translations for helping me correct this text, your effort is valuable to me. Send you lots of love my friends.

Let’s get started.

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                                      II

The Istvan Opera House was located on Andrássy Street, the main avenue of the city. It was an old style building that had survived Armageddon. After the liberation battle, it was the first place restored by the archbishop, to serve as a public building for the citizens. 

The building was built in a magnificent and delicate Neo-Renaissance style. It was an imposing work that could be compared to the Scala in Milan, the Opernhaus in Vienna or the Státní in Prague. The facade had a secluded air, but once inside the decorations in gold and purple colors overwhelmed the visitor with their luxury. 

The “guest of honor” entrance that Esther passed through was no exception. In the boxes facing the wide stage, the rugs were so thick that they reached to the ankles, as if she were in a lavish palace. The walls were lined with works of art and all the furniture had been expressly imported from Rome or Florence. 

However, everything paled when compared to the beauty of the woman who was waiting for her sitting on the sofa. 

“Welcome, Sister Esther. You may be exhausted after the trip...” 

The Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, Secretary of State of the Vatican and head of its foreign policy, gave a friendly welcome to the nun. Telling her to sit on the couch that was in front, where the two priests was already sitting, she laid her cup of tea on the table. 

“I've was told you've had a difficult time with the media at the station. I am glad that you are well.” “Nothing happened… More than anything, it was a surprise that…” 

Looking into the gray eyes that smiled at her behind the monocle, the nun awkwardly shook her head like a puppet. For Esther, the Cardinal was a person almost as sacred as the Virgin. Every time she presented herself to her, she couldn't help but get nervous and tense. She brushed off the sweat she didn't have and continued in an uneasy voice: 

“Your Eminence, the journalists called me Saint… what kind of joke is this? And why am I the protagonist of the play that is going to be performed here tonight?” “We'll talk about all that later...” Adjusting her monocle, the beautiful woman looked up at the stage, the curtain still closed, and sighed. “His Holiness will be here shortly. He is accompanied by the Minister of Information, who is the one who has organized all this. I myself know only part of the story. It will be better if he tell us all about it in person… What I want to hear now is what news you bring me from the Empire.” 

The cardinal spoke with the usual serenity. However, her voice had hardened slightly as she turned her gaze back to the nun and priest, as she crossed her legs under her habit.

“Were you able to contact the empress?” “Yes, we have to inform you about it.” Esther steadied herself and her voice changed as she began to recite the report that she had been rehearsing mentally in the way: “We were fortunate enough to have direct contact with the Empress in...” “Well, the truth is that we couldn't speak to her directly…” 

Everything Esther had prepared came to nothing when the other voice interrupted her, preventing her from speaking.

“Eh!?” She didn't even have time to stop him. As he turned to the voice, she saw that Abel was still speaking with an irrepressible verbiage, which did not leave her a space to intervene.

“We did our best to deliver Her Eminence's message in person, but, of course, meeting the Empress in person was beyond our means. Even so, you need not worry, because we asked a local noblewoman, the Marquise of Kiev, Astharoshe Asran, whom I already knew before, to serve as an intermediary. The message will have reached its destination; you can be sure of it.” “Ah? Bu... Father... Wait a minute...” But what was he saying!? Esther nervously adjusted her habit as if to signal him, but Abel did not stop chattering for an instant, gesturing exaggeratedly with his hands.  “Yes, we suffered the unspeakable to achieve it. Abroad, right? One does not know how things are done... To fulfill our mission we spend our days without stopping running up and down... tears come to my eyes just remembering it now that I tell you, and without doubt, you will cry too... Imagine, I lost three kilograms!” 

Where did all this nonsense come from? Esther managed to come to herself and resist the curiosity to see how far the priest would be able to go. 

“Wait... wait, father! Stop speaking nonsense!” She did not know what this foolishness was about, but if it continued like this, Caterina would end up thinking that they had not seen the Empress. Covering Abel's mouth with her hand, Esther yelled in the direction of the Cardinal:

“Ignore him, Your Eminence! We do…”

«We did speak directly to the Empress!» Just when Esther, red with exertion, was about to shout that phrase...

“Cardinal Sforza, I beg your pardon...” An elegant male voice echoed out as the door opened. Looking up, the Cardinal met a man who was greeting her respectfully and who was leading a group of three people. He was middle-aged and wore the purple sash on his habit that indicated his status as archbishop.

“Forgive us for interrupting your conversation, Your Eminence. His Holiness and Cardinal Borgia have arrived.” “Hello Beautiful!” The second voice would seem to have been made up of a frivolous shake spiced with kitsch. It was hard to imagine anyone less suited to wear the Cardinal habit than the young man with long dyed hair and a nasal voice who had just entered. This was Antonio Borgia, the Minister of Information. “How long, right?! Makes sooo much that I did not see how fantastic you are that seems that my aesthetic sense have atrophied, you know? How are we doing?” “Good afternoon, Cardinal Borgia. I see you are very happy. If I'm not mistaken, we met the day before yesterday in Rome, right?” 

Responding sharply to the young man, Caterina turned her gaze to the third figure in the group. Seeing the face of the teenager coming up behind the two men, her cold gaze softened. 

“Ah, Alec…! How was the flight? Are you dizzy again?” “Y..., y... yes, sister...” Dressed with beautiful white clothes, the Pope Alessandro XVIII spoke with a low voice. In addition to being extremely shy around people, to the point of bordering on autism, get out of Rome or even out of the Papal Palace supposed one horrible adventure for him. Anyways, the face of his sister seemed to calm him a bit, because he went on, stammering: 

“I..., I got dizzy a b..., a little... b... but now I'm fi... I'm fine...” “Really? But you don't have very good color. I'll make someone to prepare some medicine for you... Wait, I'll take the opportunity to make the introductions, since we're all here. This is Sister Esther from the Secretary of State. She is the Saint of Istvan” 

Exhorted by Caterina, the nun saluted respectfully. “Nice to meet you. It is an honor to be in your presence, Holiness.”All Vatican employees knew of the reserved character of the pope. In order not to startle him, Esther spoke in a calm voice as she placed a light kiss on his hand.“I am not worthy of you granting me the grace to kneel before you... “ “Ah...! N..., no...” At the touch of the young woman's lips, the pope went from pale to flushed. His breathing quickened, as if he were going to have a heart attack, and he withdrew his hand in embarrassment. ”And…, and…, I… And…, and…, I…, I…”

“Holiness, you must be tired...” said the first man who had entered, placing his hand on the shoulder of the babbling teenager. Maybe half a century of his life had already passed, but his face had manly features that surely wreaked havoc on the opposite sex when he was young. With an attentive expression, he made the young Pope sit on the sofa.

“The show will take a while to start. Get some rest here. If you allow me, I will handle the speech.” “Thank you, Archbishop D'Annunzio...” 

Before Esther's eyes, the Pope was panting hard, as if he were going to have a panic attack or something. The one who wiped the sweat from his forehead to reassure him was Caterina. 

“Forgive me for putting you through something like this, but this ceremony took so much effort that...” “Oh, does not matter! It is an honor to be able to do our bit to the work of her eminence and the Vatican.”

 Emanuele D'Annunzio, Archbishop of Istvan, smiled kindly as he took Caterina’s hand. After kissing her like a gentleman kisses a lady, he turned his serene green eyes to her beautiful face.  “I wrote the script for tonight's play myself. I am afraid that it will not be up to the refined taste of Her Eminence, but it will be my honor that you listen to it... I do not know how the representation will turn out, but...” “It'll be great, you know? Sure: super, super good.” 

The one who responded in this way to the humble words of the archbishop was not Caterina, but the other cardinal present. Antonio, adjusting his bangs, continued with a slightly annoyed voice.  “Because, hey, haven't we helped you with production from the Ministry? I mean, the stage, and the direction, and the actors... Aaaaall of it it’s super mega first class. So if it goes wrong, it will be because of the script, you know?” “We will be forever grateful for your support, Cardinal Borgia. It is an honor that you have dedicated your valuable time to our representation...”

D'Annunzio's words were kind, but there was a hint of provocation in his tone. His green gaze was fixed on the young man, like an adult lion facing the cub that wants to take his place. 

“Today's ceremony is very important to us, because our recovery will serve to show it to the world. Its success will also serve to show the power of the Vatican… We hope to continue having the support of the Ministry of Information from now on.” “...” 

Although the tone was defiant, it could not be said that there was anything really wrong from the archbishop's words. Antonio was silent, something strange in him, as if not knowing what to answer, clearly feeling the difference in maturity that existed between him and his interlocutor. 

In his fifties, Archbishop D'Annunzio was an experienced man who had played a crucial role in the Vatican since the time of the previous Pope Gregorio XXX. As the right hand of Alfonso d'Este, who was then head of the College of Cardinals, he had held important positions as Director of the Holy Inquisition and Chief Secretary of the Vatican. In his spare time he had written dozens of novels and more than two hundred plays, and was considered one of the literary geniuses of his time. However, his brilliance had provoked the envy of Alfonso, who ended up moving him away from the center. His fame was surpassed only by Cardinals Medici and Sforza, the Pope's stepsiblings. No one but a skilled politician would have gotten Istvan city reborn from its ruins just a year after the catastrophe of The Star of Sorrow.

“Ah, but I have not yet greeted the main guest...” 

After silencing the young man, the archbishop turned quickly to Esther, who was silently observing the dialectical combat between the two high religious positions.

“This is the first time we met, but I know you very well, Sister Esther. I beg your pardon for having you come from so far away.” “Ple…pleased to meet you, Your Excellency...” Esther rose, embarrassed, from the sofa at the friendly smile of the priest and lowered her head, blushing at his manly features.“I am much honored that you invited me. It is an honor to meet you personally.” “Not at all, the honor is mine for being able to greet the Saint in person. I did extensive research on you to write this script. I've been dreaming of meeting you for a long time, but... the truth is that you have surprised me. I didn't think you were so beautiful...”       “I… beautiful? Not at all…” 

At the Archbishop's compliments, Esther buried her head deeply and turned even more red. Half confused, half flustered, she looked around for Abel to come to her aid. “It's the first time I've been invited to a box of honor at the opera, but hey, what a sight! Heh heh, I feel like God...” 

The priest was lost in his thoughts, observing the theater, and did not realize that the nun was looking at him. In her imagination, Esther kicked him on the back, while scratching her head, wondering how to respond to the archbishop.

“May I ask you not to call me Saint? It's a too important word that I don't deserve at all...” “You don't deserve it? You are too modest, sister… ” D'Annunzio replied, still smiling, as if enjoying the young woman's bewilderment. Extending his hand to fix her cap, the archbishop looked at her with mischievous face “You are the holy maiden who protected the people and killed the evil demon... As Archbishop of Istvan I cannot be grateful enough. Tonight's performance is my humble attempt to help your feat remain in the memory of future generations.”  “I am very grateful to you, but...” 

With a tight smile, Esther awkwardly shook her head. Her face had suddenly lost its rosy color. Saint Esther? What all that was about? 

She murmured that inside her with downcast eyes, it wasn't just because the name disgusted her.  

A year ago a man had expired in her arms. He was someone who had loved his human wife, someone who had decided to fight the world as revenge because the humans themselves had taken the woman he loved from him. 

The “evil demon” that D'Annunzio referred to was that being. Esther had been elevated to the category of Saint for the "feat" of having killed him, but there was something that did not convince her. All this seemed like a farce in which she did not want to be involved... 

“Ah, by the way, Your Eminence, what about Cardinal Medici? I thought he was also going to be present at the ceremony for the fallen...” “Unfortunately, his commitments do not allow him to leave Rome. He said he would send a representative, but… still not arrived?” 

D'Annunzio and Caterina began to talk about practical matters. Relieved that she was no longer the center of the conversation, Esther turned her eyes to the audience. 

More than a thousand spectators filled the theater. They were all famous people from the city, but Esther didn't recognize any faces. During the reconstruction of Istvan, D'Annunzio had given preferential treatment to the industrialists of Rome and Venice to install their factories and banks in the city. The attendees were all rich people of that kind. The echoes of the conversations that were heard were not in Hungarian, but mainly in the official language of Rome. 

The curtain was still down, but the actors could be seen waiting behind the scenes, probably to come out to say hello before the performance. Among them was a smiling young nun, the heroine portrayed in the flier. The hunchback next to her would be the Marquis of Hungary. The sinister makeup highlighted his monstrous appearance and showed long predator fangs. It couldn't be clearer that he was the bad guy in the story. 

The fragile and beautiful heroine would go through many difficulties, but in the end she would defeat the monster and bring peace to the city. It was such a predictable story that just by seeing the actors you could already imagine. 

But… 

«But the fight end was much more complex», thought Esther, grabbing unconsciously the rosary that hung from her neck.                                                                                                                                                                        «It’s not the urge to kill. I don't have such bad taste as to enjoy killing others. This is a fight for life» 

The man who had said those words was not a mere “evil demon”, nor had Esther fought him for strictly holy motives. There were still many things that she did not fully understand, but it was clear that this had been a struggle for survival. If she had lost, it would have been Esther and her companions who would have died. Yet the young girl couldn't get a question out of her head: «Was it really an inevitable conflict?» 

A nun like her couldn't ask such a question out loud. As long as she worked for the Vatican, a doubt like that was tantamount to questioning her own identity...

“Eh?”

Esther was lost in her thoughts for one moment, but at once came back to herself. Among the actors who had gathered in one corner of the stage, a figure that had gone out discreetly from behind the curtain of the opposite corner had called her attention. 

 It was one girl more or less of the same age of Esther, she had brown skin, an unusual color in the region, and her hair of a raven black. The combination of the daring opening of her dress with the long gloves decorated with precious stones gave her an extremely dramatical air. But what attracted the interest of Esther was neither her figure nor the clothes she wore. Those purple eyes that glowed in the well-proportioned face... she had seen them before somewhere. 

“That girl looks familiar to me...” “Is there something wrong, Esther?”

The voice that echoed behind her was of the lanky priest, who was wandering absent-mindedly around the royal box. As he devoured with his eyes the plate of tea pastries next to the young woman, he asked:

“Suddenly you were silent, doing that face… Oh, do you have a stomach ache? Do you want me to eat those pastries? I don't mind doing you that favor...” “No,” Esther replied dryly, cutting off the priest and added, pointing at the girl with her finger: “Doesn't that girl looks like someone familiar to you, father? I've seen that face already... and not long ago.” “Eh, what girl?” The priest asked in an intrigued voice, and looking where Esther was pointing, he looked confused. “I don't see any girl… Ah, you mean that actress over there?” “No, I mean, the one that has come from the other si... Huh?”  

When she looked back to the stage, Esther furrowed her brow, as well as Abel. The female figure that she had seen an instant before had disappeared. “But how strange... she was there a moment ago...” “Wow! Is that the actress who plays your role? I had seen her in the flyer, but in live she is even more beautiful!” Abel had already lost all interest in Esther and was absorbed in watching the group of actors. He made no effort to hide the drool from looking at the actress. "But what a beauty! Both in style and in attractive it is much better than the original… Ah, but don't be angry, Esther. It is undeniable that she is much more beautiful, elegant and seductive than you, but you have your special appeal. You don't have to worry.” “I have to take that as a compliment!?” 

Esther put the cup of tea on the plate, ready to answer the priest as he deserved, but...

“Ah! The representation is about to begin...” murmured the Archbishop, raising the eyes to the clock and got up to say goodbye to the Pope and the Cardinals. “Holiness, Eminences, I hope you enjoy with the performance. Excuse me, I will give the welcome the public... Come on, Sister Esther.” “What!? Me?” 

Esther was stunned, pointing her finger at herself as she blinked in surprise.Why did she have to accompany the archbishop to greet those people?Seeing the nun's confusion, the archbishop smiled and in a sweet voice, he dropped the bomb:  “Let's greet the audience together… I suppose you have prepared a little speech.” “Sa... say hello to...? A speech!?” 

At those completely unexpected words, Esther was dumbfounded. It was a joke? He couldn't expect for her to just come out on stage in front of the crowd and improvise a speech! 

“Wait ... wait! It's a bit hasty...” “But haven't you come prepared? How clueless my Saint is... Well, what can we do? As I assumed something like this could happen, I have allowed myself the freedom to prepare a small draft. You just have to read it.” “Eh…? But…” 

The archbishop seemed to be completely serious and handed her a pile of papers. Esther received them without knowing very well what to do and looked doubtfully to the priest, looking for his help...

“Ah, Esther! If you go on stage, can you ask that actress to sign an autograph for me?” Let it say,«To Father Nightroad, sweetheart» or something like that, okay? Heh heh heh...!” “!” 

Saving her killer instinct for later Esther heaved a deep breath.There was no way out of it.            

 "Ugh, I'm late!"

Although it was still early November, the winter cold had already fallen on Istvan. Gloomy clouds covered the sky, and although the building was supposed to be equipped with heating, the white breath of the people walking through the lobby of the Opera House could be seen. 

However, the male figure that rushed into the hall seemed immune to all of it. From the gigantic man who crossed the room devastating the carpet emanated a suffocating sensation of summer heat. It goes without saying that such a figure attracted all eyes, as if a monster from another world had suddenly appeared in the room; but the man seemed oblivious to it and advanced with a hard look, as if he were entering enemy territory. 

“What a misery to have suffered a setback precisely when I am representing Cardinal Medici! This mistake can be very expensive, Petros!” 

Dressed in the uniform of a secret police officer, Brother Petros looked up at the clock as if observing an ancient enemy. Although there were still twenty minutes until the start of the performance, he had committed a very serious fault by not having arrived before His Holiness made his entrance. 

