#the playwright’s death he’s just like that.

[its-not-a-pen]

Wow your comic looks really fun, I love the cartoonish artstyle mixed with historical styles, it's really neat for me

thank you im glad you enjoyed it! i have two great loves and those are a) history and b) 80s manga, and i like combining the two to emphasis the fact that history is alive, fantastical, and often deeply hilarious.

while im here, i've just realised i never shared this fun tidbit. here are the references I used for Emperor Qin Shi Huang and William Shakespeare:

This image of Qin Shi Huang is from the 19th century, created some 1700 years after his death, so take it with a big level tablespoon of salt. No image exists of him, and physical descriptions are contradictory, which is rather ironic considering this is the guy who commissioned the extremely lifelike terracotta army. I decided to go with a Qing dynasty depiction because it's the last imperial dynasty of china, and acts as a nice bookend to the first Qin dynasty which kick started the whole thing. You'll notice that QSH is wearing an anachronistic yellow robe, he should actually be wearing black. Yellow did not become the imperial colour until the Ming.

Shakespeare is based on the Chandos portrait. We don't actually what he looked like either, this is simply the oldest known painting thought to be him. (I made sure to include his extremely stylish earring). The history of the painting, and the quest to put a face to the famous name is a deeply fascinating read. Xenophobia also comes into play here, one of the main critiques leveled by painting's detractors is that this man looks too dark and Jewish to be an "English" playwright. Our perception of history is coloured by the biases of society. A more definitive (albeit much cruder) portrait would be the 1623 engraving published with the first folio. It was viewed by people who knew him, and should have been reasonably accurate.

you can read the comics here: terracotta + thee fyrst roule ov inglish

once again, thank you for the lovely feedback! i've got another exciting qin dynasty comic in the works, it's like almost 60% done but i've been so busy with my coursework so idk if i'll be able to publish it until july next year. stay tuned!

[mummer]

just saw asteroid city last night, pls explain the proposed significance of the kiss!!

answering this publicly hope thats ok! cant do a readmore im on mobile *****asteroid city spoilers below beware*****

i dont remember anyones names so this is gonna sound partly unhinged. okay so the edward norton playwright and jason schwartzman actor (not character, in the black and white parts) are lovers right. tbh i thought this was kind of a gag and forgot about it. but later we find out that the playwright died 6 months into the production. i didnt make the connection that THAT’s why the actor-jason has to suddenly leave the stage and freaks out backstage about how he’s not sure he’s Doing it right. hes not talking about acting!! because he himself is literally grieving his lover while he’s playing a character who’s grieving his wife written by his lover so obviously it’s too much!!! actor-jason is trying to find meaning in his death through his writing but there isnt any meaning in death [gerris drinkwater voice] which is what the play is trying to say anyway. he doesnt think he’s performing grief right even in his own life!!! (and tbh it’s the 50s so he wouldnt be able to perform grief publicly anyway!!!!) the play starts with a car accident… anyone would search for some hidden meaning there, some sign…. so when he talks to margot robbie outside it’s not really about finding the CHARACTER’s motivations it’s about the actor himself being able to process the playwright’s death! and adrien brody director was probably also dealing with that too (him and norton seemed to be good buddies) so the whole “sleeping backstage” thing gets a bit sadder maybe? maybe everyone else got this in the theatre and im just stupid lol but crazy making stuff to me!!! the whole story is about sublimated gay grief that cannot be expressed?!?!

the tweet that caught me onto this was here which posits that the playwright’s death was a suicide but i think that’s pretty stupid and unnecessary because the whole thing about the play asteroid city is that death is random and meaningless. im pretty sure that’s what the alien represents— a shocking and absurd event that isnt outright evil or menacing, not something anyone can predict or make sense of, it’s just a thing that happens to you out of nowhere, it doesnt mean anything. he’s a little black figure, he’s death! giving and taking! aagh

[zomb1eturtlez]

"At the risk of stating the obvious, no woman can mate with a bull and produce a child. Recognizing this simple scientific fact, I am led to a somewhat interesting suspicion: King Minos did not build the labyrinth to imprison a monster but to conceal a deformed child, his child.

While the Minotaur has often been depicted as a creature with the body of a bull but the torso of a man, centaur-like, the myth describes the minotaur as simply having the head of a bull and the body of a man, or in other words, a man with a deformed face. I believe pride would not allow Minos to accept that the heir to the throne had a horrendous appearance.

Consequently, he dissolved the right of ascension by publicly accusing his wife Pasiphae of fornicating with a male bovine.

Having enough conscience to keep from murdering his own flesh and blood, Minos had a labyrinth constructed, complicated enough to keep his son from ever escaping but without bars to suggest a prison. (It is interesting to note how the myth states most of the Athenian youth "fed" to the Minotaur actually starved to death in the Labyrinth, thus indicating their deaths had more to do with the complexity of the maze and less to do with the presumed ferocity of the Minotaur.)

I am convinced Minos' maze really serves as a trope for repression. My published thoughts on this subject (see "Birth Defects in Knossos"Sonny Won't Wait Flyer, Santa Cruz, 1968) inspired the playwright Taggert Chielitz to author a play called *The Minotaur* for The Seattle Repertory Company. As only eight people, including the doorman, got a chance to see the production, I produce here a brief summary:

Chielitz begins his play with Minos entering the labyrinth late one evening to speak to his son. As it turns out, the Minotaur is a gentle and misunderstood creature, while the so-called Athenian youth are convicted criminals who were already sentenced to death back in Greece. Usually King Minos has them secretly executed and then publicly claims their deaths were caused by the terrifying Minotaur thus ensuring that the residents of Knossos will never get too close to the labyrinth. Unfortunately this time, one of the criminals had escaped into the maze, encountered Mint (as Chielitz refers to the Minotaur) and nearly murdered him. Had Minos himself not rushed in and killed the criminal, his son would have perished. Suffice it to say Minos is furious. He has caught himself caring for his son and the resulting guilt and sorrow ineeses him to no end. As the play progresses, the King slowly sees past his son's deformities, eventually discovering an elegiae spirit, an artistie sentiment and most importantly a visionary understanding of the world. Soon a deep paternal love grows in the King's heart and he begins to conceive of a way to reintroduce the Minotaur back into society. Sadly, the stories the King has spread throughout the world concerning this terrifying beast prove the seeds of tragedy. Soon enough, a bruiser named Theseus arrives (Chielitz describes him as a drunken, virtually retarded, frat boy) who without a second thought hacks the Minotaur into little pieces. In one of the play's most moving scenes, King Minos, with tears streaming down his face, publicly commends Theseus' courage. The crowd believes the tears are a sign of gratitude while we the audience understand they are tears of loss. The King's heart breaks and while he will go on to be an extremely just ruler, it is a justice forever informed by the deepest kind of agony."

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

pg. 110-111

[doraminatook]

We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)

2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)

Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)

Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  

I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 

Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  

As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 

I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?

My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  

“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”

A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  

If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”

Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.

LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  

Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”

It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.

Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  

A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.

This is what I want.  

That’s where I want to be.  

I want to move to the United Kingdom.

Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  

And it was exciting.  

It was a dream that excited me.  

It burned inside me.  

It raged.

It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  

Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  

“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”

“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”

For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”

If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  

It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!

This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  

(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)

My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.    

And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  

Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.

(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)

[cbrownjc]

Thoughts and Speculation after 2x07 (Spoilers):

A lot of people have said that this moment from the Season 2 trailers might actually be caused by a fight between Louis and Armand in the penthouse:

gif credit: @hermit-frog

And I have to say, after watching episode 2x07? I think they might be right.

