#i love my crucible husbands

[invisibleicewands]

Please come and see me because I’ll be dead soon’: how Michael Sheen got sucked into a forever chemicals exposé

An opera-loving member of high society turned eco-activist who was forced into police protection with a panic button round his neck. A Hollywood actor who recorded said activist’s life story as he was dying from exposure to the very chemicals he was investigating. Throw in two investigative journalists who realise not everything is as it seems, then uncover some startling truths, and you have “podcasting’s strangest team” on Buried: The Last Witness.

On their award-winning 2023 podcast Buried, the husband and wife duo Dan Ashby and Lucy Taylor dug into illegal toxic waste dumping in the UK and its links to organised crime. This time, they focus on “forever chemicals”, specifically polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) and set out to discover whether one whistleblower may have been decades ahead of his time in reporting on their harmful impact.

“It’s amazing how big the scale of this story is,” says Ashby, as we sit backstage at the Crucible theatre, where they are doing a live discussion as part of Sheffield DocFest. “With this series, we don’t just want it to make your blood turn cold, we want it to make you question your own blood itself.”

It all started when Taylor and Ashby were sent a lead about the work of former farmer’s representative Douglas Gowan. In 1967, he discovered a deformed calf in a field and began to investigate strange goings on with animals close to the Brofiscin and Maendy quarries in south Wales. He linked them to the dumping of waste by companies including the nearby Monsanto chemical plant, which was producing PCBs.

PCBs were used in products such as paint and paper to act as a fire retardant, but they were discovered to be harmful and have been banned since 1981 in the UK. However, due to their inability to break down – hence the term forever chemical – Gowan predicted their legacy would be a troubling one. “I expect there to be a raft of chronic illness,” he said. He even claimed that his own exposure to PCBs (a result of years of testing polluted grounds) led his pancreas and immune system to stop working. “I’m a mess and I think it can all be attributed to PCBs,” he said.

However, Gowan wasn’t a typical environmentalist. “A blue-blood high-society Tory and a trained lawyer who could out-Mozart anyone,” is how Taylor describes him in the series. He would even borrow helicopters from friends in high places to travel to investigate farmers’ fields. Gowan died in 2018 but the pair managed to get hold of his life’s work – confidential reports, testing and years of evidence. “I’m interested in environmental heroes that aren’t cliche,” says Ashby. “So I was fascinated by him. But then we started to see his flaws and really had to weigh them up. My goodness it’s a murky world we went into.”

The reason they were able to delve even deeper into this murky world is because of the award-winning actor Michael Sheen who, in 2017, came across Gowan’s work in a story he read. He was so blown away by it, and the lack of broader coverage, that he tracked him down. “I got a message back from him saying: ‘Please come and see me because I’ll be dead soon,’” says Sheen. “I took a camera with me and spent a couple of days with him and just heard this extraordinary story.”

What Gowan had been trying to prove for years gained some traction in 2007, with pieces in the Ecologist and a Guardian article exploring how “Monsanto helped to create one of the most contaminated sites in Britain”. One was described as smelling “of sick when it rains and the small brook that flows from it gushes a vivid orange.” But then momentum stalled.

Years later, in 2023, Ashby and Taylor stumbled on a recording of Sheen giving the 2017 Raymond Williams memorial lecture, which referenced Gowan and his work. Before they knew it, they were in the actor’s kitchen drinking tea and learning he had conducted a life-spanning seven-hour interview with Gowan before his death. So they joined forces. Sheen isn’t just a token celebrity name added for clout on this podcast; he is invested. For him, it’s personal as well as political. “Once you dig into it, you realise there’s a pattern,” he says. “All the places where this seems to have happened are poor working-class areas. There’s a sense that areas like the one I come from are being exploited.”

Sheen even goes to visit some contaminated sites in the series, coming away from one feeling sick. “That made it very real,” he says. “To be looking into a field and going: ‘Well, I’m pretty sure that’s toxic waste.’” Sheen was living a double life of sorts. “I went to rehearsals for a play on Monday and people were like, ‘What did you do this weekend?’” he says. “‘Oh, I went to the most contaminated area in the UK and I think I may be poisoned.’ People thought I was joking.” Sheen ended up being OK, but did have some temporary headaches and nausea, which was a worry. “We literally had to work out if we had poisoned Michael Sheen,” says Ashby, who also ponders in the series: “Have I just killed a national treasure?”

The story gets even knottier. Gowan’s findings turn out to be accurate and prescient, but the narrative around his journey gets muddy. As a character with a flair for drama, he turned his investigation into a juicy, riveting story filled with action, which could not always be corroborated. “If he hadn’t done that, and if he’d been a nerdy, analytical, detail-oriented person who just presented the scientific reports and kept them neatly filed, would we have made this podcast?” asks Taylor, which is a fascinating question that runs through this excellent and gripping series.

Ashby feels that Gowan understood how vital storytelling is when it comes to cutting through the noise. “We have so much science proving the scale of these problems we face and yet we don’t seem to have the stories,” he says. “I think Douglas got that. Fundamentally, he understood that stories motivate human beings to act. But then he went too far.”

However, this is not purely about Gowan’s story – it’s about evidence. The Last Witness doubles up as a groundbreaking investigation into the long-lasting impact of PCBs. “We threw the kitchen sink at this,” says Ashby. “The breakthrough for us is that the Royal Society of Chemistry came on board and funded incredibly expensive testing. So we have this commitment to go after the truth in a way that is hardly ever done.”

From shop-bought fish so toxic that it breaches official health advice to off-the-scale levels of banned chemicals found in British soil, the results are staggering. “The scientist almost fell off his chair,” says Ashby. “That reading is the highest he has ever recorded in soil – in the world. That was the moment we knew Douglas was right and we are now realising the scale of this problem. The public doesn’t realise that even a chemical that has been banned for 40 years is still really present in our environment.”

To go even deeper into just how far PCBs have got into our environment and food chain, Ashby and Taylor had their own blood tested. When Taylor found 80 different types of toxic PCB chemicals in her blood it was a sobering moment. “I was genuinely emotional because it’s so personal,” she says. “It was the thought of this thing being in me that was banned before I was even born and the thought of passing that on to my children.” Ashby adds: “We’ve managed physical risk in our life as journalists in Tanzania and with organised crime, but more scary than a gangster is this invisible threat to our health.”

In order to gauge the magnitude of what overexposure to PCBs can do, they headed to Anniston, Alabama, once home to a Monsanto factory. “As a journalist, you have an inbuilt scepticism and think it can’t be that bad,” says Ashby. “But when I got there I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I hate to use words like dystopian, but it was. There is a whole massive school that can’t be used. There’s illnesses in children and cancers. It truly was the most powerful vignette of the worst-case example of these chemicals.”

It’s bleak stuff but instilling fear and panic is not the intention. “Obviously, we’re really concerned about it,” says Ashby. “And although the environmental crises we face do feel overwhelming, it is incredible how a movement has formed and how individuals are taking action in communities. The lesson to take from Douglas is that the response doesn’t have to be resignation. It can be agency.”

[velvet-apricots]

for the character ask: Marika!

favorite thing about them

These are all of my own personal ideas, but

the gut wrenching tragedy of her. Her village destroyed, everyone she knew dead in a horrific way. And instead of laying down and giving in, she instead steals the divinity the Hornsent sought from them. She becomes a god, and sets out to build a world of order and of kindness. Things she believes the Hornsent lack. And once she has her armies, she returns the pain a thousand fold.