Anyway, he had only arrived in the city a few minutes ago, sent by his superior, who had too many business holding him back in Rome. He had not arrived by air, like the Pope, but had taken the land route. The planned inspection of the military facilities had taken him longer than planned, and that had caused the delay. 

Although the inspection had been satisfactory, it was scandalous that the director of the Holy Inquisition arrived after the papal retinue. No doubt a severe reprimand from Francesco awaited him when he returned. If it was just a row that awaited him... There was one other thing that Petros had to worry about... 

“Where will the honor box be?  Eh…? Where the hell am I?” 

As soon as he went through the lobby, Petros stopped. He had to accept that he was lost and began to look around, but none of the doors he saw were the ones he was looking for. 

Indeed, he did not know where he was. He had stormed across the lobby, but had no idea how to get to the honor box. Resigned to search blindly, he began to scan the surroundings with a fierce grin, to see if he could find any sign, but could do nothing more than make a passing child cry.

 The issue was that the box of honor was not accessible from the general entrance but it had its own access, but Il Ruinante had no way of knowing that. He gritted his teeth and prepared to undo his way when...  

“Oh!”

Behind the intrepid warrior monk came a small cry of pain. 

Turning around, Petros had collided head-on with a girl who was walking behind him. The girl fell on her back to the carpet, dropping what she was carrying. 

“Aaah! Forgive me, sister! How clumsy you are, Petros!” 

The man tried to apologize as he picked up the papers, which had been strewn down the hall. The nun was still moaning on the floor, clutching her bonnet.

 “Excuse my ineptitude! Are you OK? Eh? You!?” As he helped the nun to stand up, Petros' face changed as he roared in surprise at his interlocutor, who was still reeling: “You are Esther Blanchett!” “Ah, brother… Petros, right?” Moved by the violence with which the inquisitor had spoken her name, the young woman stepped back, raising her tearful gaze to Il Ruinante, and bowed to him. “We haven't seen each other for a long time… Ah, thanks again for your support in Carthage.” “No, please, I'm the one who owes you... But what am I saying?!” Petros began to respond to the greeting automatically, but quickly came back to himself. This was not the time to chat! “Esther Blanchett! What are you doing here!? This is not the place for you!” 

Finally the nun straightened with surprise in her eyes. “Well, I was getting ready for the speech. Archbishop D'Annunzio has ordered me to greet the audience with a few words and was reviewing the script...” “Has the archbishop ordered it? Impossible. How can it be that...?” Laughing like if he was talking to a little girl, Petros glanced at the script, his expression suddenly turning from skepticism to surprise. Topping the sheets was… the archbishop's seal!? The inquisitor began hastily reading the text. “Wha... but what...?! «Before all of you gathered here I want to raise my voice to denounce...»”

«Before all of you gathered here, I want to raise my voice to denounce that there is pure Evil in the world. I want to raise my voice to say that as long as that Evil is not exterminated, we will have no future. We must unite to fight and defend everything we love, everything we respect. It will be a difficult and tough fight, but all united in our Faith we must face…».

 It was unbelievable, but it seemed to be, indeed, the script of a speech. And it took up almost fifty pages. The tone was a bit affected and overly dramatic, but the closing archbishop's signature seemed authentic. 

“Hmmm! And the archbishop signed it... But I can't believe it! Why did he ask you to…!?” He said, looking at the nun with suspicious eyes. “Are you plotting against me!? Tell me the truth or you will regret it!” “Eh? The truth is that I have no idea what you are talking about for a while now...”

The young woman scratched her head, honestly confused. It was like talking to a drunk who did nothing but repeat the same story. 

“It's not that I don't find it strange to be here, really. First I receive a notice from the Duchess of Milan to come to Istvan, then they ask me to give a speech... The truth is that the...” “The Duchess of Milan… Cardinal Sforza!?” Petros reacted quickly to the young woman's words. The Cardinal... what was that viper up to? 

Actually, Petros was most concerned about what the Pope's stepsister might do during the visit. Taking advantage of the absence of Cardinal Medici, she could try to manipulate His Holiness or do some strange maneuver... He had to be prepared for anything, and the facts gave him reasons to suspect. So the viper had already set off... But he would not trip over the same stone of Carthage again. This time they would not escape from him! 

Staring at the nun, who was staring at him in bewilderment, Petros clenched his fist. That witch had played with him in Carthage. Just when he was about to uncover her plot, all evidence had been destroyed. He knew with certainty that she had had contact with the vampires, although it had escaped him at the last moment. But this time he would catch her. He would discover what is she plotting around the Pope and would denounce it to the world!

 “Ah, there you are, Sister Esther...” 

A cold voice roused the inquisitor from his inflamed musings. It was an elegant male voice, interrupting him as if to protect the nun. 

“I've been looking for you for a while. Eh? I think we've met before… What brings the Inquisition here, Brother Pietro Orsini?” “Yo... Your Excellence!” Hearing his secular name after so long, Petros turned as if an electric current had passed through his body. Seeing the archbishop approaching, he gave a forced salute. “How long! What a joy to see you again!” “Yes, a long time, Orsini. The last time we saw each other was when I left my charge as Director of the Inquisition, right? You were just a kid and look at you now. How time flies!” “I will never be grateful enough for your advice and your attention back then!” Said Petros, bowing deeply, as if he were a spring doll. 

Il Ruinante’s sword was feared inside and outside the Vatican, but there were four people he bowed his head to. One of them was Archbishop D'Annunzio. 

“Please excuse my delay. The review of the troops has taken me longer than I had calculated and the roads were collapsed...” “You can tell me that later...” the archbishop cut him immediately, turning around and say with sweet voice to Esther, who was watching them in astonishment. “Sister Esther, have you had a chance to read the script? It’s almost time for your speech. Let's go up on stage.”  “Yes, I have read the text…” replied the nun, embarrassed, taking the papers that the inquisitor had returned to her with an impetuous gesture. “But, Your Excellence, am I really supposed to read that speech?” “Eh? What do you mean, sister?” 

The archbishop was surprised to see the dark light that had covered the young woman's eyes, and asked with a cautious expression: “You don't like the parliament I have prepared for you? Does it not meet your literary expectations?” “No, is not that. It is wonderfully written and conveys the ideas very well… But the message…” The nun choked with her words… After hesitating and stammering for a few seconds, she looked up, determined. “Why make such a clear call to war? A year ago we fought the Marquis of Hungary, it is true. But it was a pure struggle for survival. We did not think of pretty phrases like «divine glory» or «security of human society»...” “Ah, that's what you mean...” D'Annunzio interrupted the young woman's fiery voice with great serenity. The archbishop's smile keep its charm, but his tone had a certain inhuman echo. “You don't have to take it so seriously, Sister Esther. The public gathered here tonight have not come to hear the truth. What they expect is a dramatic and exciting story… They want the story of the heroic maiden who struck down the evil vampire. Isn't it our obligation to meet those expectations?” “B... but...” “Listen to me, Saint...” D'Annunzio silenced Esther with a gesture and shook his head. The hallway had begun to fill up, and the archbishop lowered his voice, returning greetings to passing guests. “You are a very sweet girl, Esther. I fully understand that you don't like harsh words. But think about it for a moment. Although it has recovered a lot this year, Istvan is still going through difficult times. The life of the citizens, your compatriots, is still very hard. Think how important it would be for them to have a heroine...” 

The archbishop placed a very white hand on her shoulder as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Esther Blanchett, you must be their Saint. You must be the image that encourage their hearts. You must be the strength and the hope of all those you love, of all humanity. I will show you how.” “...”

Esther was doubtful at the powerful words of the archbishop, after opening and closing her lips as if not knowing what to say, the girl sighed deeply.

“Good. I'll try.” “Good girl.” Nodding with satisfaction, D'Annunzio opened the door that led to the stage.“Sister Esther, it's time to go on stage. The public awaits you.” “OK…”

«The public awaits you». She would have felt joyful, but the worried expression of the girl did not changed. Even it could be said that the suffering is evident in her face. Anyways, Esther began to walk dragging her feet. She went through the door the archbishop had opened for her and disappeared down the dark corridor. 

 After closing the door, D'Annunzio made a sarcastic face. 

“What a difficult Saint to handle... one breaks one's back to turn her it into a star, and she, in return, complains...” “Ah?”  At the archbishop's cold laugh, Petros looked up in surprise. Opening the door again, D'Annunzio said in a clear voice, to the surprise of his former subordinate: “I never know how to treat smart ass girls. It's so boring having to lecture them like that… The tools should be quiet and just do what they are asked to do…” “A tool...? Your Excellence, when you say «tool» do you mean that girl? And what does it mean to «turn her into a star»?” 

Petros asked in astonishment. So he didn't really think she was a Saint? 

“Ah! So the director of the Inquisition is still there...” 

The Archbishop of Istvan turned as if he was seeing a stranger and responded with the tone of someone who had just discovered a stain on his clothing.

“You heard me perfectly. Saint Esther is nothing more than an image created by the Vatican. It is a huge fiction promoted through the management of the media and the investment of large amounts of money...”

 The bishop spoke confidently in the dark corridor, as if explaining everything to a tough-minded subordinate.  “As you know, the Vatican is losing power over the secular states. To stop this trend, it is necessary to regain the center of social attention. Creating a Saint is part of that project. Esther Blanchett is nothing more than a tool for our plans...” 

«You shall not worship idols», the Bible made it very clear. Didn't the archbishop know? D'Annunzio spoke as if he did not feel any apprehension or guilt for playing with the life of a girl and the faith of millions of people like that. “Besides, as a tool, it's first class. Her past is impeccable, and it doesn't hurt that she's so pretty… She has a very cute face, don't you think, Orsini?” “Eh? Well, I wouldn't know...”  At the knight's embarrassment, the archbishop looked at him with mocking eyes. “You don't know about that? Well, it doesn't matter… I have to introduce my Saint to the public. Orsini, you can go to the box of honor. Then we will talk about your delay. Get ready.”  

D'Annunzio turned, dropping those cold words, and reached for the door that led to the stage.

“Ah!?”

Frightened, Petros started to run away from his former superior, but just as he was about to give a farewell bow, he remembered that he still had something to ask him about. “Your Excellence... I really have a question to ask you before I present myself before His Holiness.”  Half-closing the door, the archbishop turned with an annoyed gesture at the voice of his exasperating interlocutor.  “What?”

D'Annunzio's voice was reminiscent of a teacher announcing to a student that he had failed. Petros barely repressed his desire to flee and ran from the archbishop just to ask: “I have just reviewed the City Guard, but… Your Excellence, what does this deployment mean? I have seen a complete division or even more. What about those tanks and aircraft!?” D'Annunzio continued walking as if he was unaware of the alarm that echoed in Il Ruinante's words.  “I admire how you have managed to reform in just one year an organization that had been completely destroyed. But for a public order force it is a bit out of proportion. Is there something going wrong?” “Eh? What is going to go wrong?” The archbishop stopped for the first time.

 Twisting his mouth, he answered coldly to Petros’ puzzled gaze. “Certainly the Guard's strength now exceeds what it was a year ago. Nobody hides it. But if the situation of the city is taken into consideration, it cannot be said that they are sufficient. After all, Istvan is the central column of the Vatican's eastern defense line. Their defensive potential has to be as great as possible... don't you think?” “If you will allow me to speak frankly, I think there is a problem of magnitude! The Second Division of the Vatican Army is deployed in this area, which is responsible of the defense work. The City Guard should only perform police functions. What is the point of equipping the police as if it were an army?”

The only response Petros' fiery speech got was a cold smile.  “Well, well, I see that you still don't understand anything, Orsini...” 

The archbishop made no effort to hide the malice and contempt on his face. As if he felt sorry for the stupidity of his interlocutor, he made a face, laughing through his nose. “Yes, there is an army division stationed here. But in the event of war, those troops will leave the region. Won't Istvan have to defend itself, then? That is why we have increased the strength of the Guard... Of course it costs us a lot of resources, but that is why we can’t afford to reduce it.” “But that dismantles all the plans of Rome and Cardinal Medici! Also, you speak of war, but now that the region has stabilized, where is the risk of war going to come from? Neighboring countries respect the authority of the Vatican and there is no sign of any disturbance to happen so...” “Brother Petros!!!” 

The scream echoed like an ice whip. Throwing a defiant look at the inquisitor, the archbishop harshly carved his words into the dark air of the hall.  “Are you the Director of the Holy Inquisition and you don't understand something like that!? Have you forgotten who the mortal enemy of humanity is!? Have you forgotten that this Empire of terrible devils is next to us!? If you've forgotten, I'll remind you. Never forget: this is Istvan, the front line of the battle against vampires!” “Ah…? But...” 

Anyone who had attended their dialogue would have been frozen in surprise.Il Ruinante, known as the most implacable man in the Vatican, had fallen silent. 

When he noticed Petros is not going to reply, the archbishop softened his expression. “Well, I don't want to lecture you anymore. Go back to the lobby. Didn't you come to escort His Holiness? That's all you're worth for. At least accomplish the mission you've been given.” “Y... yes! With your permission...” Gritting his teeth, Petros bowed. 

He was not at all convinced by the reasons given by his former superior, but he had no proper reply at the time. He didn't have time either. He turned towards the exit when... Just then the door closed in front of him. And, as if they were waiting for that moment, the guards locked the door from outside.

“Hey…”

Had they locked him up!? Petros looked around him, bewildered. The doors that led to the stalls were all closed with bolt. The lighting in the hall began to dim as the lighting on the stage took hold. The warrior priest then heard the sound of the presenter's voice through the microphone: 

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Istvan Opera House! In a few moments the Star of Sorrow will begin before all of you.”

“Petros, you are so clumsy!” 

The inquisitor began to get nervous. He had to find a way to get to the Pope's box as soon as possible! However, as much as he searched everywhere he was not able to find an open door. Apparently the security measures were meant to keep the public effectively locked inside the theater. 

He actually couldn’t make someone to open one of the doors invoking his authority as head of the Inquisition, if he did it, that would divert the attention of the speech that was about to start on the stage, and when they found out, the archbishop would scold him again some more. 

“Before we start, the author of the script will say a few words of welcome… His Excellene the Archbishop of Istvan, Emanuele D'Annunzio!” “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” 

While Il Ruinante was sweating while desperately looking for a way out, the welcome speech had begun on stage. Taking the microphone, the Archbishop smiled with all his virile charm. However, the voice that began to echo through the room had the serenity of a servant of God. 

“Welcome everyone. It has been a year since I received my appointment as Archbishop of this city. The road has not been easy, but with the help of the Lord and the collaboration of all of you, we have managed to happily overcome all the difficulties that have been presented to us so far. During this year we have defended in Istvan the glory of the Lord, who brought us a girl. I think we can be proud of it.” 

After uttering those phrases almost without breathing, the archbishop was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes as if he were remembering all the efforts of that year and raised his face to the ceiling. Petros realized that this was not more than a theatrical gesture, but the audience seemed to understand it as one reaction of sincere religious piety. Some mature women even began to sob quietly in the excitement.  Then, after checking that the entire room had gone completely silent, the archbishop opened his eyes again. Still smiling serenely, he raised his right arm to point to the small figure waiting at the base of the stage. 

“Tonight I am moved to have the opportunity to express our appreciation to the person who made the rebirth of this city possible. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the heroine who freed Istvan from the evil monster! Our hope before the devils that threaten us! Sister Esther Blanchett, Saint of Istvan!”

As thunderous applause rose, the hesitant figure of the nun appeared, equipped with a microphone. Blinking because of the bright spotlights and shrugging, the girl looked tiny in the middle of the huge stage, as if she were just a child.

 «She's just a poor kid…» Petros thought as he watched Esther walk across the stage. Come to think of it, the poor girl deserved his compassion for many reasons.First, because she belonged to the Ministry of Vatican Foreign Affairs, which was the lair of that witch, Caterina Sforza. Besides, she had to work with those agents, who had a horrible reputation of being sacrilegious. He couldn't imagine how she could lead a pious life as a nun between them. 

Above all, the entire show that night had not been sought by her, but had been implicated by the surroundings of D'Annunzio. At her young age, being worshiped as a Saint and being commissioned to make a speech to such an audience could only be considered a misfortune. 

“Uh... uh... Go... good night to every... Oh, no...! Good evening, la… ladies and gentlemen. It is an honor to introduce myself to you. I am Esther Blanchett. I do not have words to express my gratitude for this opera to be performed in my honor...”

  While Il Ruinante looked at her with compassionate eyes, the nun had started babbling. The inquisitor’s heart cringed just to see how her forehead was beaded in sweat and how her blue eyes were moving full of insecurity. Trying to smile faintly, the young lady put on the table the script that the archbishop had given to her before. Just when she deployed the first pages and prepared to start reading... the tragedy happened. 

“Ah!?”

The first thing that echoed through the speakers was a small groan. The pages of the script Esther was going to read flew across the stage. 

“No!” Cried Petros, as the papers fluttered like leaves blown up in the wind.Had she forgotten to re-tie the rope that held the pages together? The nun was trying to pick them up in haste, but many had already fallen off the stage. The girl's tensed face had lost all traces of color. But Petros and the rest of the audience didn't have to hold their breath for long. 

At first, the nun was so stunned that she couldn't even speak, it was natural.

 Having to improvise a speech in front of such a crowd, and also being people of such power in society… Even a veteran politician would have found it difficult. How could it cost to a girl who had just turned eighteen? 

In view of the events, no one would have criticized her if she had fled the stage. But the Saint did not.Biting her lip as if she had made up her mind, she rose to her feet, adjusting the hem of her habit. She was still a little pale, but a powerful light shone in her blue eyes. As if attracted by that look, the audience's attention was concentrated on the girl's face when she began to speak... 

