When Al Haitham dreams, it's in shades of sandy blonde and red, metallic gold and feather-blue. His nightmares are colored much the same.
Kaveh leisurely strolls ahead of him, shoes leaving deep treads in the soft desert sand. He keeps a careful distance, arms length, and in return Al Haitham keeps an eye on him, the other man's back dead center in his sights.
He curses the sand in his boots and the long line of footprints he steps into, already the exact shape of the soles of his shoes.
They aren't lost. Al Haitham knows where they are. They've been here before. They are still here.
Kaveh doesn't watch their feet. His head is constantly tipped back with his eyes on the stars and their constellations (of which Al Haitham only knows two, Vultur Volans and Paradisaea). He'll walk right into a cactus like that. Al Haitham yells ahead for him to watch where he's going.
Kaveh reaches up to touch the side of his head in a strange motion, but otherwise there's no acknowledgement. They press on into the dark of night.
Something squelches beneath Al Haitham's boot.
It stops him short, pulls his attention like a magnet and as much as he wants to, he can't ignore it. He doesn't want to lose any more ground. But something won't let him move on. Al Haitham watches as red seeps into the golden sand, spills beyond the border of his bootprint until he slides his foot aside.
It's an ear.
It's a human ear, and there's a heavy earring attached, metallic gold, gems red and green, a familiar shape, a familiar shade-
Al Haitham opens his mouth to yell. Chokes. Swallows the lump in his throat as he quickly restarts his pace. Tries again.
"Hey!"
Another squelch under a hurried footstep. He doesn't stop to look. Al Haitham is pretty sure he knows what it is.
"Kaveh, hey!"
The path becomes littered, little slices and small pieces, fingertips and knuckles, Kaveh's arms once held casually behind his back now strewn along the sands. Every time Al Haitham extends his hand to him, reality warps and bends like the twisted image in a broken mirror, lines mismatched and edges jagged. Kaveh flits just beyond his grasp, fleeting fae, no longer able to hear him or to reach out to him. Al Haitham can only grit his teeth and follow.
His right foot marches forward. His left follows. His right again. His left suddenly doesn't follow, and Al Haitham is thrown off balance and pitches forward, swinging his arms outward to land on his palms and keep his face off the ground, because he's been in the desert enough times to know what a foot suddenly being stuck can mean.
Quicksand.
Al Haitham curses and swears in just about every language he knows as he tries to spread his weight as evenly as possible, stay afloat at the top of it because if he sinks, he knows he'll be done for, and shit, Kaveh.
His neck cranes uncomfortably in his search, Kaveh had only been a few feet in front of him, he can't be sunk much further, and he's in the desert much more often than Al Haitham anyway, he'll be familiar with what to do-
Kaveh stands in front of him, empty sleeves fluttering loose. Still just out of his grasp, still watching the stars. The quicksand is already up to his calves.
"Say, Al Haitham..." It's the first he's spoken this whole time. His voice resonates somewhere deeply nostalgic in Al Haitham's chest, produces a ripple that momentarily stuns his heart.
Kaveh is sinking.
Al Haitham stretches out on his belly as far as he's able, it's quickly up to his knees, Kaveh isn't even trying to redistribute his weight or pull himself out, it's at his thighs, Al Haitham sucks in a breath and yells for him, his hips, yells louder, his waist, Al Haitham's trembling fingertips can almost reach, his chest, Kaveh drops level with him, quicksand about his neck like a noose.
Kaveh's head tips back, back, impossibly far back, until it hangs, angle awkward, and he's looking right past Al Haitham with his tired smile and gouged, blinded sockets full of starlight.
"Do you believe in karma?"
The quicksand swallows him entirely and Al Haitham dives, shoves his arms deep and pushes off with the one foot he'd had left on safe ground, because he can't, he can't, it's not the same without Kaveh, not anymore, he needs him, no one else keeps him sharp, no one else challenges him like Kaveh, if he can just grab him, if he can just pull him back up-
Al Haitham thrashes, against the sands, against gravity, against the hardwood of his bedroom floor. Clumsily scrubs the back of his hand across his face to rub the grit of quicksand and sleep out of his eyes.
Sometimes he thinks he preferred it when the Akasha was still harvesting his dreams.
He pops his head out from under his weighted blanket and lays where he'd fallen out of bed for a moment, blinking blearily against the lamplight shining from his desk in the corner. Deep breaths. His consciousness shifts along the blurred line of nightmare and reality, crosses over the slow transition into wakeful awareness.
He's home, Kaveh is home. It's dark out. The house is dead silent.
He's just going to go check, he tells himself as he peels himself out of his sweat-soaked shirt and roots around for a replacement. He's already losing memories of his nightmare, the details spilling away from him like wet ink, but he knows he needs to see Kaveh. It'll feel better to do something, anything, than try to go straight back to sleep.
He's quiet when he slips out of his bedroom door, because they both keep late hours but their bedrooms are right next to each other, and Al Haitham will never hear the end of it if he wakes his roommate up.