Because if you know the book, you know that it is at the very end of it, like literally the last few pages, where it's revealed that Louis knew the whole time about Armand's role in what happened to Claudia. And they break up.

And so I think the same thing is coming next week on the show. Only in the show's regard, Louis knew of Armand's role, as we saw here -- but then was made to forget the actual full context of just how involved Armand was.

Because, as I pointed out on Twitter, this image from the trial --

-- is quite something. You have both the writer and director for the Théâtre des Vampires not on stage for this whole thing. Very much underlying the fact that this is a theatrical play that is being put on. As we saw, there was even a real, actual SCRIPT for this whole thing!

Like, how much more could the show have been pointing to what was really going on here? Trust a writing staff of playwrights to be meta about all of this. 🙃

Because the ending of this trial was written and locked in long ago. And who is the one that usually says when a play or film is locked in and finished?

The Director. (And yes I know producers and studios do too, but Armand is very much all of that wrt his role for their little theater as well).

BTW, Santiago and the coven did NOT expect Armand to do that to the audience. Saving Louis was very much off-script. And if Armand really had no power here, the coven could have just taken Louis off stage and killed him another way. The only reason they didn't was because Armand was very much not powerless in all of this.

Like, I love Armand's character, I really do -- now. But that is something that only came about after I read the books from Queen of the Damned forward. For the first two books, I very much did not like him. And, particularly when it comes to the Paris part of this story, that is where we are with his character right now. I know why he's doing what he's doing, I understand it. But I can't defend it.

Louis probably figured things out before San Francisco in 1973. He probably knew Armand's full role in what went down, same as in the book, after it all happened. But it was his suicide attempt that had Armand redact that knowledge from Louis' mind. The clues for that being the case are all there after episode 2x05.

Because, at the end of the day, even knowing Armand's full role in Claudia's death, Louis still mostly blamed himself for it all.

As we see, things are slowly starting to come back to Louis, but he's not fully there yet. And I think this whole memory thing is a more literal interpretation of the veil that descended over Louis' mind after Paris in the books.

A veil that only began to lift once Armand revealed to Louis that Lestat was alive. As we've seen, Louis knew Lestat was alive back in 1973. I'm not sure if he does so now. But maybe this isn't about knowing if Lestat is alive or not. Maybe it's just Louis thinking he needed to be punished because of his own role in failing Claudia -- and staying away from Lestat was part of that self-punishment. Because that view is a feeling I got when watching episode 2x05 and Louis not wanting to speak to Lestat. His refusal to speak wasn't out of anger IMO, but more fear and even sorrow.

The show is very much sticking to the beats of the book with all of this, and not revealing things about what happened that were revealed in later books. So I don't think Louis fully knows what was going on with Lestat during that trial. I wouldn't be surprised if we learn he still doesn't, since he never learned it in the first book.

But as I said here, it was clear as day that Lestat wasn't himself during that trial. Physically and especially mentally. I didn't even guess that the show would be that obvious about it, but they were. All very much hinting about what was really going on with his appearance here.

And Louis himself might, just might figure that out for himself. Especially if Dreamstat might appear to be back in his mind again. Because Dreamstat is very much Louis' subconscious. And I think Louis' subconscious knows something important is missing wrt all of this.

It was nice that, at least in the end, someone chose Claudia. Madeleine could have escaped this but chose to die with Claudia instead when she didn't have to. Her little middle finger to the crowd gave me a smile.

They did not do the full reveal of Claudia's diaries and what was in them on stage, which I seriously thought they would. They gave a hint about it, but more so in episode 2x05 than in here. Which means that, in a later season, we're still looking at that reveal from Merrick happening it seems. But then again . . . there were some things I suspect got left out on purpose because the actual (attempted) murder of Lestat was very much glossed over for us, the audience, during that trial sequence. We are very much set to revisit that whole thing during The Vampire Lestat adaptation in Season 3, of course. But I think even more will be revealed about that there then I originally thought.

And finally, Claudia. They said in the Inside The Episode they wanted her to go out with as much strength and defiance as she could and yeah, she did. But in the end, I still think she was angry, sad, and hurt by it all, which she had every right to be. Because at the end of the day, she never should have been made and was made for all the wrong reasons. But being turned so young made her a fierce and pure vampire though and though because she never had enough time to have lived a human life to have those types of morals and outlooks fully imprinted on her. That was always one of Claudia's core traits wrt her being turned so young, and she still had it here. And yes girl, you will haunt things after this -- particularly your parents.

In fact, it probably very much was your voice Louis heard calling him back in 2x05, wasn't it?

So, for a penultimate episode, this was very, very good. And things are very much going to explode next week. I knew Louis going Carrie/Firestarter on the coven would happen in 2x08. That moment always screamed "season finale" to me. Santiago picking up Claudia's yellow dress is also significant, as I think we'll see Louis' POV of that moment with Lestat about it.

And the break up between Louis and Armand might just be much more violent than it was in the book as well.

[biblicallyaccuratecrow]

in stars and time "method actor" au braindump

the people have spoken! welcome to the method actor au! in which i took the theatre themes of isat and stretched them to their absolute limit!

the premise is that instead of saving vaugarde, the party + major side characters (the king and euphrasie) are an acting troop! and they're telling the story of the saviors through a play. Siffrin is playing The Traveller, and over time in rehearsals has really grown to like his castmates (even the one playing the king- he's actually quite sweet!).

it's the opening night! they're more than prepared for the show!

... until they aren't.

All it takes is a faulty prop from the fly tower, and suddenly siffrin is right back where they started the day before, waking up from a nap in the greenroom before the last rehearsal.

they're back at the beginning. they get a second chance.

after all, you only get one opening night, and siffrin is determined to make it perfect.

...all they need to do is make sure the show goes smoothly!

no stage hazards,

no missed lines,

no injuries,

no deaths,

no mistakes.

and if they have to play the hero to do it?

if the lines between them and their character have to blur so that their parts are perfect?

so be it.

the show must go on.

[notes below the cut!]

[spoilers for isat below!]

so yeah, siffrin takes the term "method acting" way too seriously. out of necessity, though. this is a performance, after all! they have to keep it together for the show, and the best way to do that for them is to embrace their role.

setting

still takes place in vaugarde! except yknow. the king isn't actually happening (yet), so instead of a group of saviors we have the acting group playing the saviors! a bit meta, but it works.

craft and the island still are a thing, and play a major part in the overarching story! this is still a time loop, after all!

all of this is taking place on a stage within dormont's house of change! Euphrasie sponsors, and was more than happy to be included for her very short role! The theatre there has been out of use for decades, but Euphrasie sees it fit to resurrect it just for this show!

The party:

Mirabelle is the playwright, having dreamed up a story like the books she loves to read but for the longest time being too afraid to put it down. Euphrasie encouraged her to go through with it, and they've been building the show ever since! she thinks she isn't a good actor, but she's actually very empathetic as the heroine, since she (secretly) based it off herself.

Isabeau was actually the first to audition- and the only one, at least in the first round. He came in last-minute, and after delivering a solid monologue (with a few puns slipped in), Mirabelle was eager to cast him! He actually loves costume design, but he doesn't dare to reveal this to the party, even if he occasionally spends hours in the House's storage room looking through pieces from older performances.