“I beg your pardon for my clumsiness… The fear of speaking in front of so many people has left me a little stunned…” Esther began in a vigorous, almost savage voice. “A play will be performed in my honor tonight and I want to express my enormous gratitude to you for taking the time to attend the performance”.

Was this the same nervous nun who had trembled a few minutes earlier? Esther addressed the audience with her head up, as if all the perplexity of before had disappeared. 

“Well, to be improvising she does it very well...” Petros said to himself with admiration, as he looked for the archbishop with his eyes. At the backstage, D'Annunzio seemed to be more tense than before, but he was still looking at the young woman with a satisfied smile. As the nun had read the script before, a few as she remembered, things would go more or less as he had planned. Petros expected the same when he looked back at the girl. She would probably invoke God and the Vatican, would praise the courage of the combatants a year ago and call those present to remain united. If she said that, nothing would be noticed... 

“Thank you all. That was my intention... But now I have changed my mind...”

It would take a long time for Petros to forget how the atmosphere in the room changed with just that short sentence.What she’s going to tell them!? Glancing to the backstage, he saw how the archbishop had stiffened, staring at the nun in amazement, as if observing a ceramic doll that had suddenly begun to speak. 

Esther was not looking at the archbishop, but at the room full of spectators. In her pupils were reflected the innumerable puzzled faces that had been nailed to her. The audience seemed hypnotized by the words of the Saint, who whispered slowly:  “I have come to pray with all of you for the souls of those who shed their blood in battle a year ago. For that I have returned here, to my city.”  The voice was not overly powerful, but it completely dominated the room, where not a cough was heard. Without being too high or too low, it filled the air with a clean and serene feeling. It was the perfect example of a pleasant voice. As proof of this, when hearing her, Petros had completely forgotten that he had to go to the royal box, nothing further from his mind at the moment than to get away from there.

Il Ruinante had been lost in thought, listening to the flow of that voice.

“A year ago, we got a lot of blood flowing. Blood of our comrades, blood of our enemies… It was a horrible battle. But then I thought there was no other option. To survive you had to fight. We couldn't help but spilling that blood. In those moments it seemed that we were at a crossroads between life and death. Yes, that was really the situation. That's why we took up the sword... But now, a year later, I have the feeling that «there was no other option» is not a sufficient explanation for that fight...”

Esther was silent for a moment after the long speech. At the view of the girl closing briefly her eyelids to soak in those memories, Petros thought that this nun did not seem at all like the girl that he knew. More than someone alive, it recalled to the images of Saints that appeared in the murals and religious paintings of the cathedrals.  When she opened her eyes again, a sweet but intense light shone on them. Looking at the audience, which was in absolute silence, she continued with a calm voice. 

“During that battle I met one person... one person who back then was my enemy. He was the man I was trying to kill. But he also believed he had to kill to me to survive.” 

Her expression could not be said to be very refined, nor the sound of the words to be very beautiful. In spite of this, there was nobody in the room that was not captivated by the voice of the Saint. None of those celebrities and distinguished people uttered a single word. They were all focused, listening to the girl, who kept talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  

“But it wasn't true, no one should have died; However, due to a misunderstanding, at first, both he and I thought that we had to kill ourselves to survive… And not only him. I believe that among those we killed and who killed us there were many like him. Many who laughed like us, cried like us. Many who we hated. All possibilities were destroyed by a misunderstanding.” 

Perhaps it was the memory of that man that made a trace of suffering appear in the serene voice of the girl. The audience also felt the sting of that painful memory in their chest. Looking ahead, Esther spoke without hurrying, without forcing the words, penetrating every corner of the hearts of the attendees.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distrust yourselves. Be suspicious of justice. Maybe we are too simple. Be suspicious of your ideas about justice in the world. Are they really correct? Aren't they often just what we want to believe? Don't we impose them on our neighbor many times? Be suspicious. Mistrusting these issues is not bad.” 

«Be suspicious of justice».

Hearing those words, the audience felt a slight shudder. Since the nun had started her speech, that was the first moment of doubt. The audience had been rapt with her until then, but little by little the audience began to come to their senses. Esther was not flustered by the change in the audience, so she pushed herself even harder in her speech, expressively moving her arms.

“It may be that these words make you sad. You may think that everything is false and that nothing is certain. God and justice are nothing more than mirages… But they are not. We can distrust, distrust and distrust, but something will always remain. There is always something that cannot be denied… For example, on a winter night like this, meeting with the whole family in front of the stove and feeling the warmth in the heart…” The families in the audience exchanged glances, as if encouraged by the girl's words.“Or look at the starry sky from a deserted meadow and feel how precious our little existence is...” 

As to embrace to all those present, the nun extended the arms and continued talking, pretending this time caress the soul with the voice. 

“Love of oneself and of neighbor ... that's what remains in the end. That is what makes me believe in God. Because God loves us and has given us these gifts. So let's pray together. Let us pray for all the blood that was shed and the souls of all the fallen… Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.”

 Although they had wanted to rehearse it before, the response of those present would not have come out more conjoined. It seemed they had coordinated not only the breathing, but even the pulse. The echo of those words had scarcely been consumed when a thunderous round of applause went up. The ovation did not diminish after the nun finished bowing in thanks. After the archbishop's speech, the audience had remained seated, but Esther's words made everyone in attendance stand up to cheer her on. Even Petros, seeing the reaction from the room, was unable to suppress a cry of admiration.

“And she's just a little girl… What a charisma!” 

 N: A very old Petros’s coloring ;) 

Just with the dubious name of Saint, the girl had managed to move more than a thousand people. This was not normal. Thinking ahead, Petros felt a slight concern.  

If the artificial Saint that D'Annunzio and Borgia wanted to make was added that ability to attract the public, the potential of the girl was not negligible. If she developed her career under Sforza's guidance, she would be a formidable opponent for Cardinal Medici and his followers...

“Hey you! Where do you think you are going!? This is not the time for that yet!” 

Those reproachful words that came from the base of the stage brought the warrior monk to his senses. Turning, he saw a Guard soldier in his gray-blue uniform arguing with someone carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Probably wanted to give it to the Saint. The one who carried the bouquet was a young adolescent. From the daring evening dress she was wearing, she seemed to be the daughter of one of the attendees. However, her dark skin and pronounced features were a rare combination in these lands. Her eyes were slanted and her pupils a stunning amethyst color.The soldier holding her in the gray gloves began to speak in an increasingly harsh voice.

“Didn't you hear me? If you want to give the Saint a bouquet of flowers, you have to wait for her to come down from the stage. Go back to your seat and stay still.” “Stand aside,Terran!” 

The young woman slightly moved the arm that the other was holding, It seemed a only symbolic gesture, but what happened then was anything but that. 

The soldier, who was six feet tall and weighed a hundred kilos, flew off incredibly and slammed his face against the wall. The impact must have made him pass out. The horrible noise of his nose breaking was the only thing that accompanied his collapse to the ground. 

The scene did not go unnoticed. Muffled shouts of astonishment began to be heard from the audience, and in the box of honor the cardinals had risen with tense faces. However, Petros wasted no time in observing the reactions of the attendees, because he had noticed that the young woman had too long canines between her lips...

“No! Get away from her you all!” Shouted Il Ruinante, wielding with each hand the screamers that he wore on his waist. “She is not human! Is a…!”  “Nice to meet you, Terrans. My name is Shahrazad and I come from the True Human Empire…” said the girl, with a voice as beautiful as a bell, but at the same time full of defiant force.  

As the bouquet of flowers was dropped, the long jeweled gloves she wore began to glow. Leaning them against the wall, the girl, or rather the vampire, looked directly at Esther, who made no sign of wanting to flee. 

“This evening I come to see the killer who you call the Saint... and to kill her!”

 With a thud, the wall began to crumble, looking like a spiderweb. 

                           ════════════╠☆╣════════════

And this is it my dear friends, I hope you have enjoyed this and the new Petros’ coloring I added. I tried hard not to include personal notes in the translation, because I love Petros so much and I was like reacting to everything that happened to him.  Maybe that’s the reason I love this arc so much XD  I want to thank you a lot for your patience, for those who still support this and help me out with it, and to those who share the love by rebloging and liking this. I truly apreciate that.  See you soon on the next part, stay tunned because the best part is next to come. Please stay safe and healthy <3 

[sineala]

Civil War: Script Book

I finally read something and have a proper review for all of you! In case you're curious about the contents of the Civil War script book, I have some thoughts on it here as well as some excerpts of the bits that are probably most exciting and/or useful to 616 Steve/Tony fandom.

On the face of it, Civil War: Script Book is exactly what it sounds like -- a book collecting the final drafts of the scripts of the main Civil War comic book series. Issues one to seven. Yep. All of them. "But Sine," you might ask, "why would I want that when I have already read Civil War?" Well, there are a few reasons. One is that you might just be the kind of person who finds it interested to read comic scripts and compare them to the published material, to see what kind of directions and detail the artist is given, and so on. The other reason is that it is interesting from a fannish perspective -- there is a lot of behind-the-scenes commentary, as well as Mark Millar's original pitch for the series and his first draft for Civil War #1.

The book is laid out in a way that is about as visually exciting as you could hope for a collection of scripts to be. The script itself is on the verso pages. Occasional significant lines are highlighted in yellow, with red arrows drawn to the recto pages where they've reproduced the art that goes with those lines. The recto pages also contain commentary from Mark Millar (the author of Civil War) and Tom Brevoort (the editor at Marvel who, relevantly, was responsible for overseeing the entire Civil War event).

And there's a lot in the commentary that fandom might enjoy knowing about. Disclaimer: the commentary is not new; it was all culled from various promotional interviews, but this is the first time it has been collected in one place in this form. And, okay, to be fair, some of the commentary is Millar rhapsodizing about how much he enjoys splash pages with large numbers of superheroes on them, and also how much he likes fight scenes, but there's more than that. For example, we learn -- although you might already have heard this -- that in the very beginning stages of planning, they thought Steve would be pro-Registration, but ultimately decided against it because they didn't think Steve would be in favor of arresting his friends.

(And as another authorial-intent tidbit that may be of interest to a few of you, Brevoort says that Millar -- who is also the author of the original two Ultimates miniseries, as I'm sure you know -- says that, in his mind, if Civil War had happened in the Ultimate universe, Ults Steve would absolutely have been pro-Registration.)

(One more note on authorial intent: Millar says Steve would not have brought the shield down in the final fight.)

It's also interesting seeing both Brevoort's and Millar's opinion on issues that have since become controversial in fandom meta -- the smaller question of what the SHRA actually does, and the big big question, of course, of which side anyone is on. Which side the event is on. Whether it was intentionally slanted in any way.

There has been talk in fannish meta that it's hard to evaluate CW as an event because we aren't given a clear definition in canon of what restrictions the SHRA would actually impose on superhumans -- for example, everyone with powers is forced to register, but are they actually forced to work for SHIELD? Well, in case you were wondering, both Brevoort and Millar seem pretty clear that this is not the case. This is what Brevoort has to say:

The SHRA isn't an organization, it's a federal law. It requires anybody possessing superhuman abilities to register themselves and those abilities with duly appointed agents of the government. Additionally, if an individual intends to use those super-normal abilities as an independent peace officer, they must qualify on a training evaluation, be licensed and submit to some level of oversight in terms of their activities.

I hope that's helpful to someone in fandom, the next time you want to know what the SHRA does. So the answer looks like, yeah, SHIELD has to know about you even if you're the guy whose power is that you can barf up anything you can imagine (I am still not sure why this is the deus-ex-machina ending that Secret Empire went for but that's the subject of another post), but you don't have to join the Initiative unless you actually want to be a superhero.

And then there's the question of the balance of the event. While fandom as a whole generally seemed to perceive Tony as having been on the wrong side, Brevoort says he thinks that they came off as pretty equal in the main series, but that a lot of the tie-ins may have been slanted in favor of anti-Reg because he wanted to let the writers of the tie-ins "tell the truth as they saw it," and that furthermore a lot of the anti-Reg-favoring issues came out early in the event and helped solidify the opinion. He does say that if he were to do it again he would have rearranged the order of some of the tie-ins and asked some of the writers "to perhaps rein in their depictions of Tony a little bit."

So there. That's the word from Marvel, on both of those topics. On to the rest of this book!

The original pitch by Millar, plotting out the whole event, is also an interesting read, in terms of what changed and what stayed the same. They were originally throwing around a lot of ideas with the Hulk, which as far as I can tell mostly got recycled into Planet Hulk/World War Hulk slightly later on. The inciting event (the Stamford incident in the final version, obviously) hadn't been completely settled on, and they knew they'd have to kill someone (so as to make the event have an impact), but they weren't sure who; later on, they obviously decided on Goliath. What's more, it's clear from reading the rest of the commentary that Millar and Brevoort consider Goliath's death the turning point of the narrative, where the stakes are really raised. I find that interesting; in the parts of fandom I hang out with, the big turning points that come up in conversation tend to be pretty much (a) the EMP and (b) the final fight.

The other thing that's really weird is that... Steve doesn't die. What happens in the original pitch is that there's an evil senator with technology to depower all the superheroes, and Steve basically takes one for the team and stops the final fight by destroying the technology and in the process, losing the serum. There is then some discussion about who should be Cap after that -- whether it should be Bucky or Clint, for example. But skinny Steve basically heads off into the sunset at the end as Registration takes hold, and they plan to keep him deserumed for a year or two until the movie comes out, for that sweet sweet MCU synergy.

Is there anything in the pitch I would have loved to have seen? Hell, yeah. Check this out:

The whole situation is getting nuts and there's a clear war now going on between the super heroes, both equally convinced that they're doing the right thing. It all builds up to a big climax at the end of the fourth issue as Tony wakes up in bed to find Cap sitting on his chest and warning him to call off the dogs. He has to release these super-people from prison or Cap will have to take action. This is a last moment of sanity before all hell breaks loose in issue five and, since Tony believes with all his heart that they need licenses, he tells Cap to go [fuck] himself. Thus, the war is on and both sides are playing for keeps.

Would I pay CASH MONEYS for an emotionally-fraught conversation between Steve and Tony that takes place in Tony's bed with Steve sitting on Tony's chest? Boy howdy! I sure would!

So, you know, I'm sad that that didn't make it into the final draft. The rest of the pitch is pretty meh other than that.

The final bit of content exclusive to this book -- other than the pitch -- is the original draft of the script for Civil War #1 and, well, it would have been... slightly different. First off, there's no Stamford incident. There is an inciting event in which the New Warriors are in a fight for the purposes of reality TV and it gets out of control -- so that part is the same -- but it takes place in Bellport, Long Island, and the sole victim is Happy Hogan, who gets shot in the head and dies.

Naturally, you can see how this would bring Tony on board to the pro-Registration side. Also ardently pro-Registration in this draft is Simon Williams (yes, Wonder Man), who is running for political office and is leveraging this to boost his popularity. Being as Wonder Man isn't particularly popular, I have to say I'm glad that they took that out.

The big-impact scene of Steve's confrontation on the helicarrier -- you know, the one where he jumps out the window and rides a fighter jet down? -- is still there, but in this draft, Fury is still running SHIELD, though Hill is present. The commentary indicates that the role was switched to Hill for the final version because they felt that Fury would be too pro-superhero and specifically too pro-Cap to fill the position. I understand why they did this, but I think the first-draft showdown has a lot more impact coming from people who have been comrades as long as Nick and Steve have in 616:

CAPT AMERICA: I AM NOT RATTING OUT MY FRIENDS! FURY: Fingers on your triggers, boys. Any sudden moves and I want the captain tasered. CAPT AMERICA: Damn you to hell for this, Nick. FURY: Damn you for for making me do it.

See? So much more emotional!

The issue wraps up essentially the same way as the published version, with Tony in a Cabinet meeting with the president, explicitly endorsing Registration -- so, yeah, the main themes are mostly there, but a lot of the details are different.

Overall, I have to say that if you're interested in the details of the Civil War event, and you like behind-the-scenes information and extras, this book is worth a purchase, but not necessarily to the point where you should go hunting it down. I think I got mine for $5, which seems reasonable, and I have definitely gotten $5 worth of Civil War informational value out of it.

[back-and-totheleft]

“Make it for the soldiers”

The three-time Oscar winner is back with a new book—Chasing the Light: Writing, Directing, and Surviving Platoon, Midnight Express, Scarface, Salvador, and the Movie Game—and turning its pages is like entering a Stone movie. The one-time infantryman had a single condition in granting HUSTLER this Q&A: “Make it for the soldiers. You’ve got to make it interesting to them.” Movie stars are often household names, but Oliver Stone is one of the few screenwriters and directors to have a high public profile. Now he’s released a new book, and it’s a rip-roaring, rollicking read, full of tense drama and trauma. The 342-page memoir focuses on Stone’s life through the age of 40 and sheds light on what forged Hollywood’s movie maverick and makes him tick.