And then it all starts to go horribly wrong. Her revenge is too brutal. What sort of God of Order and Kindness would do such horrible things? So she erases her crimes and she abandons her first born son, the son who killed them all for her. The son that awaits her return until his dying breath.

Not all is horrible. She has godwyn. She has Godfrey. She has her means to escape, built upon the ashes of her daughter.

And then the crucible "blesses" her with twins, adorned with horns and wings She tries to love them, but they terrify her, they remind her. She has so much hatred and fear in her heart she can not love them. She abandons them, and the only kindness she can spare is a decree that Omens of royal birth are not excised of their horns.

And then she looses Godfrey. She has a new husband. One who throws himself into the Golden Order, a world she made that becomes more and more of a cage. The gods curse their children, and her world becomes smaller and smaller. Her own hatred and fear bleeds into her order, spreading to apply to anyone who is different. And the kindness of gold she envisioned becomes only a bitter memory.

All she has is Godwyn, and then, in one horrible night, she doesn't.

least favorite thing about them

She is, beyond any doubt, a monster. She has killed countless people, she abandoned her children, and no doubt has a very unhealthy co-dependency with Godwyn. I definatly think that in the end he was her only joy and that made her refuse to let him go, smothering him.

I can not excuse her actions (jokes of womens wrongs aside)

Her fans can also be super annoying, woobifying her to extreme degrees and saying shit like "the Hornsent deserved it", as if farmers deserved to be killed when the ones who actually did harm to her sit unbothered in the tower of shadow.

favorite line

Hear me, Demigods. My children beloved. Make of thyselves that which ye desire. Be it a Lord. Be it a God. But should ye fail to become aught at all, ye will be forsaken. Amounting only to sacrifices...

brOTP

Marika and Maliketh. He's quite litterally her brother from another mother (the fingers... or is it Meytr?) I imagine they were a terrifying duo, building the foundations of her empire.

OTP

Marika x Godfrey. I fully believe he was the only man she ever loved. And he loved her, to the point that there is dialogue where he declares the desire to hold her in his arms again. They are the power couple of power couples.

nOTP

I would not say this is a notp, but i really do not care about Rennala and Marika as a couple. There is no appeal to me what so ever. I don't hate it thought, but I just would rather them be with... You know.... The people they were originally married to.

Also I don't care that much about Marika/Radagon either. Like I know they have kids, but its kinda clear in japanese dialogue that she hates his guts. I don't think he liked her either. They were just married cause the Greater Will demanded it.

random headcanon

when she is nervous she will play with her braids.

unpopular opinion

She loved Mohg and Morgott but her hatred and trauma made her a terrible mother.... In fact that goes for all of her kids.

song i associate with them

favorite picture of them

[i-hug-exploder-shanks]

Hai! I saw u might be taking requests for characters, and I was wondering if you might do something for Shaxx? Maybe a Solar female or gender neutral titan and maybe something that’s fluffy? Maybe our guardian got hurt and needs a bit of down time, and who better than with our Crucible?

My character is a solar Titan and I too love and adore Shaxx! Thank you for the prompt! I wrote this like a reader insert using 'you' for the character. Also a bit of Saint and Osiris tossed in. I have some other Shaxx things I'll be posting soon too! Please enjoy!

"IF YOU KEEP DYING ITS BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T THROWN ENOUGH GRENADES!" Shaxx's booming voice filled the courtyard of the tower startling a few new lights, causing one of them to fall off an edge they had been peering over curiously. 

Saint snorted. Warlock behavor. A titan would have thrown themselves off the tower with purpose. The slight grin it brought him faded as he approached the crucible handler's domain though. He wished he had a better reason for being there. 

"Lord Shaxx you are scaring the new lights again. That one fell off the tower in fear of your mighty voice." He stated, gesturing back at the resurrected Guardian who eeped in embarrassment and hid behind their buddy. 

"Death is a learning opportunity for a Guardian! Hopefully they learn which side of the railing they prefer to stay on." Shaxx laughed unapologetically.

"What brings you to me today Saint? Did you want in on some of the crucible bets being run? Or are you intrested in a bout yourself?" He asked cheerfully. Saint shook his head. 

"Ah nothing quite so fun today unfortunately. The Guardian is unwell. She was helping Osiris with some research and it has led to her being infected with some sort of flu her ghost can't heal. Osiris says she should heal from it naturally but she is quite miserable in the mean time." He admitted.

"The Guardian? No wonder she hadn't come to see me. No matter. After this match is finished I'll go find her. Thank you for the news." He said clapping Saint on the shoulder avoiding the spiked pauldron. 

"Of course. This also will allow me to convince Osiris to get some rest and not feel so guilty. It is not solely for your benefit." He chuckled but headed back feeling pleased he was correct in his assumptions over the relationship between Crucible handler and the Guardian. 

"IF YOU HAVE A ROCKER LAUNCHER THEN YOU SHOULD USE IT! ARE YOU AFRAID OF YOUR OWN POWER GUARDIAN?" 

A booming shout followed him and he grinned. He'd have much to tease the guardian about later once she was feeling better. 

Curled up on the couch and wrapped in a blanket with a box of tissues on one side and a fire extinguisher on the other the Guardian sniffled pathetically. You had been helping Osiris study some new variant of thrall when the thing had, as usual, exploded into goop all over you. It was disgusting and smelled bad and was slightly corrosive- of course. The hive were always smelly and gross and slightly corrosive. You really needed to stop taking missions dealing with them. 

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that some of it got in your mouth. Just the thought made you want to purge herself with solar fire from the inside out.

Turns out, some sort of weird alien bacteria was there and so by the time you got cleaned up and swore to be like your partner and never take your helmet off again the symptoms had set in.

Fever, check. Runny and stuffy nose at the same time somehow? Check. Sneezing flames out your nose like some sort of solar fueled dragon? Apparently also check. 

Osiris had thankfully not been standing in front of you when you found that last one out. The last thing you wanted was to have to explain to Saint that you accidentally murdered his husband via sneezing too hard. A sad Saint-14 made everyone sad.

Osiris insisted that with a few more samples of the hive goop that had made you sick he could process it into an antibody your ghost could scan then use to fix you. But that meant waiting for your fireteam to go collect the goop required without getting sick themselves. It was taking some time to find the right hive thralls too. 

Letting out a pitiful whine you sniffled hard and took a sip of the water that had been left by your cacoon of misery. Then you heard the door open and looked up in hope that Osiris had returned with news and a cure. 

"Guardian? My love? Saint stopped by and told me you weren't feeling well." Shaxx announced and you made a noise of shame and tried to hide away in yoyr blanket cacoon. 

"Ah, I see you have decided to become one of those Eliksni hatchlings you adore so much and swaddle yourself." He said teasingly and it was the only warning you got before he was scooping you and all the blankets up into his arms with a strength that made you melt. 

"I would make sure she's facing the opposite direction if she sounds like she's going to sneeze. She already almost lit Osiris on fire." Your betrayer of a ghost warned him and you stuck an arm out to flip the bot off making Shaxx laugh. 

You were distracted by how you could feel his laugh rumble through his chest being pressed so close against it.

"Don't worry Guardian. It wouldn't be my first death to your mighty flames. Here, I brought soup for you. I thought it might help you feel a little better." He murmured and you thiught he was going to set you in the seat but instead he sat down at the table and tucked you into his lap. 

Blushing you poked your head out. "Ah there's my beauty. I was worried this nee illness had turned you into a pile of blankets." He teased as he pulled the bowl of soup closer to you so you could reach it. 

You swatted his arm with a look but your stomach rumbled at the promise of substance and you eagerly reached out for a spoonful. It was warm and savory and felt good on your abused throat. 