Lights off, door shut. Nothing conclusive. He moves out to the main room.
Kaveh sits on one of those ridiculous sofas he'd ordered three of for some reason, back to him as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. A mostly-empty wine bottle stands tall on the table, next to the cobbled-together remains of an architectural model that's been picked and fussed over for four days straight now.
"Kaveh? What are you doing?"
This earns him an exaggerated startle, but Kaveh doesn't turn to look at him, preoccupied with whatever new sketch or blueprint he probably has in his hands. "Ohhh, nothing," he slurs cheerfully. "Just working. Just thinking."
Kaveh has always been the world's chattiest drinker. Al Haitham waits for the rest of it.
"Say, I think...I think I asked you this years ago, back then, but you never answered me." Al Haitham feels all the blood drain from his face in ominous familiarity, drip cold down the length of his spine. Kaveh sinks into the couch until he can tip his head over the back of it, looking up at him with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.
"Do you believe in karma?"
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So sorry if this is bothering you but so curious as well... why do you hate Guts?
Thanks for your time ❤
you’re not bothering me!
I think the simplest way to answer this is with one of Olivia’s own lyrics from pretty isn’t pretty when she sings “none of it matters and none of it ends” because. That is kind of her whole ethos about how life works. She believes that! And so her work, to me, is profoundly cynical and self-absorbed because it can’t point to anything bigger (none of it matters) so it revolves purely around her own feelings. It won’t ever situate itself in a wider picture. And I love whining in a song tbh. I love when an artist captures those uglier emotions —the discontent, the restlessness, the irritation, the blandness and staleness of it all and the railing against it—because those are all part of the human experience. I am continually shocked—it is shoCKING—by how many negative emotions I can and do experience over and over again. But it is thankfully against the backdrop of reality. My bad moods are something that can be so unpleasant to feel and so ugly to witness—I wrestle with how ugly and small my suffering is—but there is a way in which, all discourse about the validity of any and all of my feelings accounted for, those aren’t real. Just symptoms of my suffering and sometimes my convalescence (lol, love a symptom of convalescence) but reality is still always so much realer. It’s always ready to break in a million times a day; the beauty and sturdiness of reality, the texture of existence, as Flannery O’Connor once said, is always there and with enough time (and with patience and help and love) I can get back to contact with it. Not just the state of my own mind full of bitterness and worry and pain, endlessly stewing in its own unhappiness.
I am not good at that, it takes a lot to get me there. But I guess my point is—to circle back—Olivia’s music doesn’t try and doesn’t want to. Its scope is so narrow, every song no matter how pleasing at first eventually sours (lololololol) because it’s JUST rooted in her own experience, generally her own suffering. And there’s no sharpness or cleverness in the world (she can be both sharp and clever!) that can hide that lack of range. So you hear a song once—for me, it was brutal—-and you’re like YEAH. I recognize this kind of whininess because I’ve felt it before. There is something true to it! But the more she writes the more you watch her do it over and over again (sonically, too, she loves to speak-talk and tbh they’re just sub-par remixes of brutal) the more you start to be like “oh, is that it? We’re not going anywhere with this? There’s no turn or catharsis or bridge or anything that lifts us out of this even for a second?” and it’s just —blegh.
And the thing is there doesn’t even have to be, like, some triumphant girlboss victory where she feels better. I’m not saying her songs are bad because they’re sad and depressing. It’s that they establish no outside contact with reality. They are, for all her clever little film-noir references or whatever, only ever self-referential. And that gets old so fast no matter who is talking.
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hellooooooo 💗💖💕 I hope the reason why we're not seeing Olli's face so far is because he's been clinging to Allu like a cute sleepy koala from the very moment they saw each other again
I know it has been days since the end of the US tour, but just imagine them laying on their beds counting the days until they can be together 🥺💘💗💕💗💖 and when they're next to each other again, Allu doesn't dare to leave Olli's embrace until they have to board the plane, and Olli kisses Allu's face non stop since he's sorry because he wasn't able to celebrate Allu's birthday 😭😭
(for whatever reason, because my delulu brain likes to think that Olli didn't go back to Oulu after the US tour and stayed at Allu's place, but this is another setting so delulu thought not valid here)
meanwhile the band and crew are like......... yeah can't show this on social media without exposing your secret relationship or whatever you guys are doing 😬
anyway, I do miss Olli 😭 have a lovely weekend 💘💗💕💖💘💖
omg that must be it!! they can't post pictures together anymore because by now they're so in love it would just be painfully obvious to everyone 🫣 and funny you should say that, because just the other day I was thinking a lot about how they both (or Olli in particular) probably do a lot of spontaneous resting-their-head-on-the-other's-shoulder and stuff like that because they just want to be closer to each other 😭💕
but yeah, it would be nice to see Olli's face once more before he goes into full hibernation mode 😔
same to you, have a lovely weekend!! 💖✨
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