After the Allies liberated Paris, his father—Colonel Louis Stone, who served on General Eisenhower’s staff—met the Parisian Jacqueline Pauline Cezarine Goddet. In December 1945 they married, which Stone wryly writes was “possibly the greatest mistakes of their lives,” and sailed from France to live in New York, where Louis, a Yale graduate, resumed his Wall Street career as a stockbroker. Stone reveals how their divorce affected him and, for the first time ever, describes in detail his combat experiences in Vietnam, where he was awarded the Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. Coming under fire in Indochina’s jungles ignited an intense mistrust of government and hatred of war that actually compelled Stone to become a filmmaker. As the Chasing the Light subtitle indicates, the book zooms in on four movies and provides a behind-the-scenes peek at Stone’s maneuvering through Tinseltown’s machinations. Stone scored his first Hollywood triumphs as the screenwriter of 1978’s Midnight Express, winning an Oscar and a Golden Globe. Like his script for 1983’s Scarface, Midnight Express lampooned the so-called War on Drugs. This set the stage for Stone to tackle President Reagan’s secret war in Central America with 1986’s hard-hitting Salvador, followed later that same year by his grunt’s-eye view on the Vietnam War, the no-holds-barred Platoon. At the 1987 Academy Awards ceremony, Stone was in the rare enviable position of competing against himself in the Best Writing, Screenplay Written Directly for the Screen category for both Salvador and Platoon. Although he won neither, his boyhood idol Elizabeth Taylor did give Stone the Best Director Oscar for Platoon, which also won for Best Picture. The book’s curtain closes as Stone earns his sublime moment in the limelight, emerging as one of the movie industry’s most celebrated writer-directors of all time. His future body of work—1987’s Wall Street, 1991’s The Doors and JFK through 2016’s Snowden—are only mentioned in passing, if at all. An exception is 1989’s Best Picture-nominated Born on the Fourth of July, for which Stone was awarded his second Best Director Oscar, for helming this searing cinematic biopic about maimed Vietnam War vet Ron Kovic, whose relationship with Stone began during the period his memoir covers. HUSTLER interviewed Stone when he returned to Los Angeles in between trips to Europe to promote his book. In this candid conversation Stone opens up about the Vietnam War, drugs, censorship, Edward Snowden, Larry Flynt, Jackie Kennedy, his new Kennedy assassination film and so much more. HUSTLER: How did Chasing the Light come about? Did you write any of it while sheltering in place? OLIVER STONE: No. I was finishing up in that phase. I wrote it over two years. It was final draft, checking things, draft edits, around February, March… I was working on other things, documentaries and so forth. In your memoir you write about your time in Vietnam. Have you recounted those personal experiences extensively before? No. No, I haven’t. In interviews I’ve shared some of it. But no, this is all fresh material. The movies were dramatic presentations. I talk about Born on the Fourth of July and my relationship with Ron Kovic [the paralyzed Vietnam War vet portrayed by Tom Cruise in the 1989 feature]. And a lot about Platoon. Because both were written in 1976 [the year Kovic’s book was published], which falls in the period I’m covering in Chasing the Light, up to 1986. They play a significant role—the failures of those two films to get made haunted me. You were wounded twice in Vietnam—where you served with distinction as an infantryman, winning a Bronze Star and Purple Heart. So what do you think about President Trump allegedly calling dead soldiers “losers” and “suckers” and stating that military parades should exclude wounded vets? It’s a strange statement. I don’t know if he made it, but it sounds very bizarre. Obviously, I don’t agree with it. On the other hand, I don’t believe we should be over-glorifying our veterans either, because that leads to other sets of problems, which we’ve seen in the spate of recent wars. To prepare for this interview, I watched Scarface again. In your book you mention that you were probably conceived in Europe, your mom was an immigrant from France, and it struck me that Scarface is very much an immigrant’s saga. How do you view the Trump/Stephen Miller immigration and refugee policies? I abhor them. I do believe in immigration—it’s what the American way is about. This country has been built on immigration. Even in this lifetime of mine we’ve had such a new spate of immigration from different countries, Third World, Asia. It’s remarkable. In Scarface we talk about Latin Americans who are coming into Miami, some good, some bad. It’s a rich mix, and that’s what had given America its experimental nature. There’s no fixed America in my mind. It’s 250 years—it’s a constantly changing soup. Scarface, like Midnight Express, is drug-themed. Your memoir is quite candid about your own use of substances. What do you think of the War on Drugs? Who won? [Laughs.] It’s a ludicrous objective. It should not be called a “war.” Listen, I partook of drugs. I’ve been very honest about it. It started for me in Vietnam. I smoked it in the base camps, in the rear, when we came back. I smoked it to relax. I go into the reasons for it. It helped me get through that war as a human being. Very important to me. I respect it. I also talk about drug use later on in my life, like cocaine—which I don’t think worked for me at all, and I said why. So I’m on both sides of it. But I do think it’s an individual issue, of individual responsibility and education. The treatment for it is not punishment but hospitalization or medical help or psychiatric help. The War on Drugs is a waste of money, and again, it’s political. I saw that in Scarface, the birth of the Drug Enforcement [Administration]—very political, huge budgets; it’s growing every year. The Reagan war and all that—they call it a war. Everything in America is a war. But we don’t win any one of them. Have you encountered political censorship in Hollywood for your movies’ dissident politics over the years? You posit that Henry Kissinger and Alexander Haig being on MGM’s board may have affected an early effort to make Platoon. Yes. It’s been a long haul. And I emphasize the word may, because you never know when they turn it down. They never tell you, “It’s because of political reasons that we don’t want to make your film.” They never say that. They couch it in economic terms or, “This is too depressing.” “It’s blah-blah A, B or C.” You never know. In this case, it was a very easy deal for them to make. Dino De Laurentiis was behind it—as my producer he was financing the film. MGM had a distribution deal with Mr. De Laurentiis, and they didn’t live up to it. He was making very risky movies at that time, like Blue Velvet. MGM had to make a minimal investment in distribution costs, and they did not do it. Why? Well, I would assume that the president of MGM at the time, Frank Yablans, said that he had gone to the board and they had turned [Platoon] down, but I’m not sure he’s telling the truth. Because they sometimes don’t even bother to go to the board because they don’t want to take any heat. On the board, of course, were two very conservative men on Vietnam who I’d classify as war hawks. So, I mean, it became a political issue. I do believe that; I have no proof. Also, the Pentagon passed on the film, calling it completely unrealistic. This is an important issue because the movie is realistic. I was there, and I saw it on the ground. I was in four different platoons, in four different units, in three combat platoons. I served in the south and in the north and saw quite a bit of action. And I’m telling you, three things I wrote in the book, about the three lies in Vietnam, I believe apply even today to all fought wars. One is friendly fire. American soldiers get killed by their own side, by small arms fire, artillery and bombs. It’s not precision bombing. About 20 percent of the casualties, wounded and dead, comes from friendly fire. This is a very important point, because it is buried over and over again by the Pentagon in their after-action reports. Recently, the Arizona Cardinals’ Pat Tillman was killed in Afghanistan, and there was a whole mess in trying to get to the reasons for his death. Of course, that was a celebrity-type killing, but this goes on all the time in every war. In Vietnam, in the jungle, you can imagine the asymmetric aspect of it. When fire happens, you don’t even know where the fire is coming from. People are firing—you don’t know if it’s coming in or out. And various things like that are happening all the time. I believe my first wound came about through friendly fire. The second lie I talked about was killing civilians, trashing villages. Racism was really a huge factor in that. We treated the civilians mostly as enemies, as people who were supporting the enemy. [Secretary of Defense] Robert McNamara estimated three to four million Vietnamese killed. The third lie, the biggest one of all: “We’re winning the war.” We heard that lie again and again and again. It was fed to the American people. Even from the beginning, we never had a chance. In Neil Sheehan’s book A Bright Shining Lie, [Lieutenant Colonel] John Paul Vann made it really clear, in 1962 this was a hopeless situation, a hopeless war, because true patriotism was to fight for your country. This was a war, as he said, of independence that was fought against us as colonizers in the wake of the French. Inflating body counts, lying about enemy movements, CIA involvement in the war, no question about it. Misguiding the war. Often bad information, among other things, about the My Lai massacre in March 1968, when 500-plus villagers were killed in cold blood by [U.S.] units who were told that the enemy would be in the village. Not a single enemy bullet was fired in that whole day. And this was investigated by the Army itself, by an honest [lieutenant] general named [William Ray] Peers. He didn’t believe it at first. He thought it was bullshit, that the Seymour Hersh revelations were bullshit. He went in there and investigated thoroughly and came up with the conclusion. That’s what my movie I wanted to make on the My Lai massacre is about. He indicted 20-plus officers all the way up to the top of that division. He indicted the general of that division for his negligence. It’s a disgusting story. But it happens all the time in war and is covered up. Covered up for the dignity of the family, for the dignity of the death and so forth and so on. “How can you criticize the military?” You know, that horrible kind of righteousness, which prevents us from seeing what war is. Although you’re a decorated Vietnam veteran, the Pentagon denied you any support for Platoon—and, I assume, for your other Vietnam War-related movies. Yes, that’s correct. But other directors such as, say, Michael Bay, who never served in the military but who make pro-war, pro-military films, are given permission to shoot at U.S. bases, use of armed services personnel, access to high-tech equipment, etc. What do you make of this double standard? Does it violate the First Amendment? I don’t know about that, but it’s certainly a violation of morality. It’s much bigger than Michael Bay—there’s a book that came out in 2017, National Security Cinema: The Shocking New Evidence of Government Control in Hollywood by Matthew Alford and Tom Secker. James DiEugenio, who works with me, has covered this issue separately in another book, Reclaiming Parkland. These two books cover the involvement of the Pentagon in Hollywood. Alford and his coauthor talk about 800-plus films that were made with Pentagon cooperation. You’d be stunned at some of the films made. Among case studies are Pearl Harbor, Black Hawk Down—which is basically a whitewashing of the affair in Somalia—Charlie Wilson’s War, Hotel Rwanda, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Rules of Engagement, The Terminator, 13 Days, United 93, Wag the Dog. Talks about people like Tom Clancy, of course a big military supporter, and the CIA too. TV series such as Alias, Homeland and 24—which had a tremendous effect on the American public in glorifying the CIA, making it seem like it was a backstop for our security, which is a lie too. It undermined our security. All this is much bigger than Michael Bay. In Chasing the Light you mention “surveillance” a number of times, and of course you made 2016’s Snowden. On September 2, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit ruled that the NSA’s warrantless mass surveillance—which Edward Snowden exposed—was illegal and possibly unconstitutional. What do you think of that, and what should happen to Snowden now? [Laughs.] It’s obviously correct. Snowden should be brought back to the country. I don’t know if he should be pardoned for his wrongs—because he never did anything wrong. He should be pardoned immediately, as should [WikiLeaks’] Julian Assange. The fact is, the NSA has been breaking the law for so many years. We owe it to George Bush and that administration. That was reported on as early as around 2004, but buried by The New York Times until after the election. The Pentagon Papers was released by The Times because they hated Nixon, but I guess with Bush, they gave him a pass. Terrible. It [NSA’s bulk surveillance] has resulted in this sense of unease—you’re always monitored, we have to check our behavior, we’re under control. This is a disaster for the world. Also, other countries have responded accordingly. The World Wide Web is very dangerous. It goes back to the worst days of J. Edgar Hoover. Free speech is a recurring theme in a number of your films. How were you involved in the making of 1996’s The People vs. Larry Flynt? I was a producer. It was written by Larry Karaszewski and Scott Alexander. It was their script. Milos Forman developed it with them. I did feel that Larry Flynt had a case—he won the case [against Reverend Jerry Falwell Sr.]. I’m glad. I’m proud of the movie. After Platoon was released, you quote Jacqueline Kennedy, who wrote you and said, “Your film has changed the direction of a country’s thinking.” Your movies presented a counter-narrative to the Reagan regime’s reactionary agenda. Modesty aside, do you think that Salvador, Platoon and Born on the Fourth of July may have helped stop Reagan and Bush from turning their Contra Wars in Central America into full-fledged Vietnam-like invasions? I don’t believe that they did. What happened was the fortuitous fuckup by the CIA when Eugene Hasenfus was captured after his plane was shot down. He was a contractor—he was in Nicaragua supplying [weapons to the U.S.-backed anti-Sandinista Contras]. It leads to the larger story of Oliver North, Reagan, George Herbert [Walker] Bush and the Iran-Contra affair. That’s what stalled them. Not that it was revealed in its entirety—that’s another story, of course, that’s been buried by The Washington Post’s Katharine Graham, who has been lionized in another kind of movie. But basically that scandal at least was enough to stop the momentum of an invasion, and Reagan did not have the power, the ability, the credibility anymore after October ’86. Which of course helped Platoon too, because it came out right in that juncture, and that revived Salvador, which was rereleased. Both films had an impact, but whether that would have changed the course of Reagan without the accident with the CIA—I don’t think so. Tell us about your new film, JFK: Destiny Betrayed. It’s a four-hour documentary, and it has the facts. More facts than ever. We deal with everything that happened after—in terms of documentation—since [JFK] came out in 1991. Very interesting. Because the assassination records review board, which was created from the JFK film with the JFK [Records] Act—although it was stymied by many restrictions, it did manage to release a fair amount of documents. Not all. And in those documents there’s quite a bit of information, including, of course, Operation Northwoods, that the Pentagon was operating to undercut Cuba. What are some of the highlights you learned since 1991 about the liquidation of President Kennedy? Well, I think you have to wait for the movie. [Laughs.] But certainly the ties of [Lee Harvey] Oswald to the CIA. That’s more explicit. Certainly, the evidence. We revisit the original evidence presented by Mark Lane but with new witnesses; new characters have come forward. Many people [didn’t] talk, but they start talking after the movie in the 1990s…People talk. All these informational signals come from all directions. You explain that your book title, Chasing the Light, refers to a moviemaking term. But does it also allude to your personal quest for enlightenment? And if so, have you attained it yet? Well, I’m much older [now] than when the book ends. But certainly that is an important moment, in 1986. After wanting to achieve a dream of writing and directing since I was 22 and being rejected and defeated many times, having some success along the way, and after having almost given up at 30—finally, at the age of 40, I really had a breakthrough of major proportions, with two solid movies back to back that really convinced the world, as well as myself, that I was a writer-director. It was a core victory for me and an important fact. That sets the tone for the foundation of my character. There’s going to be changes, more detours, pushes and turns in the story, but certainly, it’s established in 1986. So your memoir ends in 1987. That means a lot of your other classics are yet to come. So, in that grand Hollywood tradition, will there be a sequel to Chasing the Light? Well, I hope so. I do hope so. I hope the book does well enough to justify it. What’s next for you? I have two documentaries. One is the JFK documentary, four hours long, that won’t be out for a year. Another one is unedited, about the future, the need for clean energy, which includes nuclear energy. It’s based on a book I bought called A Bright Future: How Some Countries Have Solved Climate Change and the Rest Can Follow, by Joshua Goldstein and a Swedish scientist, Staffan A. Qvist. I understand you’re traveling these days. I’m about to promote the book in Paris. I just came back from Italy, France and Germany… It was big in Italy—they loved me. [Laughs.] Much better than in the United States.

-Ed Rampell, Hustler, Jan 16 2021

[dishearteningmediocrity]

This may not be exciting to anyone but me, but I was thrilled to find this very old copy of R.C. Sherriff’s Journey’s End in my university library. There’s no copyright page, but it was first checked out in 1932! And quite frequently thereafter. Look at that flurry of circulation activity from 1939-1946…It really makes me wonder who was checking it out, and what they were hoping to learn. And whether they soon learned it firsthand.

On a lighter note, my favorite thing about this copy is that someone carefully went through and Americanized it, changing “tea” to “coffee” and “Cheero!” to “Goodbye.” Also, my favorite, “cricket” to “baseball”. Even though the characters are still saying “Thanks awfully!” and “Rather!” all over the place. I don’t know if this was for a performance, or someone just did it because that gotdang Limey talk made ‘em madder than a red-eyed cow. Either way, it’s absolutely topping. I mean great.

Turns out that the drama department of the Southwest Texas State Teachers College (as it was called then) performed Journey’s End on February 26 and 27, 1931, the first amateur production in the American southwest. (Coincidentally, also the year after the graduation of our most famous alumnus, Lyndon B. Johnson.)

But who is responsible for the annotations? There are checkmarks next to most of Hibbert’s lines, making me think it was at some point used by someone playing that role. There are two names written in the back of the book, but neither of them appears in the list of the “College Players” in the 1931 yearbook, so I’m not sure.

I did notice in some of the margins underlinings and the words “cue” and “now” which didn’t seem to correspond to the dialogue. Maybe this passage from Janet Barton Carroll’s thesis, “The History of Theatre at Southwest Texas State University,” solves that mystery: “Those persons who went to see 'Journey's End' may have been conscious of a great deal of noise not altogether produced by the actors. This was produced by means of two phonographs placed just off the set, and operated by persons whose business it was to watch the script with utmost care, producing the sounds as they were necessary. Often a shell would serve as a cue for an actor's line, and many of the lines would have sounded foolish indeed without the off-stage noise. The phonographs were supplemented by a drum. Pistols were tried in rehearsals,but they were a bit too loud. Whistles were blown to indicate the noise made by a shell passing through the air.” (pg. 41) So I’m guessing the notations came from the student operators of the sound-effects phonographs, who also simulated the collapse of the dugout by suspending a wet blanket over the stage and pulling a rope to make it flop down on the candles in the center of the table.

The 1930 film version is one of my favorite movies of all time. I don’t know why I had never thought about it coming here to my home soil, but of course it did. From searching in old newspapers, it looks like theaters all over Texas, from Corsicana to El Paso, played the movie. I found an ad from my hometown newspaper touting its run at the Queen Theatre. (I also found two 1937 theatrical productions of the play in Austin, one in February and one in November at the Austin Little Theater directed by Zachary Scott, or Zack Scott Jr. as the paper referred to him.)

Anyway, that’s the research whirlwind this old book sent me on. This post isn’t exhaustive by any means, but it was just interesting to find it, as palimpsest of regional history and a reminder of how worlds intersect, and poignant to think about how everyone who checked this out in the 40s was reliving the previous cataclysmic war in the midst of another. Also, it’s a testament to the phenomenal success of Journey’s End, and to the energy and determination of theater department director Monroe Lippman, that a backwater teachers’ college in Texas was performing it 3 years after its West End debut. See, all y’all who think Texas doesn’t have culture? We have a distinguished theatrical tradition AND the World’s Largest Pecan. Take that, haters!