"Do you like it? I was worried I might have added too much pepper." He admitted and you looked up at him surprised. Pointing at the food then at him, you widened your eyes trying to ask if he really made it. 

He chuckled. "I did, though I admit I followed a recipe I got from Saladin ages ago. So I was briefly concerned I might have been making you a pot of wolf food." He said rubbing your back through the blanket as you sighed at him fondly but returned to enjoying the soup. 

By the time the bowl was empty you were warm and starting to doze as Shaxx recounted the stars of the day's crucible matches, the soft rumble of his voice and the repetitive motion on your back soothing. 

When you woke again, you found yourself in bed, tucked against Shaxx's chest feeling a little better. 

"Good news! Osiris got enough samples. I can heal you now!" Your Ghost cheered and opened up to bathe you in a ray of light. You could feel your sinuses clear and your throat heal as well as a headache you hadn't even realized tou had fade away. You smiled thankfully at your ghost but tucked yourself back against your partner to nap a little longer.

[blackberrysummerblog]

An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

Hey all! Thanks so much for tagging me @wellbelesbian, @aristocratic-otter, @valeffelees, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @ivelovedhimthroughworse and @iamamythologicalcreature! You’ve all correctly determined that I am procrastinating writing.

1. 🐬Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)

I actually don’t have any that are named at this point. Titles and tags are really difficult for me and I put both off to the last minute and second-guess myself into hell

2. 🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___=___”

Popular movie retelling + flying goats = Baz and Dev have A Spot of Bother

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?

Wraaaugugh, see #1 :P. I don’t know, in seriousness, I think the WIP mentioned above will end up getting a tag for sexual harassment or something like that given the nature of one necessary scene in the movie it’s based on. It’s not going to be worse than the source material, which is PG-13

4. 🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

Oh, to have so many ideas for titles that there’s ever an alternative lying around to spare :(

5. ⚠️Which wip your most likely to finish or update next?

I’m pretty likely to finish a sequel to Field Trip of Dreams (SEE WHAT I MEAN about titles?) this week. The eighth years are off on another field trip—this time it’s a weekend training excursion with the Mage. Baz and Simon have been dating for the short time that’s passed since FToD, but they manage to get in a fight on the bus trip to Scafell Pike, and when it turns into a sort-of-tussle the Mage mistakes it for actual animosity and sends them off to a secluded cabin to bang (I mean work🙄) it out. Absolutely everybody but Davy—including the other teachers—knows exactly how much of a “punishment” this is

6. 💾 What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you've saved it as)

Practical magic au

7. 🖍️Post Any sentence from your wip

“Shut up, Gareth!” we shout as one, Snow adding a few brutish threats as Gareth pales and turns back around in his seat.

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

I actually can’t remember. I don’t plot my writing out very extensively so in a sense there’s hundreds of little scrapped thoughts rather than anything huge. I’m eliminating a lot of things with my crucible marriage fic, but it’s hard to say right now what’s actually gone or just being moved around. I know a major one I’ve been battling with is that prior to getting dragged off to Pitch Manor by his new husband Baz, I want Simon to have been living with Penny in a flat of their own, but for another aspect of the story I want him to have been living with the Mage in Watford (which is an au mage’s settlement in the fic) as well. There’s ways to work around it for the results I want, I just haven’t written it out yet.

9. 🤔What's a story you'd love to write but haven't even started yet?

I’m pretty sure I have at least a few lines written down for everything I want to write

10. 🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

Oh, man…actively, probably the field trip one and my COBB. Somewhat less actively: a reverse COBB fic, a sequel to Monsters Under the Bed, a sequel to After Hours where Simon makes good on his promise to despoil Baz on his office desk, and my unending crucible marriage fic. Less active than that: a fic response to a prompt for Simon being the one kidnapped and Baz has to rescue him. There’s probably (cough*definitely*cough) some pretty messed-up OOC smut stuff lying around in my docs as well, that I add to when I’m in the mood and have zero plans to ever post

11. 🛠️Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

I keep telling myself to just write and stop worrying about this for the moment, but I’m kind of bumming myself out worrying about whether I want to use first or third person, as well as past or present tense, for my COBB. I think the issue is that some scenes are bound to play out better one way while others would be better served differently. This is not usually a thing I struggle with.

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.

🥰

This was fun! (Once I stopped putting it off, lol). No pressure tagging (and sorry if I get anyone who’s already done it): @cutestkilla, @mooncello, @artsyunderstudy, @prettygoododds, @drowninginships, @hushed-chorus, @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @youarenevertooold, @ileadacharmedlife, @facewithoutheart, @imagineacoolusername, @ic3-que3n

[kb1301]

How about some painful Shaxx12?

Clutched Close

Shaxx sat in silence, his hands rested on his knees as he gazed over the covered slab beside him, one that hid something he feared to see. Beneath the one-horned helmet was a man grasping with the reality settling in front of him.

He didn’t like to think of it. Of what happened to that person that hid beneath the cover, that same kind of cover they’ve used for Cayde back then. He would wish for it to be unreal, just some wretched fantasy, but even an Ahamkara can’t help the pain he felt.

And so he stood up. One of anger.

And he stepped closer. One of despondence.

And he gazed down at the cover. One of grief.

He lifted it away, to only see the horror awaiting him.

It was Max… Or what was left of him. His face was nearly unrecognizable, his horn dismantled and shattered. The metal was stripped off of him, by some kind of cruelty. His optics were brutally taken off of him, leaving only one to be seen, and the other lost. Any remnant of the blue strip of paint was nowhere to be found. His jaw was but bits of itself now. He was completely mutilated, alongside Spinner’s broken and destroyed self.

To see this, it made Shaxx so distraught. What had happened to his dearest husband? His loving partner? The one person that always aided him away from his duties? He could hear himself sniffle already, but no breach of tears yet came… for he had another emotion to go through.

Anger.

And in his anger did he proceed to thrash around the room. Breaking things with his fists and using his Light to show his fury within. In each scream, in each shout, in each show of power enraged by his emotions, he vowed nothing but death to those that had done this to Max.

He always had control over his own self, but this? To see the one you loved most die and no longer having their beautiful features, all replaced by ruin… How could he not wreak havoc? Rampage over everything?

And in the wake of his destruction did he stop. He saw the impact of his fists, of his boots, of his helmet. The room was broken with the Light, of all three elements that it had. Solar for the helm that butted in excess. Void for the boots that left scars on the floor. Arc for the fists that shocked the lights abound.

But he could see as well that, in his anger, it had shaken the lifeless body of Max from its rest on the slab. He looked back there and rushed to bring him back to his comfort, even if he no longer could feel it. In trying to fix the cover back, in lifting it... Did he see something worse.

The bond clutched close to the core. To the heart. The bonds that Warlocks wore, each having their own symbolisms and meanings of their own. Though Shaxx already knew the one that Max wore. Always had so.

"Shaxx!"

His focus was shifted away from the screens in front of him to see his beloved come close to him. He turned to face the approaching Exo and gave him a quick kiss to the forehead with his own helm.

"Ah, here comes my dearest soldier... How I've missed you!" He gave him a strong hug, enveloping his arms around his waist and lifting him even to allow each other to see eye-to-eye.

"What have you been up to, my Guardian—" Shaxx noticed the flickering holographic symbol on his husband's left upper arm. "What's that I see there, Max?" He made himself sound curious, amused even.

"Oh! This my love, is a representation of my sentimentality. For you." He revealed the symbol of the Crucible to the Handler of the Crucible itself. "You do sometimes say that you are the Crucible itself, and this," He pointed to the hologram. "Represents you, for myself."