Odile was a surprising addition to the cast. She was interested in Vaugardian tradition, and figured the best way to learn was through the epicenter of vaugardian culture, at a house. She reccomended some plays to mirabelle from her travels, and after giving some pointers on mirabelle's early scripts decided to join in for the hell of it. She likes horror productions in particular, and contributed a lot to the concept of the king's time craft.

Siffrin was visiting the house, and came to see one of the plays... but got the time wrong and came in during a live-reading of the scripts early draft. he stood and watched for a bit before mirabelle noticed, and after a LOT of fumbling and apologies admitted that he loves theatre. Mirabelle practically dragged him in after that. Given that he didn't have anything else to do, he agreed. Despite claiming he's not much of an actor, much preferring to work on the set design, he's actually uncannily good...

The King is... just a guy, actually! very quiet, very reclusive, but after seeing one of mirabelle's casting calls came in and absolutely smashed the audition. he's been with the group ever since! he's pretty busy outside of the production, but he puts his all into his work! He and siffrin have a kind of kinship, given their shared elusive background and... white hair, i guess.

Bonnie is the younger sister of Nille, who worked on trade classes at dormonts house after the two left Bambouche together. Mirabelle needed someone to help make the sets, and Nille volunteered early on in the production, so long as she could bring Bonnie along. Initially Bonnie wasn't all that interested, but after hanging around the cast a bit grew curious. Siffrin caught them reading through one of the scripts and acting out the various parts on their own. After that, Mirabelle made the time to write in The Kid for Bonnie to have a role thats easiest for them! Fun fact- a lot of The Kid's lines are actually ad libs from Bonnie throughout the production. Mirabelle kept writing them into the script as a sort of inside joke.

Euphrasie is mostly the same! As the head housemaiden, she's had a bit of experience with public speaking and acting, and after seeing Mirabelle having such fun she allowed herself to be roped into a small role as The Head Housemaiden in the production.

the story...

Siffrin's first death is actually to a prop rock falling on top of them. When they wake up, they're back in the green room, waking up from a nap. Isa is out by the favor tree as usual, odile is buying food for the cast party, mira is pouring over her dating profiles disguised as her script, and bonnie is hanging out in the auditorium.

Of course, at the favor tree after the first death is loop. They immediately cast siffrin as the "new director", and from there basically acts much the same as in canon, though a lot of the "memories" are slight improvements to siffrin's acting or the set props.

so, despite all their preparation, the performance keeps getting interrupted in increasingly more and more bizarre ways. A strange array of stage accidents, usually resulting in siffrin's death. They initially suspect that the show is cursed (theyre not that far off), and start to dig into how that could happen. this is where the idea of wishcraft gets introduced. The King seems the most likely to be highjacking the show, but siffrin doesn't want to believe it.

As siffrin performs show after show, things start to get... weirder, somehow. Like the performance is becoming more real with each passing loop. This doesn't just extend to the set, but also to siffrin themself. The line between them and the traveller blurs. As they learn more about wishcraft and the forgotten island, they project this into the story and their performances, and even off set will take mannerisms from the traveller role and use them to brush off the party's concerns.

in later acts, the rest of the cast begins to blur with their own respective characters, to the point that siffrin starts to become irrationally aggressive towards the king, somehow believing him to be responsible. Loop does their best to keep siffrin's handle on reality in tact, but by act 4 they're essentially living out the play. there is no distinction between reality and mirabelle's script- it's all one thing. And the wish makes that true during the performances as well, in ways that even the party can notice- ghosts on the stage, reality warping because of props, even randomly improved sets and staging. The further siffrin descends, the stronger the wish's influence over the performance and their reality grows. by act 5, the wishcraft has transformed the house to reflect that of the play, and everyone to be their characters- or be frozen, as a captive audience. the rest happens similarly to how it does in canon.

the real crux of the issue, like in canon, is that siffrin made a wish. They love their cast, and they love their performance. They want it to stay like that. They want to stay with them. And so they wish at Dormont's favor tree. And it comes true, in the best way the universe can manage- by making it so that the performance never ends. The actual hazards of the set are real- Dormont's theatre is borderline decrepit- but once the wish craft begins to influence things, they become more serious.

i initially had the idea that maybe during the first loop the story becomes real, like what we see in canon, and siffrin is reacting to the actual characters as a literal actor, but i like the idea of the party playing their SASASA counterparts as more base/easily digestible protagonist versions of themselves more. plus like, the idea of it all being literally on a stage is too fun for me

the hilarious thing is, in my mind... the audience wouldn't know that wasnt the intention for the play. in their pov they saw this shit being acted out and not the absolute wacked out acid trip the party saw while on stage. it's an instant success, though the entire party agrees to never put on the show again.

thats about all i got so far? dunno if i'll actually write anything for this, and if i do it'll probably be a one shot or two. but if youre interested in more info abt the au, or just wanna chat about it, feel free!

until next time!

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 13 His POV

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

(He wanted to eat the person he liked…?)

In this case it wasn’t a euphemism for love, but literally that dead man’s intent.

Roger: —Could it be that…

His cursed sin is…cannibalism?

(I’ve never Cursed One with cannibalistic urges. There’s no past data. But…)

But when you think about everything that happened—It all made sense.

(That guy…was really Cursed)

He didn’t know he was Cursed and didn’t know that his urges were from his cursed fate. He died blaming himself.

(Ah, it happened “again”. I��led another innocent “Cursed One” to their death…”again”.

Roger: “‘Cursed One’s’ tragic fate can’t be altered. In the past, there have been no exceptions.”

That’s so true, it makes me laugh.

Kate: Um, Roger…

???: Hey, hey. A man dressed in all white with a nice smile and parted bangs just told me something.

You were talking about the murder from last night.

(...?)

I turned around and saw a stranger leaning against the counter with a smile.

Kate: And you are…

Nicholas the novelist: Just some insignificant novelist called Nicholas. And these are…

Michael the playwright: Michael, a playwright.

Joanna the caricaturist: Joanna, a caricaturist.

Barkeep: Ah, these three are people of culture who are regulars here. They like to stick their noses in other people’s business.

Nicholas the novelist: We have to! We’re always looking for inspiration for our works.

Man tries to eat a girl with red hair. It’s like the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood.

Joanna the caricaturist: Don’t lump this together with a childish fairytale like Little Red Riding Hood. It’s an insult to a sensational incident.

Michael the playwright: A bloodstained girl and a man standing over her in shock. Aha, I have an idea!

(...Ah, I see…these guys…)

The reason why they came to be known as “Fairytale Curses” is because of novelists, playwrights, and the like who created works based on existing “Cursed Ones”.

But nowadays, the relationship’s been reversed and they’re referred to as “Fairytale Curse”.

My curse is the Double-Crossing Hunter.

Elbert’s the Greedy Queen, Alfons the Mirror.

The reason for these names must have come from Cursed Ones that lived before us.

Tonight, another fairytale would be born from a Cursed One.

(I know people are free to create what they want and no one can fault them for that)

(—However)

Michael the playwright: I hope more tragic incidents happen. That way I can create the best stage performances!

Nicholas the novelist: More material for our works! Haha, just kidding!

Next thing I knew I was slamming my mug down on the table as if to cut their laughter off.

Roger: They didn’t die to be a spectacle for you lot.

Michael the playwright: Ah, erm…

Nicholas the novelist: Um…We didn’t mean to make fun of people’s deaths.

Joanna the caricaturist: That’s right. Just having jokes at a bar.