[putschki1969]

Hikaru x SPICE Broadcast 11/8

As promised, here is a rough translation/detailed summary of Hikaru’s live broadcast from today (Nov 08).

The video is currently available in SPICE’s archive but it will be deleted after one week. For everyone who wants to download the interview, here is a google drive link (all credit goes to my friend @mowskyuu​ who kindly sent me the video). Everyone, ENJOY!

Without further ado, let’s get going. 〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→ 

We start with Takeshi Kato (TK) introducing himself and his guest Hikaru. TK talks about how this broadcast is going to be about many firsts and about Hikaru‘s upcoming live. Being the nerd she is, Hikaru has prepared a detailed script for herself so she won’t lose track or feel intimidated. Then TK decides to be funny and annoy Hikaru by saying that since they have such a packed schedule he will simply change the entire content of the program so they can talk about anime and games XD

They invite everyone to use the hashtag #HikaruSPICE生放送 on Twitter to ask questions and write comments. Technically people can also comment on Youtube but it’s preferred that everyone uses Twitter. TK once again jokes about abandoning the script and making last minute-changes to mess with Hikaru a little but then he tells her to just relax and say whatever she feels like saying.

Hikaru then introduces her new solo project called H-el-ical// which was officially announced yesterday. TK assumes that the tension must have been quite high and that she must still feel super nervous now that she is doing this public live broadcast. Of course Hikaru confirms this. TK explains that they will have some H-el-ical// songs playing in the background and asks Hikaru what made her want to start this solo project. During her “break-period” she has always had a strong wish of wanting to continue singing, nothing ever changed about that but she had to think a lot about how to continue doing music since she didn’t have a clear idea. So for about half a year she thought about what she wanted to do while working part-time and learning some “life-lessons”/doing some “social studying”. During that time she didn’t write any lyrics although she really wanted to try it (it’s something she has always wanted). She talked a lot with her friends and acquaintances about the different possibilities, if she would be able to find someone who would write/compose music for her (the sort of music she had in her mind) so she could create lyrics for those songs. Then she was introduced to a composer and quickly after she decided to give the whole thing a try. This is how H-el-ical// came to life.

In May her first song got released on Youtube. TK points out that that must have been super weird for her since in the past she had never released music like that. It has always been through CDs or at lives. She must have been super nervous. And YES, she really was. Especially since she wasn’t releasing it under her real name but under the name of H-el-ical// so she had no idea how many people would even listen to that song. After all people were clueless about whose work it was. On the other hand, Hikaru really liked the idea of people coming in with a fresh mind, without any influence and having all these pure impressions.

They then start talking about Hikaru’s stage name H-el-ical// in detail. TK notes that Hikaru’s name was also written with a double slash in yesterday’s announcement. He wonders what the meaning is behind all of that. Hikaru explains that she plans to do her solo work as H-el-ical// and in the meantime she would like to refer to herself as Hikaru// but of course just Hikaru is fine too. For example, she was referred to as simply “Hikaru” in today’s announcement regarding the FictionJunction Station Talk&Live Event.

They begin reading some comments and one viewer points out that the second everyone heard the voice in H-el-ical//’s first song, they all knew for sure that it was Hikaru XD Hikaru laughs and agrees that there probably were some people who knew but they were kind enough to not make direct comments about it to her [I think Hikaru underestimated how many people knew]. We continue with our explanation of Hikaru’s stage name. First of all, “helical” as a normal word means spiral, something that’s always spinning upwards. It also represents a DNA structure which for Hikaru entails life, history and activity. These are the two things she thought about when choosing the word “helical”. Then we have the -el- in the middle which is highlighted. It stands for “elevation”, it’s about progress, about becoming more, about rising above. Last but not least there is the double slash (//) which for Hikaru represents some sort of Q.E.D. = an abbreviation which is placed at the end of a philosophical argument to indicate that the proof or the argument is complete. So to speak it is proof of her existence. This is her simply “being”. TK is impressed by all the thought Hikaru put into this, very otaku-like of her. Hikaru admits that it was very troublesome to come up with all of that. The double slash explanation also applies to her name of course. So Hikaru// literally just means “this is proof of Hikaru existing”.

Hikaru then talks some more about always wanting to sing, that she couldn’t imagine ever stopping. And since this is all so important to her she really wanted her stage name to have a proper meaning behind it. After all, a name is very important. She really put a lot of effort into that.

Back at the time of their first broadcast together Hikaru talked with SPICE and the e plus team because she really wanted to do a live. She told them about the H-el-ical// project, about her collaboration with the composer Gushimiyagi and that she would be joining a new agency. With their help the concert was made possible. SPICE&Co. introduced Hikaru to a couple of people and with just a handful of helpers they managed to make Hikaru’s wish of a concert become reality. Hikaru is still so freaking excited about that.

Hikaru talks about deciding on a setlist and all the other troubles that are related to organising an event like that. TK recalls that even during Kalafina days it was troublesome for Hikaru to do organising stuff like that so it must be so much worse now. Hikaru agrees that she really got to experience all the hardships that come with such a live production. Back in the day Keiko and Wakana would often take on these duties so she felt really grateful but now she had to do it all by herself.

Next up TK mentions the five songs Hikaru has released so far. TK is sure that most of the viewers have already listened to all of them. Hikaru is a bit hesitant, she thinks there will be lots of people who haven’t seen all the MVs because they were released in a relatively short amount of time. They ask the viewers whether or not the have listened to all the songs yet. And OF COURSE, they have!!

A few comments and questions are being read. Nothing exciting except for the person who asks what kind of part-time job Hikaru did during her break. As she already alluded to before, she wanted to experience life properly. In the past she had only ever worked at casual restaurants and such. While that gave her some social skills she wanted to try something else. Since she really loves children she decided to work as a nursery teacher. There she took care of toddlers and children up to five years old. She really loves their innocence. TK is surprised that Hikaru managed to be a waitress in the past, judging by her personality, that must have been really hard for her. Yes, Hikaru confirms that it was hard but she also kinda liked it. For example, she really loved recommending the best dishes and such. But yeah, getting to watch over these little kiddies was a completely new and amazing experience for her. She really learned a lot. She is surprised by how different their way of thinking is and how unique they all are, even the very little ones. We interrupt our talk with a bit of tapioca milk tea because what would Hikaru be without her tapioca milk tea??? XD

Viewers suggest that she should have worked at a tapioca place. Haha, yeah, Hikaru agrees, that would have been amazing. Hikaru then says that they sang a lot at her nursery, that was super fun. And she feels really inspired by that experience. For example, her third song “splendore” was very heavily influenced by the children she worked with. TK thinks it’s interesting that her songs all have a different language title but they will discuss that later. For now they wanna focus on Hikaru’s song writing experience. Hikaru says that it was all about expressing the images and world views that came to mind when she listened to Gushimiyagi’s melodies. She would talk a lot with him and listen to the melody repeatedly to get inspired. TK talks about old Kalafina times, at recordings Hikaru would always dress according to the image she wanted to express, does she still do that? Yes, she does still do that!

Now they focus on the individual songs and have the MVs playing in the background. TK says that her first song “pulsation” had a strong impact on him. Hikaru uses the opportunity to give a shout-out to her amazing artist because her videos are always gorgeous. TK notices that all of her five songs have a completely different atmosphere, they also feel very different to Kalafina’s songs. “pulsation” is about her relationship with music and how her life has been affected (is still being affected) by it. There is a lot of power in the melody, it makes you want to sprint forward so that’s how her lyrics came into existence. It’s about feeling lost and eventually finding your way so you can move on. Hikaru then talks about wanting variety in her songs, she doesn’t want to stick to a single genre, she also likes experimenting with different languages for her titles. She thinks that makes things much more interesting. After all, she has followers from all over the world with so many different interests. It’s in part thanks to all of us that she has made it this far so of course she would want to be versatile and open for everything. This is why she chose the different song titles. Cue to pronunciation guide. How does Hikaru pronounce all of her songs? [it’s kinda funny to see her struggle XD] She goes through all the titles, pronounces them and says what they mean in Japanese.

pulsation => English

Avaricia  => Spanish (Greed) Hikaru says she is always very greedy, in a sense that she can never get enough, she always wants more, she wants to go further.

Splendore => Italian (Sparkling) As she mentioned before, this song was heavily inspired by the children around her. It’s full of child-like wonder and innocence. It has a very fantastical atmosphere.

Amanhecer => Portuguese (Dawn) When she first heard the melody she immediately had to think of quietness and the water surface. There was a sense of love so that’s what she wrote about.

yolcu => Turkish (Traveler) For this song she wanted a very foreign/Middle Eastern/exotic vibe so of course the title had to be a little more exotic as well.

Hikaru hopes that the audience will find something they like among all her songs, everyone has different taste so it’s hard to lke everything but hopefully she can appeal to us with some of her work. These songs are all super special to her and she couldn’t even decide which one she likes most. This is the first time she has ever created something, properly expressed herself, put so much of herself into the music. She is very proud and happy. She is even more happy to hear all the fans saying that they love each and every song and they can’t choose.

One fan asks if Hikaru came up with her logo and yes, she did. But someone else made it a little fancier for her. TK then wants to know whether or not it was hard to record all these songs by herself. Yes, it was!! Some of the songs have different harmonies and she had to sing all of them. She already wonders how she is gonna do it at the live, it’s gonna be super hard to perform some of these songs. Speaking of the live, it’s time to announce the title!! *drumrolls please* The title is => H-el-ical// LIVE 2019  紡 -TSUMUGU- [spinning]

Some info about the date, the changed time, the venue and 2nd round of ticket application. Apparently Hikaru has tried really hard to talk with the live team to make some more room for the audience. Usually the venue has a capacity for around 2400 people, they are making more room by using space that’s usually reserved for equipment and stuff. Hikaru feels like she might have been a bit of a pain in the ass for the organisers but she just wants as many people as possible to be able to attend the concert. So everyone who is still looking for a ticket, please be sure to apply! Application period ends on November 17. Hikaru won’t just be singing her original songs but also some covers and then some...*hint hint* TK asks about why Hikaru chose that particular title for her concert. Hikaru says that from now onwards she would like to share many things with everyone as H-el-ical// (which as we have already established means “spiral”) so “spinning” seemed very fitting to convey that feeling. Also, who she is right now is spun out of everything she has done in the past ten years - including her acitivities as part of Kalafina. So she is just continuing the spinning so to speak. Hikaru can’t wait to sing all of her songs for us. Then we have some more random comments by fans...

Transition to live goods. TK says that he is already looking forward to Hikaru’s Goods Corner since she always did such a good job at their Kalafina lives. We can expect standard goods and stuff that has been suggested to her on twitter. There will also be one item with visuals, a pamphlet!! YAY! And the most important live good...a limited release of H-el-ical//’s first CD!!! BANZAI! Since it’s only a limited number, the CDs might be sold out quickly but she hopes lots of people can get it. There are 8 songs in total on the CD. She has already published five of them but since she wants to sing a lot of songs at the live, she also recorded three more songs which she put on the CD as well. Fans are saying she will surely sell a ton of CDs, someone suggests she should bring 20,000 copies to the live, Hikaru isn’t really convinced that she could ever sell that amount. She says there will probably be around 2,000 copies for sale. Further infos about live goods and such will be released at a later date. But fans can prepare themselves for about ten different items so everyone should look forward to that. Some fans suspect that the goods corner might take very long with so many goods XD Everyone is also super curious about the CD cover. Hikaru says it will be very simple, typical Hikaru style.

Then some info about Hikaru taking part in the FictionJunction Station Fan Club event. Hikaru is very excited to stand on stage together with the members of FictionJunction. After all at the time of the event it will be two years since she last stood together on stage with Keiko.

TK asks what went through her head during her break. Hikaru was hoping people would not forget about her. And the wish to continue singing kept going through her head. She was very confident about that. She spent a lot of time wondering how to bring her dreams to life. She feels super grateful right now because so much has already been realised. This past year she has learned so much that’s important for her life. Of course she also learned a lot during her Kalafina days but there were just a lot of things she didn’t have time for back then so that one-year-break was a great opportunity to learn many things about herself. She originally started Twitter to give something back to the fans who are loyally waiting for her. She is very happy about that so she just wants to share those feelings with everyone by posting regularly. Hikaru goes on to explain that she went from all her life being about Kalafina to doing pretty much nothing so she had a lot of time to think about everything. This was another reason she started her Twitter account. She wanted to grow as a person and do things she might have not done in the past.

They then read lots of random comments related to Kalafina since there is no denying that Hikaru’s fans are pretty much all from her Kalafina days, Hikaru doesn’t really say much, I guess she doesn’t know what she is supposed to say. It’s slightly awkward but yeah...Someone then asks if Hikaru can do a birthday greeting for all the viewers who are celebrating their b-day today. She does! TK then realises that it’s Hikaru’s twitter anniversary since she started her account last autumn. It’s also slowly time to wrap up the video. TK informs us that the video will be archived for one week and then it will be deleted (after getting a confirmation by Hikaru’s manager in the back). People are asking for Hikaru to sing something but unfortunately, there is no time. We will get lots of her singing at the live XD A fan asks her to come to Toyama to do a live. She REALLY wants to but it’s gonna take a while. There is some talk about when she first started Twitter and no one believed it was her so she had to upload a video to prove her identity.

Hikaru has prepared a final message for the fans. from now on she hopes to create lots of music as H-el-ical// and she wants to share it with all of us. Her first step in this new direction is the live on Dec 1. In the future she would like to create something from that base of H-el-ical//* and continue onwards with everyone [*Note: Hikaru mistakenly says Kalafina here instead of H-el-ical//. Obviously she is still used to saying this sort of stuff with Kalafina in mind XD She is later corrected] She is super embarrassed. OF COURSE she meant H-el-ical//’s base. With 10 years of Kalafina there is no way you can say that’s just a base! 10 years is a lot of baggage after all. She was obviously referring to her first steps as H-el-cal//.

Meanwhile they are once again promoting Hikaru’s upcoming live and teasing another live in the near future. Hikaru says that her agency might already be planning something *hint hint*

SPICE have prepared a little present for one of the viewers. H-el-ical//’s very first signature. For one lucky winner. Looking something like this but written by Hikaru of course.

To be eligible for this giveaway you have to follow the @spice_anige account on Twitter. You will be informed via DM if you won. Then some final promo work and a final greeting last by Hikaru.

[merryfortune]

Day 5: Social Interactionism

Hugsaku 2019

22nd of September | Day 5: AU | Canon Divergence | “I thought you had to kiss the princess to wake them up, not hug them!” | “There’s magic in holding hands and hugging, you know. So, we should do that. For a power boost. No other reason at all.”

Ship: Angelmakershipping | Aoi/Yusaku

Word Count: 1,304

Tags: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Humour

Synopsis: Class 1-A of Den City High School are putting on a performance of Sleeping Beauty for the Cultural Festival. Preparations are not going smoothly.

    Yusaku stared down the paddle pop stick that he had drawn. He swallowed, gulped, and glanced around. People were curious. Most were expecting him to be tech support. He had also been expecting that sort of outcome as well. He thought that he would be the sound or lighting guy because it was an open secret that he was rather good with that sort of thing. Besides, there were more of those sorts of roles than there were acting roles and yet, somehow, luck had betrayed him.

  Not only had Yusaku drawn the lot which said actor, he had also drawn the lot which was coloured to indicate which role he had been given: Prince Charming. The student, their class representative, nodded at Yusaku once it had been drawn. He then twisted around briefly and called out to his assistant on the steeple.

  “Prince Charming. Fujiki Yusaku.”

  “Got it.”

  Naoki snickered beside him, slapped him across the back in good nature: “Good goin’, Fujiki, and now let’s see… who’s your leading lady?”

  Yusaku glowered. He wanted to contest this or swap with someone, but the teacher had made it final. There was to be no take backs of any kind, no matter how clueless or ill-suited one might be for their fated role, there was to be contesting of any sorts. The only exception being if an emergency came up such as injury or illness. And unfortunately for Yusaku, he had already used up all his termly get-out-of-class excuses.

  He sighed and looked around. He wished that he had been paying more attention, but instead, he had been dozing in and out, watching clouds outside because it was a dreary sort of day for him, more so than usual given the circumstances. So, Yusaku checked the smartboard and it seemed that the branches of all their roles had been updated.

  At the furthest end, he saw his name and his role. And right beside it, he saw it: Zaizen Aoi, Sleeping Beauty. Yusaku’s eyes widened. He supposed that things could be worse. At least it was someone whom he was vaguely close to rather than one of the other girls in their class.

  A few moments later and the last of the stragglers drew their roles and Yusaku couldn’t help but be vaguely jealous of those who had drawn the lots that he had been eyeing. Nonetheless, he figured that he ought to exceed the expectations placed upon him. The Cultural Festival was important, it was good for the morale of the school and helped draw in new students. And since Yusaku had a main role, he couldn’t half ass it because it would reflect poorly on everyone, but he really wished that they were putting on a café stall instead. At least he could cook or do waitering but instead, he was in a class with the next president to be of the school’s theatre club, something he didn’t know until now, and she had far more weight in this class than him which had influenced the voting.

  So, Yusaku spent the next few days learning his lines once he had gotten his script. Rehearsals didn’t start for another few days and classes would be shut down for three days in preparation for the festival, so it was urgent that he knew them prior. Besides, it wasn’t like there was much else for him to do. Things were quiet now that the Link VRAINS was fully defunct unless one was privy to the Ignis Algorithms which kept it so firmly shut down so focusing on school and daily life was all that could be done for Yusaku. Still, there was one element of the script which concerned him. Well, a few elements but some were more anxiety inducing than others.