Shaxx smiled beneath his helmet, one of warmth and sincerity.

"Near or far, wherever my journeys and adventures take me... Knowing that I have you close means the most to me. Even through the troubling times and the peaceful moments I get, to know you here," He pointed once more to the bond before facing Shaxx with joy clarified through his optics. "Always reminds me of my loyalty, of my love, of my boundless affection for you."

In gradual progression, four things happened. First was Shaxx's realization of the past, of that memory of when he first saw Max wear the bond. He stumbled in his feet as the gravity of it affected him. Second was the helmet he lifted up, revealing the face beneath to no one but Max, and in that same face were an expression of sorrow and grief. Third was him kneeling close to the Exo's mangled face, and looking through the features left that he had practiced seeing over and over and over again.

And the last one was the kiss. He placed his lips on the forehead, just beside where the horn used to be. And he kept it in place, his eyes trying not to swell from the tears that were threatening to burst. The kiss was always done in secret, always in their own home, done in that comforting place they found together.

The Titan stayed there for a moment. Kissing and peppering the broken metal with his own affection, one that would last for longer than anything... Even past Max's death. He'd whisper what final secrets they had together, of everything good and of everything troubling that their relationship went through together.

After a few more minutes, he placed the cover once more over Max's body. He put the one-horned helmet on him once again, and trudged himself away from the room. He had duties to attend to...

And even with such responsibilities, he would always find himself distracted... Always distracted by the thought of the one thing he welcomed to distract him away from it.

[androgynealienfemme]

"In that decade of butchness diluted and femme reviled, I had two lovers. Well, more than two, but only two who deserved Lover as a title the way Radclyffe Hall called Una Troubridge Wife and Una called Radclyffe (whom she knew as "John") Husband. There were not then and are not now enough words to name what we wanted to do differently, or wanted to do the old fashion way, but queerly, with each other, like John and Una. We were lovers, not wives or husbands, living yet-unnamed relationships that had not fully evolved (though we tried so hard to speed the mired-down process of that evolution).

One lover was a butchette; who can I describe this? A femmey butch, I guess. Remember we didn't talk this way then. Even reading Mary Daly together did not get in the way of our sex life. She was the most opinionated and assertive woman I've ever known, and though she did not fill out her clothes and went shopping the instant the Uniform lost its hegemony, she could lay me on my back more swiftly and skillfully than any woman has since. Though the seeds of my femme sexuality may have lain in abortive Tarzan and Jane scenes, it did not begin to blossom until our games of Sultana and captured princess. My lover oversaw that flowering: My own womanness had frightened me until the night we did Quaaludes, and I arched back off the bed dizzy with the drug and a kind of power I had never relaxed into before, and purred: "I feel like Marilyn Monroe."

To which she replied, hands full of me, "You are Marilyn Monroe."

A truly androgynous dyke could not have said such a thing.

She had committed quite a breach of lesbian-feminist etiquette (as obviously, had I). Marilyn Monroe was a faggot's heroine, not a dyke's. We were not supposed to swoon over or identify with a woman whose femininity was her appeal and then her downfall, though Judy Grahn had already reappropriated Marilyn's thigh bone (by way of a poem) to bash in her enemies' heads: Hubba. Hubba. Hubba. (We didn't know that Grahn, as a butch, was thus privy to a more intimate vision of Marilyn than any self-respecting dyke was supposed to have in those years before it came out that Marilyn had spend the early '50s getting her pussy licked by Lili St. Cyr.)

In celebrating my choice of Marilyn Monroe as spirit guide, my lover allowed my uncomfortable post-girly androgyny to cook away in the crucible of her arms, and to let me reconstitute as a femme woman. It was a very butch thing to do. And it was very brave because she was telling me I had her blessing in stepping off the path of political correctness; she was telling me that the wet truths of sex had our allegiance more fully, more instinctively than the dry truths of lesbian feminism.

I love butch women because no one else would ever have reached into that flannel-clad bundle of inarticulate erotic yearning with a mirror that reflected a sex goddess. I love butch women because no one is quite so deeply affected by femme: I felt my sexual effect for the first time, and grew and grew like Alice in Wonderland drinking her magic potion. I love butch women because it was butch sexual response that gave me my body."

-"Dagger: On Butch Women (Why I Love Butch Women)" by Carol A. Queen, On Butch and Femme: Compiled Readings (I.M. Epstein) (2017)

[dwarf-posting]

Just wanted to say I love your blog so so much. And it’s become one of my quick favs to see on my timeline. I love when you add to a post and I now have a name for the voice I play in my head when I read your reblogs. Which is Chris Edgerly, particularly his role as gobber from how to train your dragon. Continue the dwarf posting!! My husband just got into dwarves and loves when I read your posts out loud with him in the room XD

Och! Such kind words are tha crucible tha’ melts my steely dwarven heart! A dwarf knows no greater honor than ta be spoken of! Thank ye kindly.

On a side note, the idea of somebody “just getting into dwarves” is very funny to me.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

Amara Estancia & The Throne Built on Secrets

As I sit in the twilight of my reign, pen poised over pages that have yet to bear witness to the truth, I am compelled to recount the journey that led me here. It is not for absolution or sympathy, but for the record of history—so that the legacy of my efforts might be understood in their full context.

Born in the stark village of Ashmont, my childhood was defined by a relentless environment that taught me early on about survival and ambition. The austere landscape was both a cradle and a crucible, forging a resolve in me that was as unyielding as the cliffs surrounding my early world. I outgrew Ashmont quickly, my aspirations extending far beyond its confines.

My ambition led me to a forbidden path—a dark pact that promised more than mere survival: it offered a throne. The ancient entity that whispered promises of power was my benefactor and my curse. This pact was my ascension and shackles, providing the means to rise to power but binding me to an eternal game of shadows.

The demise of my husband, the king, marked my true rise to power. It was a calculated act, born of necessity rather than malice. His death was not an act of passion but a strategic move to secure my position and implement my vision for Briarwisp. As queen, I wore the dual veils of benevolence and ruthlessness, each as necessary as the other in the art of governance.

Perhaps the darkest of my deeds was the curse laid upon my daughter, Tijani. It was meant to bind her to my will, to secure my legacy through her. Yet, it was this act that would eventually lead to the unraveling of all I had built. I did not foresee that my granddaughters, shielded from the magical world, would one day return to Briarwisp, their powers awakening to the truth of their heritage.

Imani, Jade, and Jasmine—each a bearer of formidable magic—pieced together the mosaic of secrets and spells that was their legacy. It was their quest for truth that peeled back the layers of my carefully constructed sovereignty, exposing the foundation of darkness upon which it was built.

Now, as I reflect upon my reign, I see the cost of power, the weight of the crown, and the echoes of choices that reverberate through generations. My story is not one of simple villainy but a complex web of necessity, ambition, and the deep, often painful, love for my kingdom and my family.

These writings are not an apology- my life required decisions that many may never forgive. Instead, they are an explanation, a hope that in understanding my motives, the shadows of my actions might be seen as part of a larger narrative of survival and sovereignty in a world that respects only power.

[xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx]

🦉Positivity owl reporting for duty! This was sent by a friend who wants you to smile as much as your posts make them smile. Please list five things that make you unique, four things you are super passionate about and why, OR three of your favorite memories. Feel free to send the owl to those who you feel deserve to smile🦉

👀 ...why not?

Five things that make me unique:

I'm a bit of a jack of all trades artistically. I haven't done it on stage in awhile, but I have formal training in voice, dance, and theatre. There was a time when I wanted to be an actress. I have a decent singing voice. I think this background makes me a better writer.