I heard voices repeatedly try to defend themselves within my distant consciousness.

I was already well aware that the “sinfulness” of “Cursed Ones” couldn’t be understood.

That’s why they’re “curses”.

Roger: —Just kidding.

Michael the playwright: …Huh?

Roger: You were starving for stimulation, so I thought I’d surprise you.

Michael the playwright: …Wha

What the heck! You scared me!

Roger: Ahaha, sorry.

Michael the playwright: That performance was so real. Want to join my troupe?

Nicholas the novelist: You can scout later. Let’s have a drink as thanks for surprising us!

Roger: Yeah, sure.

They’ll never know what we “Cursed Ones” mourn over or what’s fated ends are.

So I just pretended that nothing happened. This “acceptance” was a technique I took up to get by in this world.

—However, there was one person beside me that didn’t agree with this acceptance.

Kate: Roger…

There was a hint of anger in Kate’s voice and disapproval in her eyes. 

(...Kate, you’re too nice. You’re the only one willing to stand with the Cursed)

Kate was a kind person and now held feelings for the Cursed, Crown included.

That’s why there wasn’t a need to feel worried or hurt anymore.

Roger: Hmm?

I downed my beer and ruffled her hair like usual.

Kate: Stop…

Roger: We heard what happened. The investigations’s over so there’s no point in digging any deeper.

Kate: I don’t think that’s how you truly feel.

(—Yeah, you’re right, Kate. It’s not…how I truly feel)

When Kate wasn’t looking, I went outside. The rain poured down relentlessly, but I didn’t care.

Alone, pitch-black despair that I’d been holding back starts creeping up from beneath my feet.

(If we told Lance “you’re a Cursed One” back then, would things have changed?)

I could imagine all the what-ifs I wanted, but the dead never return.

~~

My dear little friend, you will no doubt encounter despair in the future. However, don’t let yourself be defeated.

~~

I remembered the words of a dead friend, words that I’ve repeated over and over.

(...I’ll be fine. I won’t let despair consume me)

(I’m strong, I won’t be defeated, I won’t be lonely, I won’t let my soul rot, and…I’ll fulfill my ambition)

(That’s why I’ll be fine. …I’ll get back up and continue like nothing’s happened)

(I still don’t know if there’s a shadow watching over me)

And that its existence will save me.

Next

[avelera]

A twist on the 1589 meeting, but what if Hob had acted fast when he spotted Dream’s interest in Shaxberd and instead of just getting jealous, he’d invited Will and Marlowe to their table as well?

Shaxberd is only barely getting started as a playwright. Hob and Marlowe seem acquainted. They might well have accepted the invitation to all dine together. It would be a natural thing to do at a tavern after all.

Because now I’m imagining the look on Dream’s face when this starving playwright he’s trying to cruise lights up at the prospect of the banquet laid out in front of Hob thus robbing Dream of his convenient escape. And from Shaxberd’s point of view, this is Hob’s guest, right? Hob is clearly a man of some importance and it would be rude to drag his guest away to talk business. Especially if it means a free meal of such quality.

So anyway, this is how Dream got stuck at a four hour long dinner with Hob, Kit Marlowe, and Will Shaxberd over some rather excellent mortal food and a much better time than he ever expected to have and frankly being more than a little pissed off about it and how Death might have been right that hanging out with humans can be fun.

It’s also the story about how Hob got 10x more answers than he ever got before out of his stranger by dint of the longer time together and how awkward it would be for Dream not to answer some of them with two other people present ruining the mystery of it all. It’s also how Hob figured out that Dream likes talking about art and so Hob was able to switch gears in time to actually have a conversation with Dream that didn’t make it look like Dream he would rather gouge his eyes out than listen to another word. Hob might not be the artistic sort but he’s not totally incapable of analyzing a play about a man making a supernatural bargain with the devil, and everyone at the table loved Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus.

And it’s the story of how Marlowe figured out in .2 seconds that an otherworldly creature was at the table with them and subtly helping out Hob direct his questions for best possible effect, and how both Marlowe and Shaxberd got a rich patron out of it.

[zeebreezin]

A Reputation of Some Importance:

Months of planning have gone into this moment. You stand atop one of London’s crooked rooftops, and wait for a ship to pull into dock. The sensation of standing atop a precipice strikes you, of a hundred men scattered across the continent and beyond at your back, of the people you know will venerate this day, even if they never know you. You can almost see it, the Moonlit Chessboard’s spectral pieces sliding across the Zee. Power courses hungry in your vines. White is in Check. Your move. This action will define your reputation, for better or worse. Be sure you’re ready to do this.

A Chancy Challenge Your Watchful + A Player of Chess quality gives you a 55% chance of success.

-> Let It Be Enough.

Checkmate (success!)

The plan is a delicate one. Weeks were spent on the bait alone, engineering a craze for cut rubber jewellery that would lure the Belgian King to celebrate the sudden influx of wealth, stolen from their colonies’ resources & the people that slaved for them. A Reckless Playwright and their many Trendsetting Sycophants become pieces on the board, and soon the tasteless trend takes hold. A few in Brussels convince their king to descend, to shake a few hands below, a show of solidarity with a weak and grasping city. And so, it begins. Matadi, Mombasa, Luanda, Khartoum. Written games of chess are carried through the jungle & across the savanna, moves marked by the banks of the Nile. Forces inside the Congo and out are ready. The reports of the atrocities are drafted, journalists arriving in Brussels while the Belgian King descends below. Once the news is confirmed, the word will break. The Belgian King descends in an amusing display of poorly concealed exuberance. He does not stay for long - a party, a conversation with a few of the Ministry, a nod from the Traitor Empress. It’s unnecessary to your plan, but you seek him out. The disguise of house staff is an easy one to wear, a decade of training sliding on like a second skin. You say nothing to him, of course. But you look him in the eye. You trust only one Licenatiate for the job. The Ravenous Acumen has never failed you when it comes to methods of death, and the toxin is a precise thing. Applied delicately to the stem of a wine glass at the Belgian King’s last meal within the Shuttered Palace. He sets zail hours after. The poison will not kill for hours after application, a corrosion of some core drive leading to lethargy while at zee. It’s the timing that’s critical. Too early, and they risk the ship turning back towards London, towards palace doctors who will know what they see. Too late, and the toxin will be deemed impossible under the sun’s law, and be rendered inert. You see the White King tipping back in your dreams for days, slowly, slowly, slowly. The Belgian King lapses into unconsciousness just after his ship enters the canal. He is dead before the water bleeds into surface tone-blue. No cause of death will be found, laws bent against the forces of the White. No poison could do this, of course. He passed peacefully, in his sleep, and none above will know the agony he died in. Lawmakers arrive home to chaos, to demands for liberation. Belgium will try to hold the colony, of course, those far from the scene. You’ve catalogued their dreams, scandals, and left a bounty for the opportunists. Dossiers left in convenient locations, a flank unguarded. Red will snap up the blackmail, and break their front further. A willing and necessary sacrifice. But the Congo will stay free. All these things come to pass far from your cluttered study. The pieces fall one by one, and now others make moves of their own. Your work is far from over, and it may never truly be over. Much was lost for this, but much will be gained. So many, so far from you now, may finally know freedom, and that knowledge is as heavy as it is peaceful. Those in Wilmont’s End breathe whispers of a Tenebrous Rook, of the unknown that struck down a king. You raise a toast, alone in your study. Is it enough? Have you done enough? Have you earned what you have gained? Would she forgive you, for what you had to do to get here? On this night, at least, you know the answer.