  He figured that he could learn to dance. There was only one short song and dance scene that Prince Charming and Briar Rose shared but Yusaku thinks that it should be simple. It was one step this way and one step that way and twirl. It was very methodical, at least on paper and music was more mathematical than some may suspect so Yusaku was certain that his awkwardness regarding dancing could be cured; especially since he had little miss theatre club president to be breathing down his neck. It seemed like nothing a little – a lot – of practice and hard work couldn’t resolve.

  It was a scene at the other end of the play which had Yusaku extremely nervous. There was one teeny tiny stage direction which Yusaku was most certainly not comfortable with. At the climax, and consequent ending, of the play, Prince Charming was supposed to kiss Sleeping Beauty on the mouth. He hoped to have this changed once he spoke to the class representative who seemed quite accommodating.

  Yet those hopes were dashed quite quickly. Yusaku was simply laughed at and made fun of – “What are you, a grade schooler?” – upon suggesting the kiss on the mouth was, at the very least, made a kiss on the hand. Yusaku blushed but at least Aoi was sympathetic when he relayed the story to her during the lunch break. Then, in some extra token of consolidation, she told him that angles would obscure the kiss so being pecked on the cheek would likely suffice. Yusaku wasn’t so sure but he did try to appreciate what Aoi had told him regardless.

  They spent most the morning as Yusaku thought they would: concentrating their energy on the dance and other early bits of the play. The dance – a waltz – was far easier to learn than he feared. He was also surprised that Aoi was quite adept with it; apparently, she used to play princesses as a child and that somehow figured into her current dancing ability. Yusaku didn’t get it but it sounded nice.

  After the lunch break, it was exactly how they feared: concentrating their energy on the second half and later bits of the play. Still, with all the grace he could muster, Yusaku did his best. It turns out that he should have spent some time worrying about the choreography of the fight scene as well. He didn’t realise that making such a thing look good was just as intensive, maybe even more so, than making a waltz look good. Still, the Evil Fairy made for a good sparring partner.

  And then they got to that scene. Aoi was returned to stage and Yusaku knelt by her. He fumbled with his lines, but he had been praised that he even knew any of his lines at all; his slacker façade was that strong. His heart pounded as he stared down Aoi, closed eyes, hands on her stomach, and in her school uniform. His palms sweated.

  He leaned in. So did the director and all their other classmates. And just when it seemed that Yusaku would kiss her, he failed. His arms flung out and he hugged her instead.

  “Yusaku!” Aoi screamed with amused hysteria. She ripped herself up from her makeshift tomb; a bunch of desks draped in linen, at present. Yusaku still held onto her but now he felt as though his chin were in her lap and he did not want to think where the crown of his head was. “I told you. I don’t mind you kissing my cheek.”

  Yusaku gingerly stopped hugging her and fell back. He crossed his legs. “I can’t do it…” A voice in his head then, in a voice which most certainly did not belong to him – or even his Ignis – then supplied an additional thing to say, I’m socially awkward.

  Behind them, from the audience’s boughs, the director sighed: “From the top. And Yusaku, you know what? Focus on you remembering your lines before worrying about kissing Aoi.” He scolded.

  “Understood.”

[kinfriday]

Wandering Hops: Black Holes and Blast Zones

Cliches, I feel, are annoying because they are a reminder of simple, near universal truths. No matter how clever, or accurate the wisdom they hold may be, just hearing them reminds me of something I should have never forgotten, and thus, I cringe.  

All of this is, of course, natural. None of us are perfect, we all make mistakes, get ahead of ourselves, mislay our car keys, all of that; thus life is full of cliches to remind us that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Shit, there’s another one.

Saturday, that very cliche presented itself and slapped me in the face.

Now, I should have been prepared for it. I woke up, eager, excited and early, ready to take on Black Hole Falls. My hiking checklist was beside my pack and trekking poles, the husband woke up early, and my directions were all loaded in. We even left almost on time.

All of this proved to be ominous portent of the day ahead.

With breakfast done and everything in the car, we left about 930am. Waggs was looking forward to an exciting day in Vancouver, Washington and I was eagerly awaiting my trip to Black Hole Falls. The site is billed as one of the best hidden waterfalls in the Pacific Northwest, perched on the edge of the Gifford Pinchot forest. It had all the makings of a wonderful day.

Heading out towards Amboy, Washington, we followed our directions dutifully. Eventually the two lane highway gave way to a simple paved forest service road that had certainly seen better days. As always in the Pacific Northwest, there were other campers and hikers camped beside conspicuous openings in the forest, portending trail and adventures just beyond.

This is where I start getting excited. The idea of other people on fun adventures reminds me that I’ll soon be on my own as well.  

“Keep left at the fork.” Sounded over the speaker, drawing both of our attentions, because the road that awaited us was a steep and graveled dirt road taking us up into the mountains. This was not unexpected. Before I go to any trail, I take a look at things via satellite and try to get the lay of the land. The trail head I was looking for showed to be set off a similar road, and so, all seemed groovy.

Up we went, gaining elevation as the road began to switchback aggressively and an unsettling feeling began to arise that the GPS was leading us on a boondoggle.

Finally, after almost half an hour on gravel roads, covering almost ten miles, it announced we had arrived, there were just a few problems…

No pull out, no trail head, no indication whatsoever of where the trail should be.

Son of a bitch.  

Undaunted, I fell back to my InReach navigator, knowing I had synced the maps from my computer the night before. While not designed for vehicle navigation, it should have been able to tell me if I was close, or off in the great beyond relative to the trail location.

That was when the second big surprise of the day hit me. Though I had synced it on my computer, I later found out that only works for software updates, it requires being synced through my phone to push the routes back to the device.

Deep in the pit of my stomach a worried feeling blossomed as  I looked up and down the road, it finally coming into clear focus that we were lost, over half an hour from town, one hour out from signal, and no idea where the trail was.

All of my Saturday plans were firmly obliterated at that point.  Some careful backtracking followed, as we made our way back to the main road, and off for a day of fun in Portland.

It was actually a pretty good time, save that I didn’t feel I had earned my post hike eat out treat. After all, I hadn’t hiked anywhere.

At the end of the day though, a Bulgogi Bowl from Veggie Grill is a Bulgogi Bowl from Veggie Grill, and as I sat there, talking with my husband I resolved that this weekend would not be shot for Wandering Hops. While he browsed a bookstore, I hung out outside, using my all trails map and then hit upon The Coldwater Lake Loop.

The Coldwater Lake Loop is best described as a franken-trail, a mix of the south coldwater trail and the lake trail, with the last section incorporating elements of the main forest service road to take you back to the trail head. All told, it’s about 11.5 miles, and rated as a Hard/Difficult hike.

This time, dear reader, I wasn’t about to be caught unaware. I synced and resynced my maps, verified in full that the route was on the device, checked permits, passes and hours, as well as my directions.

0630 Sunday rolled around, and as Maya likes to say, it was time to “get this bread.”

This was my first difficult rated hike since the Hamilton Loop of last year, and as I drove, alone along Highway 504 (letting the husband sleep) I was filled with a degree of trepidation. My chosen route had me going counter clockwise from South Coldwater, which gains a half mile in elevation over the first two or so miles, and then you have to go right back down again.

The challenge though, is part of the fun, you never know what you can do until you do it, after all.

The Coldwater Lake Loop proved amazing from its first moments. For one, Mount St Helens loomed large just behind me. Back in 1980, the region I was hiking was at the very heart of the blast zone, dramatically reshaping the landscape in a moment, wiping away thousands of years of patient erosion and gentle world building. What surprised me was that there was still evidence of the volcanic cataclysm everywhere I looked, from petrified, stony trees to soil mixed with ash.  

For two, the caterpillars were out by the thousands, massing on the trail, trees and plants in numbers I had never seen before. They made their migrations back and forth, largely oblivious to my movements as I attempted to side step as many as I could. All the while I took in sweeping vistas full of dramatic mountain ranges and colorful wildflowers, until about a mile and a half in, I found some curious bits of metal sculpture.

Back when the volcano blew, the area I was hiking in was being logged. Still buried bulldozers, twisted by the titanic forces of Mother Nature in a full on rage still dotted the trail in two locations, accompanied by an observation tower that was shaped into loops and bends. All of this was found in the first two miles after a punishing round of ever upward arching trail, until it dumped me out on a wide and sandy plain,  grey white from volcanic ash, and full of scrubby, stubborn plants and flowers clinging to life.

From there, I continued to go up, and up, and… well… up.  There were moments when I could hear my heart pounding in my chest as my legs burned from exertion. For my day hikes, I normally move with about 15lbs on my back. It’s good training for backpacking, and besides, I’m not carrying weights. Things like flashlights, extra water, and power bricks can come in useful if anything goes wrong, so up I went, lugging my necessary gear, until I found myself just inches from a ledge, with a heavy drop to my left, and a steep incline to my right as I traced my way up a mountain.

Finally summiting a little over three and a half miles into my trek, a cool breeze began to blow off Coldwater Lake, which was quite refreshing after the hike I had just completed. Originally I had planned to eat lunch there, but I was feeling peppy. Deciding to press on to the halfway point, I began my descent, entering a thick and verdant forest, with the canopy so thick above me, it blocked out much of the sun.

The transition was as quick as what you might see in a movie script. Suddenly, the world goes from open, to close in, the air cools and becomes humid, sticking to your skin, and the heavy scents of earth percolates all around as the world falls to hushed silence, broken only here and there by the chirping of a bird or the rustling of a fern.

It’s peaceful, but also leaves you with a feeling of anticipation. The size and completeness of the silence makes it feel like the world has found a pause, but there’s an expectation at its edge. At any moment it feels like the world around you may lurch forward again, bursting out upon the stage in an unexpected way.

Does that sound like foreshadowing?

As the descent began to level out a roar began to build progressively, until soon, it was deafening. Still, the thick canopy of forest surrounding me offered nothing in terms of view, but I was certain I was coming to a rapids crossing or a waterfall.

Turns out I was right on both accounts; emerging from the wood a sturdy looking bridge revealed itself, spanning the gap over a raging torrent of river and a stair step waterfall, working its way back up into the mountain. The entire scene was breathtaking, and marked about a mile past the halfway mark for the day. It was a perfect time to stop for lunch.

After a few minutes rest and a Probar, my energy surged back, and I hit the trail again. This is where it began to feel long. Especially in the moments where I began to climb. Now, initially, upon my setting out, it was my belief that all the climbing would be done in the beginning, giving me a nice and level trail beside a lake shore to complete my day upon.

No such luck. Examining my map more closely, I noticed the topographic detail that my trail route vacillated on this second stint a few hundred feet at a time in elevation. This was by no means the same level of challenge as I had started my day with, but it still proved daunting as the hours rolled on. However, the scenery was beautiful, alternating between verdant forests and vast meadows filled with both butterflies and wildflowers, until the sound of people enjoying Father’s Day began to carry on the wind.

That could mean only one thing. I was nearing the boat docks, which marked my return to the highway and trailhead. Roughly 1.5 miles later, and the day was done.

After 11 miles, the sudden stop of forward motion felt strange. My brain had dialed into the idea of me moving forward at a constant steady pace, and as I unloaded my gear into the wagon, I felt a bit  lost.

Glorious air conditioning awaited me. Sitting there with the engine idling, preparing to leave after finishing my post trail snack, I began to reflect upon the last few days and  realized there was a type of lesson in all of it for me.

To put it in one word, I’d have to call it persistence. I could have quit when my hike was thwarted by bad directions and haywire planning for Black Hole Falls, but I didn’t. I fell back, reassessed and found something that would work.

Still, it wasn’t that easy. Finding the trail is one thing, but hiking it is another entirely. I covered almost 12 miles, up mountains, along ledges, and across bridges. There were times when I was tired, there were times when I even got bored, but the one thing I didn’t do was stop. My perseverance rewarded me with a day full of beautiful memories and moments that I feel I will carry for a long time.

Persistence pays, dear reader. One last cliche to finish the day.

[sleepymarmot]

A couple of months ago, after finishing COUNTER/Weight, I spent about a week in a total hangover, relistening to scenes and having feelings. I took some notes, but procrastinated posting them, and then finally got distracted. But, a) I hate leaving things I intended for tumblr unposted, even if they have value only for me, and b) I also hate posting things out of order, and there's a big TM liveblog incoming. So, here's a bunch of really random thoughts about C/w from past me.

The gnosis virus did go nowhere huh. I was hopeful for a minute when one of the finale intros mentioned it, but that was it. What was the purpose of that arc even. [Note from present me: Lol. At least I feel better about this one!]

Oh, and the patch AuDy left never reappeared either. And the idea from the faction game that Aria's images owned by EarthHome/Petrichor transmit Rigour code… That's the flip side of the coin. On the one hand, it's really cool to see the creative process – on the other, it sometimes feels like you're listening to people write a script for the tv show, but only get to see a half of the finished product. It's fascinating to see the universe grow organically and the players to come up with new ideas and get excited about them – but that means numerous retcons, some of them not even presented as such, because the creators forgot what the previous revision was or didn't thought it was important. It's a unique feature of the medium that player choice directs the narrative and it's not bound by railroading – but that means some roads lead nowhere, and some branches dry and fall off.

It's a bit harder to make peace with something that could have easily been developed more within the existing plot of the show. How come there's a player character whose consciousness consists of three different people in various combinations, but nobody seems to be curious how that works? No PC or NPC ever asked “Which one of you is speaking right now?” or something. The final episodes made a lot of things clearer, but it still felt too little, too late. Hard not to be reminded of that gripe about certain two characters sharing one character sheet one of whom was left underdeveloped and half-forgotten… Both are very ambitious concepts that require a double amount of work from the player, so I feel bad complaining they weren't realized to full potential, but…

Speaking of L&D… I still want to know how the hell did that one engineer all by herself design 4 gods, one of which became a basis for technology that was advanced even for the civilizations 80,000 years later? This woman singlehandedly surpassed any technological achievement of humanity before and after. Who Is She

I saw a “Wake me up: before you go go / when september ends / wake me up inside” meme and thought “heh, this sounds relevant, which member of the Chime is which?” and it already made me sad, but then I realized that I'd never actually heard the september song and looked it up and. The lyrics fit so well. What the fuck. It's an old song everyone keeps joking about. Why is it appropriate for a legitimate fanmix. What. I guess the word “September” will never be the same again for me.

I looked up the rules for Firebrands, the game used for the finale. Oh my, challenges for the dance minigame are so overtly romantic when you see them in a list together! Imagine this cast of characters having to answer to “do you place your hand upon my elbow, shoulder, waist, or hip?” lmao. Also I didn't realize “May I?” was part of the rules for “stealing time together”. (And I found out there's a party version of that minigame with bug-themed challenges. I might have dug too deep…) "Tactical skirmish" is a really fascinating concept, I've never seen such a masochistic combat system! Really faces the player with the violence they're inflicting: sure, you can always fight on, but are you ready to live with what you'll have to do? But for it to work fully, you need a lot of non-expendable NPCs on both sides. The one with the most likeable team wins! (Like Mako did.)

I'm relistening to Three Conversations and it's pretty interesting that Ibex has a bunch perfectly lifelike android bodies, right? There is no such technology seen anywhere else. Did Righteousness develop and privatize that? Are they so complex that only a Divine would have enough computing power to successfully mimic organic life? Can Aria convince Righteousness to help her perform on stage without leaving her duties? Also, like with AuDy, I wonder how Ibex & Righteousness' consciousness works. Is it a single mind, spread across every body he has, or even anything Righteousness is running on, having a bunch of different conversations at once if he needs to? Or is the original Ibex just gone, and what's left is a personality imprint hanging on to the connection to his still living body, imitating his former self like the automated recording Cass saw wore his face? In other words, has Ibex completely fused with Righteousness, or assimilated and destroyed by it? Does he not exist anymore as an independent singular being, or does he not exist at all? Most info indicates the former, but there was also “You’re not in there anymore” “No”.

If Orth and Jace are anime fans with their Kingdom Come and Panther, then Ibex is the guy who's way too into dinosaurs or paleontology. It's as if the heads of various confessions were called Triceratops, Stegosaurus etc. and only one of them knows wtf that means, and also he compares his Divine to… Were there scavenging dinosaurs? I'm looking at an article that suggests T. Rex might have been a scavenger, so yeah he would compare Righteousness to a goddamn T. Rex.

Hey what do you think is the most thematically aproppriate part of the Hieron anime for Orth to watch alone at night during the Kingdom game. What's the best thematic parallel for when he turns off the episode and thinks he made a mistake. Do you think that he once, after a long day and a long month and maybe a long year of feeling helpless and doomed, sits down for a distraction but ends up sobbing “How could they let this happen to Mother Glory”

On Joypark, there are definitely statues of Eidolons, ancient and holy, that were repainted and repurposed as Hieron deities. Imagine a giant Greek or Roman style marble statue of Apote – and it’s painted over as Samot, with an anime face and in really bright plain colors like these “reconstructions of original coloring” that actually only use base colors so they look like cheap action figures.

I was reading Austin's top ten games of 2016 list on Waypoint and he gave first place to The Sprawl! Aww!

