#struggling playwright

[judas-not-that-one]

writing a musical and my advisor is like “you know exactly what you want to say, you just have to write it” in regards to the lyrics of the opening song

but here’s the thing

if i knew what i wanted to say…

I WOULD HAVE WRITTEN IT ALREADY

[kategriffin]

Writing: Plays vs Prose

I started out writing prose. I was used to putting the characters' thoughts into words, putting everything onto the page. The scenery, the movements, the physical characteristics of each character.

And then I started writing plays.

Playwriting is immensely different -- because what you are writing is never going to be the finished product. You can really only see its true glory on the stage itself, with a set and lights and actors to bring it to life.

And those thoughts and movements and characteristics that I began with in prose have to be stripped down, or cut completely. The audience is different -- while in prose we are often in the character's mind, experiencing everything through their eyes, the play's audience is much more distanced. They're a bystander to the story, sitting a mere five to a hundred feet (or more!) away.

And so switching between those audience views has impacted my writing, especially as I return to my novel after focusing mainly on playwriting for the last few years as part as my college degree. And as I am currently working on a full-length play as part of an independent thesis project, switching between those two types of audiences is a challenge.

I sometimes forget to consider what the character is thinking when working on my novel, or at least put it into words. When I'm writing a play it's a feeling, an expression I can see on the character's face as they move across the stage in my mind. I find myself writing only dialogue as I would in a play. But then on the other side of things I find myself pouring the inner thoughts of my characters into the stage directions, adding little asides. But those are things the audience won't get to directly see, I remind myself. The actor may choose to incorporate that into their own interpretation, but it will never truly be conveyed to the audience like they would be in a novel.

Anyways, this is a reminder to those who write in different formats that they are completely different skills and it's okay to struggle with switching between them.

[filmcourage]

Why Aren't People Watching Comedies Any More? - Billy Van Zandt

Watch the video interview on YouTube here.

[teddy06]

ME WHEN MY WRITING WON BEST SCRIPT FOR THE 24 HOUR PLAY SLAM

[lachkegeetanjali]

In Search of True Identity. (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/342209574-in-search-of-true-identity?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=lachkegeetanjali&wp_originator=XCzm8IQ813eu3%2F2HnKsCO6aoAGatPhAvQO0%2BT9r5EVzMa42gRlYiMCN0kh1%2F94BoaA92X2GFVzgVj4RAjaem48JaB0e25%2FN53fKgufk7hBlqMkCDvAMmfg4Dx4HKrQ8%2F Following one's passion is the only way to embrace one's true self. Amber, an aspiring writer has to grapple with a creative block, constant rejections and self-doubt before finally discovering her true identity as a Writer. When she authors a play for the stage Amber learns that she too is capable of achieving great things in life. This short story calls upon the readers to experience the journey of budding writers and to reflect on their own dreams.

[thestarlightforge]

Went to see a dear friend’s production of The Bluest Eye in DC tonight & apart from being utterly destroyed— it also prompted a mild writing crisis. Because yeah, I’m never gonna write something as bad as Ultimatum. But I’ll never be as good as Toni Morrison either 🥲

[thatsuhboldchoice]

me, staring at my script that many people effusively like and respond strongly to in a positive way: what if it is actually Bad

[robotpussy]

RIP Benjamin Zephaniah (15th April 1958 – 7th December 2023)

Dub poet, novelist, lyricist and playwright, Dr. Benjamin Zephaniah paved the way for so many black british writers with his pen. His work focussed on racism within the UK and colonialism.

It is so cliche to start talking about somebody's work once they pass away but I would like to do so anyway:

"Too Black Too Strong" (2001) - Poems that address the struggles of black Britain that, compared to his works before, are much more forceful. Some of the poems featured in this were written when he was working with Michael Mansfield QC and other Tooks barristers on the Stephen Lawrence case. (Available on The Anarchist Library)

"Propa Propaganda" (1996) - His second collection of poetry that continues to surround around the themes of anti-colonialism, racism and anti-establishment features some of his most famous works such as "I Have a Scheme", "The Angry Black Poet" and "White Comedy"

"Rasta Time in Palestine" (1990) - a travelogue and a collection of poetry he wrote while visiting occupied Palestinian territories. (Available on Internet Archive). Zephaniah was an avid supporter of the Palestinian Solidarity Campaign and attended demonstrations calling for an end to the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land. The photo above is of Zephaniah at a London Protest in 2010.

[judas-not-that-one]

i started writing a musical for a school project last year and i���m in love with the plot and the idea and the characters and everything about it

what i am not in love with is that my teacher that i am taking lessons with has no idea what im writing about and has no idea how the process of writing a musical goes or how long it takes

for example here are some popular musicals and the time it took for them to be written:

-Hamilton: 6 years

-Hadestown: 10+ years

-EPIC: The Musical: 3 years (ongoing)

-Les Misérables: 2 years

-The Book of Mormon: 6 years

-Rent: 7 years

all with multiple people working on them, most of which have written music before in some capacity

i have never written music before and have only been working on this show for about a year. and he expected it to be done by May

By. May.

and he’s disappointed that it won’t be. but that’s such an unreasonable and unrealistic goal! and i am very upset about his lack of reality and lack of attention when it comes to my show

My. Show.

but anyways i get to leave him a review at the end of the year and then i never have to see him again so im just ready for that and i hope he can maybe think a little harder and be more helpful to the next student like me that comes along

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct Yandere TWST x Fem Reader Monster AU pt 46

(Vil's father is a more traditional coloration for Peacocks, and he is regarded as one of the most attractive actors in media. On top of being an actor, Eric is an impressive producer, playwright, and composer. When it comes to the creation of entertainment, Eric knows quite a bit. Vil is determined to stand on his own in the acting world, so he took on the last name of his Mother instead of his father's last name. Eric is extremely proud of Vil in every way possible.)