[neousfics]

Somewhere In Time is Literally Edwin/Charles, and here's why:

Just rewatched the movie Somewhere In Time because I thought it might work for a Paynland fic and holy fucking shit you guys it's perfect in every way. Charles is so Richard Collier coded and Edwin is so Elise McKenna coded it's not even funny. And the time periods are perfect???? Collier is literally from the late 70s/80s and time travels back to 1912???

Also William Robinson as the Cat King? Be still my beating heart.

(Spoilers for a movie from the 80s ig)

If you're unfamiliar with the plot, Somewhere In Time is about a playwright, Richard Collier, who, after being given a pocket watch by an old lady on the day of her death, begins to suspect that not only is it possibly to travel back in time, but he has already done it. He learns that the old lady used to be a beautiful young actress named Elise McKenna. He eventually manages to travel back in time, they fall in love only for him to accidentally get yanked back to the future just as they've begun to plan their life together. He dies from grief a week later and the two reunite in the afterlife.

Here are some scenes/dialogue that I think are so Edwin/Charles coded it hurts:

Collier (AKA Charles) decides to literally abandon his life and timeline after literally one (1) interaction with this lady + a pretty picture of her he saw in the museum section of a hotel and Charles would absolutely (and kinda did) do the same

McKenna (AKA Edwin) spent the rest of her life never giving up on finding Collier even though they were only together for a couple days. In her youth she's described as "quick and bright, fun, strong, and willful" but after he disappears she is described as "kind and thoughtful but too much within herself, like she was empty somehow" and you CANNOT tell me that does not sound like our favorite Edwardian boy

When Collier prepares to go to the past he picks out a time-appropriate suit, but when he gets there everyone keeps telling him its hella out of fashion and he is so offended 10/10, very Charles

I can practically hear Paynland saying this dialogue:

"Your occupation?"

“I’m a playwright.”

“A playwright.” (mad bitchiness in this line delivery)

“No, no I’m not here because of that!”

“Hm. And you say you know everything about me?”

“Well, yes.”

“Which is patently absurd. You couldn’t possibly know everything about me. We’ve never met. You’re a complete stranger to me.

“But then why did you ask, 'Is it you?'” (she asked this when they met the first time)

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“I know you don’t. I wish you would, though.”

When Collier asks McKenna to call him by his first name she hits him with the "Why should I?" and this doe-eyed fool says "I don't know. I just hoped you would."

Collier is terrified of the idea that McKenna would be afraid of him which is just so Charles like damn

When Collier tries to shave his face with the old-fashioned razor he does an absolutely terrible job, gets a bunch of cuts, and leaves shaving cream on his face and McKenna takes one look at him and decides this idiot is the man she's going to love forever

Their first kiss is actually the sexiest shit ever in this show like damn why they pulling up so hard in some random movie 40 years ago. ANYway when Collier touches McKenna's face and slowly leans in to kiss her she says in this breathy, barely heard whisper "Oh my God. I don't know what's happening." Which is very Edwin to me

When McKenna's manager gets too pushy about her romantic decisions she says "I am involved with you as an actress, Mr. Robinson. Not a doormat. Do not attempt to wipe your boots on me." okay Edwin

When McKenna is performing in the play (which is a comedy) she goes off script and starts dramatically monologuing all her inner thoughts about loving Collier while looking at him in the audience which Mr. "I know were in hell but I need to tell you I'm in love with you" Payne would definitely do

This is the monologue btw:

“The man of my dreams is almost faded now. The one I have created in my mind. The sort of man each woman dreams of in the deepest most secret reaches of her heart. I can almost see him now before me. What would I say to him if he were really here? Forgive me. I’ve never known this feeling. I’ve lived without it all my life. Is it any wonder that I failed to recognize you? You brought it to me for the first time. Is there any way that I can tell you how my life has changed? Any way at all to let you know the sweetness you have given me? There is so much to say. I cannot find the words except for these: I love you.”

"Are you alright?" "Yes" "I thought I lost you." "Never. Never, never, never."

The morning after they have sex she hits him with the "You will marry me, won't you?" And makes him choke on his food then immediately goes "You won't?!?!" without even waiting for him to respond

"I want to be everything to you." "You are."

This dialogue:

“The first thing I intend to do for you–”

“You’ve already done.”

“Well, the second thing.”

“What?”

“Buy you a new suit.”

“I don’t understand. Nobody seems to like my suit.”

“Oh can you blame them?”

“I think my suit is terrific. So what if it’s 10 years old?”

“At least 15.”

Collier just up and dying as soon as he gets back because he's so distressed at the thought of living without her he goes into a dissociative fit and doesn't eat for a weak is so Charles

If you made it this far, I commend you because I'm pretty sure I sound like an insane person and I don't even know if any of you have seen this movie but for the love of God I had to tell someone

Who knows, maybe I'll write a Somewhere In Time AU Paynland fic, or perhaps I'll just sit here and desperately hope that someone else will do it

[marykk1990]

My next post in support of Ukraine is:

Next site, is Ukrainian Isaac Emmanuilovich Babel (Ісак Еммануїлович Бабель), a "soviet writer, journalist, playwright and literary translator." He was born in Odesa in 1894 to a Jewish couple, Manus and Feyga Babel. After graduating from the Kiev Institute of Finance and Business he moved to Petrograd (now Saint Petersburg) in defiance of the Pale of Settlement laws that restricted Jews from living outside of that area in Ukraine. He eventually moved back to Odesa and wrote a series of short stories called "Odessa Stories." (Remember, this was when Odesa was still part of the soviet union & was spelled with the "russian" spelling.) He later wrote a play, "Maria," which was "a portrait of the sordid underbelly of soviet society during the "russian" Civil War." Not surprisingly, the NKVD canceled the performances of the play while it was still going through rehearsals. The play "Maria" was never performed in "russia" until after the collapse of the soviet union. In the 1930s, after stalin passed a decree that soviet writers and artists had to conform to "socialist realism," Babel quit writing as much and "was publicly denounced for low productivity." It was a scary time for writers in the soviet union and many soviet writers were rewriting their earlier works, but Babel didn't. In 1939, Babel was arrested by the NKVD on "fabricated charges of terrorism and espionage." At first, he vehemently denied the charges, but after three days, he confessed and supposedly named others. Of course, he was probably horrifically tortured during those three days. He later recanted his confession and stated that he "had slandered several people" in it. In January 1940, he was sentenced to death by shooting. His trial was on January 26, 1940. The trial lasted about 20 minutes. He was then shot on January 27, 1940.

#StandWithUkraine

#СлаваУкраїні 🇺🇦

Anyone out there still wondering why Ukrainians are fighting so hard for their freedom and sovereignty, it's because of history like this. Isaac Babel is only one person out of thousands and thousands of Ukrainians over decades and centuries with stories just like his.

[rodricksfilipinagf]

Rhysand x Playwright! Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

  “You’ll regret it, darling…” The voice reverberated in her head, but Y/N batted it away. The last thing she needed was Rhysand’s phantom voice today haunting her. Especially today. Because today she’d be unveiling her newest creation to the High Lord of the Day Court, Helion, his court, and all of his people. 

         The Night Court weren’t necessary enemies with the Day Court, but Helion and his people certainly got a good laugh at her plays poking fun at the brooding High Lord. Best of all, if Helion liked her play, then she would get the Helion Award for Playwriting Excellence. Maybe then she could use that clout to write about whatever she wanted. 