The Downloads folder in my phone gallery is funny bc it mostly consists of every freely available f@tt map and also that one photo of Tristan Walker (because I tried to redraw it, very unsuccessfully). I go check a map and every time am met by Ibex just. staring at me. It's unsettling

Some of the many options for how Apostolosian gender could have been presented:

Apostolosians prefer to be addressed by the most neutral available human pronoun, represented as "they" in English, because the human languages don't have anything close enough

Apostolosian pronouns are represented in English by a set of real-life common pronouns and neopronouns

There's a list of Apostolosian pronouns and they're just used in English verbatim (Really impractical because the players need a cheat sheet, but the most fair)

Humans apply human genders to Apostolosians. Apostolosians may be offended, may find it convenient, or something else

As Austin said in the post-mortem, the Eidolon system is not gender. It's represented in English by titles/honorifics/etc

Any of the above, and the creators are aware of the difference between personal pronouns, grammatical gender, and social gender

And that’s not even touching the core problem of what the concept of gender in a futuristic, techonologically advanced society would look like. Yes, I'm complaining about this for the third time but I'm just. So tired of native English speakers' takes on gendered language. They could have made Apostolosian gender look like anything and they made it look like that fucking mess... God, I really hope TM is good enough to make me forget and forgive the experience of listening to “he... sorry, they” for 100 hours. [Note from present me: Well… mostly]

Here’s my take on this: eidolons in Apostolosian language are absurdly broad noun classes with associated classifiers (which fits both the idea that they’re gender but not actually, and that each of them is a patron to several unrelated aspects of life) Apostolosian: the word “(Apo)thesa” is used to refer to people who follow the corresponding eidolon, as well as for counting buildings, heavy machinery, military units, specific strategies and tactics, log entries, historical documents and chronicles, history textbooks and monographs, and eras :) Human: what the fuck

Very critical, imaginative worldbuilding in which 80,000+ years into the future humanity somehow has 21st century gender and 21st century capitalism! TBH, I find any sci-fi set in the far future inherently silly – we can’t really imagine the future technogy and its effect on society. But it feels like C/w barely even tried, and to hear it boast about “critical worldbuilding” is kinda strange. I assumed that meant they build the world critically, not that they recreate modern society or some aspect of it and criticize that! It’s just another Star Trek then! And it was already clear right during the setup when they said “We don’t want Star Trek aliens” and immediately created Apostolosians.

I haven't seen a single piece of fanart with Taako and Mako. Come on, does nobody want to see these two next to each other! Especially considering the outfits artists like to put Taako in!

I really don't understand how and why people do fandom activities on Twitter and Discord where the creators also have accounts. It gives me so much secondhand embarrassment. I can barely peek at Twitter posts before running away. Old-fashioned opinion apparently but I strongly believe the main fandom space and the interaction-with-original-creators space should be separate. I need a space where I can voice my opinions, especially negative ones, with complete freedom. I need to be able to say exactly what's on my mind. But I wouldn't want any of the people on the podcast to read something unfiltered like my complaints above. Being in the same space as the source content creators obliges any decent person to be diplomatic and constructive. And the creators, in turn, need a space where they don't come across complete randos yelling at them about something they said in a podcast three years ago. I'm already feeling uncomfortable because hearing to strangers pour their hearts out for hundreds of hours gives me way too much insight on who they are as people. Of course, nothing’s stopping them from lurking on Tumblr or AO3 and even reading this very post, but a platform where they have official accounts is still a different thing! I even feel uncomfortable talking about the podcast creators using their first names so much. To my ear, referring to a total stranger by first name, especially if it's a shortened form, sounds so rude! I'm not their friend, I don't have that right! But, of course, writing something like “Mr Walker” in my liveblogs would have been even weirder, nobody does that...

Is it a common experience to not even think about fanfiction after listening to Hieron, but going straight to AO3 after C/w? I feel like since Hieron is still a work in progress, writing/reading about it is stepping on the GM&players' toes, and C/w is finished so it's like they gave us the keys to the playground, it's the fandom's turn now. This story has so much blanks and they must be filled! In one of the early episodes they joked that something cute they said would encourage people to ship Mako/Cass and I was like "Bold of you to assume they aren't already" and, indeed, I was right and it's the most popular C/w ship on AO3. Too bad I’m so indifferent to it…

It’s a shame we never had a full scene with Ariadne or even learned what they were up to during the finale.

I still don't understand how Ibex went from “evil CEO” to “leader of a proletarian revolution”, these sound like completely opposite concepts to me

I probably have talked about this too much and have pretty much given up on ever getting a clear picture due to all of these reimaginings but… Righteousness and Voice… Ibex takes Righteousness out of Mako but he still has Voice, that was pretty much openly stated, correct? So how does that work? I’m guessing Righteousness is hidden somewhere in Voice’s code. But if so:

Did Maryland know? On the one hand, she’s too competent not to. On the other, why would she ever allow or accept that?

How did Righteousness not get corrupted by Rigour too? Maybe it did, but broke off the connection with the rest of itself to contain the damage? Or maybe, on the contrary, it kept in contact and was sending intel to Ibex the whole time? But in that case he would have provided more help in the finale.

[comedytv4-blog]

The Truth of Truth Shows

comedy tv

The Idea of reality reveals

Truth  Tv is a tv programming genre which shows typically unscripted overdramatic or amusing conditions, papers real events, and generally comprises ordinary individuals rather than actors that are trained, occasionally in a contest or other cases where a prize is given. Shows at the Truth TV are known as as fact shows that are usually generated as series. The folks are either participated in rivalry with one another or at an awkward position or spied on in their everyday lives.  Watching reality shows have been our favorite last time and a supply of pleasure and pleasure. It's a true app cast with real individuals not with celebrities.

comedy tv

Though the Term reality tv is chiefly utilized to classes indicates that have arisen because the year 2000, the background of reality TV shows goes farther than we could think. Video continues to be depicting the lifestyles of individuals through relationship shows, competitions and pranks for a lengthy time. It's a fantastic history that many folks did not know considering contemporary reality tv and its own boom in popularity in the last several decades. The reality TV series began from the year 1948, Producer-host Allen Funt's Candid Camera, where unsuspecting folks were falls into humorous and odd scenarios has filmed with hidden cameras, was aired in the year 1948.  The series is viewed as a model of reality tv programming.

Different Sort of reality reveals

There Are numerous forms of reality shows which are operating on TV. These reveals broke the boredom of their conventional scripted shows and began showing the real-life scenarios. Truth shows cater to various age groups and preferences due to the access to the broad assortment of themes. In most reality shows, participants tend to be put in exotic places or in strange conditions. A number of the facts shows cover a individual or a group of individuals improving their lifestyles. They signify a more modified and highly affected form of fact to pull its audiences. Documentaries and non-fictional reveals such as sports and news aren't categorized under reality displays.

Some Kinds of reality shows are written below:

• Documentaries or Documentary Collection

Outside  Of all of the subgenres of reality TV, the documentary subgenre is perhaps the most typical one.  The core difference between documentaries and also a documentary show is that while documentaries are each so frequently restricted to a episode, documentary show interval a string in its entireness, after a run of arc-like scripted tv. The subgenre would also pay many societal experimentation reveals, where different sorts of interactions have been observed solely for the sake of a new experimentation.

• Contest or Elimination

Truth  Programs which are based on a removal or contest format are only about getting eliminated from the annoying housemate or using the very best participant eventually become the winner. They're about winning something significant beating your opponents. The contest might be one of the rest of the participants, or contrary to time/money.

Same As the title itself says this kind of reveals either about Makeover of a individual's appearance or earn a renovation of your previous residence.

This One is your most critical subgenre of reality TV in which the boy meets girl and the crowd adhere to understand'will they or will not they' facet of this narrative.

Beginning with Candid Camera, this is perhaps the longest-running fact subgenre.  It's about capturing the responses of innocent individuals put in unexpected conditions. This subgenre also covers exhibits that rely on content that is submitted.

The Many frequent kinds of the series in this subgenre are apps that explore paranormal happenings. The subgenre also encircles shows that focus on searching famous mythical animals.

• Traveling or Aspirational

Since Most audiences can not afford to go to the faraway lands to get a holiday, a lot people settle on appreciating these destinations by means of this kind of travel shows by which a individual, group or couple visit a trip and movie all their adventures for your audiences.

Apart from these Shows star talk shows or contests like ability search, experience, game displays or fear-based displays will also be mentionable.

Truth Shows in India

The First reality show of any sort on Indian TV was a quiz competition Titled- Bournvita Quiz Contest.  It was hosted by the famed Derek O'Brien at the calendar year 1972. But it featured a live show in a variety of cities then proceeded air for a radio series. From the year 1992, it became the very first reality series to be showcased on ZEE TV and Indian Television.  Then came"Sansui Antakshari" from the calendar year 1993 that was hosted by Annu Kapoor on ZEE TV also It became the first Indian singing fact series that conducted till 2006.  Came in various variations of Star One and SAB TV with the exact same host following 2006.  ZEE TV made its title to lead to home-grown reality reveals rather adapting global reality shows on Indian TV. Singing reality show Sa Re Ga Ma Pa arrived in the calendar year 1995 hosted by the famed singer of Bollywood Sonu Nigam and the dance fact show that changed the entire situation of dance reveals Dance India Dance arrived in the year 2009.

Sony Entertainment Television launched India's first dance reality series titled- Boogie Woogie that it was produced by Naved Jaffrey from the calendar year 1996 and hosted and hosted by Javed Jaffrey.  It was as a direct hit for its channel. From the year 2000, Star Plus aired"Kaun Banega Crorepati" with Amitabh Bachchan (a version of"Who wishes to be a millionaire") that went on to become India's favorite and most watched reality series.  To provide rivalry ZEE TV launched a different game series titled- Sawal Dus Crore Ka and Sony TV launched Jeeto Chappar Phhad Ke however KBC's popularity did not dissuade; which makes it the most prosperous reality series in Indian tv.  Sony India came up with Indian Idol in 2004 that was an adaptation to the favorite global reality series"American Idol".  Following its success with grown-ups, they arrived with children participants at the series which helped the series to acquire love by all.

The Manufacturing group of Endemol India came up with hot reality series Big Brother's Indian variant of Bigg Boss and Stress Factor on Sony TV at 2006. It turned into India's hottest international accommodated show after KBC. It had been transferred to Colors TV which makes it India's most viewed Hindi Television owing to its backing on Bigg Boss, Fear Factor competing with the likes of Star Plus and ZEE TV.

Next revolution reality reveals  In India came using a version of other famous foreign shows such as The Voice India and So You Think You Can Dance on &TV.  These shows altered the notion of dancing and singing displays on Indian Television. Other hot reality shows based on overseas shows are similar to MTV Roadies, India's Got Talent etc..

The real reality of reality reveals

It is  Generally admitted that reality TV is actually kind of dreadful. What was considered revolutionary in the entertainment world, has become accidental comedies starring the many dreadful and embarrassing individuals conceivable. Now real is the very last thing which strikes you about reality displays. When it's a dance series where lesser-known confronts of telly world vie to get the best princess label or the Bigg Boss's home where racial slurs and catfights are part of the procedure to select winners, goes into introducing a reality series as actual. There's a great majority of reality tv shows which aren't 100 percent genuine, since there's a high amount of manipulation so as to attain sustained audience focus.

Outcomes are actually reveals mostly Controlled by producers/directors. They would like to keep viewers feel it's arbitrary and inconsistent, to communicate that the majority of the time a candidate is advised exactly what to do, the way to do. They're told to act in certain ways. And at the end nobody will reveal you everything, things will get edited and aired series might be a long ways from real reality. Reality Television is a genre of an specific description of the displays themselves. Producer's bogus shots and perhaps even re-stage dramatic moments which occurred when the cameras were not rollingout pretty much whatever is in fact plotted and planned out just like the ordinary scripted series. The majority of the reality shows still maintain a simple amount of fact, nevertheless, portraying events which did occur, even if they are acted again to the cameras. These shows feature individuals living their own lives and doing their jobs, even if a great deal was smoothed from the daily routine so as to edit out the boring bits.

The Majority of the talent Search, singing, dance in reveals based on overall knowledge such as"Kaun Banega Crorepati" participants needed to go through a very long battle. The majority of the time unemployment is completely rigged and the winner becomes determined according to their capability of maintaining TRP's high. The majority of the contestants of this reality shows, particularly the winners, may get frustrated shortly after their triumph, the focus shifts to the winner of the following season. The limelight being removed from them does not agree with lots of young men and women. Some contestants may get frustrated because they harbour false hopes that once they win the competition, their potential is place once and for all.

Effect of reality shows on society

New Boys & girls that are becoming reality TV star celebrities doesn't triumph on gift but utilize melodrama to at all times stay in the news. Among the worst consequences of the actions is on teenagers who attempt to emulate their behavior. Each of the stunts which are finished on such TV shows under coordinated requirements are duplicated by the folks in fact and leading to death. A few of the shows where contestants participate to win prizes reveal them in bad light as they utilize meanness and greed to outdo each other.  The unwanted traits can manifest themselves from the crowds and make behavioural issues. Liberal doses of abuses are hurled on the displays since the directors believe the an increasing number of people will observe them.  It's a massive mistake because poor words are captured by teenagers and children affecting their character in addition to behavior. Although children' reality shows such as Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Lil Champs, Sabse Bada Kalakaar, Junior Masterchef India and lots of other displays draw the audiences and benefits great evaluations, it's not a good idea to place children under stressful circumstances in the first years of the lives!  Little children are made to take part in fact shows, they've wrenched from all ordinary activities and chucked into a single-minded dedication to lending their voices to all these reality shows. They're compelled to take for extended hours, sometimes in hot sexy non-air conditioned rooms. Parents also pressurise their kids to shine on reality displays, little children become victims of a system which fosters and promotes unrealistic ambitions.

Some facts shows reveal participants carrying  Intense dangers and placing themselves bizarre or harmful  situations. Since younger kids mainly learn through imitation, Watching such programs can place them in danger of bodily harm. A  Indicated that kids who watched high-risk TV programmes improved  Their own self-reported risk-taking behaviour more than Children who were subjected to low-risk TV or saw less TV. Truth  Shows which are focussed on several folks and their daily lives are a Significant annoyance and parents will need to draw a line in regards to kids  Seeing these shows. They depict everything in an exaggerated fashion  Which isn't in any way a reflection of actual life.  To our kids. Reality gift shows, on the other hand, make parents  Feel their own kids are insufficient.

[dangerouslyfunny-blog]

The Truth of Truth Shows

comedy tv

The Idea of reality reveals

Truth  Tv is a tv programming genre which shows typically unscripted overdramatic or amusing conditions, papers real events, and generally comprises ordinary individuals rather than actors that are trained, occasionally in a contest or other cases where a prize is given. Shows at the Truth TV are known as as fact shows that are usually generated as series. The folks are either participated in rivalry with one another or at an awkward position or spied on in their everyday lives.  Watching reality shows have been our favorite last time and a supply of pleasure and pleasure. It's a true app cast with real individuals not with celebrities.

comedy tv

Though the Term reality tv is chiefly utilized to classes indicates that have arisen because the year 2000, the background of reality TV shows goes farther than we could think. Video continues to be depicting the lifestyles of individuals through relationship shows, competitions and pranks for a lengthy time. It's a fantastic history that many folks did not know considering contemporary reality tv and its own boom in popularity in the last several decades. The reality TV series began from the year 1948, Producer-host Allen Funt's Candid Camera, where unsuspecting folks were falls into humorous and odd scenarios has filmed with hidden cameras, was aired in the year 1948.  The series is viewed as a model of reality tv programming.

Different Sort of reality reveals

There Are numerous forms of reality shows which are operating on TV. These reveals broke the boredom of their conventional scripted shows and began showing the real-life scenarios. Truth shows cater to various age groups and preferences due to the access to the broad assortment of themes. In most reality shows, participants tend to be put in exotic places or in strange conditions. A number of the facts shows cover a individual or a group of individuals improving their lifestyles. They signify a more modified and highly affected form of fact to pull its audiences. Documentaries and non-fictional reveals such as sports and news aren't categorized under reality displays.

Some Kinds of reality shows are written below:

• Documentaries or Documentary Collection

Outside  Of all of the subgenres of reality TV, the documentary subgenre is perhaps the most typical one.  The core difference between documentaries and also a documentary show is that while documentaries are each so frequently restricted to a episode, documentary show interval a string in its entireness, after a run of arc-like scripted tv. The subgenre would also pay many societal experimentation reveals, where different sorts of interactions have been observed solely for the sake of a new experimentation.

• Contest or Elimination

Truth  Programs which are based on a removal or contest format are only about getting eliminated from the annoying housemate or using the very best participant eventually become the winner. They're about winning something significant beating your opponents. The contest might be one of the rest of the participants, or contrary to time/money.

Same As the title itself says this kind of reveals either about Makeover of a individual's appearance or earn a renovation of your previous residence.

This One is your most critical subgenre of reality TV in which the boy meets girl and the crowd adhere to understand'will they or will not they' facet of this narrative.

Beginning with Candid Camera, this is perhaps the longest-running fact subgenre.  It's about capturing the responses of innocent individuals put in unexpected conditions. This subgenre also covers exhibits that rely on content that is submitted.

The Many frequent kinds of the series in this subgenre are apps that explore paranormal happenings. The subgenre also encircles shows that focus on searching famous mythical animals.

• Traveling or Aspirational

Since Most audiences can not afford to go to the faraway lands to get a holiday, a lot people settle on appreciating these destinations by means of this kind of travel shows by which a individual, group or couple visit a trip and movie all their adventures for your audiences.

Apart from these Shows star talk shows or contests like ability search, experience, game displays or fear-based displays will also be mentionable.