I have three middle names. One of them is Drusilla.

I was raised without censorship. My parents never discouraged me from consuming any type of media, no matter how graphic.

I used to work in a porn studio.

Babies and animals love me. It's adults that find me prickly.

Three of my favorite memories:

My bachelorette party. My husband and I rented out a rustic riverside mansion via Airbnb for the service, reception, and wedding night. A handful of beetlebabes came from all over the country to celebrate me getting married. We did witchcraft naked in the woods, sang songs to invoke the river spirits, and made a honeyjar filled with sentimental trinkets from everyone present to ensure my husband would love me forever. He's remains my eternal slave.

Tripping acid when I was sixteen with a handful of my friends at some house I don't even remember where. It was snowing outside and beautiful and my friend Carter pulled out her art supplies and told everyone to start at a corner and paint. The finished product was beautiful, I wish I still had a picture of it.

Playing Abigail Williams in The Crucible my senior year of highschool. I beat out Stranger Things' Natalia Dyer for the role. We went to school together, I'm not a fan.

[maintitle]

Whenever I replay Mass Effect 3 I find myself thinking about my reaction to it at the time of release, like, a lot. Not in a negative way like most probably did, but in a self-questioning way, because I'm re-bathing myself in an experience that is both very meaningful and also confusing to this day.

I remember when ME3 came out, it was one of two games ever that I went to the midnight release of. This was right after I quite a really grueling factory job that actually had a huge hand in making my heart worse, but I say this mostly to make clear that this game was bought with the last bit of my money and it was going to be something that I put A LOT of my time into.

I was very offline while I played it. I think it's the last game I ever just got lost in and didn't come out for air for until I was done. When I started looking for peoples reactions, I was... I wouldn't say confused by the reaction, but confused by how viscerally people reacted. I remember going to bat to defend the game really, REALLY hard despite agreeing with most of what was said, if perhaps not the tone in which it was said.

It's important to note, I didn't do it out of blind loyalty to ME or Bioware or anything. I'd been very critical of DA2 (I know I know I'm sorry it was another time) a year before, so I wasn't opposed being critical.

Let me say; Ending bad. We all know it. Ending bad. Free DLC that they added to 'fix' the ending? Less bad, but bad. I'm actually not really here to talk about that though, and more here to talk about why I was SO viscerally defending the game at the time despite agreeing with the sentiment.

I want to say this first; I feel very strongly that the main game is as much a love letter to the series as the Crucible DLC was. Characters aren't forgotten, everyone gets a little time in the limelight, everything comes together and interacts with the plot very well. I think the vast majority of the returning characters are handled exceptionally well, and I do think that plays a part in my want to defend it. I firmly believe everything up to the very very end of the game is on par with previous games (except how the dialogue wheel is peeled back a lot and it uses a lot less companion cutscenes, that sucks.) and I do still feel that gets overlooked, although to a far lesser extent these days.

But I think the core of the reason I wanted to defend the game was because of how they made you feel the weight of the war. There is no part of the core experience of Mass Effect 3 that isn't heavy. Every second is filled with the grim weight of a losing war. Every side mission you do involves people losing everything or fleeing desperately. The Citadel is filled with horrified citizens and traumatized soldiers. Your companions face the visceral realization of what they could become at any time. Death happens on massive scales, you watch worlds burn, you witness close friends give their lives, you get a front row seat to the death of a child and it haunts you for the rest of the game.

It gets worse on a replay, too. You go to the Citadel, and you find the few uplifting stories you can, the ones that allow you to take a moment to breath... but knowing the rest of the game, you realize these people aren't out of the clear. You aid alien politicians and military officials only to find out their worlds burned a couple hours later. You listen to a family escape a burning colony only to arrive at a location that you later discover is a funneling system for creating and experimenting on Reapers. You hear a wonderful story about a human soldier and mother working through Asari government red tape in order to send her daughter safely to her grandparents on Thessia, and barely an hour or two after that Thessia is invaded. You bring the news of the death of an Asari woman's Krogan husband to her, and realize in the process that you introduced them to each other.

The thing Mass Effect 3 does exceptionally well is adding weight to conflict. There isn't a second of the CORE experience of the game that isn't accompanied by the horrors of war. And I think that's truly why I, admittedly foolishly, was so defensive of the game and it's detractors at the time. The common conception was that the war with the Reapers was handled poorly, and I disagree with that notion. It's only in it's final step it fails, in every other moment it pulls off an experience that truly makes you feel every second of the conflict.

[lonesurvivorao3]

I’m sorry, my loves

Brain worms keep taking me back to this scene, where Hackett is indoctrinated and in the crucible rather than Anderson, and Eris chooses destroy. So I guess we’re going for round two of this, huh?

“That looks awfully painful,” said Eris, tipping his shoulder with her foot as he writhed on the floor.

Looking at her now, the indoctrinated Admiral didn’t doubt she was callous enough to leave him here to what would be a grisly end. “You wouldn’t let your only living parent, your dear old Dad, die, would you?”

She crouched and ripped his dog tags off. “Whilst I have occasionally cared about certain things, this is not one of those times, and you are not one of those things.”

The core was almost at lethal capacity, and with no way up, back, or out, she tapped on her OmniTool.

The blurry video feed finally loaded, showing only her tired husband. “Where’s Odette?”

He grinned. “I left her in the basement playing with some of your Spectre grenades.”

Eris laughed against a sharp sting of tears. The view panned to the chubby, sleeping, barely a-year-old baby with a thick shock of dark hair sleeping in the crook of Kaidan’s elbow.

He knew something was off and reminded her that she was his kind of stupid.

“I tried, I… I’m sorry, my loves.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Twenty one | Vagabond | The Last Kingdom

Sometimes, unexpected journeys through time lead to timeless love stories.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

Ascending the stairs, we encountered Hild and Uhtred, our hearts heavy with anticipation. Uhtred's voice cut through the tension, "Where's Haestan?" Hild's response carried a weight of sorrow as she disclosed his demise. Guilt knotted within me, doubts I had harboured about him now seemed trivial, relegated to the periphery of my mind.

Returning to the present conversation, my attention refocused as Sihtric passed Hild his sword. The weariness etched across her face did not escape me, prompting me to offer solace. "One last time," I murmured, clasping her hand gently. She met my gaze, a silent affirmation passing between us.

With Aelfwynn and Hild dispatched towards their destination, we found ourselves atop the ramparts, observing the unfolding events below.

"Edward surely can't be this stupid," remarked Finan, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding. "He's the dictionary definition of stupid" I muttered, eliciting a wry smile from him. "Apologies, no dictionaries at hand," I added, acknowledging the moment with a touch of levity.

"My wife and her strange manner of speech," Finan quipped, drawing laughter from Sihtric "My husband is going to risk getting a thrashing if he doesn't focus on not trying to get us killed" I retorted, punctuating the exchange with a feigned smile.

Uhtred's interjection halted our banter as he pointed out the approaching Scots, a grim reminder of the impending danger. Grumbling curses, we resigned ourselves to the grim reality. "Those stupid bastards" Finan grumbled as I stepped back in defeat. 

"Who's that by the forest?" queried Sihtric, directing our attention to a distant figure. Straining our eyes, we sought to discern the mysterious presence amidst the trees, our senses attuned to the unfolding drama.

"Horses," Uhtred declared, his resolve galvanized as he sprinted towards the stables. We followed suit, hastening towards the shelter of the trees. After securing our mounts, we proceeded on foot, determined to intercept the enigmatic figure glimpsed from above.