Warnings; yandere, multiple yanderes, platonic and romantic yanderes, unreliable narrators, myths are partially true but mostly false, descriptors of the Ursus Minor and Major, mention of injury/gore/sickness, gentle scolding, ice cream, smoothies, Harpies, Dragon, Shinigami, Hellcat, mention of Alicorn, mention of Unicorn, mention of Cervitaur, mention of Selkie, mention of Drider, mention of Raiju, mention of Vampire Bat

~~~~~~~~

You walked at a slow and relaxed pace through the field in front of you. Wind gently moved the long golden stalks of wheat in slow ripples. The air was warm and ever so sweet smelling as if something delicious were being cooked not too far away.

Deeper you went into this field as you enjoyed this blissful moment of peace. Even as the plants slowly moved around you, it was hard not to feel relaxed among the dancing fronds as they swayed in the wind. A low rumbling noise filled your ears and you vaguely thought it sounded like slow and heavy breathing.

"... Hello?"

Everything suddenly went still and silent the moment you spoke. The wind died. The wheat stilled. The breathing stopped.

From beyond the field a shape lumbered forward, dark ooze running down the open wounds of the beast as it cried out a feeble roar. Standing before you was a pathetic bear with no meat on the skeleton bones that covered its carcass. Still the carcass moved.

Standing on all fours, the pitiful bear almost looked like it was missing half of it's face. Where fur and flesh should have been, a large gaping wounds covered in flies and rotting from the bone of the skull was on clear display. The 'eyes' of the beast were no more than pits that has been plucked clean by cruel hands. Even the black fur of the beast seemed to be dripping with some kind of decay as the foul stench of the rotting blood inside the creature assaulted your nostrils.

Nothing about this beast was natural and the twisted fangs that glinted in the maw of the beast only made pity weigh down your heart. Each fang had been broken by the neighboring tooth, all overgrown and twisted in the maw of the creature. Some teeth grew up and back into the gums, some teeth grew out jaggedly though the mouth of the creature, and some were empty sockets where a tooth once was.

The beast lowed and huffed, sounding like it was struggling for air as it breathed out ragged sounds of pain. It was a dead bear walking, yet the beast longed for freedom. It needed the release of death yet was cruelly kept away from ever knowing that peaceful end. The rotted blood inside the wretched bear bubbled up past the throat as it cried again to you in agony.

You wished you could help it.

As hideous and beaten this beast was, you were determined to help it, even if that meant shutting the bear's eyes forever. It had long since been a shambling corpse even before it had gotten to you and the pained way it walked on broken limbs hurt your heart as you were forced to hear it cry. This creature deserved the dignity of a swift death.

As you raised your crossbow, another thought occurred to you; the sound of heavy breathing was back. Surely it was just the pitiful and wounded bear that you heard so heavily and deeply drawing in breath. Yet... The bear before you was hardly able to gasp, let alone make the sound you had heard while you were in the field.

The bear standing in front of you was not the bear you had been hearing.

Shadows fell over you as you turned to what could have possibly blotted out the sun. Lumbering behind you, coating by broken weapons that stuck out of the ragged and torn flesh like trophies clicked with the heavy and slow movement of the beast. One blind eye rolled around in the socket of the bear's exposed orbital cavity to look at you.

As the beast turned its head a scream caught in your throat when you saw what this monster had for a second eye. Lodged in the skull of the bear was another skull. An unmistakably Human skull. It was frozen in an eternal scream as the orbital socket of the Human skull was fused with that of the bear.

The Human skull's eye sockets glowed with a faint blue light as they seemed to lock onto you. The bear- or beast, as would be more accurate- reared up high above you, even dwarfing some trees as it let out a loud and piercing Human scream.

~•§•~

You woke with a startle, entire body shivering with each panted breath as cold morning air nipped at your skin. Nothing seemed familiar was you stumbled back, the forest wheeling around you. Your foot caught on something behind you and a sharp shriek left your lips while your body fell.

But you didn't hit the ground.

Instead, you fell into a pair of arms that broke your fall. Standing behind you, just as shocked and surprised as you, was a familiar face you immediately recognized. The older Sphinx Trein stood there holding you in his arms gently as he helped you back up and onto your feet.

"Pr-Professor Trein-!"

"(Y/n), what on earth are you doing out here, Little Cub?"

"What am I doing? What are you doing?"

"Responding to your collar pinging me. You are supposed to be in bed resting like Lord Hades said, what could possibly possess you to come out here alone?"

You finally took a moment to look around, seeing the tall forests around you looming like the trees that seemed so abundant. Above the trees you could see the top of Night Raven College and you knew you weren't far from the school given how close it seemed. If anything, you likely hadn't been in the forest for very long.

"I... I didn't realize I was out here. I was dreaming and then... Woke up here."

"Is walking away from your home normal for Humans while they sleep?"

"... No."

As you began to shiver, Trein was quick to pull his own burgundy top coat off of his shoulders and draping it over you. The warmth already clinging to the clothing seeped into your bones as the Sphinx picked you up suddenly. It was only at that time that you realized you were barefoot and had several cuts along your feet and legs from your unpleasant trip into the woods.

"Come on, let's get you back to your dorm and back to bed. This part of the forest is no place for anyone, with or without magic, let alone a Human."

Trein was nice and warm as he held you, carrying you back to your dorm and ensuring you were cuddled up safely in his arms. Part of you wanted to question the old Sphinx about his cryptic words, hoping they were just in reference to the plentiful poachers that likely stalked nearby. It was during your hesitance to ask that another thought occurred to you; why didn't poachers grab you.

All around you, the woods were unnaturally quiet. There were no birds chirping in the early morning light. There were no squirrels jumping from tree to tree. There wasn't even the sound of poachers scurrying away.

The forest was silent.

"Professor?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"... What did you mean by what you said earlier? About the forest being 'no place for someone with or without magic'?"

"There are things that live in the untamed parts of the world that are best left undisturbed."

"What kind of things?"

"The kind that will kill a child as easily as they would kill an adult all for the crime of disturbing their rest."

You went quiet at this, wondering just what beasts lurked in the darker parts of the forests of Sage Island. Thinking back to that odd dream of yours, you realized that you had seen the smaller of the two bears before. That first night you arrived at Night Raven College and met Grim was the first time you had seen that thing.

Rook had called it some odd name when he explained the wounded and rotting creature to you. It had since slipped your mind as to what these creatures were called, but you just so happened to have your very own History professor with you. Maybe he could shed some light on the dream you had.

"... Do bears live on Sage island?"

"No. Not any that are actually considered alive, at least. Why?"

"I remember seeing one my first night here. It tried to attack me but Rook stopped it. What do you mean 'considered alive'? Are there dead bears here?"

The older Sphinx sighed as he moved with you through the forest, his back leg still dragging behind him. He didn't seem eager to explain himself despite your prying question. Still, that only served to rouse your curiosity.

"Yes. They are known as Undying Ursus Minors. Bears that are the offspring of the Undying Ursus Major. They typically look like shambling corpses and cannot be killed. Many have tried."

"... What is the Ursus Major like?"

This actually made Trein stumble somewhat, seeming to be thrown off by your question. Part of you worried as Trein rarely seemed riled by anything, but was clearly unsettled by your questions.

"The Ursus Major is a true monster. There are many legends that surround the Ursus Major and very few actual facts. He is larger than any other bear, scarred and covered in weaponry from those who have attempted to kill him. Even Lord Hades was unable to contain the beast. He sleeps for ages and is deadly when woken. He sleeps here, on Sage Island, where he is far from the mainland."

"... Why does he have a Human skull in his face?"

This question actually made Trein stop in his tracks, his wide eyes locking onto you in surprise and concern. His response only confirmed to you that the beast you saw in your dreams was the same beast Trein spoke of. But how could you dream of a beast you have never actually seen? More importantly, why would you dream of this beast?

"How do you know that?"

"I had a dream before I woke up out here... There was this golden field that led into the woods when it came up behind me. Its face was torn to shreds, and the one eye it had looked blind. The other eye... It was exposed bone and a second skull- a Human skull- was fused into it. I don't think I've ever seen a bear like that one before."

Trein frowned at this, but said nothing else and continued to walk back to the school. As he emerged from the tree-line, you realized he was not the only one who had responded to your collar pinging. Every Housewarden, Vice-Housewarden, guard, visitor, and all of the NRC staff were frantically heading towards the woods.

You could see the way their panic visibly melted away as they saw Trein emerge with you safely tucked in his arms. Even as they fussed over you and herded the Sphinx carrying you back inside, you were somewhere deep inside of your own mind still, thinking of the beast that came to you in your dreams.

~•§•~

"Little One."

"Hm?"

The sudden voice of the elder Shinigami made you break away from your intense thoughts, staring at the man in surprise. He seemed to be looking at you expectantly and you had to scramble to think of what it was he must have said. Perhaps he asked you a question and you didn't hear it?

"Are you alright?"

"No. Yes. Maybe?"

You had been sitting in the large nest in your room with the elder Shinigami. Despite your fever finally going down, the older man had decided that you should continue to rest. Thankfully, that did mean that he continued to keep Malleus and your other over-eager guards at bay. They had only been allowed into your room when you requested it. It was truly wonderful to feel like you had your own personal space back, even if only for a little while.

"Young Mozus tells me you were walking in your sleep when he found you out there. He also tells me you saw a rather unusual bear in your sleep."

You frowned at this, wanting to confide in the Shinigami, but not wanting to seem insane for what you had to say. Perhaps the elder could offer you some advice on your situation and even offer council. He had been rather honest with you since the moment you met him and it soothed you to know the ancient man didn't seek to deceive you.

"I did. ... Papa Hades, what can you tell me about the Ursus Major?"

"He is father to all Ursus Minor and has walked this world for several millennia. His official name is Mor'du, but most simply know him as the Undying Ursus Major. He is deadly when woken, impervious to all magic used against him, my own included. Many have tried to kill him and very few survived him. Young Mozus is one of the few to survive the beast."

"Trein did?"

"Yes. There are many a legend as to where Mor'du came from, but none are certain to his true origins."

You hummed, leaning back against the large Shinigami as he spoke. The fact that this beast was immune to magic made you wonder what happened to cause such a thing. Magic seemed all powerful, so a beast that could resist magic seemed even more dangerous.

"What do you think he is?"

"... I think he was Human. He has a skull embedded in his face, a Human skull, and I believe it is a remnant of his old existence. Humans don't have magic, so by him having magic like that overwhelmed him completely and turned him Feral."

"Do you think him once being Human is why I dreamed of him?"

This actually surprised the elder as he turned to look at you fully. It would make sense if that were the case. He knew of several species that had prophetic dreams of related family or friends, why wouldn't you dream of a beast that may have once been Human? Perhaps there was something more to your thinking, but the elder didn't want you to believe you could face the beast either. Nothing he knew of could kill Mor'du and he refused to risk your safety for a hunch.

"It's possible. For the time being, I think you need to have one of your guards back in the room with you. This wandering away in your sleep is not healthy for you and it could lead to greater injury than a few scrapes."

"... Hey, Papa Hades, have you ever had ice cream?"

~•§•~

You stood next to the churn, watching it spin and cool the heavy cream, mixing in the sugars and the vanilla. All three of your churns were working and you were thrilled to try and share what you have created. To your left was a blended smoothie of fruits that you planned to add into one of the churns for flavoring.

Naturally, any time you were in the kitchen, your guards were close by trying to sniff out what it was you were creating. They had been more distant from you and you realized that it was was likely a result of Papa Hades also hovering nearby. Whatever he had said to them when you fell ill clearly stuck with them.

"(Y/n)?"

You glanced over your shoulder to see a familiar and tired expression. Vil seemed hesitant to approach too quickly or be as proud as he usually was, clearly still shaken by what had happened with his mother and your following illness. The Harpy was a welcome sight and you allowed him to approach you despite how hesitant he seemed to be.

"Hey, Vil."

"How are you feeling?"

The Harpy settled for leaning against the counter next to you, watching you keenly as you poured your blended concoction into the churn. He- not so subtly- sniffed in the direction of the blended fruits, seeming curious about the mixture. You figured he could smell the various fruits in the blender and may have liked what he smelled.

"I'm... Not fully healed, but I guess I'm better than I was."

"Why didn't you tell us how stressed you were by all of this?"

"When did I have the chance to tell any of you? I've been dealing with Overblots, near Overblots, a possessive and protective Dragon, a world I don't understand, and others trying to kill me. I haven't really had the time to say that I'm stressed."

"I'm sorry."

You turned to look at Vil in surprise when he spoke, his voice a soft and sad sound which only made you worry about him. Ever the one to want to help and fix things for others, you didn't like seeing Vil so downcast and withdrawn. If anything, you wished Vil would return to his haughty and proud self. It would put you more at ease than the way he behaved now.

"Don't be sorry, Vil. Be better. I know you can be and I know you push yourself so hard just to feel deserving. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved. You deserve it, Vil. I never want you thinking that you don't."

"You're a good person, (Y/n)."

"And you are a beautiful Harpy, Vil. Now, taste this and tell me what you think."

He seemed surprised as you poured the contents into a cup and handed it to the Harpy. At first, he seemed dubious as to what you gave him, but his nose told him whatever it was happened to be delicious. Despite his slow attempts. Reaching his tongue into the cup to sample the flavor his eyes widened. Within moments he slurped down the contents of the cup, reminding you of a greedy bird stuffing their face with available food.

It was difficult to stop yourself from giggling when you saw how eager the Harpy was. Vil slurped down the drink and made an odd cooing sound in his throat. His feathers gently fluffed up as that cooing sound continued, clearly pleased.

"What is this beautiful concoction?"

"Humans call it a smoothie. Usually made of blended fruits, occasionally vegetables, and sometimes sugar. That one is strawberries, blue berries, raspberries, and some sugar. Nothing too wild, but I plan on making more smoothies as well. Guess I can count on you to be a taster?"

Vil let out a purring coo as his wing tips fluttered excitedly at the prospect. Perhaps it was just your perception, but some color seemed to return to Vil's face and he gave you a genuine smile. You couldn't help but smile at Vil's soft cooing and pet his head, letting the Harpy lean into your touch.

"The ice cream should be done soon, I'll go get Tsuno and the others."

Vil hovered behind you as you walked out of the kitchen, noticing the several eyes that flicked in your direction. They all seemed eager to greet you despite how they held themselves back. Despite how the others seemed to temper themselves, Grim didn't have the same hesitation and ran straight into your arms. Though he had been allowed to spend time with you during your illness where the others didn't, he was always happy to see you.

"Mama! What were you doing in the kitchen? Did you make something yummy for us?"

"I did! It is ready for everyone to have some. Why don't all of you come get a bowl?"

This seemed to be the triggering words for everyone as they all rushed forward to have their own taste of what you created.

Despite the week Heartslabyul was assigned as your guards being over, they remained in the dorm with you as another group had not yet been assigned. This meant Riddle, Trey, and Alistair were keen to see what new treat you have created for them and keen to group up around you. Silver seemed pleased with the ungulate company as he rallied up with the three centaur men like a Herd.

Similarly, Vargas, Ace, and Deuce were keen to stay with this forming group of hoofed species. It was almost funny to see how easily they grouped together and took turns looking out for their fellow Herd members.

Cater was even a good member of that Herd despite the fact he was not a hoofed species like the others. He had thankfully been able to settle back into his own routine and took protecting your peace on Magicam very seriously. Apparently he blocked anyone who made any kind of suggestive comment on your pictures and had already blocked several thousand people.

Beyond the Ungulate species forming a Herd, the winged and avian species seemed to be forming similar alliances. Vil, Crowley, Trein, and all of the Shrouds grouped together like a big flock of feathered beasts. Even Lilia and Malleus seemed to group up together with the flying folk despite the difference in their wing types. Sebek simply stayed with Malleus while Rook stayed with Vil.

The forming groupings interested you, seeing how similar species kept together with one another. It was fascinating to you to observe the way they all seemed to find common ground, especially those who were often in conflict like Alistair and Riddle. Even in the groups, there was an obvious hierarchy that seemed to lend itself to how the men all behaved. The only two who didn't group up were Sam and Divus, but they seemed more keen to stay near you.

As you relaxed and doled out the ice cream, it was obvious you were supposed to sit at the left side of Papa Hades who took the head of the table for his own seat. This time, Malleus refused to allow anyone other than himself to take the seat next to you. Unsurprisingly, Malleus was not going to let you get too far from him after being forced to keep his distance during your illness.

He nodded in greeting to you as you set the large bowls of ice cream out and settled down. It was clear Grim was eager to eat the cold treat as the others regarded it curiously.

"Go ahead and take what you all want, just don't eat it too quickly or you may get a brain freeze."

Vil was first of the cautious group to get his own bowl of the treat, letting out a loud coo as he took a spoonful of the fruit ice cream. That was enough to encourage the others to take their own bowls and try the cold and creamy snack. It seemed like the others were pleased with the treat as well and Riddle even let out a thrilled whinny.

Malleus was the one who had the most extreme reaction of the group as he put the spoon in his mouth. A sudden warmth filled the room, akin to the feeling of cuddling in a group of trusted friends on a cold evening. His pallid face flushed a deep almost black shade as a loud and thunderous purr erupted from his throat. The Dragon swayed gently in his seat, humming and continuing to slowly eat the treat you had gifted him.

Grim impatiently grabbed your hand with his paws, pulling it down to place the spoon in his mouth. He began purring the same way Malleus had at the sweet taste, his tail waving excitedly as he let out little mewls. The others seemed in agreement and Malleus leaned over to you, affectionately rubbing his cheek against your shoulder.

"My dearest (Y/n), I would give you the riches of Briar Valley if only you continue to allow me to sample this decadent treat. Such flavor... And so soothing. Numbing. What do you call this beautiful creation?"

"Ice cream. Right now we have Vanilla, a fruit mix, and chocolate- thanks to Sam- so feel free to enjoy the flavors."

"All the more reason for me to adore the many things you do... What a truly magnificent treasure trove you are."

[yua0ra]

𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐲

WARNINGS: theatrelover!theo x cinemalover!fem!reader, sex, porn with plot, semi-public sex, p in v, raw, cursing, hot, fingering, NSFW, english is not my first language. not proofread | minors please dni. smut 🂡

SUMMARY: In the cool of the evening, when everything is getting kind of groovy, you call me up and ask me: would I like to go with you and see a movie? First I say "No, Ive got some plans for tonight." But then I stop and say "All right".

WC: 6.3K AN: HAHAHAH finally, after what it seemed like a fucking eternity, I bring you... Theodore SMUT. Everyone say thank you! JK, enjoy it, you whore. <3

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Theodore Nott had an insufferable, borderline pretentious love for contemporary theatre. He would wax poetic about the brilliance of Jez Butterworth, the raw grit of Simon Stephens, and the immersive absurdity of Caryl Churchill. You, on the other hand, were a cinephile at heart—Tarantino’s razor-sharp dialogue, Scorsese’s masterful character studies, Nolan’s intricate narratives. You could analyze Pulp Fiction’s non-linear structure just as easily as you could tear apart The Wolf of Wall Street’s moral ambiguity.

Despite your differences, you both had an undeniable appreciation for storytelling—whether on stage or on screen. And naturally, that appreciation often turned into petty arguments.

"You can’t tell me The Ferryman isn’t one of the best pieces of theatre in the last decade," Theo scoffed one day, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, please. Jez is just doing modern-day Greek tragedy with a sprinkle of Irish drama. It’s compelling, sure, but it’s not reinventing the wheel."

Theo narrowed his eyes. "And what, you think Tarantino’s constant foot fetish and non-linear storytelling is revolutionary?"

"At least Tarantino has mastered the art of tension," you shot back. "The Sicilian scene in True Romance? The diner scene in Reservoir Dogs? You don’t need an elaborate set change or monologues drenched in metaphor—you just need two people in a room and a damn good script."

"That’s rich coming from someone who praises Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller—two of the most dialogue-heavy playwrights in existence."

Your friends groaned. They were used to this. You and Theo could argue for hours over narrative devices, symbolism, and whether theatre or cinema was the superior storytelling medium.

But one afternoon, during an extracurricular drama lesson, the argument escalated to a level that left everyone in the room speechless.

The class was discussing adaptations—how literature, theatre, and film intertwined.

Theo, ever the theatrical purist, argued, “Plays allow for the rawest human emotion. There are no camera tricks, no fancy editing—just an actor on stage, exposed. That’s why theatre will always have a deeper emotional impact than cinema.”