         The Day Court had a rich culture, and history, and Y/N yearned to write plays about those. Unfortunately the only way in to the world she loved so much was to create works honoring Helion, and making sure he came across the best out of all the other High Lords. 

         Surely Rhysand’s threats at the ball meant nothing, she thought as she straightened the jacket of the actor playing him backstage, just for something to do. He just wanted to seem scary. Which was entirely the point of tonight’s play. To take the wind sails out of him. Once people laugh at something, they cease to fear it. She hoped it would work on her too. She’d paced the rooms of one of the Day Court’s many libraries in anticipation of this night. She’d be damned if Rhysand found a way to ruin it. 

                                                        ~

         Thousands of miles away, Rhysand primped in his bedroom at his well-lived in townhouse in Velaris, the City of Starlight. A city that the rest of the Night Court, and the rest of Prythian in fact, including the part Y/N lived in, did not know existed.

         Aside from a whole city, the rest of the world had no idea of the genuine friendship Rhysand had with his tight knit group of friends he called his Inner Circle. They weren’t afraid of him. Not in the slightest.  

         “Please let me come along,” Mor said with a grin, settling on Rhysand’s bed as he got ready for his not-so-welcome guest appearance at Y/N’s play.

         “Mor,” Rhysand began, but then Cassian poked his head in too.

         “An entire play devoted to making fun of you? Tell me again why I can’t come,” Cassian drawled, barely containing his laughter. 

         “I won’t look as intimidating if I come in with other people,” Rhysand said unconvincingly. 

         “It works for the people of Hewn City,” Mor protested, twisting her long blonde locks. “What about if we go in through the back, and Cassian pretends he’s in costume, or something?”

         “People don’t usually go in costume to watch plays,” Rhysand replied, brushing invisible lint off his jacket.

         “Rhys, have you been to a production of Rocky Horror in Velaris?” Mor asked, shocked. 

         “Oh, he’s a Rocky Horror virgin?” Cassian grinned. “As soon as you kidnap that girl, we should take both of you. Rocky Horror is the place to hook up.”

         Rhysand tried to laugh off his best friends’ comments. “What makes you think I want to hook up with her?”

         Morrigan gave Rhysand a knowing look. “Anyone else you would have killed. Well, in the Court of Nightmares anyway. Anywhere but here. What’s so special about this girl?”

         Rhysand thought about it for a second. “We met at one of Helion’s balls, and when I threatened her with certain death to stop, she still didn’t back down.”

         “Seems like theater is very important to her,” Mor noted. “That or pissing you off.”

         “I like her already,” Cassian crowed. “Promise we get to meet her soon? We can give her some new material for her next plays? Azriel and Amren too once they get back from that mission.”

         “No,” Rhysand insisted. “She can’t meet you guys right away. Especially not you and Azriel. She has to be scared of me and think she’s coming here to be punished.”

         “Well, we can,” Cassian began, but Rhysand interrupted, “No,” firmly. 

         “Don’t be too hard on her,” pleaded Mor. “You should know what it’s like to love something so much you’d do stupid things for it.”

         “I do,” Rhysand admitted. “You know, I still don’t have a mate yet.” Cassian clapped his back at this and chortled. Rhysand continued, “If she’s willing to make an enemy of me, the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, over this, then she can be just brave enough to be High Lady of the Night Court.”

                                                        ~

         Backstage at Helion’s Theater, Y/N joined hands with her actors. She did not tell them about the threat she got from Rhysand, or mount even more pressure on them by mentioning the award they might possibly get. That way, she decided, they would perform their best and not be nervous. She passed the energy to the male next to her that she got from the female on her other side. It was a beloved, time honored tradition that Y/N was eager to partake in. 

         Her heart was in her throat as the play started, but as it went on, she started to relax a little. The roof didn’t cave in from shaking mountains so close by. She didn’t get any jump scares backstage.

         Then Act 3 came. Everyone was laughing at the actor in the Rhysand costume talk about feminism as if he’d only taken a freshman year womens’ studies course at the local university. It was to poke fun at how behind womens’ rights were in the Night Court compared to…at least the Day and Dawn Courts. Y/N was grateful that since Helion was queer himself, everyone in his court was made to feel comfortable to be their true selves publicly. Rhysand would probably have them hung up and shamed publicly. So he deserves this, she thought. 

         Suddenly a huge thunderclap sounded through the theater. Then came a swirling black cloud onstage. Oh fuck, Y/N thought. There was only one person who could make an entrance like that. The actors were frozen with fear. Hmmm, maybe in hindsight I should have told them that Rhysand threatened me, Y/N thought.

         Rhysand didn’t say anything for a while, drinking in everyone’s fear. He’s probably loving this, Y/N thought, rolling his eyes. 

         “Helion,” he announced. “I’m surprised at you. If you wanted war, you could have just said so.”

         Helion scoffed from the balcony. “Come on, Rhysand,” he shouted from the balcony. “Can’t you take a joke?” But there was a tremor in his voice. 

         “I let this go on for much longer than you deserve, Helion,” Rhysand said steely. “I demand retribution, if you really don’t want war.”

         Helion sighed as if this was a big favor, probably to look good in front of all his people. “I suppose. What do you want?”

         “The writer of this play,” Rhysand said simply. “Or everyone here will die.”

         Oh shit, he was serious about that? Y/N thought frantically. 

         “Oh good,” he said as if reading her mind. “She’s here. Come on out darling. I won’t bite...here.”

         I could run, she thought. I could make a run for it. But then he’d catch me since he could hear my thoughts. 

         “You’re right,” he chuckled, to the confusion of the audience. “Should I give you until the count of 3? I could kill three people as I do so.” He surveyed the audience of now frantic theatergoers. “Will that be funny enough for you?”

         Fuck, she thought as she reluctantly stepped out onstage. She could see Helion with his head in his hands in the balcony, narrowly avoiding a political disaster. She guessed she would be the sacrificial lamb for that. And to think doing the plays for Helion was going to be a way to catapult me into a better life of creative expression and freedom and making change through art.

         Now she would be sentenced to torture in the Night Court, all because Helion wasn’t brave enough to take on Rhysand. But she was. “So what?” she demanded. “You’re going to kill me? Go ahead. Then everyone will see how horrible you are and how right I was.”

         She closed her eyes, bracing for impact. The she felt something horrible. Her mind being cleaved open and something creeping in. 

                                                        ~

         You’re really not afraid of me, are you? Rhysand thought, and it echoed inside her head. 

         No! she shot back. But then she thought about the legendary Court of Nightmares and it took everything in her to keep from trembling. She couldn’t live like that forever.

         So you are scared, Rhysand taunted, raising an eyebrow.

         Please don’t take me there, Y/N relented. Just kill me now. Make an example of me, or whatever. Please just don’t let me-

         But Rhysand merely said, “I warned you, darling.”

         Y/N’s heart started beating faster and she started looking for a prop dagger, hoping if she stabbed it into herself hard enough, she could take herself out of this. It would look bad for both Helion and Rhysand. But Rhysand wrapped an arm around her, whispering “Oh no you don’t” and the black cloud that circled him before started circling both of them. When they were out of sight of everyone else, he whispered, “It won’t be that bad. There was no need for you to try that. Not that it would have done anything.”

         “I hate you,” Y/N said, truly dreading her time at the Night Court with this monster. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt swirling winds. 

         “I know,” Rhysand replied as Y/N stopped feeling the whipping wind against her face and her nose was engulfed with, rather than burning flesh, notes of jasmine and freesia. 

(1642 words.)

[mummer]

literally what do you MEAN the coyote got run over offscreen and the roadrunner is alone and left unchased!!!!!!!!!!

[symphonyofmalice]

Epaine

@charmantevamp (liked for a theater-era starter)

The Theatre Des Vampires was putting on a play- an odd, monstrous, macabre adaptation of the abduction of Persephone.

Nicolas, playwright, musician, centerpiece of the theater- was in the titular role of this particular performance. The play began with him in the role of Maiden. His long hair was loose, braided through with wild flowers. His clothing was all flowing pastels. The other vampires danced around him, nymphs and divine companions, as he played the violin. The song was one of pastoral beauty, of peace, joy and springtime.

Some found the casting of Hades odd. Was the Lord of the Underworld usually so small, so slight of frame? But the actor playing the eldest Olympian brought a gravitas to the role nonetheless. Cloaked in darkness, presaged by the beat of earth-shaking drums, attended by ghoulish monsters, he stole Persephone away. The shrill, stabbing notes of the violin as Nicolas was dragged into the darkness sounded remarkably like screams. The vampiric dead tore the flowers from his hair, crushed them under foot, left him in torn rags.

Now the temptation began. And this was the theater of the vampires after all. Hades wooed his stolen bride with a procession of victims- played mostly by vampires. They were dressed in the Greek style, with dripping necklaces of red rubies- the pomegranate seeds of blood. Persephone refused again and again, except for the last- the only true mortal in the line. One more, like so many others, stolen off the street and charmed with mental tricks. Hades and the other vampires feasted on the victim, drinking deeply. And submitting to temptation, Persephone drank just enough for the stain of red around her lips to be visible to the back rows of the audience.

But there was no Demeter in this play. No springtime. No return from the cold, frost, death of Winter. No escape from the Underworld. Instead, it showed why Persephone had epithets like Brimō, the angry. Epainē, the fearful, the dreaded. Dressed now all in black, Persephone stood side by side with her husband. Queen of the Underworld, watching with stone-faced impassivity, waiting for the next doomed mortal, merciless to how their suffering was once her own. The curtains closed on the screams of the next victim being brought in.

[sammaggs]

3x02 Eclipse | Nightmare

Stay with me on this one: I don’t think Marcus Ellory ever shows up to his mother's grave in Eclipse.

As truepenny points out in her typically-brilliant meta, Eclipse is written in the style of the Greek theatre's katabasis, a journey to the Underworld (followed by anabasis, the return to the world of the living). You've seen Hadestown? You've seen a katabasis.

This is another playwright John Krisanc joint, and as other people smarter than me have meta’d, Ray’s katabasis sees our hero venturing to the Underworld (a literal graveyard/crypt/grave); solving the riddle presented by the Underworld's guardian ("There. Now it's broken and it's working." "Good man."); learning a fundamental truth about the cyclical nature of life or undergoing a symbolic death of the past self; and then returning to the land of the living as a new or newly-knowledgeable person.

Ray Kowalski is tormented by Marcus Ellory as a symbol of his life up until this point. The two defining features of Ray Kowalski's life up until he meets Fraser are 1) Stella, and B) being a cop. "The point is, I mean, my whole life, it all starts and ends with this one guy."

But that part of Ray's life is over.

To make this a metaphor for queerness (as someone who personally married a man before coming out as a lesbian around Ray's age), in our mid-30s we're often forced to deconstruct the narratives of our lives that we've been so devoted to until this point. Have we been living for ourselves, or for other people? Has doing what society expects of us made us happy?

If you're closeted, the answer is usually going to be no. And that means you have to burn down your entire life to start fresh (the house, if you will). It means you have to grieve your past self—the one who had a heterosexual spouse and a house in the suburbs and did what society expected of you—in order to make room to rebirth your authentic self.

In the Underworld, and in the graveyard, Ray buries the man who wanted a wife; the man who wanted revenge on Ellory; the man who was a con job.

He's revived a man with a new partner, no longer motivated by vengeance, and who knows he's a damn good cop because he is.

So now that we've established all of that, let's get back to Ellory.

Ellory doesn't show up for his mother's funeral; by the time the mourners are leaving, he's still not there. "You know, Ray, I'm pretty sure he'll come," says Fraser, at 4:30PM. "We have time." But after Fraser gives Ray his own history back to him, Ellory still hasn't showed. They decide to leave, and Ray throws his dream catcher to the wind... where it's caught by Marcus Ellory.

"It's a dream catcher," says Fraser. "It tangles up bad dreams."

It tangles up bad dreams.

Ray puts on his glasses; he can't really see Ellory clearly. Then, once they end up together in the grave, no one else ever sees them. Fraser never sees Ellory. By the time Ray is reborn anew after the eclipse (literal darkness into light!), Ellory is nowhere to be seen. Suspicious!

I think the casting choice here, too, is deliberately made to make Ellory an allegorical figure as opposed to a literal one. Peter Bray, the actor, is 6'7". He's huge, and lying in the grave next to him, Ray looks even smaller than usual.

That's because we are seeing Marcus Ellory the way twelve-year-old Stan Kowalski would have. Huge, imposing, feet taller than him; essentially a cartoon villain. Ellory is exactly the same here as he is in Ray's memory, unchanged but for a little grey, even though twenty-three years have passed.

And then he disappears.

Ellory is the final boss of Ray's katabasis, his eclipse-fueled nightmare, tangled up in and cleansed by the dreamcatcher Fraser made him—just like Fraser's recitation of Ray's citations tangles up and cleanses Ray's own poor consideration of himself.

But it’s not about Ellory, y’know?? It has nothing to do with Ellory, not really, and everything to do with Ray’s own perception of himself and the story he tells himself about his own life. In this way, I think it’s more powerful a read if Ellory is not there; it’s all Ray. Just Ray, letting go of the man he thought he was and choosing to become the man he wants to be.

For me, Ellory’s just a bad dream. He’s a larger-than-life demon of Ray’s own making. He’s probably in hiding or dead, but Ray doesn’t actually need the real Ellory to exorcise that demon. He just needs the right angel.

Ray Kowalski dies and is reborn (like due South!), at the end of what I consider to be the two-part opener of Season 3.

Happy 27th birthday, Eclipse (Sept. X, 1997)! You're one of the all-timer episodes of TV.

[lurkingshan]

Intergenerational Trauma Challenge - 180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us

It’s winter and I’m huddled up in my house hiding from the cold weather, so obviously this is the perfect time to tackle another entry on the intergenerational family trauma challenge list. This week I finally watched 180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us, a Thai drama about Wang, a young man just coming of age who is desperately seeking answers about his father’s death; Sasiwimol, Wang’s very complicated mother who does not want to dig up the past; Inthawut, his father’s best friend who has been hiding from it for years; and Siam, the black hole at the center of this story.

Before I dig into the trauma themes, let me just say that this show is excellent, if not for everyone. It has a very intentional style that makes it feel like a stage play—the writer is a playwright—and it’s basically eight episodes of very intense conversations. It’s not a romance and there’s an intellectualism in the writing that I found kept me at an emotional remove from the characters even as I marveled at how well crafted the dialogue is. And the dialogue is very important, which is why the translation of this drama is much stronger than we typically get from Thai productions—the words matter. It’s also loaded with visual metaphors and is all around beautiful to look at, and the three main performers are fantastic. I highly recommend it to anyone who likes theater, stories about complicated families, or beautiful and talented actors showing their work. And more than anything else, this show does incredibly strong thematic work and its messaging is on point: this is a story about how noble idiocy ruins lives.   

So, with that said, onto the trauma! Spoilers ahead, and I am assuming anyone reading past this point has watched the show. Some themes you’ll see in this one: taboo, denial of queer identity, homophobia, filial piety, and lots of emotional manipulation. Shoutout to @bengiyo and @twig-tea for reading this to make sure I didn’t miss anything in this complex story.

There are two main sources of intergenerational trauma radiating down toward Wang: the absence of his father, Siam, and his intense relationship with his mercurial mother, Sasiwimol. The story is structured around Wang’s determination to seek answers about Siam—both who he was and how he died. He has grown up knowing a certain story: that his parents met and fell in love in college but divorced when he was young, that his father loved him very much despite not staying with his mother, and that his father was an alcoholic who died in a drunk driving accident. Shortly after his father’s death, his mom put him in boarding school so she could focus on her career and became a weekend parent to him—as she was not around to structure his day to day life, their relationship became more about her taking him on fun adventures and spoiling him when she had time off, treating each other as best friends instead of like a mother and son, and never talking about Siam. He has always suspected there was more to the story of his parents that he was not being told, and as he has grown up, come into his own queerness, and picked up on his mother’s casual homophobia and obsessive devotion to compulsory heteronormativity, his suspicions about the secret his mom was holding became sharper. 

Enter Inthawut. Inthawut was Siam’s best friend, and with nothing to go on but a set of old pictures, Wang has an instinctual certainty that he is the key to the secret he’s seeking. And thus he engineers a way for he and his mom to “coincidentally” stumble onto Inthawut’s property and get invited to stay a few days in his isolated home, at which point Wang begins his campaign to figure out what the hell happened between Siam, Sasiwimol, and Inthawut at any cost.

One of the things I find most interesting about this story is how much the plot hinges on Wang going against Asian cultural norms in his pursuit of the truth. He is not respectful to his elders. He does not maintain filial piety and deference to his mother. He refuses to restrain his emotions. Instead, he is pushy and relentless and emotionally manipulative (all tricks we can plainly see he learned from Sasiwimol) and Inthawut doesn’t stand a chance against him. And so, because Wang explicitly acts against these cultural values, the truth comes out and the trauma is no longer suppressed. 

And in the end, it’s a simple, if desperately sad story: Siam and Inthawut were in love, but Inthawut was battling internalized homophobia and deep-seeded fear and so he relentlessly pushed Siam away and toward dating and then marrying their friend Sasiwimol. And when Siam, miserable in this heterosexual relationship he never actually wanted, finally snapped and confessed his true feelings, Inthawut rejected him and ran away to study abroad. Inthawut was running due to his own fear, but he also had noble notions of somehow protecting Siam from his own queerness and told himself that if he was gone, Siam would accept his heterosexual life. Of course, that did not happen, and in the fallout of this rejection Siam sank further into alcoholism and died soon after. Inthawut’s reaction was the exact worst fear of all gay people who work up the courage to confess to a friend they have developed feelings for: outright rejection, abandonment, and destruction of the relationship. And in his mind, he did this to Siam “for his own good,” a fairly textbook execution of the noble idiocy trope. In the aftermath, we see how Inthawut has isolated himself, part in penance, part in self-protection, and intellectualized his way to a romantic construction of his own cowardice that he tries to convince Wang is righteous.

But Wang is deeply affected by how the denial of his father’s queerness ruined his life and is absolutely not having any of Inthawut’s self-denying bullshit, and this is where things get messy, as both Wang and Inthuwat seem to start seeing Wang and Siam as interchangeable and they develop an emotional entanglement that is deeply unhealthy, to say the least. Wang wants to understand Siam so badly that he starts to be him, and Inthuwat is so desperate to address his regret and shame that he starts to see Wang as Siam, as well. Wang also uses this attachment as a way to shock his mother and forcefully bring her real feelings about Siam and Inthawut to the surface. Despite Wang’s many loud protestations to the contrary, I don’t believe that he and Inthawut actually love each other. They are using each other to work out their trauma about Siam.

And they’re not the only ones! Sasiwimol seems to have her own psychological confusion about Wang as he relates to Siam, and their dynamic is very strange as a result. She refers to Wang as dua-eeng (and has taught him to do the same with her rather than calling her “mom”), a Thai endearment that literally means “self” but is often used between lovers. They have a very physically affectionate relationship that often had me grimacing in discomfort, and she clearly sees Wang as both a source of pain—because he is so like Siam—and her one source of comfort and happiness. She is a successful woman by any standard, but she’s also desperately lonely, hanging on tight to Wang as her only companion in a way that often veers into overbearing, and deeply wounded by her past with Siam and Inthawut. It was through her own friendship with Inthawut that she pursued Siam in the first place, and she clearly feels betrayed not only by Siam, but by Inthawut, both for getting in the way of her relationship with Siam and for leaving them. Her feelings about both men are complex and the story never fully spells them out, in part because Sasiwimol never does. Determinedly not thinking about what happened between them is a big part of how she copes, along with sublimating her suspicions into homophobia, which she perpetuates quite intentionally in her work via production of heterosexual romance propaganda.

Wang clearly loves his mother even as he is frustrated by her prejudices, her desire to control him, and her tendency toward emotional manipulation. He is a perceptive kid and he has studied her closely; he understands her very well and can often predict exactly how she’ll react to a situation. Which is why his decision to announce baldly to her face that he is in love with Inthawut—not only coming out as gay but declaring his intention to move out of her home and in with a man 20+ years his senior who is deeply entangled with her own trauma—felt very intentional to me. He knew what kind of reaction that would get from her, and he wanted it. And sure enough, Sasiwimol crumbles at this repetition of her trauma and the perceived disloyalty of Wang choosing Inthawut over her just as his father did. The rest of the emotion she’d been holding back comes pouring out, resulting in the three of them finally airing out everything that lies between them and everything they are feeling about the Siam-shaped hole in their lives. And once she breaks down, Wang is able to forgive her for the grievance she’s caused him and ultimately decides to remain filial and continue living with her, because he does not actually want to punish his mother for what happened to his father. 

So, in the end, where did the story leave us with all this trauma? I can’t really say that any of these characters have healed, but I do think Wang kick-started that process, at least for himself. He got what he needed most out of this little scheme: deeper understanding of who his father was and why his life took such a drastic turn. He remains caught in the dysfunctional dynamic with his mother, and I’m not sure he’ll ever fully break out of it, but at least there is more honesty between them now about what they’re dancing around. She now knows he is gay and she has to accept it to keep him with her, and given that he has backed off from asking her to accept something much scarier than that, I do think she will find a way to make her peace with it. Inthawut is the character who seems to have progressed the least, standing firmly in his stasis and remaining determinedly alone with his pain, though the show leaves us with a note of ambiguity that suggests he may someday find the courage to move on.

The messages of this work are clear. Internalized homophobia and denial of your own queerness are poison for your soul. Rejecting a loved one “for their own good” is an act of cowardice and selfishness, not an act of love. Hiding from and sublimating your trauma will never allow you to heal. Refusing to process your pain will only lead to you pushing it down on the next generation. Ultimately, this story told us that bravely looking ourselves and our trauma in the face and confronting our truths head on is the only way to begin to heal, and that running from them only leads to ruin.