Among the familiar faces stood Aelswith, Stiorra, and her retinue, resigned yet resolute. Despite their initial inclination to withdraw, Uhtred's impassioned plea resonated deeply. He painted a vision of Northumbria as a new Danish homeland, a sanctuary where Saxon and Dane could coexist harmoniously.

"Stiorra, this is not merely for them but for us," I urged, clasping her hands in solidarity. Her gaze shifted between Uhtred and me, a silent accord forged in the crucible of shared purpose.

Edward and his army teetered on the precipice, pushed closer to the brink with each passing moment. In a decisive manoeuvre, Uhtred and Stiorra spearheaded the Danish reinforcements, striking the Scots from their vulnerable rear flank. The Saxons, emboldened by this surge of support, rallied their forces, and together we repelled Constantin from the field, reclaiming the tenuous advantage.

"Secure the commander," Uhtred's voice cut through the chaos, his eyes ablaze with determination. He outlined the necessity of apprehending their foe, who had resorted to hostage tactics. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I steadied myself, hands on knees, struggling to catch my breath amidst the fervour of battle.

"Come on, Pyrlig, I reckon we've got this," I rallied, though my appearance must have elicited amusement from him. With shared resolve, we surged forward, Pyrlig seizing the commander while I swiftly bound him with rope, his struggles proving futile against our determined efforts.

"Quit your squirming," I urged, exerting pressure as I cinched the knot securely, my leg pinning his flailing arms. As Pyrlig hoisted him upright, the ebb of battle signalled our triumph, the tide turning in our favour.

A gasp escaped me involuntarily as I beheld the fortress consumed by flames, Uhtred's proximity only intensifying the despair of the moment, the tide of fortune shifting against us.

A cool sensation on my arm drew my attention skyward, a smile curving my lips as rain cascaded down, a cleansing deluge amidst the turmoil. Laughter bubbled forth as I revelled in the absurdity of it all, the commander's disdainful glare met with my mirthful defiance.

With the exchange of hostages concluded, jubilation swept through the ranks, ale flowing freely amidst the revelry. What had once been a landscape of defeat and apprehension now resonated with the joyous sounds of victory.

In the distance, Aelfwynn and Cynalef were wrapped in a heartfelt embrace, their reunion a sight that warmed my heart. Seeing them together, I couldn't help but smile warmly, reassured by the knowledge that Cynalef was a good boy who would cherish and care for her. There was no doubt in my mind about his character or his intentions towards her.

Edward, compelled by protocol or perhaps his own sense of grandeur, with solemn gratitude, praised Uhtred's valour and unwavering service, announcing a forthcoming feast in honour of the victorious campaign. The murmurs of anticipation hung in the air as Edward declared Uhtred the newly anointed Lord of Northumbria. 

Yet, Uhtred, ever the reluctant hero, shattered the facade of euphoria with a revelation tinged with diplomatic nuance. He'd struck a deal with Constantin, to swap hostages, and in return, Constantin would drop his claim to Northumbria. 

Edward is outraged, seeing it as betrayal, but Uthred reassures him that it is the only way to prevent constant Scottish attacks. Northumbria will remain an ally of Wessex, and will eventually become part of England, but not until the time is right. 

Edward has caused too much turmoil, but eventually, a king who can unite all the kingdoms will take the throne. Edward, although still furious, accepts.

── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ──

"You know, I never thought this day would arrive," I remarked, feeling Finan's arm enveloping my shoulders in a reassuring embrace. "If anyone deserves this, it's us," he replied, offering me his cup of ale.

I took a sip, nodding in agreement. "That's true," I conceded, leaning in as he planted a tender kiss on my lips. "The debt he owes me for all I've done for him could last a lifetime," I murmured, casting a glance at Uhtred revelling with Stiorra and young Uhtred.

Finan's brow furrowed in curiosity. "The things you've had to do?" he queried. "What about the things I've had to do?" he retorted, a hint of playful defiance in his tone. I shook my head, a rueful smile playing on my lips. "You don't know half of what I endured with that crazy man before you came along," I confessed.

"I once found myself sneaking into an enemy camp on his orders, gathering intel with every step, expecting to be caught and gutted at any moment. I don't know how Sihtric manages it," I recounted, the tension of those moments still vivid in my memory "And then there was the time he had me act as his wife to secure an alliance. I had to invent a whole family history on the spot," I added with a wry chuckle.

"Ah, and let's not forget the absurdity of negotiating a trade agreement with a group of obstinate merchants," I continued, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. "That endeavour involved more dancing, teasing, and wine than I care to admit."

"Uhtred needs a firm talking to," Finan interjected, breaking the nostalgic reverie. I chuckled, finding solace in our shared journey. "Despite it all, I'm grateful we have a place to call home," I said, setting the cup of ale aside and enfolding Finan in an embrace, his hands finding their place on my waist.

"Did you forget about me?" a voice chimed from behind, and I turned to find Osferth standing there, a beacon of unexpected relief. "Baby monk!" I exclaimed, pulling him into a tight embrace, tears brimming in my eyes. "You're ok," I breathed, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. He nodded gratefully. "Thanks to you, I owe you my life," he uttered, his voice laden with heartfelt gratitude.

Concern etched across my features, I scrutinized his appearance, searching for any lingering traces of ill health. "How did you make your way down here?" I inquired, my worry palpable. 

Osferth offered a weak smile, his resilience shining through. "It was a slow but fulfilling journey," he replied, his eyes reflecting the depth of his experiences. I enveloped him in another embrace, grateful for his return.

"Let's join Uhtred and Sihtric," I suggested, taking his hand and guiding him toward the others. The five of us congregated, perched upon weathered stone steps, a testament to the path we had traversed together.

"I'm glad you somehow got thrown into the past" Finan whispered beside me, his warmth enveloping me as I nestled back into his chest sitting between his legs. "God was watching over me," he added, his words laced with conviction. 

"Indeed, he was," I affirmed, savouring the tender connection that bound us, our lips meeting in a fervent kiss.

"Come on let's take this elsewhere" I murmured, seizing his hand, eager to steal away from prying eyes. Uhtred's smirk earned him a playful glare from me, a silent warning against any jests as we retreated into the fortress.

"Just you wait till we're out of here" Finan reiterated, his voice tinged with promise as we slipped into an empty chamber, closing the door behind us. "Get ready for an unforgettable experience," he whispered lowly, his words igniting a spark of anticipation as he threw me onto the bed and latched himself to me as a squeal escaped my lips. 

Sometimes, unexpected journeys through time lead to timeless love stories.

─── ✦⋅ ☆⋅✦ ───

LAST CHAPTER SO EMOSH that last line ATE though I almost called this "Timeless Love" because of it lol dw there's still an epilogue left though AND A SIHTRIC STORY TO BE REVEALED🤭🤭

Tag list - @jasontoddorjasongrace

[cendiar]

Five ships in five fandoms

thank you @sinni-ok-sessi for tagging me! No fic recs included for the first two because for (1) if you know me you've probably already read everything and for (2) and (3), where would I even start??

Zhou Fei / Xie Yun (Legend of Fei)

Because I have a reputation to uphold and a fandom to proselytize. They just like each other so much. Battle couple, devoted to the ends of the earth, teasing each other like there's no tomorrow (including when it seems like there in fact will be no tomorrow and they still love each other), unparalleled bi4bi energy - turns out my catnip is pretty smartass boy who falls head over heels for a stoic, principled, and awkward warrior lady.