You weren’t about to let that slide. “That’s a wildly limited way of thinking. Film is just as much a visual art as it is a narrative one. Sure, theatre relies on the performer’s ability to hold an audience, but film can show a character’s internal struggle without a single word of dialogue. A glance, a shift in lighting—those subtle details can hit just as hard as a monologue.”

Theo tilted his head, amused. “Alright, then. A Streetcar Named Desire—would you rather see it on stage or in Elia Kazan’s adaptation?”

You smirked. “Kazan’s adaptation is brilliant, but you’re proving my point. The film version utilizes Marlon Brando’s raw, visceral performance while also using close-ups, sound design, and visual metaphors to enhance it. Theatre is powerful, but it’s limited by its medium. Film has more tools.”

The tension in the room thickened as you both volleyed back and forth—citing everything from Angels in America to Taxi Driver, from Arthur Miller’s The Crucible to Nolan’s Memento.

By the time you both stopped to take a breath, the rest of the class was staring at you like they had just witnessed an academic duel to the death.

Blaise, looking mildly concerned, muttered, “I think you two just argued in a language no one else speaks.” Pansy blinked and slowly nodded her head, “did you just name-drop fifteen different playwrights and directors in the span of five minutes?”

Draco, unimpressed, simply said, “I came here to watch people pretend to be trees, not to witness whatever that was.”

You and Theo exchanged a look. And, despite everything, a slow grin spread across both your faces. Because for all the arguing, all the differences, and all the passionate debates—you loved every second of it.

- ★、

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it, your much-anticipated cinema trip. It wasn’t every day you got to slip away from the castle, apparate to London, and immerse yourself in the warm glow of a dimly lit theatre, the smell of buttered popcorn thick in the air. Tonight’s screening? A Tarantino classic—Inglourious Basterds. You were practically buzzing with excitement as you stepped into the theatre, savoring the moment before the film began.

And then you saw him.

Theodore. Bloody. Nott.

Leaning against the concession stand, hands in his pockets, looking as if he belonged in some noir film with his perfectly tailored coat and unimpressed expression. His sharp gaze flicked over to you, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Didn’t peg you for the type to sneak off to London alone for a late-night film screening. How rebellious.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t strike me as the type to appreciate Tarantino. What are you doing here, Theo?”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “What, am I not allowed to expand my horizons? Maybe I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, please. You’ve spent weeks slandering film in favor of theatre, and now you suddenly show up to a Tarantino movie of all things?”

Theo hummed thoughtfully, stepping closer, so close that the scent of his cologne—expensive and frustratingly good—filled your senses. “Maybe,” he mused, “I just enjoy riling you up.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was betraying you with its traitorous thump against your ribs. “Right. So you apparated to London, found this exact cinema, and happened to pick the same showing as me? Coincidence?”

His smirk deepened. “Perhaps.”

Before you could interrogate him further, the theatre doors opened, and people started filing inside. You exhaled, shaking your head. “You know what? I don’t care why you’re here. Just—don’t ruin the film for me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, trailing after you.

You found your seat, sinking into the plush velvet, determined to ignore the fact that Theodore Nott had somehow ended up in the seat directly beside you. He stretched out, looking infuriatingly at ease, as if this hadn’t been some grand invasion of your sacred cinema time.

And then, as the lights dimmed and the first scene flickered onto the screen, Theo leaned in—just enough for his breath to ghost against your ear.

“If this film doesn’t impress me,” he whispered, “you owe me a ticket to the next play I pick.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze, and smirked. “Fine. But when you inevitably love it, you’re admitting I was right.”

Theodore just chuckled, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. “We’ll see.”

As the film unfolded on the screen, you found yourself hyperaware of Theodore’s presence beside you. It was ridiculous, really—how could one person occupy so much space without actually moving? 

His elbow rested dangerously close to yours on the armrest, his long legs stretched out in that careless way he always sat, as if the entire world was his to lounge in. 

You tried to focus on the movie, on the tense exchange between Landa and Perrier LaPadite, but Theo shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours, and suddenly, every bit of dialogue seemed to drown beneath the sound of your own heartbeat.

You weren’t sure when it happened—when the push and pull of your debates, the sharp edge of your banter, had morphed into something more charged, something that left a static hum in the air between you. 

Maybe it had always been there, simmering beneath every eye roll, every challenge, every smirk that lasted a second too long. And now, sitting here in the dim glow of the theatre, with flickering light casting shadows across his annoyingly perfect features, it was impossible to ignore.

Halfway through the film, Theo leaned in again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright, I’ll admit it. The dialogue is brilliant.”

You smirked, keeping your eyes trained on the screen. “Told you.”

His fingers tapped idly against the armrest, a steady, maddening rhythm. “Still doesn’t mean it’s better than theatre.”

You turned your head slightly, lips curving in amusement. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Theo tilted his face toward you, his voice dropping lower, smoother. “Because film lets you hide. Close-ups, cuts, music—it manipulates how you feel. Theatre? It’s raw. No second takes. No distractions.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering just a moment too long on your lips. “You can’t escape it.”

A shiver ran down your spine, though whether it was from his words or the way his voice curled around them, you weren’t entirely sure. You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus. “You call it hiding. I call it perspective. The camera lets you see things no audience member ever could—something intimate, something only you get to witness.”

Theo hummed, considering that. The tension between you had shifted into something heavier, something that pressed into the space between breaths. He was still close, close enough that you could catch the faintest scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from where his arm rested near yours. It would be so easy to lean in just a little more, to close that final inch between you.

And then, just as you were about to force yourself to sit back, to pretend none of this was affecting you, he moved.

Slow, deliberate. His fingers brushed against the back of your hand, the touch featherlight, testing. Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t pull away. Theo, ever perceptive, took that as permission, his fingers shifting, tracing the delicate curve of your wrist.

“You’re… mad, Theo. You’re out of your mind,” you murmured, barely aware you had spoken the words aloud.

His lips quirked, but there was something darker in his gaze now, something that sent heat curling low in your stomach. “That’s right…,” he murmured, his fingers sliding between yours, “but you’re too, you haven’t moved.”

You knew you should say something—should tease him, should act unaffected—but all logic had abandoned you the moment his hand fully curled around yours. The room around you had disappeared, the film reduced to a distant hum in the background.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Theo lifted your intertwined hands, brushing his lips against the inside of your wrist. It was barely a kiss—more of a ghost of one—but it sent a shiver straight down your spine, igniting something electric in your veins.

Your breath hitched. “Theo—”

“I know,” he murmured, voice impossibly low, as if he was reading every thought racing through your mind. His thumb traced slow, teasing circles over your palm, his lips still hovering dangerously close to your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t.

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head slightly toward him, meeting his gaze through the dim flicker of the screen. “What if I don’t want to?”

His smirk deepened, but there was something softer there, something almost unreadable. For a moment, he just looked at you, as if memorizing every detail, before he finally whispered, “Then we might have a problem.”

And the worst part?

You wanted to find out just how much of a problem it could be.

The world outside of your little bubble had disappeared completely—the film playing on the screen, the murmur of the other audience members, the distant rustling of popcorn bags—it all faded into nothing. All that remained was Theodore, his touch burning into your skin, the weight of his gaze heavy as it flickered down to your lips.

His hand tightened ever so slightly around yours, his thumb tracing the delicate skin of your wrist, and you swore you felt your heartbeat stutter. There was something unbearably patient about the way he was looking at you, like he was waiting—waiting for you to pull away, to scoff and shove him off, to turn this into just another one of your never-ending debates. But you didn’t move.

Instead, you found yourself leaning in, the warmth between you growing thick, heavy. Your noses brushed—barely, just a whisper of contact—but it sent something electric crackling through your veins.

Theo exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath. His voice was nothing more than a murmur, just for you. “You’re really not stopping me.”

You smirked, fingers tightening slightly around his. “I thought you liked risks.”

His lips caught yours in the next breath, slow at first—just a soft, testing press, as if he wasn’t entirely sure this was real. But then you sighed against his mouth, tilting your head slightly, and finally leaned in.

Theo let go of whatever restraint he had left. His free hand came up to cradle your jaw, fingers pressing gently beneath your ear as he deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second.

He tasted faintly of Italian summer and something richer, something entirely him. His touch was both careful and possessive, like he was memorizing the shape of you beneath his fingertips. You felt yourself melt into it, the heat between you intensifying, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You barely noticed the way his thumb brushed over your cheek, the way he tilted your chin just slightly to kiss you deeper. Everything about it was intoxicating—the way he moved, the way he swallowed the quiet little sigh that escaped you, the way his fingers flexed against your skin like he didn’t want to let go.

Somewhere in the background, the movie continued playing—gunfire, sharp dialogue, the rise of a dramatic score—but it all blurred into nothing. All you could focus on was Theo, on the way he was kissing you like he’d been waiting for this, like he wasn’t sure he’d get another chance.

When he finally, reluctantly, pulled away, his lips barely ghosting over yours, you were both breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his fingers still cupping your jaw, his thumb tracing absent patterns over your skin.

You opened your eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. His pupils were blown, his lips slightly parted, and for the first time, Theodore Nott looked entirely, devastatingly undone.

A slow, lazy smirk curled at the corner of his lips. “Well,” he murmured, voice slightly rough. “I suppose I owe Tarantino some credit after all.”

You let out a breathy laugh, rolling your eyes. “Unbelievable.”

He chuckled, fingers trailing down the side of your throat, as if he wasn’t quite ready to stop touching you yet. “Admit it,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You liked that more than the film.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Jury’s still out.”

Theo smirked, his lips brushing yours again in a featherlight kiss, like a silent promise. “Then I guess I’ll just have to convince you.”

And as he pulls you back into another kiss, slow and deep and utterly devastating, you realise with absolute certainty—you were in trouble.

Theodore's hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his lips moving with an urgency that steals your breath. He pulls you closer, eliminating any remaining distance between your bodies, his heart hammering against his ribs. 

His other hand splays across your lower back, pressing you flush against him as the kiss grows more heated, more demanding. He nips at your lower lip, his tongue soothing the sting before delving back into your mouth, stroking along yours in a dance that leaves you breathless. The cinema, the other people, the movie - it all disappears. There is only the two of you, lost in the passion of this stolen moment. 

When Theodore finally breaks the kiss, you're both left panting, your chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering open to gaze into yours with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. “Fuck..." he breathes, his voice ragged with desire.

And then, an act on impulse, a surge of primal instinct driving him. In one swift, fluid motion, he reaches under your thighs and lifts you effortlessly, settling you straddled on his lap. The sudden change in position startles you both, but the shock quickly melts into a shiver of pleasure as you feel the hard, muscular length of his thighs beneath you. 

The cinema has long since faded from your awareness; now there is only the two of you, the heat building between your bodies, the electricity crackling in the air. 

Theodore's hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh almost hard enough to bruise as he holds you in place. Your chest is pressed against his, and you can feel the pounding of his heart, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. 

His eyes are dark, almost black in the dim light, blazing into yours with an intensity that makes your own pulse race. "Darling," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky rumble. His hands move again up your back, one tangling in your hair while the other cups the back of your neck, pulling you into a searing, desperate kiss. 

The kiss is a clash of lips and tongues, a dance of passion and pent-up longing. It's a kiss that speaks of a hunger, a need, a desperation that can no longer be contained. Theodore kisses you like a man starved, like he is trying to devour you, to consume you, to make you a part of him.

Red faced, messy hair, you look up at him. “Sh-shit Theo, we shouldn’t be doing this here.” You quietly giggled.

Theodore chuckles softly at your giggle, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn't stop his ministrations, his hands still roaming your curves with a familiar confidence. 

But he does lean back slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"Shh, shh, bella, what's the matter? Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now..." he teases, his voice a low murmur meant only for your ears. 

"We're just two lovers, lost in the moment. Surely there's no harm in that?" His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, his fingers tracing maddeningly slow circles on your skin. Your breath hitches at the touch, a fresh wave of goosebumps erupting across your flesh.

Theodore's eyes darken with lust as he feels your hips squirming against him, your plush rear rubbing against his hardening cock through the fabric of his trousers. 

A low, guttural groan escapes his lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. His other hand slides up your side, his fingertips skimming the side of your breast, teasing you with the promise of his touch. 

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your flesh. "Gorgeous, you feel what you do to me, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice a low, husky growl. 

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach as your grip tightened on his coat. The way he spoke, all dark velvet and wicked amusement, made your head spin. You did feel it—the tension thrumming between you, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his fingers ghosted over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. And Merlin, it was driving you insane.

Your breath hitched as you shifted against him, creating more friction, desperate for anything to relieve the ache building inside you. His sharp inhale, the barely restrained groan against your throat, sent a rush of satisfaction through you.

"Fuck," Theo muttered, his lips grazing the delicate skin beneath your jaw. "You're dangerous."

A breathy laugh escaped you, but it was cut short as he tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. His nose skimmed along the column of your throat before he pressed an open-mouthed kiss there, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you trembled against him.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he murmured, lips brushing against your pulse point. "Arguing with you, watching you get all worked up—Merlin—and now this?" His teeth grazed your skin, not quite biting, just enough to make your breath stutter. "Gorgeous, you have no idea how long I've wanted this."

His confession sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you couldn't help the way your hips rolled against his, seeking more of the delicious friction he so easily provided. His hands gripped you tighter, his restraint fraying with each passing second.

Theo let out a strained chuckle, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something dangerous. "If you keep doing that, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with desire, "I'm going to forget we're in a bloody cinema."

The thought sent a thrill through you, but you knew he was right. The dim glow of the screen cast flickering shadows across his sharp features, but the reality of your surroundings was quickly slipping away, drowned out by the intoxicating heat between you.

You licked your lips, breathless. "Then maybe you should."

Theo stilled for a fraction of a second, his fingers flexing against your waist. And then—Merlin, then—his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Brilliant idea, darling," he purred.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before the haze of lust could fade, Theo was back at it again, with more force and more desire.

Theodore's hand cups your breast fully now, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your hardened nipple through the thin material of your shirt. His lips trail up your neck, pausing to nip and suck at your pulse point before moving to your ear. 

"I want to bend you over the back of this seat and fuck you until you scream, until the entire cinema knows who you belong to," he whispers, his voice rough with need. 

"I want to make you come on my cock again and again until you're begging me to stop, until you're completely and utterly satisfied..." His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your skirt, teasing the sensitive skin just above where you crave his touch most. 

Theodore's eyes blaze into yours, filled with a hunger and a desperation that makes your core clench with anticipation. "But I suppose I can be patient, for now," he murmurs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

"After all, the anticipation, the build-up, the waiting... it's all part of the thrill, isn't it? Knowing that I could take you right here, right now, but choosing not to... for now." 

He pulls you into another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, consuming you, until you're left breathless and wanting. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours, a wicked glint in his eye. "Tell me," he murmurs, his voice a low, sinful purr. "What do you want, my clever little witch?”

“N-no, Theo.” You blush, feeling hot. “I’m too turned on, I’ll be quiet I promise.” 

Theodore's eyes flash with triumph and desire at your breathless, needy words. A smug, satisfied smirk spreads across his handsome face as he realizes the effect he's having on you. 

His hand slides further down, his fingers brushing against your clothed sex, feeling the damp heat radiating through the fabric. "Mmm, is that so, pretty?" he murmurs, his voice a low, husky purr. 

"You want me to fuck you, right here, right now, don't you? Want me to slip my hard, aching cock inside your tight, wet little cunt until you're screaming my name?" His fingers rub slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm and whimper with need. 

Theodore leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice dripping with sinful promise. "I promise, I'll make it worth it. I'll fuck you so hard and so good that you'll forget where we are, and every single time, that you watch this movie, you will only see me.” 

His other hand slides up your shirt, pushing the fabric out of the way to expose your heaving breasts. He cups the soft mounds, kneading and squeezing them, his thumbs and forefingers pinching and tugging at your hardened nipples. 

"You just need to be a good girl and stay quiet for me, understand? No matter how much you want to scream, no matter how much you want to cry out in ecstasy, you need to stay silent. Think you can do that, tesoro?" Theodore's eyes blaze into yours, filled with a hunger and a desperation that makes your core clench with anticipation. 

His hand slips beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal. 

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Are you ready for me to fuck you like you've never been fucked before, right here, right now, in front of all these unsuspecting people?”

Theodore takes your silent nod as the consent it is, his eyes darkening with a new wave of lust and desire. 

His hand slips further beneath your skirt, his fingers brushing against your slick, bare folds, feeling the evidence of your arousal coating his skin. With a low, guttural groan, he pushes two fingers deep inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. 

He pumps his fingers in and out of your tight heat, his palm pressing against your clit with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body. Theodore leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, husky whisper. “Shit, you're so fucking wet. So ready for my cock, aren't you? I can feel your greedy little cunt sucking me in, begging to be filled..." 

His other hand still up your shirt, pushes the fabric of your bra out of the way completely. He leans down, taking the stiff peak into his mouth, suckling and nibbling until you're writhing against him, barely able to stay silent. 

Thank Merlin, you guys are in the last row, and the cinema’s loud speakers consume the room, the attention of the silent watchers move away from you both, the world narrowing down to the feeling of Theodore's hands on your body, his fingers pumping in and out of your dripping sex, his mouth on your breast. 

You can feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against your ass, the evidence of his own desperate arousal. Theodore's hand slides from your breast to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place as he grinds his hips against yours, the rough fabric of his trousers rubbing against your sensitive flesh. 

He captures your lips in a searing, desperate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you, consuming you. 

"Mmh... please Teddy." You can't hold it in. It's been too long, he's teasing too much. "Hurry up so we can get the hell out."

Noticing your discomfort, and your inability to stay fucking quiet, Theodore’s eyes widen briefly at your plea, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He chuckles softly, a low, sinful sound that sends a shiver down your spine. 

His fingers continue their relentless assault on your dripping pussy, pumping in and out, curling against that sensitive spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl and your back arch. "Mmm, so eager, aren't you beautiful?" he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing purr. 

"So desperate for my cock, so hungry for me to fill you up, to make you mine..." 

He nips at your lower lip, his teeth tugging on the tender flesh, before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand slides from your neck to your hip, gripping the curve possessively. "Very well, my love. I suppose we can finish the movie another time… too bad we couldn’t do it in here.” 

Theodore's voice is low and rough with desire as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your dripping sex. You whimper at the loss, your body aching to be filled, to be stretched and used. He stands abruptly, pulling you up with him. 