Truth Shows in India

The First reality show of any sort on Indian TV was a quiz competition Titled- Bournvita Quiz Contest.  It was hosted by the famed Derek O'Brien at the calendar year 1972. But it featured a live show in a variety of cities then proceeded air for a radio series. From the year 1992, it became the very first reality series to be showcased on ZEE TV and Indian Television.  Then came"Sansui Antakshari" from the calendar year 1993 that was hosted by Annu Kapoor on ZEE TV also It became the first Indian singing fact series that conducted till 2006.  Came in various variations of Star One and SAB TV with the exact same host following 2006.  ZEE TV made its title to lead to home-grown reality reveals rather adapting global reality shows on Indian TV. Singing reality show Sa Re Ga Ma Pa arrived in the calendar year 1995 hosted by the famed singer of Bollywood Sonu Nigam and the dance fact show that changed the entire situation of dance reveals Dance India Dance arrived in the year 2009.

Sony Entertainment Television launched India's first dance reality series titled- Boogie Woogie that it was produced by Naved Jaffrey from the calendar year 1996 and hosted and hosted by Javed Jaffrey.  It was as a direct hit for its channel. From the year 2000, Star Plus aired"Kaun Banega Crorepati" with Amitabh Bachchan (a version of"Who wishes to be a millionaire") that went on to become India's favorite and most watched reality series.  To provide rivalry ZEE TV launched a different game series titled- Sawal Dus Crore Ka and Sony TV launched Jeeto Chappar Phhad Ke however KBC's popularity did not dissuade; which makes it the most prosperous reality series in Indian tv.  Sony India came up with Indian Idol in 2004 that was an adaptation to the favorite global reality series"American Idol".  Following its success with grown-ups, they arrived with children participants at the series which helped the series to acquire love by all.

The Manufacturing group of Endemol India came up with hot reality series Big Brother's Indian variant of Bigg Boss and Stress Factor on Sony TV at 2006. It turned into India's hottest international accommodated show after KBC. It had been transferred to Colors TV which makes it India's most viewed Hindi Television owing to its backing on Bigg Boss, Fear Factor competing with the likes of Star Plus and ZEE TV.

Next revolution reality reveals  In India came using a version of other famous foreign shows such as The Voice India and So You Think You Can Dance on &TV.  These shows altered the notion of dancing and singing displays on Indian Television. Other hot reality shows based on overseas shows are similar to MTV Roadies, India's Got Talent etc..

The real reality of reality reveals

It is  Generally admitted that reality TV is actually kind of dreadful. What was considered revolutionary in the entertainment world, has become accidental comedies starring the many dreadful and embarrassing individuals conceivable. Now real is the very last thing which strikes you about reality displays. When it's a dance series where lesser-known confronts of telly world vie to get the best princess label or the Bigg Boss's home where racial slurs and catfights are part of the procedure to select winners, goes into introducing a reality series as actual. There's a great majority of reality tv shows which aren't 100 percent genuine, since there's a high amount of manipulation so as to attain sustained audience focus.

Outcomes are actually reveals mostly Controlled by producers/directors. They would like to keep viewers feel it's arbitrary and inconsistent, to communicate that the majority of the time a candidate is advised exactly what to do, the way to do. They're told to act in certain ways. And at the end nobody will reveal you everything, things will get edited and aired series might be a long ways from real reality. Reality Television is a genre of an specific description of the displays themselves. Producer's bogus shots and perhaps even re-stage dramatic moments which occurred when the cameras were not rollingout pretty much whatever is in fact plotted and planned out just like the ordinary scripted series. The majority of the reality shows still maintain a simple amount of fact, nevertheless, portraying events which did occur, even if they are acted again to the cameras. These shows feature individuals living their own lives and doing their jobs, even if a great deal was smoothed from the daily routine so as to edit out the boring bits.

The Majority of the talent Search, singing, dance in reveals based on overall knowledge such as"Kaun Banega Crorepati" participants needed to go through a very long battle. The majority of the time unemployment is completely rigged and the winner becomes determined according to their capability of maintaining TRP's high. The majority of the contestants of this reality shows, particularly the winners, may get frustrated shortly after their triumph, the focus shifts to the winner of the following season. The limelight being removed from them does not agree with lots of young men and women. Some contestants may get frustrated because they harbour false hopes that once they win the competition, their potential is place once and for all.

Effect of reality shows on society

New Boys & girls that are becoming reality TV star celebrities doesn't triumph on gift but utilize melodrama to at all times stay in the news. Among the worst consequences of the actions is on teenagers who attempt to emulate their behavior. Each of the stunts which are finished on such TV shows under coordinated requirements are duplicated by the folks in fact and leading to death. A few of the shows where contestants participate to win prizes reveal them in bad light as they utilize meanness and greed to outdo each other.  The unwanted traits can manifest themselves from the crowds and make behavioural issues. Liberal doses of abuses are hurled on the displays since the directors believe the an increasing number of people will observe them.  It's a massive mistake because poor words are captured by teenagers and children affecting their character in addition to behavior. Although children' reality shows such as Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Lil Champs, Sabse Bada Kalakaar, Junior Masterchef India and lots of other displays draw the audiences and benefits great evaluations, it's not a good idea to place children under stressful circumstances in the first years of the lives!  Little children are made to take part in fact shows, they've wrenched from all ordinary activities and chucked into a single-minded dedication to lending their voices to all these reality shows. They're compelled to take for extended hours, sometimes in hot sexy non-air conditioned rooms. Parents also pressurise their kids to shine on reality displays, little children become victims of a system which fosters and promotes unrealistic ambitions.

Some facts shows reveal participants carrying  Intense dangers and placing themselves bizarre or harmful  situations. Since younger kids mainly learn through imitation, Watching such programs can place them in danger of bodily harm. A  Indicated that kids who watched high-risk TV programmes improved  Their own self-reported risk-taking behaviour more than Children who were subjected to low-risk TV or saw less TV. Truth  Shows which are focussed on several folks and their daily lives are a Significant annoyance and parents will need to draw a line in regards to kids  Seeing these shows. They depict everything in an exaggerated fashion  Which isn't in any way a reflection of actual life.  To our kids. Reality gift shows, on the other hand, make parents  Feel their own kids are insufficient.

[inkofamethyst]

May 16, 2021

Alright!  I need to balance what happened earlier today with a bit of positivity, so!

I did the recording session with my photo-friend today, and it was fantastic!

I mean, okay, our recording situation was a little odd, but it worked out, and I think he had fun too?  So we were talking over Zoom on our computers with headphones in to block the scene partner’s sound from our individual recordings, reading the script together since, you know, acting is reacting and all, and I really wanted to give him direction in real time instead of leaving him floundering on his first ever acting thing (though, I’ve been trying to get him on a stage for years now).  We “treated” our desks by covering them with a blanket which like, I know it isn’t all that much, but I did a test before the session and, trust me, it really does help.  He doesn’t down a microphone, so I had us both use our phone mics in the hopes that we’d get comparable quality (...we definitely did not lol his is quite dampened and soft and mine is quite tinny and loud (I probably should’ve put up some pillows behind my second monitor, but eh, I’m not too pressed over it, and I’ve found some useful videos for matching/fixing up the quality)), setting them atop the blankets and projecting over them instead of into them.

And then we recorded.  I mean, I gave him some background on the world and his character and how his, the protagonist, was in opposition to mine, and then we recorded.  It was a lot of fun!  We did a cold read, then we went through once more fully, then we did spot treatments and personal sound effects (got him to do some grunting (but he was mildly self conscious so I had to take off my headphones while he did it, but I’m sure they were great, I’ll be checking tomorrow) and he also ad-libbed begging for his life which was hilarious).  I also found out that he’s better able to conceptualize and mimic anxiety than fear which was interesting.  He took directions beautifully, and, at least I think, he got really into it which I really appreciated.  For a single session and no prep, he did such a great job.

One thing, and this is about me, not my photo-friend, was that I realized that I have a single acting volume: Stage.  I was really projecting when I totally could’ve toned it down.  But I was excited!  I get loud when I’m exited, and I’m also used to acting with volume because, you know, stage.  Maybe that’ll be something to work on in my next recordings.  I’ve been watching some videos on Adobe Audition, right, and I think it’s better to start quiet and raise the volume as opposed to starting loud and having to edit the volume down, when possible.  But, we’ll see what happens when I plug everything into the editing software.  I’m honestly not looking forward to editing for hours and hours to get the story produced, but I am excited for the final product (due Wednesday, by the way~~, so I’ve got three full days left to work on itttttt (it’s be fine)).

By the way, I’m consciously reminding myself not to look back on that interactions with a lens of insecurity.  I’m so used to re-examining social interactions and scrutinizing my every move (even if I don’t type it up here) that it’s sort of a natural thing I do now.  But, if I look at the facts: we were laughing together, he never once made any indication that what I asked for was a burden, as a matter of fact he seemed excited about the opportunity.  He never said anything about the story not making sense or being convoluted or being bad, and I can’t assume that he thought that either because ~I can’t read his mind~.  He actually pointed out a line that he liked.

So, Nina, we can logically deduce that it was fine.

For an entirely self-contained recording session, it took, like, an hour and a half?  Two hours maybe?  I’d planned for three because I wasn’t really sure how long it would take, but the time went by fast!

Today I’m thankful that I got my first-ever directing experience???  Y’all know I like control and all, but it was so cool to be able to pull what I wanted to hear from my photo-friend by directing him to get there (of course, without the weird toxic theatre school practices of drawing on trauma lol).  It’s definitely motivated me to work more on the original full-cast drama I’d started freshman year of college.  Maybe this summer.  Maybe.

Oh and I just gotta say, I am so so so so happy with the makeshift synchronous remote recording setup plan I came up with?????  I previewed some of the files, and they were basically just as I wanted them to be.  Our voices isolated entirely.  Ugh it worked so perfectly I could cry.

Also I bought a ton of fabric from Joann today lol.  They had Plaiditudes on sale at 60% off, the lowest they ever go (but apparently you can only order in multiples of 2, 4, and 8 yards, so I had to scrap a plan I had for one of the fabric’s I’d intended to buy).  I’ve got lots of plans!  I’m planning to start on my oversized coat with a brown houndstooth, my cropped jacket a la Gertie’s Princess Coat from Charm Patterns (pattern-hacked from a thrifted $4 jacket pattern because I’m ~cheap~) from a brown/black buffalo plaid, another button-down shirt (made from a green windowpane cotton/viscose blend!!), and a blazer made from a brown herringbone.  Hm.  Lots of outerwear and lots of brown.  I think I might want green to be my primary accent color?  Alongside my bases of brown and black, I think?  We’ll see.  I do like the way I look in green.

Oh!  Oh!  Last thing: took out my twists and fluffed it last night while watching Star Trek, and ugh I love having my hair out so much.  I’ll probably keep it like this for a week or two before I have to go in an wash it.  Right now, it’s fluffy and soft and I love it.

Alright.  Good vibes achieved.  Overall, today was a good day.  Goodnight.

[jokikudistrict]

Enter MACBETH | Hideo + Yata | Chapter 3 | Talent Tour

The most expected thing would likely be for Hideo to perform a scene from one of his films. But though he’d considered it, ultimately it hadn’t seemed like the best idea. For one thing, most of the movies he’s been in hadn’t really had the kind of scenes that could be played out in short by one or two people. A lot of horror lost its true impact outside its proper context, without the necessary build-up and atmosphere.

Aside from that, though, he’d also felt that most of the usable options weren’t appropriate for the setting. It didn’t seem right to stage a scene featuring torture or murder or monologues about being trapped considering the circumstances they were all in. Fortunately, Yata had helped him figure out a good alternative, and so…

Hideo waits with them behind the fountain in the park, just out of sight as the audience arrives, fidgeting anxiously with his prop weapon. And once it seems like everyone who’s coming is gathered, he takes a deep breath and steps out.

Or rather, a tall man wearing armor (well, costume armor, but the way he wears it carries the illusion) strides into view, sword drawn and at the ready, a wide, wild smile on his face, the confidence of an animal that finds itself cornered by what it thinks are lesser predators.

“Why should I play the Roman fool, and die on mine own sword?” Amused incredulity saturates the lines, and yet there’s something, about the forcefulness of it, perhaps, or the tension in the way he holds his sword, that gives the impression of some level of desperation. “Whiles I see lives, the gashes do better upon them!” Hideo’s English is impeccable, and his voice is strong, projecting wonderfully, not sounding like his own at all.

Yatagarasu strides in immediately after. Today they would be a God of Theatre as well. They too were dressed in the proper regalia, and looked rather convincing… despite the big happy mask still obscuring their features. (How else would they know it was them aiding the Horror Star?) This had been quite exciting. Acting was far more strenuous than their talent, in a physical sense. Luckily, their enthusiasm for the task substituted their lack of experience. 

“Turn, hellhound, turn!” they barked. Their English wasn’t as polished as their scene partner’s, their accent exceptionally heavy, but their volume nearly matched, making for a somewhat convincing portrayal.

Hideo does not break character, and it is Macbeth who goes still at the command, at the voice of his much feared former friend.

“Of all men else I have avoided thee,” He says before he turns, the bravado of a moment ago dulled, frustrated. When he does turn it’s sudden and violent, expression a cold warning, “But get thee back. My soul is too much charged with blood of thine already.” The threat is obvious, but so is the regret, the sorrowful almost-plea. They were not always enemies. This Macbeth will not lay down and die, but nor is he eager to carry more guilt than he already does.

Yata, no, Macduff regarded their enemy with a slow tilt of their head. “I have no words.” the infliction was just as frigid, tone sharp as their blade. (Speaking of, it was time to raise it!) They pointed the prop in Hideo’s direction, stepping closer. “My voice is in my sword!”

A easy, loose languidness came with their continuing approach. Every inch of their act had been choreographed to a tee which no doubt explained their confidence and lack of a cane. However, judging by their movement, a cool saunter, Yata seemed more prepared to dance than spar. This wasn’t a burdened man out to avenge his family and countrymen from a delusioned megalomaniac. It was more of a... friend(?) reciting lines and having too fun while doing it. They were called plays for a reason, right?

“Thou bloodier villain than terms can give thee out!”

Their fake swords clash, Hideo swinging his with an air of violent resignation so convincing that it’s almost a shock the sound of metal on metal doesn’t ring out into the air. Of course these aren’t real blades, but the fight choreography, while simple and well rehearsed, is (perhaps surprisingly) quite engaging. Hideo clearly has experience with stage-fighting, enough that the battle between Macbeth and Macduff is tense and fierce to watch, though anyone with any real knowledge of swordplay would likely notice how perfectly timed and scripted each strike was, that the swords are intentionally aiming to hit each other rather than their wielders.

They fight, and as they do Macbeth seems to gain and lose confidence by turns, with every blow, every ‘near miss’, until he laughs, a high and bitter sound, stepping close to cross their blades and say in a strained taunting tone, “Thou losest labour! As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air with thy keen sword impress as make me bleed.” He pushes them back, a haughty, triumphant action that leaves him half-open for a moment, as if defying them to keep attacking. “Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests, I bear a charmed life, which must not yield to one of woman born.”

Oh boy, this was the really fun part. Yata remained in character despite their internal hindrance. Hideo or Macbeth or whatever was so intense! But, of course he was, being his talent and all. The AMSRtist relied on the soft pattern created by the faux weapons. The duo struck there, here, here, and there again, according to their ears. They managed to spit their next line with pure malice and mocking, “Despair thy charm, and let the angel whom thou still hast served tell thee Macduff was from his mother's womb untimely ripped!”

The words seem to have an immediate effect, Macbeth stepping back as if stunned, eyes wide and then, settling into a kind of betrayal. He raises his sword as if to strike- or to throw it down, though he does neither, tension in every line. “Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,” his voice quakes with what wants to be denial but is instead realization, painful and absolute defeat, his last line of defense stripped of the assurance he relied on. And it dips slightly, an indication that, were he not still projecting for the audience, he would be speaking more softly, a shamed admittance. “For it hath cow'd my better part of man. And be these juggling fiends no more believed, that palter with us in a double sense, that keep the word of promise to our ear, and break it to our hope.” He lowers his sword, angry, but not with Macduff, but rather with the ones who fed him the false prophecy, the twisted words that, in his belief of them, led to all of this. “I'll not fight with thee.”

His quarrel is not with Macduff, not anymore. For this moment, at least, Macbeth has regained a shred of his humanity, seen the full scope of his wickedness in his failure, a failure that was always his true destiny.

Wait. No. They lied. THIS was the fun part! Yatagarasu chest swelled with pride. They crept forward, blade pointed upward until it rested under Macbeth’s chin. “Then yield thee, coward”, Yata crooned back, more teasing than intimidating,“and live to be the show and gaze o' the time! We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are, painted on a pole, and underwrit, 'Here may you see the tyrant~’”

Despite the… liberties, Yatagarasu takes with the lines, Hideo doesn’t break character, and it’s still Macbeth who answers, angrily smacking the blade pointed at him aside with his own and hissing through clenched teeth, “I will not yield to kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, and to be baited with the rabble's curse!” In an instant the tyrant is back, the man with so much blood on his hands, the man who sought to be a king. He knows now that he is doomed, but seeing no way out but through he rallies for his last stand. “Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed, being of no woman born, yet I will try the last. Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff! And cursed be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'”

He throws himself into the duel, a man who has nothing left to lose but pride, and nothing to gain but death by sword. Still he is fierce, in his final moments, this last defeat, as the fight carries them back to the fountain, off the ‘stage’ as it were, and the end of the scene.

And only then does Hideo finally relax, sliding out of the character with a sheepish smile and a quick, anxious bow, “Um, okay that’s it! Sorry if it was… too long or… or too short… or anything…” He reaches up to brush a bit of sweat off his forehead, eager to get out of the fake breastplate and into cooler clothes again, though he turns to murmur something to Yata before they can depart with the crowd.