2. Nicky/Joe (The Old Guard)

Immortal enemies to lovers to husbands is my other flavor of catnip - Aziraphale/Crowley very narrowly missed the cut for this list. This fandom is also found family all around for everyone, which just adds to the fact that Yusuf and Nicolo are just so gone on each other, so in tune with each other, and such excellent battle husbands to boot. And the mix of tender-immortal-married-forever and scorching-electric-first-meeting-modern-au that abounds in this fandom is the gift that keeps on giving.

3. Wei Wuxian / Lan Wangji (The Untamed - CQL)

I mean, if you follow me, you probably know what's up with this pair. Every once in a while I think I'm over it, and then I listen to Wuji again, and promptly lose my mind. The devotion???? Love forged in the crucible of duty and lost youth??? Immortal enemies to lovers to husbands indeed.

4. Eponine/Combeferre (Les Miserables)

Gotta get some of the deeper cuts that I love fiercely. I adore E/R as much as the next person, but my god, there are some Eponine/Combeferre fics out there that absolutely slay. Something about this pair just screams stability and safety to me, and understanding, the kind of love that opens a door inside you to reveal an entire home. Eponine choosing to trust and to find something for herself, Combeferre finding someone whose fire kindles the same love but matches his level-headedness - utterly superb. (everyone go read The End of Fear Is Where We Begin by @samyazaz and Break My Shackles To Set Me Free by @theladyragnell if you want in on this excellent ship)

5. Kel/Neal (Tortall, Protector of the Small)

An old love that has recently been rekindled thanks to @theladyragnell and her absolute masterpiece that I can't shut up about, We're Leaving Our Shadows Behind Us. These books were so, so formative, and while I'm really glad Pierce didn't take the relationship in this direction in canon, I enjoy their friendship and the loyalty there SO MUCH, and I think it tastes even better shipped with romance. See earlier note about my feelings regarding pretty smartass boys falling head over heels for stoic, principled, and awkward warrior ladies.

tagging @failed221b-chill, @maddielle, @sunshine304, and @jingyismom, and anyone else who wants to join!!

[liege-of-the-bees]

Episode 13: The Crucible

M continues their gay little notes

PENELOPE TEACHER ERA

And ofc they're doing a red scare thing, surprised it hasn't happened sooner

Fellas, is it gay to admit you write poetry?

'If you're innocent you have nothing to worry about' KEVIN YOU'RE GAY.

Kevin the cop strikes again

Cheryl is a lavender menace

With the condition of Lesbianism

Cheryl. Talk with your friends. Tell them what's happening

HIRAM IS HIRAM FOREVER

Hiram should also have gay sex tbh

I get that Hiram is possibly trying to be a good person but not with that villain voice

OH THANK GOD CHERYL'S TELLING PEOPLE

EVELYN

Ngl I love her purple outfit

She's dyed her hair as well, this is her villain era

Archie's so stupid (affectionate), he's not gonna know people are manipulating manipulating him

Mr Fieldstone was such a dick for so long but this episode and last he's been just some quirky old dude?

Jughead's gonna get investigated for communism

Betty in her Gossip Girl era

WHEN I SAID ARCHIE'S POETRY THING WAS JUST HSM I DIDN'T REALISE FRANK IS JUST COACH BOLTON

Oh god Archie's gonna think Veronica's a spy no

Oh so the teacher was actually a communist

Jughead+Ethel dealer era

Choni and Clevin lavender marriage era 💜

This is not a Hiram redemption, I don't care what people are saying. He's just being manipulative and is desperate

Toni and Clay have such sibling energy tbh and I really wish that was explored more. Tbh I just wish Clay in general was explored more

John Proctor is an absolute dick. Don't emulate him.

Archie actor era?

Cheryl: 'ME, AND MY TOTALLY STRAIGHT BOYFRIEND'

But I'm a cheerleader reference? Cheryl?

DON'T CALL ARCHIE PROCTOR I HATE THAT

Also them kissing the episode after baiting Betty/Veronica? Bad.

OH FUCK GRUNDY

GET OUT

LEAVE

Even though she isn't grooming Archie, they're still framing it almost like she's the new girl in a High School drama

'It'll be our little secret' EW EW EW

Riverdale writers be like: 'She has a husband! She can't groom kids!'

Are they having all the police stuff take place in the High School because they've demolished the set or something?

Hermione is definitely also having an affair

I actually love Betty as an agony aunt

HERMIONE IS SUCH A MILF

NOT THE RIVERDALE META

It honestly fees like a slap in the face

'Only the first season was good' No the fuck it wasn't

DIPSY DOODLE US

And here's the book burning

[blackberrysummerblog]

Aaaargh I’m going to miss a few people who have been tagging me lately, but thank you @youarenevertooold, @aristocratic-otter, @artsyunderstudy, @wellbelesbian and @prettygoododds for the recent tags! I’ve been struggling a bit—work is bonkers, some not so great things are happening with my husband’s health, blah blah excusescakes. I’m trying to work on my COTTA and my crucible marriage au and they’re both not exactly stalled, but giving me various issues. Speaking of which, I owe a big thank you to @facewithoutheart for looking at part of my au and giving such thoughtful feedback/advice! You’re amazing Christina! 😘.

Here’s a bit of wee!Baz from the intro, since I’m not sure if I’ll use it or keep it in the same place:

I was seven the first time they let me anywhere near Watford again. It was the Summer Solstice. My mother had been headmistress of the school in the mages’ settlement when she died, and the last thing anyone wanted was to go back. Eventually we had to, of course.

“I don’t want to lose you, Fi,” I’d sobbed in the car as we were driven to Watford. I was wiping my nose on my sleeve, much to my father’s distaste. We were all in the backseat of the Pullman, so he sat across from me (the better to glower), arms folded.

My aunt had held her hand up to stop him from correcting me. “You’re not going to lose me, love,” she assured, tugging me close and dabbing at my tears with the handkerchief Father handed her. “I never get matched at these things, and I never will.”

I stopped sniveling momentarily; it hadn’t even occurred to me that Fiona might be paired off in the bonding ritual, but of course she was of age. The world of mages has very little tolerance for an unmatched magician; my father had only been given a grief exception for as long as he had because of my mother’s name and standing. “He will,” I snuffled, pointing. Fiona gently pushed my hand into my lap. It was rude to point. “He’ll bond, and then you’ll leave, Fi.” I burst into tears anew.

“Oh, for—!” my father exclaimed, clearly at the end of his rope.

“Sh, shhh,” Fiona crooned, cuddling me even as she glared daggers in Father’s direction. “I’ll not leave until I know you’re settled and well taken care of, Basil. If your father bonds, it will have to be with someone kind. The Crucible wouldn’t make a match otherwise.”

Have a great rest of the week everyone! Tagging: @facewithoutheart, @fatalfangirl, @artsyunderstudy, @martsonmars, @confused-bi-queer, @aceumbrellaheroes, @cutestkilla, @larkral, @raenestee, @fucking-gay-frogs, @ebbpettier, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @valeffelees, @rimeswithpurple, @ileadacharmedlife, @whogaveyoupermission, @stitchyqueer, @thewholelemon, @asocialpessimist, @supercutedinosaurs, @sillyunicorn, @j-nipper-95, @stardustasincocaine, @captain-aralias, @captain-emrys, @cows4247, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @onepintobean, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @shrekgogurt, @theearlgreymage, @forabeatofadrum, @imagineacoolusername, @ionlydrinkhotwater, @tender-ministrations, @alleycat0306, @shutup-andletme-go, @ninemagicks, @hertragedyconnoisseur, @orange-peony, @yellob and @mostlymaudlin

[kb1301]

Had the time to finally finish TFS and my thoughts are currently occupied over CAYDE. Regarding him and my Guardian... Thus I have to make an OC post about them and their relationship.