With deft, practiced movements, he straightens your skirt and shirt, making you presentable once more. Taking your hand in his, he leads you quickly and quietly out of the cinema, weaving through the darkened aisles until you reach the emergency exit at the back. 

Pushing open the door, Theodore pulls you into the cool night air, the stars twinkling above you in the inky black sky. He doesn't stop until he finds a secluded spot behind a tall hedgerow, hidden from view of the cinema and the buzzing streets of London. 

Turning to face you, Theodore pulls you flush against him, his hands gripping your hips with hands that you knew would leave a mark. 

He connects both your mouths, hurriedly, impatient to fuck you good.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue delving deep, stroking along yours, tasting you, consuming you. His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing the firm globes before lifting you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist.

 He carries you a few steps further, until your back is pressed against the rough bark of a sturdy brick wall. 

Breaking the kiss, Theodore leans back just enough to look into your eyes, his own blazing with a hunger and a desperation that makes your heart race. 

He reaches down with one hand, fumbling briefly with the fastenings of his trousers before freeing his aching cock. It springs forth, shiny and veiny and heavy, the swollen head already glistening with precum. 

He strokes himself once, twice, hissing at the sensation, before gripping your thigh and positioning himself at your entrance. "Tell me, beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough growl. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you need my cock inside you, filling you, claiming you, making you mine. Say it, cara mia..." He rubs the head of his cock teasingly against your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. 

His other hand slides up your jaw, cupping your face, his thumb playing with your swollen pouty lips. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a desperate, aching need. The cool night air kisses your skin, but the heat building between your bodies is scorching, all consuming.

Theodore's chest heaves with each ragged breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. He's waiting for your consent, your permission, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. 

With a sudden, sharp thrust, he sheaths himself inside you, burying his thick, hard length deep into your tight, wet heat. He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sends shockwaves through your body. 

He starts to move, his hips rolling against yours, his cock sliding in and out of your dripping sex with long, deep strokes. “Cazzo..." Theodore grits out, his voice strained with exertion and ecstasy. "You feel exquisite, like you were made just for me. So fucking tight, so fucking perfect..." He captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. 

His hands grip your hips, pulling you down to meet his thrusts, the force of them making you shake against the hard wall.

Theodore groans at your sudden cry, the sound turning him on. He pistons his hips faster, driving into you with a newfound urgency, the force of his thrusts making the old oak tree shudder and sway around you. 

"That's it, bella," he pants, his voice a low, rough growl. "Let me hear you. I want to hear every little sound you make, every desperate plea falling from your pretty lips. Were not in there any more, don’t hold back princess…” 

One hand slides from your hip to your thigh, pushing your leg higher up his waist, opening you up to him, allowing him to delve even deeper into your tight, clenching heat. 

The other hand slides up your shirt, exposing once again your heaving breasts to the cool night air. Theodore leans down, taking one hardened nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling at the sensitive bud until you're writhing against him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

 He laves his tongue over the reddened flesh, soothing the sting of his bites before moving to its twin, giving it the same attention.

 All the while, he never stops his relentless assault on your pussy, his cock pounding into you with a force that steals your breath and makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

 You can feel the tension building low in your belly, the coil tightening with each thrust, each stroke, each press of his hips against yours. Theodore's hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the swollen nub. 

His touch is electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through your body, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "That's it, baby," he murmurs against your breast, his voice a low, sinful purr. 

"Come for me, my love. Come on my cock like the perfect little angel you are. I want to feel you…” 

Theodore feels your sex clamp down around his cock like a vice as your orgasm overtakes you. He groans, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure that echoes through the quiet night air, as your walls flutter and spasm around his throbbing length. 

He doesn't slow his thrusts, instead pounding into your quivering heat with a newfound fervor, prolonging your climax, drawing out your ecstasy. 

“Yes, yes, yes… just like that” he growls, his voice ragged and strained with his own impending release. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so tightly, like you never want to let me go. I can feel your greedy little cunt trying to swallow this big dick.” 

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure, his tongue delving deep to stroke along yours, to dance and twine with yours in a lewd, filthy imitation of the act taking place below. 

His hands grip your ass, squeezing the firm globes, pulling you harder against him, burying himself impossibly deeper inside you with each powerful thrust. Theo's fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles over the sensitive nub, pushing you through your climax and straight into another. 

Your body is trembling, shaking, the pleasure almost too intense to bear as he fucks you through the aftershocks, the waves of bliss crashing over you again and again. He can feel his own release building, the tension coiling at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up tight. 

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside your still fluttering sex, his cock pulsing, throbbing, as he finds his own completion. 

"Fuck, pretty, fuck!" Theodore roars, his voice echoing through the night as he starts to come, his thick, hot seed spurting deep inside you, painting your walls white. 

His hips continue to roll, grinding against yours, drawing out his orgasm, filling you up just like he promised.

 He holds you close as the waves of pleasure slowly ebb, your combined releases trickling down your thighs, marking you, claiming you, making you his. 

Theodore's heart hammers against his chest as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead pressed against yours, his eyes locked with yours.

You felt colder now, the sharp night air finally biting at your flushed skin, but Theo barely let you move away from him. His arms were still wrapped around you, firm and possessive, as if he had no intention of letting you go just yet. And honestly? You weren’t about to complain.

Your breath came in slow, uneven pants as you tried to recover, your forehead still pressed against his. His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk, his usual arrogance softened by the post-bliss haze settling over both of you.

“Merlin,” Theo finally muttered, voice still thick and gravelly, “that was—” He exhaled, shaking his head like he couldn’t even find the words.

You let out a breathy, satisfied laugh, tilting your head to look at him. “Better than theatre?”

His lips twitched, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re really asking me that?”

You hummed, feigning nonchalance even as your body still buzzed from everything you’d just done. “Well, I mean, I know you think theatre is the peak of human artistic expression, but surely even you have to admit that was… cinematic.”

Theo let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Cinematic?”

You grinned, biting your lip. “Perfectly timed tension, intense buildup, and an unforgettable climax—I’d say we just gave Scorsese a run for his money.”

Theo groaned, tipping his head back, but you caught the way his lips twitched, like he was trying so hard not to smile. “You would turn this into a bloody film analysis.”

You shrugged, smug. “And you would turn it into a tragic, forbidden romance.”

“Obviously,” he shot back, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Star-crossed lovers, clashing ideals, unbearable tension—”

“—and a dramatic resolution that makes the audience swoon,” you added, nudging his ribs.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled you in closer. “Fine, I’ll admit it. That was—” He lowered his voice, leaning in to whisper against your ear, “—Oscar-worthy.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp, pushing playfully at his chest. “You’re giving credit to film? You? Theodore Nott?”

He smirked, completely unbothered. “Even I have to admit, some performances just can’t be staged.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you finally let yourself melt into his arms, letting the cool London air wrap around you both. “Well, I suppose there’s only one thing left to do now.”

He raised a brow. “And that is?”

You looked up at him, feigning seriousness. “Debrief. Proper analysis, compare our perspectives—”

“Absolutely not,” Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re insufferable.”

You grinned. “And yet, you’re still holding me.”

Theo sighed, shaking his head with an affectionate smirk. “Yeah, well… Guess I do have a weakness for a well-written story.”

His lips met yours again, soft and unhurried this time, and you couldn’t help but think—whether it was theatre or cinema, tragedy or romance—this? This was your favorite story yet.

[lokilokilolki]

If I had a nickel for every time William Shakespeare was depicted as a struggling playwright everyone bullied, that gained the aid of an ancient celestial being (who at the time was on a secret rendevous with their immortal friend there pretending not to be completely in love with) in order to become one of the most renowned and celebrated people of all time, I would have two nickles but it's weird that Neil Gaiman wrote it twice

Good Omens Season 1 episode 3

The Sandman Season 1 Episode 6

Even funnier when u realize that these scenes basically didn't add to the plot AT ALL, and it's just Neil flaming Shakespeare

[panakina]

Gotham by gaslight might be my favourite elseworld but my heart longs for a french revolution elseworld. Its my most treasured Au.

Its a kind of scarlet pimpernel deal, but Bruce is a french lord and doesn’t have the luxury of fleeing to England and going ‘tut tut tut’ from across the channel. This is his country on the brink of collapse, his people starving and beaten in the streets. And while he’s a really capable vigilante, you can’t punch away a civil war.

Dick and Jason keep their backstories basically unchanged, only Dicks romani heritage is more of a part of his life with some serious discrimination alongside it. Bruce is part of the parliaments trying to curtail the king, but he doesn’t want revolution, he wants incremental controlled change. Jason is raised from the poorest of paris, and returns there after bruce fails to protect him. He becomes a major figure in the revolution, and is on the front lines at the storming of the bastille.

Tim writes widely read pamphlets on the morality of resistance and freedom and violence, which are hotly debated in coffee shops across Paris. Jason writes counter arguments. Half the city watches them fiercely debate, missing all the secret codes embedded within.

Babs is the genius daughter of a wealthy captain of the guard, paralysed during a bread riot. She has a vast network of informants all across France, and is concerned not just with the violence here, although she is very much concerned with that, but with the fact that France is on the cusp of crippling crop failure and financial collapse and while the king pisses the money away the neighbouring countries are watching and waiting. She wants the courts to take power from the king for France’s sake. Her sympathy is not with the revolution.

Damian is the son of a princess to a foreign power that is very pro revolution, not for the good of the people but for the collapse of france. Damian is torn. His father is the utmost symbol of the nobility short of the king himself, that is his inheritance. But he can smell the city rotting just outside their estate, he can hear the people cry.

Duke is a renowned author and playwright (yes i know we’re half a century too early for an Alexandre Dumas but its my party i’ll invite who i want) and the grandson of a enslaved Haitian woman. He dreads the cost of war if revolution tears the city apart, but he knows that might he the price of freedom. His voice has the most reach across the city of all of them.

Steph has her usual backstory, and her own actions to protect her and her mother landed her father in the Bastille. She is employed by the Wayne family and marginally trusted but distinctly other. She is very much aware of the inequality in the city but she’s been raised to accept it and is struggling with the realities of life and rising ideals of the Enlightenment, the innate hypocrisy of these extremely wealthy men extolling the freedom of man they will not extend to her. She is the main POV character.

[queerasfact]

Uncle Jack Charles

“...there are many Aboriginal people who are gay, both men and women, and ... we’re so proud we’ve made our mark and stamped our ground. ... us gay and Indigenous mob, we’re fringe dwellers twice over, and that’s what gives us great strength.”

Bunurong and Wiradjuri man Uncle Jack Charles was taken from his mother at just four months old as part of the Australian government policy of forcibly assimilating Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children. These children are now known as the Stolen Generation.

Raised in a Salvation Army boys’ home, and then by a white foster family, Jack grew up believing he was an orphan, and had no idea he was Aboriginal until he was 17. When he left his foster home at 17 to seek out his birth family, his foster mother called the police. When Jack was finally able to connect with his family, he described himself as being born again in his Aboriginality.

Uncle Jack had his first acting role at 17, in a community production of African-American playwright Lorraine Hansberry’s Raisin in the Sun. He went on the become a stalwart of Indigenous theatre in Australia, and in 1971, co-founded the country’s first Indigenous theatre group, Nindethana, which achieved international acclaim.

Throughout his life, Uncle Jack dealt with homelessness and heroin addiction, and spent time in jail for theft. As a burglar, he deliberated targeted wealthy Melbourne neighbourhoods, saying later "I robbed as rent collection for stolen Aboriginal land!"

Having experienced the prison system himself, Uncle Jack became a tireless advocate for young incarcerated men, especially Indigenous men. In 2010, he starred in a one-man show called Jack Charlves v The Crown, where he explored his life, and his struggles with a government bureaucracy that said a man with a criminal record couldn’t be allowed to mentor prisoners.

Uncle Jack was openly gay, although romance was never a big part of his life. He described giving the Welcome to Country at Melbourne’s pride event, Midsumma, as one of his most cherished duties.

Uncle Jack passed away on 13 September 2022.

Keep an eye on this blog throughout the week as we continue highlighting queer Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history and culture for NAIDOC Week.

[Image: Uncle Jack holding his record Son of Mine]

[maxleyrosebud]

Is there LGBT subtext in the Poetry class scene? Wilde/Douglas and Max/Bradley comparison.

During one of Max’s classes in AEGM , the teacher is reading out loud a poem called “Panthea by Oscar Wilde”. 

At first the camera is focused on the teacher reading the poem to the class. 

“We who are godlike now , were once a mass…” - Teacher 

Then the camera focuses on Max who is writing notes but turns around annoyed after Tank spits a spitball at him , 

leading the camera to pan up to a smiling Bradley looking back at Max as the teacher says the line.

“Of quivering purple, flecked with bars of gold.” 

( A bit ironic with how this line goes so well with Bradley due to the colour of his sweater and how he can be associated with Gold due to his high status )

So why am I bringing this scene up? 

Reason 1, is that “Oscar Wilde” , the poet of this particular poem, was secretly a Homosexual man who had an ongoing affair with a high elite man named “Lord Alfred Douglas.” 

And reason 2, is that one of the themes presented in the poem “Panthea” , is about pursuing desire/pleasure ( the physical kind ). 

So , with these two points in mind It makes you question if this scene in the movie could be interpreted as some subtle LGBT subtext between Max and Bradley , as it’s a very interesting choice of poem and poet for the production team of AEGM to choose from to use briefly for this  particular moment between these two characters. 

Now , I do understand that the scene overall is meant to be an introduction to Goofy attending Max’s class/college but when doing research on the poem/poet , the relationship between Wilde and Douglas and the theme around the poem doesn't relate to Goofy and Max’s conflict between father and son whatsoever,

nor does the teacher continue to recite the poem when Goofy enters the room. 

So it begs the question, why out of all the poems/poets at the production team's disposal , was the poem “Panthea” by Oscar Wilde  used in this scene in the first place? Why not choose a poem/poet that related to the father son conflict between Max and Goofy instead as that is the main focus of the movie?

Well that’s what we're going to explore here today so strap on in Maxley fans as we're in for one hell of a ride.

But before I continue there will be mentions of Homophobia/discrimination and mentions of passionate acts but don't worry, nothing explicit. 

Okay so 3…2…1…Let's start off with Wilde and Douglas' relationship. 

A quick Summary of Wilde and Douglas relationship.

Oscar Wilde was a famous Irish Poet and playwright who was later known for engaging in relationships with men. 

Wilde was described as someone who was witty , flamboyant and a believer in individualism.

“Wilde’s struggle for his own autonomy and individualism became a theme in his plays, he wrestled with his own need for radical personal freedom and a need for society itself to be radically different” - poetryschool.com 

Lord Alfred Douglas was also a poet and came from a wealthy and aristocratic background, whose father was the Marquess of Queensberry. Douglas had a strained relationship with his father who was a very vile brutish man. ( Honestly , the things he said to Douglas was brutal )

Unlike Wilde , Douglas was described as someone who was privileged , selfish, spoilt , reckless ,insolent and extravagant.

His Mother called him “Bosie” (a derivative of "boysie", as in boy), a nickname which stuck for the rest of his life and was a nickname that his friends affectionately called him. -The love of Oscar Wilde and Bosie - Historical Snapshots , -Lord Alfred Douglas - Wikipedia

They both met in 1891 at a gathering of literacy figures and despite homosexuality being illegal in England at the time, they were both infatuated with each other and engaged in an ongoing forbidden love affair where they wrote many love letters between each other. 

Okay…

So I think you can already see from this quick summary that there are a few similarities between both Wilde/Douglas and Max/Bradley.  

Similarities 

Both Bradley and Douglas are Aristocats, where they are both wealthy men with a high social rank. Bradley being “Bradley Uppercrust the Third” and Alfred being “Lord Alfred Douglas.” 

A bit of a Coincidence ... isn't it  ??????...

Bradley was given the nickname "Brad" while Douglas was given the nickname “Bosie”. ( Ironically both nicknames begin with B )

Personality wise , Bradley is very similar to Douglas and Max can be seen similar to Wilde due to their wit and their need for personal freedom.   

Max and Bradley share a common interest in skateboarding as their both skateboarders whereas Wilde and Douglas shared a passion for literature as their both poets.

Bradley and Douglas could both share bad relationships with their father’s. Even though it's not 100% confirmed in the movie , I do think that due to Max and Bradley being parallels to one another and how Bradley reacts to Goofy’s statement towards him- “I’m not sure you understand the bond between a father and his son.”

that it can be interpreted that Bradley doesn't have a close relationship with his own Father. So it is possible that both Douglas and Bradley share similar strained relationships with their own dad’s.  

Both of their Dynamic’s.  

When it came to Wilde and Douglas real life Dynamic , their relationship was full of conflict due to societal pressure,  financial problems, discrimination , religion , family disapproval , and homosexuality being illegal in their time period and so their relationship would sometimes become resentful and strained because of these factors. 

“But no matter how much they loved each other they embodied that romantic paradox that serves as a curse, no matter how much heartfelt swoon and tender care surfaced, even with the friendship that remained steadfast and gripping: they continued to hurt each other out of spite, peer pressure, and protection of themselves.”- poetryschool.com 

“Douglas was Wilde’s literary muse, his evil genius, his restless lover, and together they make one of history’s greatest creative and intellectual power couples. Beloved of Wilde, betrayed by Wilde, betrayer of Wilde, Douglas raged at his fate and grew more vindictive in his disputes. Despite this, and all the arguing and blame-throwing, the men decided to reunite and try again after all the ‘wide abysses now of space and land’ between them.”-poetryschool.com 

“They often argued and broke up, but would always be reconciled.”- wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_Alfred_Douglas 

A real Love , Hate relationship going on between them , you could say.  

So when you compare this Dynamic to Max and Bradley , they both seem to share a similar relationship that is filled with conflict. That being for different reasons of course . 

When they first meet in AEGM , Max and Bradley do have a admiration/respect for the other,

but due to Max rejecting Bradley’s offer to be a Gamma and therefore making them rivals in the X games, their relationship becomes a back and forth of conflict of trying to outwit/outdo the other. 

When you compare both Dynamics , it seems rather poetic that they mirror each other so well. Maybe even intentionally so? 

Like I said before , Wilde and Douglas dynamic fits very well with Max and Bradley , so it feels like a conscious choice that they decided not to focus on Max and Goofy's father and son relationship when choosing a poet/poem for the class room scene. Maxley takes priority I guess.

And considering how Wilde’s relationship with Douglas was a same sex relationship , it begs the question if Max and Bradley’s relationship was meant to mirror this also???

Like did someone on the production team just really ship Max and Bradley and just so happened to be a fan of Oscar Wilde and knew Wilde's relationship with Douglas would fit so well between them ;)

LGBT presentation.

Back in the early 2000’s LGBT representation in media was often sub textual , very censored , and unfortunately homosexuality was associated with being something bad , hence why Disney villains tended to be rather queer coded. ( This is one of the reasons why Bradley’s own sexuality is debated with in the fandom ) 

So if someone on the production team of AEGM did want LGBT representation between Max and Bradley but had too many restrictions against it , what better way to do that than them subtly adding in a Gay poet who just so happened to have an affair with a gay wealthy lord as a parallel to Max and Bradley.   

Again , the production team working on AEGM could have done something relating to Goofy and Max’s dynamic but for some Unknown reason they chose to choose a poet that had a relationship similar to Max and Bradley’s ??? 

The Poem’s Themes 

Moving on to the poem itself , one of the ongoing themes in the poem is about passion and desire. Down below our quotes about the theme.

“explores the themes of the transient nature of human life, the pursuit of desire, the beauty of nature, and the idea of an interconnected universe.” - www.sevenov.com/panthea-by-oscar-wilde/ 

“Embracing Passion and Desire - The poem opens with an exhortation to move from “fire unto fire”, suggesting a journey through intense experiences and emotions. The speaker claims to be too young to live without desire, emphasizing the importance of passion in life. This sets the tone for a celebration of youthful vigor and the pursuit of pleasure.”- www.sevenov.com/panthea-by-oscar-wilde/ 

“Rejection of Conventional Morality- Throughout the poem, there is a subtle rejection of traditional moral and social conventions, favouring a more liberated, passionate existence that is in harmony with nature and primal desires.”- www.sevenov.com/panthea-by-oscar-wilde/ 

Here is one of the verses of the poem that they are referring too. 

NAY, let us walk from fire unto fire, From passionate pain to deadlier delight,-- I am too young to live without desire, Too young art thou to waste this summer night Asking those idle questions which of old Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told. For, sweet, to feel is better than to know, And wisdom is a childless heritage, One pulse of passion--youth's first fiery glow,-- Are worth the hoarded proverbs of the sage:10 Vex not thy soul with dead philosophy, Have we not lips to kiss with, hearts to love, and eyes to see!

Another theme within the poem is how Wilde wants to reject social institutions ( religion ) in order to pursue his own desires ( subtext for his own homosexuality) and that we shouldn't worry about judgement from religion/god but instead live our lives how we see fit as life is short.

O we are wearied of this sense of guilt, Wearied of pleasure's paramour despair, Wearied of every temple we have built, Wearied of every right, unanswered prayer, For man is weak; God sleeps: and heaven is high: One fiery-coloured moment: one great love; and lo! we die.

“The Gods appear to be too absorbed in their own comings and goings to care too deeply about the humans beneath them. But , as Wilde says , the people are tired of the gods disinterested attitudes:”

“ It is a statement about the church and the government's position on homosexuality. Wilde is railing against his inability to express affection for his lover outside of closed doors.” - Oscar Wilde's Poems: Analysis & Quotes | Study.com  

Throughout the poem there are other themes such as the beauty of nature and the transcendent nature of life and death which ill be bringing up again shortly. But it is clear to see that the theme of desire is prevalent and that Wilde wants the reader to question their own pursuits of pleasures.  

So when you relate this to Maxley , where you have a scene where a poem about desire is being read in the background while we focus briefly on Max and Bradley, it becomes rather suspicious, doesn't it? Especially when Oscar Wilde's same sex relationship has similarities to Maxley.

It just makes you wonder if the theme of the poem was deliberately chosen to sub textually say that these two college boys ( or even just Bradley) have some hidden desire for the other ???         

Now , I know how all this sounds. Trust me , I know...

But from Wilde being a gay poet to the parallels between Max/Bradley and Wilde/Douglas ,  to the theme of desire in the poem , you can’t help but speculate can ya. It just seems suspious dont it?

Beret Girl’s Poetry slam

Now , Like I said earlier, one of the themes in the poem is about the beauty of nature and the transcendent nature of life and death.  

Ironically , Beret Girl recites a poem about how Life is like a Lime.

“Life is like a Lime  Hmm. It’s tart and tangy Sweet. Oooh, so sublime. Quiet, speechless like a mine. Bold and noisy , like a crime. Don't you dare waste my time.  Cause life can stop…on a dine.”

This is an interesting comparison to make as it feels like Beret girls poem was intentionally made to be inspired by "Panthea". Both Beret girl and Oscar Wilde's poem try to convey how short life can be , hence why Beret girl states that you shouldn't waste her time as Life can stop on a dime.

Some may even see the beginning of Beret girls poem to have a "suggestive" tone to it from the way she speaks and the focus on her lips.

That being said , both poems seem to be intended to relate to one another for an unknown purpose where both Max and Bradley are shown to be listening in to her poem. It’s also right after she tells her poem that the scene focuses on Bradley introducing himself to Max after Bobby faints from emotion.

Interesting how both the Beret girl poem scene and the class room scene have Max and Bradley as a focus ? Perhaps life is too short for them to let their rivalry get in between them?

Another point that I wanted to make relating to the scene is that both Wilde and Douglas met at a social gathering with other literacy figures.

This is ironic, as the first time Max and Bradley talk to each other in person is in the Bean Scene.

A Coffee Shop which is filled with people who have a love for poetry slams. 

Guys , I swear I'm not making this up. The comparisons to Wilde and Douglas just keep pooping up for some reason. 

It's like poetry , it rhymes.

And like I mentioned earlier , it's straight after Beret Girls' poetry performance has ended , that the focus is put back on Max and Bradley, where Tank points out Max from across the room ,

to which Bradley happily goes over to Max to introduce himself. 

Now I can't 100% confirm this but according to Patrick Marano , when Wilde was at the event and saw Douglas for the first time , he set eyes on him from across the room. 

“Almost immediately Oscar sets eyes on a young beautiful creature standing at the end of the room casually talking to another man. The object of his desire , is Lord Alfred Douglas”- Patrick Marano

If this is true then when it comes to Maxley , it becomes the opposite of what happened between Wilde and Douglas where it’s Bradley setting his eyes on Max , to which Max is talking to a Barista from across the room. 

It really is starting to feel like there's LGBT subtext between these two dont it?

Homosexuality in the 19th century compared to the early 2000’s.

Unlike Wilde and Douglas , Max and Bradley dont live in the 19th century in AEGM and would legally be able to be together but both relationships would still share themes of discrimination if you are to be historically accurate. 

Because of the time period , Wilde and Douglas' relationship was a real life tragic love story and so as you can already guess , the relationship between Wilde and Douglas was greatly thwarted and didn't end happily ever after. 

Their relationship started to grab the attention of the public and became a subject of gossip and speculation. It also didn't help that Douglas’s father , the Marquess of Queensberry also questioned their relationship and was hugely Homophobic. 

Wanting to stop their relationship , he threatened his son Douglas with disowning him and stopping all money supplies and later sabotaged Wilde's career just when Wilde's career was at its peak. 

Wilde was then sent to jail for two years of hard labor, being accused of gross indecency when evidence of Wildes relationships with men came to light. 

After Wilde was released from prison , both Wilde and Douglas briefly reconciled and lived with each other for a few months but due to financial problems and the consequences/trials of their relationship , they ultimately separated. They both then tried to pursue religion ( Catholicism ).

“the two reunited in August at Rouen but stayed together only a few months due to personal differences and various pressures on them.”- wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_Alfred_Douglas 

“With all the pressures the distance, the financial bickering, the punishments, the hearsay and the passing of time, the two separated and went on crusading different paths.”- poetryschool.com 

“In 1911, Douglas embraced Catholicism as Wilde had done earlier.”- wikipedia.org/wiki/Lord_Alfred_Douglas 

“Though Wilde's health had suffered greatly from the harshness and diet of prison, he had a feeling of spiritual renewal. He immediately wrote to the Society of Jesus requesting a six-month Catholic retreat; when the request was denied, Wilde wept.”-  wikipedia.org/wiki/Oscar_Wilde

When it comes to Max and Bradley however , they are instead fictional characters that are set in the early 2000’s within AEGM timeline and like i said before , their relationship wouldn’t be illegal if they chose to pursue a relationship with one another. 

That being said though , despite progress having been made,  LGBT groups still had to face challenges in the early 2000’s such as fear of coming out to their strict/religious parents in case they were disowned, same sex marriage not being allowed in America yet , bullying , Homophobia from bigots etc.  

Goofy of course wouldn't care if Max was attracted to guys or not as he's just a good dad but when you keep in mind that Bradley comes from a high elite background where he was raised in an upper-class American Household , it can be easily assumed that Homophobia would have been prevalent. Furthermore , Bradley is a member/descendant of royalty so being openly gay could easily be frowned upon.  

There’s also a lot of Religious/catholic imagery within the Gamma house during Goofy’s inauguration scene such as the Gamma’s looking like Monks , 

Bradley looking like a priest , 

the wine , the candles etc. 

And due to the Gamma house being a visual representation of the upper class  , you can easily interpret that Bradley could have been raised in a religious household/upbringing. 

Therefore, the comparison between both relationships mirroring each other becomes more noticeable as both time periods had their own obstacles to overcome when it came to being LGBT.   

Even the comparison between Bradley and Douglas can be seen as more prominent due to them  both sharing themes of discrimination in high elite social circles and the religion of Catholicism .  

You can even head canon that Bradley could face a similar situation to Douglas where if he wanted to pursue a relationship  with Max , Bradley’s father could potentially threaten to cut him off or disown him and even plan to sabotage Max’s career/future right when Max is at the peek of his popularity if he does not approve of their relationship. 

This isn't to say that Max and Bradley’s relationship would end tragically like Wilde and Douglas though. They are fictional characters after all. This just means that both relationships would face different kinds of discrimination in their own respective time periods. 

Conclusion 

So all in all , there are a lot of comparisons and similarities to be made here.

It's just interesting that someone on the AEGM production team consciously chose the poem “Panthea by Oscar Wilde” to be presented in this scene when they really could have done anything they wanted. When making a movie , every choice has to have a purpose as it needs to impact the story or it’s going to get cut.

So with all the points I’ve mentioned above , I can see how the poetry scene in the class room between Max and Bradley can be interpreted as gay subtext between them even if the moment is very brief. 

Of Course this can all just be one big happy coincidence or maybe it is indeed something intentional going on behind the scenes but will never know for sure. 

Regardless though,  this is just something fun to theories over and an interesting point of discussion. Everyone has a right to their own interpretation of a source of media and I’m more than open to criticism/other interpretations. 

I Hope I was able to get my points across properly and that it was at least entertaining enough to read. 

I'll leave my sources down below. If anyone wants to cheek them out for yourself then feel free to do so.  :)

Sources

www.sevenov.com/panthea-by-oscar-wilde/

The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name: Oscar Wilde & Lord Alfred Douglas • Poetry School

Little Motel: Panthea by Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde's Poems: Analysis & Quotes | Study.com

Was Oscar Wilde Gay? Gender And Sexuality

Lord Alfred Douglas - Wikipedia

Oscar Wilde - Wikipedia

The love of Oscar Wilde and Bosie - Historical Snapshots

Oscar Wilde's Forbidden Love ❤️ (Gay Love Story) | Patrick Marano - Youtube 

Unusual Historical Romances: Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas - Youtube 

Oscar Wilde's lover - Youtube

[megameryl]

Interpersonal Kaiju™

Not me navigating nuanced social situations like a blind man in a carnival funhouse!