Max and Cayde

So uhhh... while I'm no true veteran (aka completed D1 or even played D1), I did nonetheless play during a time when Cayde was alive-alive. I was there for the Red War as well as the first three DLCs for D2 (although I never got to finish any of those three out of being burnt out from the game).

But I did play a little of Forsaken as this Guardian.

With that in mind, I actually really was smitten by Cayde and his character. My old Guardian at that time, a different Exo Warlock (who no longer exists), was you know... friends with him.

But what I'm getting here is the thing with my newer and beloved Warlock, Maximus-12, or Max.

Now, in my brain, these two had quite the close friendship with each other. In actuality, Max wasn't there during the events of D1 and Red War to Warmind D2... or even anything else before D1, but I already have created something regarding that. These two were close, and would be confidants to one another.

But then again being that I am so enamored by Cayde, there is no doubt within my mind that I will push a narrative where Max had feelings for his best friend, and vice-versa. They got into this one specific moment in their lives where Max confessed, really just blurted out or such some words, but he never remembered doing so. However, Cayde remembered his words.

Cayde may have had feelings of his own for the Warlock, but he opted to just strengthen their friendship even if he knew his own feelings are validated given that he also likes Max.

Then I guess that kept to be their dynamic until Cayde's death at the hands of Uldren Sov.

Grief, anger, vengeance, sadness, pain... Max felt all of these. He would've really done anything to end Uldren Sov for murdering his closest friend, his would've been lover. At some point, he did the deed, but it felt like it lacked anything good. Vengeance felt empty.

So he retreated to mourning and grieving for his friend. Took some time for him to get past it, maybe months even. Eventually he came to his senses and became himself again, but grief comes and goes whenever it wants to.

Then for those remaining years until The Witness opened a path into the Traveler's Pale Heart, until the 15th Wish was made to use... Until Max got in.

There he met Cayde again. Alive.

You'd think suspicion and guardedness was the first thing you'd do when a ghost of your past returns to the living, but Max went to hug Cayde again, grasped him tightly, feeling just how real he was. Some long gone discussion was made again, he got Cayde caught up with a few things... And they told each other how much they've missed the other.

Max gave Cayde a quick run through regarding what he missed, over many things that occurred over the almost six years he's been gone. The two talked lots over the campfire, over radio chatter, over tentative cuddles within some tent between friends who had every chance to become lovers.

But of course Max can't just up and go do something wrong, or at least what he felt wrong. He is with Shaxx, his loving husband for about three years. He decided to communicate with his love once the Coalition's forces have set up their base of defenses at the Lost City. The two talked it out, over affectionate and concerned words and with desperate hugs and helmet kisses.

When the couple talked of Cayde's surprising return, Shaxx knew that there would be something that would happen between his beloved Warlock and the Warlock's best friend. He knew too that Max harbored some kind of attraction to Cayde, and that could always mean that something intimate would occur between them. Max feared that the Crucible Handler would get upset, or frustrated, or jealous, or angry about it... Because all that his mind is thinking is that Cayde's back and that he has every opportunity now to do something about Cayde being alive once more. Though his overwhelming love for Shaxx still comes first place.

Shaxx gave him the green signal though, despite what guilt Max had over pursuing Cayde regarding this. He made sure that he wouldn't be angry, or jealous, or would think of it as anything worse. All he wants is for Max to get closure, to make peace, to do everything you can with someone that could disappear at some point in time. All he wants is for his Warlock to come home still, with a heart still full of affection for him.

With lessened guilt in Max's heart, and more hope to fulfill something between them, he went on to work it out with Cayde. Somewhere within Max's mind always knew that Cayde would have to go soon, so he had to spend his time with his friend for as much as he could.

Max would then... confess. He'd say what his core, his heart, had to say, that he had always had feelings for Cayde. Through all the shenanigans they've done together, through any adventures they've made together, through all the lighthearted jokes and deep conversations they've had. And his reappearance had made a rather faint attraction have its resurgence once more.

They'd kiss afterwards. Hug each other tightly and though they can't produce tears, the feeling of a long needed catharsis was very present between them. Soft whispers uttered into each other's auditory sensors about something they've wanted for a long while.

After that, they would enjoy their moments with each other for as long as there is time. Time before they deal with the universe's largest threat. They'd continue into their former routine: explore, wander about, joke around, converse, and more. But new parts were included, such as kisses and embraces, quality time, and even something more physically intimate.

Though most good things would never last. With everyone gathered up to strike at the Traveler's ancient enemy, it meant that everyone would be involved in the fight. Shaxx appears and Max retreats from Cayde's side to give his husband all the endearment that he missed. They do every affectionate thing possible as they converse. And as they do talk, Cayde would look at Max lovingly, before meeting Shaxx's stare. As they stared at one another, they nodded as well, some form of silent agreement taking place.

The assault happens afterwards, and everyone gives their damned best to fight The Witness and its forces...

Eventually The Witness perishes and likewise, Spinner (Max's Ghost) would give his life for The Witness' defeat. Max's Light was gone, and he was scrambling about to get his little guy, his first and foremost companion through everything they've experienced, into his arms.

Then at a single moment, he blinked. And when he opened his optics, he found himself in that realm of stillness, bright and empty. He begged for the Traveler to help him, to give his Ghost's life back, for it was of course him that brought him into this new world.

From behind and out of nowhere, Cayde appeared. And despite his preparation that there would be something that would happen soon with Cayde, Max couldn't accept it. His heart and mind could not accept the upcoming inevitability.

Cayde tells to him of how what's made of the Light will come back to the Light... an already obvious foreshadowing to what will take place. He told him that this was his choice to do, to give his Light to Spinner, to bring back the Light into Max.

He enveloped his hands on Max's, keeping them still as he held onto the defunct Ghost. In some way, they embraced through it, holding each other close as Cayde begins to give his Light away... and sacrifice it for Max's sake.

The Hunter would tell the Warlock that he's his favorite, and that shouldn't be forgotten.

The two kissed right after. Still holding onto the Ghost with their hands. They kissed plate to plate through it, letting their horns sway away from each other as they savored this, their last kiss. And when Cayde disappears and Max returns to reality... Spinner's alive again.

He knew he'd grieve, devastated by Cayde's loss, but he focused on the joy of having his companion with him. He held the little guy close, close to his chest.

Celebrations then commenced back at the City, lanterns were flown up to the sky by heat, to commemorate those that were lost in this war. To commemorate a victory.

Max would send his lantern away, to the thought of Cayde. He grieved day after day for his best friend, to his momentary partner. And in each day of grief, Shaxx was there by his side, comforting him through it all.

The Exo would go by Cayde's bust by the Ironwood Tree, and talk to him as if it was him. Or just settle by it and relax and let himself go through the peace that grief could provide. He'd even get bird feed from Saint to feed the chickens clucking about there. He'd stay there every day when he felt like he wanted to, until Shaxx comes by, which only meant it would be the time to go home.

Max grieved for him just like he did before. And though he found closure with him, got a chance to feel his love with him, it felt like whatever good that came out of it was not enough to feel the overbearing grief and pain. Cayde reappearing was like an old healed wound resurfacing and coming to tear him apart. And that was what he felt that time.

He... grieved for almost a month. Day after day.

Then when he felt comfortable enough to pursue other ventures, he did it. And through his journey with grief, Shaxx was there by him. Always patient, always loving, always caring.

Max was never the same though. For better or for worse, he was a changed man.

Some pictures during that moment within the Traveler's realm: