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assortedseaglass · 1 year

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Borne & Bound - II

[Masterlist]

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Summary: When Prince Aemond insults the commander of the Braedel cavalry, Viserys sends him to their kingdom so that he may learn the art of diplomacy and do battle with the commander herself, the spirited Lady Geowyth.

Content Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions of Incest¸ Mentions of Sexual Assault

Word Count: 3.3K

When Geodred Beridan smiled, the apples of his cheeks rose and pinched wrinkles formed around glimmering, beetle-black eyes. The smile was broad and often accompanied by a droll remark or gentle laugh; a shock to those who did not know him, for his broad shoulders and oaken height disguised a gentle-natured and respectable soul whose purpose, so he believed, was to live in kindness and good humour.

As he moved along the Red Keep’s stone walls, many a gentleman stopped to shake his hand in greeting, and many a woman smiled demurely as he passed. The heir to an independent kingdom and commander of their army, he stood tall and sure, feet firmly rooted wherever he found himself. As swift as he was to laugh, he was as quick with the sword. In his presence women found safety and assuredness. Men, counsel and quick wit. In short, when kindly Geodred Beridan had cause for alarm, it was not long before others’ anxiety grew and when he was in a good mood, those around him could not help but join in his merriment. This was most common in the case of his sister.

He found her in her chambers that morning, sat at a small vanity and fixing her hair as a maidservant talked gaily of her time at the Red Keep.

“-mostly, I am with the Princess. She’s ever so gentle. Couldn’t tell you who she takes after,”

Geowyth laughed. “She must be a wonder indeed if she finds herself in your good graces,”

“How do you mean, my Lady?” The young girl was turning down Geowyth’s bed.

“In service of the royal family, you must have seen it all. Every member of this household, the family and those who serve them, at their best and worst. I know I could not see the worst of people and still sing their praises.”

“As I can attest!” Geodred stepped into the room, arms folded across his broad chest. The maidservant curtsied to him. “Is that why I have not had a good word from you since we left Braedel?”

“Alma.” Geowyth addressed the maid. “Spend a week travelling across Westeros with my brother and I promise not even you could find something to defend.” At this, Geodred threw back his head and laughed. Alma smiled nervously. She had been sent to attend Geowyth as she had come with no maid of her own. Indeed, in Braedel the fashions were far simpler and practical than those in the capital and Geowyth had no need of a maid to dress her except in the case of her court duties, wherein any of her uncle’s maids would do. Geodred tutted at his sister and spoke to the young girl.

“Alma, is it?” The girl nodded. “Well, Alma. My sister is to be on her best behaviour during our stay.” Geowyth rolled her eyes and stood from the vanity. “As you seem such a good judge of character, I shall come to you at our visit’s end for a full report.”

“For Alma, I shall be as good as gold.”

Through her giggles, Alma asked if there was anything else the Lady of Braedel needed. At Geowyth’s declination, she excused herself from the room, eyes roaming over Geodred as she did so.

He watched his sister as she moved about the small guest chambers she had been granted. Her dark hair, usually down or plaited simply and been drawn back from her face in ornate braids. One hand fidgeted with the skirt of her burgundy dress as the other ran over the pages of the books open on the table at her bedside. She was muttering under her breath.

“Your hair is different.”

“Is it alright?” She span around, hand flying to check the braids.

“I have never known you to care-”

“Every girl cares. I asked Alma to do it in the Targaryen style.” Geodred nodded at his sister, a sad smile crossing his usually bonny face. Geowyth continued. “We both know that soon you will rule Braedel, and I will take your place as commander. I am fully aware that my attendance at this council is to prove to our uncle, and the rest of the kingdom, that I am capable.”

Geodred took his sister’s hands in his, and together, they made their way from her room towards the council chamber. “Are you nervous?”

“Very.”

“Don’t be. All you have to do is observe.”

“It’s being observed that makes me nervous.” The pair nodded their heads to a passing Maester as they carried on their progress. Geowyth heard from her brother the unmistakable huff of air that gave away his attempt to contain a laugh. “What?”

“As long as you mind your tongue, all you have to do is stand behind me and look pretty. And,” he continued as Geowyth opened her mouth to protest. “If you have anything you wish to say, counsel me first. They do things differently here. Look at Princess Rhaenyra.”

Even in the independent island kingdom of Braedel, tale of the princess’ deposition in favour of her brother sent ripples of fear throughout their society. Even more so when all but three of the Beridan family perished and eyes turned to Geodred and Geowyth, the sickly king’s remaining heirs. Could these children, one of them a girl, rule the kingdom? Perhaps the mainland way was better, do away with the women and leave it to the men.

The two fell silent, haunted by the ghosts of their family, and the task left to them in the wake of their deaths. The closer they edged to the heart of the Red Keep, that is, the Throne Room, a great din of noise fell on their ears. Servants scurried to and fro, preparing the cavernous chamber for the King’s name day feast. Breaking from her brother, Geowyth darted to the open doors. Tables adorned with candelabras, flowers and fabrics ran the length of the hall. Atop the vaulted steps, another table had been drawn across the room, lined with ornate chairs for the royal family. Geowyth counted eleven, twelve including the seat edging the table. It was as she was recounting the names of the royal household in her head that Alma hurried past with a basket of fabric. Catching each other’s eye, Geowyth nodded to the sword-strewn throne at the head of the hall.

“A little over the top, don’t you think?” At this, Alma smirked and hurried to join her fellow maids.

“Geowyth.” Geodred’s face had turned serious. “Widercwedan.” Let’s go. She took her brother’s arm once more they rounded the corner to the council chamber. Many men were already filing in, Lannisters, Baratheons and Hightowers among them.

“Deos forhtlic?” Who’s afraid? Geodred let go of his sister and she settled into place behind him.

“Not I,” she whispered to him, and together they entered the chamber.

Whatever Aemond Targaryen did that day, he could not escape this ghastly feast. Ser Criston was unable to spar with him in the training yard, as all King’s and Queensguard were either with their patrons or on duty. The library was not immune to the hubbub of the castle, and the volume of Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms he sought was missing, alongside the one book with any mention of Braedel. His mother had even forbidden him from riding Vhagar, such was his inclination to assure her he would be back within a few hours, only to return in a few days. And so it was that he found himself at his father’s name day feast, shunted to the end of the royal table, bored stiff by the day’s idleness.

Nobles stood around the royals, chattering excitedly as stewards and footmen removed tables for dancing. The band had not stopped their playing, and a few of the younger noblewomen were already jumping with glee. Indeed, at his own table Rhaena and Lucerys stood hand in hand, ready to lead the evening’s festivities. Aemond watched the boyish red of Lucerys’ cheeks grow as Rhaena inched closer to him. Watched how he beamed at the people below them, and how they smiled back. Saw how his father gazed, misty eyed, at his grandson. The scar beneath Aemond’s eye patch prickled with pain and he pushed his goblet away, no longer inclined to drink. A pale hand closed around the cup, and the chair beside Aemond screeched along the floor as a dead weight fell into it. Aegon raised his eyebrows to his brother and brought the cup to his lips. For a while, neither spoke. They settled instead, to watch their guests.

Jason Lannister was speaking spiritedly to Borros Baratheon, the latter sat somewhere between annoyance and fascination. Ser Tyland, bounced on the balls of his feet in embarrassment. The princes’ Hightower aunts and uncles had already found themselves a seat, watching Alicent with pride or else gossiping with Beesbury and the Tyrell delegation. Aemond sighed. He had not the proclivity for this aspect of royal duty; socialising. Nor dancing, for that matter, but he understood it from the not-so-subtle hints of his mother that enough was enough. The Baratheon girls were terrified of him, and the incessant giggling of the other young noblewomen was driving a headache. Perhaps Helaena would dance with him. Aemond turned his head to see her seat already vacated. Ah. Jacaerys had stolen her to the dancefloor.

The brothers watched her, all sadness fading from her face to be replaced by joy. The hesitancy that had lingered about her since marrying Aegon faded into some semblance of contentment as she danced with her nephew. Under the candlelight, her skin glowed gold and her hair shimmered like spun silk. It buoyed Aemond, to see her happy. When the dance was done, Helaena clapped the band with girlish light-heartedness, and began chatting animatedly to someone at her side. At first, Aemond believed it to be Jacaerys. It was not until his nephew took a step sideways to whisper in the ear of Lucerys however, that Aemond saw Helaena was not speaking to her dance partner, but the young lady of Braedel.

The woman’s hair, though darker than Helaena’s, was similarly styled. The long, frizzy strands of it cascaded down her back, a singular braid keeping it from her face. As they spoke to each other, their hair bustled about them and in the firelight looked like embers and sparks of flame. Where Helaena was bedecked in yellows and golds, the lady by contrast wore blue and bronze, and her eyes, that had rendered Aemond so completely speechless the day before, burned orange. It took Aemond a moment to realise how he could see their extraordinary colour from where he sat, but when Helaena led her towards the royal table, he saw the smearing of charcoal that lined them. Unlike the other ladies of court, who had enhanced their delicate beauty with rouge and powder, this woman had seemingly run her thumb in coal and brushed it across her face. Looking to the where her brother and the rest of her party stood, Aemond saw that they too wore this strange streak of black across their eyes.

“Are you not going to ask about the council?” Aegon had finished another cup and was growing bored of Aemond’s silence.

“As you are going to tell me, I see no need.” Still, he watched his sister and her companion. They approached the top table and Helaena took a seat next to her brother-husband. The Braedel woman curtsied before the king and queen, uttered something to which Viserys smiled, and made her way towards Helaena’s outstretched hand. She curtsied to the princes, Aegon briefly nodding in acknowledgement, and settled by the princess.

Over Aegon’s increasingly slurred babbling about the council, Aemond watched Geowyth. Though their voices were low, the two women spoke quickly, Helaena most of all and Geowyth’s eyes shone as she listened. Aemond noted that when Helaena momentarily withdrew, Lady Geowyth leant closer, or else held her hand near his sister’s in encouragement. Never had he seen Helaena so open with a stranger.

“- council’s just a load of old wankers trying to beat each other off, in more ways than one-”

The two women laughed at something. Helaena’s light like a bell peal, Geowyth’s hearty like her brother. Something akin to gladness settled over Aemond.

“-Aemond is a far better rider than Aegon or I, I think.” Every sense in Aemonds’ body keened. At Helaena’s words, Geowyth glanced to him. She smiled brightly as their eyes connected. Aemond looked away. Damn.

“- and it’s a wonder grandsire made mother marry father. You’d think, with the way he carries on, it would have been him in the wedding dress.”

“Aegon, please.” Aemond was finally starting to enjoy the day, intrigued by the woman before him. The last thing he needed was Aegon’s vulgarity.

“-though I must say, Lady Geowyth, the council was made much easier by your presence.”

Aemond’s head snapped up. Surely not. Was Aegon so drunk he couldn’t tell the tired old council from young noblewomen? His eyes flickered to Geowyth, shock shadowing his sharp features when he saw that the lady was smiling.

“I shall whisper it, for I don’t want to offend the court,” Geowyth leaned forward, eyes gleaming from beneath a curtain of hair. “But you must not have had a great deal of good company if you found my presence pleasant.” She punctuated her statement with a wink at Aegon as Aemond found his voice.

“You were at the council?” Geowyth smiled at him in gentle affirmation. “Why?”

Geowyth had not expected the bluntness of his query, but knew that sooner or later questions from the rest of the court would follow the council. Indeed, even some council members, namely a certain golden-haired lord, asked King Viserys the question as Geowyth flanked her brother’s seat at the table. She turned to the young prince, serious but still smiling and said simply, “I am my brother’s heir.”

“But second in line to the throne?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, a hesitant ponderance, as though he were trying to solve one of Helaena’s riddles.

“Yes, but with our uncle so unwell-”

“-and your brother is to marry soon, is he not?”

Realisation dawned on Geowyth. “Your Grace, Geodred is indeed to marry, and he and Folchild will rule well together. But if all those above us will it, he will have heirs long before our forebears take him. No, when our uncle dies and Geodred assumes his position as King, someone will need to take his place as commander of the renward.”

“I’m sorry?” The words were sharper than Aemond intended. The slight aghast shake of his head as he spoke irked Geowyth, but she clarified her meaning nonetheless.

“I will take my role as commander of the cavalry.”

“You?”

“Yes?”

“A woman?”

“Yes.” Though her voice was indignant, Geowyth felt she had been slapped. A clap of laughter escaped Aegon as his eyes darted between his brother and Geowyth with glee. Beside her, Helaena picked at the skin on her palm. Despite only being mere inches shorter than Aemond, Geowyth felt herself shrink. Already, the doubts of the kingdom were knocking at Braedel’s door. She steeled herself against the fire glowing in her chest. “I know it is hard to believe, Your Grace, when your dear cousin and sister were swept aside so easily. But that is not how things are done in Braedel.”

The hall became chill. Aemond was certain a gust of wind had ripped through the chamber and he looked briefly around. Nothing was changed. The guests were revelling in the royal splendour. His siblings were still at his side, one nervous and one neurotic. But when he looked back at the lady before him, he found the source of his discomfort. The light of nearby candles flickered in her amber eyes, and something of the would-be warrior woman haunted her face. Seven Hells. He tried to recover. Not to sound like a bitter child or obnoxious ass, but interested.

“And do you find yourself to be as adequate a rider and swordsmith as your brother?”

“Would you ask the same of your dragon riding sisters?”

“Sister.” His voice was firm.

“Pardon?”

“She is no sister of mine.” He grew silent, and Geowyth didn’t need to ask which sister he meant. She’d seen how he’d looked at Helaena. How he was looking at Princess Rhaenyra now, across the hall. Her eyes followed his and, as they scanned the crowded hall, landed upon her brother. He would make a good king. He could sense trouble, for he was looking at Geowyth with a mixture of assessment and warning. “Deos forhtlic,” she heard him say. It would not do to make enemies of the King’s children on the second day of her visit. Swallowing whatever retort was pressing against her lips, Geowyth tried a different tac.

“Do you dance, Your Grace? Perhaps you will join the princess and I in the next? I have seen many a girl looking hopef-”

“You’ll note, my Lady, that I only have one eye.” Aemond cut her off before she could finish and he was astonished when she began to laugh.

“Do you dance in circles?”

Aegon laughed louder than he had all evening, the wine in his goblet slopping onto the table. A little of the red splashed the sleeve of Aemond’s doublet and he looked down slowly. When his eye returned to Geowyth’s, it was cold and unamused. He looked down his eagle nose at her, steadying his feet as though readying for a fight, and Geowyth found herself breathless at the power that suddenly radiated from him. For the first time in her life, she felt truly small. She turned to Helaena. The princess had resumed the picking of her hands, her shoulders stooped and mouth downturned. She would not look at her new companion. Without a dance partner, and her pride decidedly dashed, Geowyth retreated into the crowd towards her fellow horse lords. Aemond’s gaze followed her, body humming with embarrassed rage.

“Shame you weren’t born in Braedel, brother.” Aegon slapped Aemond on the back as he made to hunt a more rakish kind of revelry. “You’ll just have to make do with being my spare.” Aegon made his drunken trail through the crowd. The newcomers bowed before him. Those used to court life at the Red Keep turned away, among them Ser Westerling and the princess of Dragonstone. Ser Harrold was deep in serious conversation with the Braedel beast Herumbrand, no doubt discussing military strategy and their glory days, and as Aemond watched them his Targaryen blood ran cold. For beside the guardsmen stood Rhaenyra, smiling at the guard who had always favoured her, and Lady Geowyth, her eyes bright with self-satisfaction as with a laugh, she turned away from him.

Notes: Split this in two so I could get a chapter out.The first sentence begins the same way a Far From the Madding Crowd. I love Thomas Hardy and I think his description of character is amazing, so I used it as a way to open the chapter.

In this world, Vizzy T is still alive, and Rhaenyra was ousted as heir when Aegon was born. I’ve said before that this will not be a canon compliant story. The background of the Beridan family and why Braedel keeps to itself will be revealed soon. Sorry it's taking so long, I'm not myself at the moment - will correct any mistakes when I've had a good night's sleep. Hilde x

Renward = horseguard/cavalry

Tags: @arcielee @mefools @bladeofdreadfort @glitterandgoldfinds @heimtathurs @ewanmitchellcrumbs @babyblue711 @wingeddeliciouscanonrebel @greenowlfactif @fantasias-creativebubble @httyd-marauders @sirenangelroyal

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #hotd #borne and bound #aemond one eye #aemond kinslayer

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weclassybouquetfun · 10 months

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Everyone Gets Lost in SALTBURN.

Including me, as I've gloried in this film three times -enduring the annoying Academy aspect ratio format (writer/director/filmmaking genius Emerald Fennell explained this ratio was used to accommadate the squareness of the estate and to enhance close-ups).

I love films that are bold and audacious; ones that are polarizing and divisive because that means it has touched the audience - for good or for bad - they have been given food for thought. Now, you may savour it, or vomit it out but you will wolf it down. I don't see how anyone could look at this film and be bored.

TL;DR

WARNING: MORE SPOILERS THAN ROOMS IN SALTBURN

THE GOOD

EVERYTHING. Barry Keoghan owns every single frame of this film. He gets to use so many colours in his acting palette and while I don't have faith in the Academy, I hope that they nominate him at least.

Same goes for Archie Madekwe as Farleigh. He is the Tom Wambsgans of SALTBURN (complimentary). He's a hanger-on who hates the other hanger-on. Fennell could have just written him as one note - just nasty and cruel bully, but he had more dimensions than that.

We get a glimpse at how he hates that his mother has to beg (by way of Farleigh) for financial support. He could have just been someone who held the attitude of, "I've got mine, now get yours", but it bothers him that his mother is struggling. He hates that he lives a pampered life while the footmen are ignored. I especially love how he has no shame over being taken care of by the Cattons. Kicked out of 3 schools for blowing teachers? Oh, well. Sir James' connections will get him somewhere.

He sets up Oliver to karaoke to The Pet Shop Boys' "Rent" and when Oliver remarks, "Felix, I think this song is yours too." (a line that never failed to pull a reaction from me), Felix doesn't tuck his tail between his legs. He's not embarrased. No, he gladly takes the mic.

Then there is Rosamund Pike who is never not fantastic in everything. Elspeth is so droll, so cutting, yet so loveable.

Pike tosses out these lines that carry such humour in it, effortlessy. Like Farleigh, Elspeth is someone you probably should dislike - not batting an eye when discussing Pamela's death, judgmental, gossipy - but she, like Sir James are charming. Their obliviousness comes across as a mere quirk in their personality versus a deal-breaker.

The humour. This movie is so funny. What I appreciated though is that where most directors would put laughs to diffuse the preceeding scene, Fennell plays it straight. You are sat there without any quip or hammy performance to distract from Oliver drinking Felix's cummy bathwater and lapping the drain for good measure.

Or from Oliver and Venetia's menstrual blood swapping. Or grief stricken Oliver humping Felix's grave. The laughter, however comes from the audience. I've seen it three times so I've experienced three different audience reactions and I was surprised by how much people laughed (and gasped. Or closed their eyes), when to me it was serious bizness.

The first screening I attended had a Q&A with the film's composer, Anthony Willis, and he said that when he does panels with Emerald she always apologies to the audience for the pervisity. Why apologize, Emerald?! Talk your talk!

The only scene I could think of where humour was added to diffuse a scene was when Oliver kills Elspeth and he's draped over her trying (and failing) to put her limp arms around him. I think that was necessary so audiences can go into the end scene of him dancing victoriously through his ill-gotten estate.

-When Felix starts clueing in that Oliver lied. The way the unasked question where they pull up to Oliver's home. You can see that he's taken aback by a supposed addict would live there. Then you can tell the realization is falling on him when he spots the lawn being watered because what hardcore adcict would care about maintaining the lawn? But it's the "Gone Fishin'" sign that made him realize he's been duped. Jacob played it so well because it was very understated. Even the entire scene with Oliver's parents (played by Dorothy Atkinson who displayed that same fierce love of her child in "Pennyworth" and Shaun Dooley who's usually playing a tough nut.).

THE BAD

The bad actually has nothing to do with the film itself. It's the perception of Felix that Jacob Elordi and Emerald Fennell holds. They both paint Felix in the most terrible light with Elordi saying Felix is scarier than his character in EUPHORIA and Fennell calling him callous, misogynistic and racist. While I can see where she paints him as such in the film (leaving Oliver to walk his bike back to campus, not talking to the girl/s he's going to have it off with, just hitting her on the butt and walking off with her, having the very tone-deaf attitude of "not seeing race" by telling Farleigh that he doesn't care that he's "different" from them. But does that make him a truly awful person? Maybe it makes me an apologist because I can see how Felix's life of privilege makes him oblivious on how to treat people.

Fennell says her direction to Elordi was that Felix is a bad kisser and bad at sex because he never has to try; he doesn't need to impress. That makes sense because if one is wealthy and/or conventionally beautifully those things does the heavy lifting and grants you a ton of leeway. Since it works for him, why would he even think he needs to pivot on his behaviour?

I just don't see Felix being a terrible person. He ran interference for Oliver at the bar, he tried to get someone to hook Oliver up with a friend, he ditched the graduation party to support Oliver after the "death" of his father. Duncan was so crushed by Felix's death that he couldn't even close the curtains. Liam or Joshua (the Footmen Farleigh said Felix didn't know the names of) ran off crying after closing the curtains while Felix's body passed by. You would think if he was such a horrid person the staff wouldn't be so affected by his death. He pushed Oliver to stay for dinner at his parents house because he could see how much it meant to them to just have homemade SpagBol and cake.

He may be oblivious and has blindspots, but I'm not buying that he's abominable.

THE REST

-When Venetia is telling the story about the doppleganger, there's a window to the garden behind her and you see a man in a pink shirt walking past, then we cut to the reactions at the table to her story and Felix is wearing a pink shirt. Could it be Felix's doppleganger? A harbinger of his death in the garden? If we take Felix seriously, Saltburn is inhabited by Felix's dead granny. What's one more supernatural occurrence?

-In the credits are images that alludes to what has transpired: we see a spider because Venetia tells Oliver Sir James calls him Spider-Man because she skulks and she says he spins his web, she thinks he's more of a moth (I say he's a kitsune. He's a shapeshifting, beguiling trickster.).

There's a puppet on a string - and that has a dual meaning of the shoebox theatre of Catton family puppets that Felix examines when he first arrives at Saltburn and latter stops in front of at the end when he fixes their memorial rocks atops it; and also how Felix was ultimately a puppet master. There's also an ouroboros and a pair of glasses, which I loved seeing because Oliver sheds his glasses when he gets into Felix's circle. We eventually realize that they were merely an affectation. A costume he adorned to get in order to get into the character as humble, unassuming scholarship kid and shedding him once he was ensconced in Felix's circle.

-I ponder whether Felix truly considered Oliver a friend. Ewan Mitchell's Michael (the other asocial scholarship kid) warned Oliver that Felix would get bored with him. Venetia tells Oliver that she likes him better than the last one. Her words seemed like this is Felix's folly and he does this all the time and Oliver was merely another stray. Then we hear from Felix that a friend he invited had a fling with Venetia and it ruined his friendship. Maybe Felix doesn't get tired of these guys, but they make a mere (perceived) misstep and he ends the friendship. We see it almost happen when Felix yelled at Oliver for making a fuss about the state of his dorm room. Which is why Oliver deployed Operation Dead Dad - he needed a gambit in order to not lose Felix's friendship.

There were a few times where Felix could have ditched Oliver, but he didn't. If he's as flighty as people perceive him to be then I think he would have just made an excuse for Oliver to not attend the fancy dress party. Cancellation wasn't the only option. He could have just pulled an Elspeth and had Sir James make Oliver leave in the dead of the night.

Instead, even after everything he now knows about Oliver's deception, Felix looks crushed after their talk in the maze. His anger from earlier seemingly turned to sadness. Maybe his apparent dejection stemmed from what Oliver said to him: how he was just giving Felix what he wanted; thus (screw you Farleigh, "thus" is a good word) probably making Felix ponder whether everyone around him are playing roles - court jesters trying to appease Felix their king and no relationship he has with anyone outside his family is authentic.

Or maybe Felix had sexual interest in Oliver (because I don't think anyone had a romantic interest in each other in this film; sexual/carnal/opportunistic, yes)? It's powerful when someone obviously wants you. Even if you didn't have any prior interest in that person the, "What if?" or "Why not?" aspect comes into play and you want test how far it could go. Venetia told Oliver, "Felix doesn't like to share his toys. Even the ones he doesn't want to play with anymore." Maybe he just liked male attention, but had no intention of following through. I don't know. Maybe Oliver wasn't the only unreliable narrator.

"I wasn't in love with him."

#saltburn #saltburn spoilers #barry keoghan #rosamund pike #jacob elordi #archie madekwe #emerald fennell #movies #films #long post #movie talk #tldr #felix catton #oliver quick #farleigh start #saltburn movie

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angellayercake · 11 months

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WIP Whenever

Instead of working on everything else I should be working on I have become obsessed with this idea and I can't think of anything else. So far too long ago @sweatandwoe tagged me in a WIP post so here we go.

Papa Nihil travels the USA with his three sons posing as a preacher to ingratiate themselves with rural Christian communities to sew discord and spread sin. One summer finds them staying with a family, helping them work their struggling farm in exchange for somewhere to stay.

I'm tagging @ghostchems, @ramblingoak, @da-rulah and @meowsaidmissy if you have any wips you would like to share (no pressure of course 💜 Little taster below the read more and the playlist can be found here because I really am in a hole with this fic 🙃

The clink of ice cubes and the gravel crushing under your feet would have given you away long before you had rounded the side of the barn if not for their argument. Well you suspect they are arguing, you can never be certain due to them always speaking Italian to each other. It was hard to tell what kind of conversation they were having most times, what with their loud voices and waving hands no matter what was going on. You pause just out of sight watching the glasses of lemonade your Mother had forced you to bring out to them as they worked in the afternoon heat begin to sweat. The condensation slid down the glass shallow pools collecting at the bases on the precariously balanced tray as you listened.

‘In ogni caso, perché ti preoccupi dei sentimenti di tutte queste stupide ragazze?’ (Anyway, why do you care about the feelings of all these stupid girls?) The words while foreign sounded dismissive and rude as though this heated discussion was already well underway before your arrival. That was Mr Emeritus you were sure, he often took that tone when he was talking to his sons.

‘Non chiamarli così!’ (Don't call them that!) Terzo. You push aside any thoughts about why you recognise his voice so easily. He sounds irritated, his voice clipped and angry even in his more melodic mother tongue. Interest now truly piqued, you wish not for the first time that you were more cultured, more intelligent so you could have learned another language and be able to follow the conversation.

‘Prima la scoperai, prima potremo uscire da questa discarica.’ (The sooner you fuck her, the sooner we can get out of this dump.) The sneer in his voice is so obvious it almost makes you cringe like you are on the one on the receiving end but he is almost cut off by the intended recipient, if the scuffling sound you hear is Terzo lunging at his father as you suspect.

‘Fermare! Smettetela tutti e due. Corrompere la gioventù cristiana non significa che dobbiamo lasciare dietro di noi una scia di cuori spezzati. Il suo modo funziona, devi fidarti di lui.’ (Stop! Stop it, both of you. Corrupting Christian youth does not mean we must leave a trail of broken hearts in our wake. His way works, you have to trust him.) While spoken loud enough to cut through the fight that was clearly about to break out, the even placating tone must belong to Primo, ever the mediator of the family you had noticed.

‘Non sono più gli anni Sessanta, vecchio mio. Ci vuole qualcosa di più che sussurrare sull'amore libero per aprire loro le gambe.’ (It's not the sixties anymore, old man. It takes more than whispering about free love to open their legs.) And that must be Secondo, his deeper voice was tinged with a droll note which could be directed at any one of his father or brothers, maybe even all three. You liked him the best so far even if his sardonic humour had almost gotten you in trouble already.

‘Ah, parli della troia e lei appare.’ (Ah, you talk about the bitch and she appears.) You round the corner just as your arms start to urgently complain about you standing there with your laden tray and just in time to witness the last of their cross words.

‘Vaffanculo!’ (Fuck you!) He spits at his father, stabbing his pitch fork into the soft dirt as if he is about to storm off but he stops short when he spots you. His expression is pinched, his brow furrowed enough for lines of frustration to form. He pushes his hair back from his face, smoothing it back into place as he schools his expression into a casual smile. He is good, probably the best you have seen squashing all his true feelings behind a mask but you can see the tension still in the corner of his eyes and the tightness of his smile. It isn’t your business though so you plaster a smile on your own face and announce the reason for your interruption.

‘Refreshments for the workers!’ You offer the tray to Mr Emeritus first, your Mother’s hosting rules so deeply ingrained now you wouldn’t dare to do otherwise. He takes a glass from you looking at the drink then you with an air of distaste that makes your skin prickle uncomfortably. ‘It’s lemonade sir, that Mama made fresh this morning.’ He takes a cautious sip before gesturing you away.

‘Thanks to you and to your Mother, Signorina,’ Primo says, accepting his glass. Secondo takes his with a nod and pull of his lips that could be mistaken for a smile which you return in kind. Which leaves only the youngest Emeritus. He is watching you having settled into his casually relaxed demeanour leaning against his still stuck pitch fork. Something makes you pause until he gestures you towards him.

‘I take it this one is for me, si?’ Your mouth inexplicably goes dry as you make your way towards him. Now your job is almost complete, you have the opportunity to take him in properly. A stubborn lock of his hair, despite his best efforts has fallen loose sticking to the sheen of sweat covering his brow, in fact his youthful face positively glows with perspiration so you hurry the last few steps towards him, needing to provide him with a means to ease his heat inspired discomfort. You avoid his eyes as he takes his glass, relieving you of your burden at last and you tuck the underside of the tray against your chest in a futile attempt to shield yourself from his piercing gaze.

He barely hesitates bringing the glass to his full lips, tipping his head back, greedily drinking the cool refreshment. He finishes it quickly with a satisfied sigh and he hands the glass back to you, his fingers grazing yours as he makes the exchange. A drop escapes the corner of his mouth slipping off his chin before he can catch it. You can’t help but follow its progress down his neck and into his open shirt collar where it settles where his chest hair begins. For some reason you find yourself transfixed as the vivid image of you closing the distance between you and following its path with your mouth fills your mind.

‘Thank you Canaria.’ His voice abruptly snaps you out of your trance with a gasp and you can feel your blood rushing into your cheeks as you register the impropriety of your thoughts. You realise all four of them are now watching you and you pray that they hadn’t noticed your momentary distraction. They had all finished their lemonade so you shakily collect their glasses worried that the tray will slip from your grip at any moment. With a final weak smile you make your escape.

‘Ci vorrà una settimana prima che tu possa indossare le sue mutande.’ (It'll be a week before you're in her underwear.) You hear Mr Emeritus mutter as you leave but you don’t wait to hear anymore. You need to get a hold of yourself and to do that you need to be as far away from him as possible.

#terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo #papa emeritus iii #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing

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kwebtv · 4 months

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TV Guide - May 16 - 22, 1964

Sir Alfred Joseph Hitchcock, KBE, (13 August 1899 – 29 April 1980) Film director and producer, at times referred to as “The Master of Suspense”. He pioneered many elements of the suspense and psychological thriller genres. He had a successful career in British cinema with both silent films and early talkies and became renowned as England’s best director. Hitchcock moved to Hollywood in 1939 and became a US citizen in 1955.

Along with Walt Disney, Hitchcock was among the first prominent film producers to fully envisage just how popular the medium of television would become. From 1955 to 1965, Hitchcock was the host of the television series titled Alfred Hitchcock Presents. While his films had made Hitchcock’s name strongly associated with suspense, the TV series made Hitchcock a celebrity himself. His irony-tinged voice and signature droll delivery, gallows humour, iconic image and mannerisms became instantly recognizable and were often the subject of parody. (Wikipedia)

#TV Guide #TV #1964 #Alfred Hitchcock #Alfred Hitchcock Presents

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algrimthestrong · 1 year

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@coldlizardmuses | Continued from here.

coldlizardmuses:

" Adventure. The winds here seem so powerful, and seeing your attire, well, curiosity had to make me ask. "

[ Aeolus answered the elf with a casual chuckle. It seemed he wasn't too fond of formalities, but he wouldn't let that affect Algrim. His ears picked up the sound of howling winds outside, and his body trembled a bit in excitement. ]

" Say, Councilor Algrim... would you mind showing off your cloak and robes in the wind for me? I apologize if that request seems so forward, I was just wanting to have someone else indulge in the powerful gale today alongside me. "

[ Nearby, he opened the door to the balcony of Algrim's quarters, making sure that the winds wouldn't blow any of the contents inside the room in a frenzy. His ebony cloak and robe whipped and snapped about his form in a frenzied flurry, producing a symphony of cracks and pops.

Standing to the side, he waited for Algrim to walk out into the wind, awaiting to see how his cloak and robe would react to the winds. ]

Roving adventurer the stranger may be, Algrim could not help but wonder if his visitor might have a reason to leave his identity a mystery. Before he could request a proper introduction, however, the other’s next remark gave him pause. Algrim glanced down at himself, his forehead wrinkling, then looked back up at the other. “My attire?” His formal robes, albeit flowing and ostentatious, tailored to impress any visiting dignitaries with the greatness of the king whom he served, were hardly reason enough to draw anyone into his study. It was usually people seeking his counsel on matters of state rather than fashion who came to see him.

When the other turned the conversation to the weather, particularly to the winds whipping outside, the brash request that followed had Algrim looking at his visitor with arched brows, trying to make sense of the droll situation he’d found himself in. Watching on silently as the stranger opened the door to his balcony, Algrim could only wonder about his motivations. He was certainly an unusual personage – Algrim was not sure yet whether he wanted to get to know him or dismiss him on the spot.

Deciding to humour his visitor for the moment, the elf stepped out into the open. While it was not a particularly hot day, the cooling wind felt refreshing on his face after spending half a day behind his desk. Algrim glanced over his shoulder at the other man. “Now, would you care to explain what this is all about?”

#coldlizardmuses

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annngallina · 1 year

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dmcheatsheet · 4 months

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potions and poisons 1.

Fire Elf Wine, somehow i want this to poison rich people. like suger in ur diet will react with this to cause goat or vomiting, richness of diet, maybe processed food? magical gmos? the great citys and nobles would be eating from magicaly enhanced gardens so thats what the fire wine interacts with, con fail = vomit, but over 10 they get 10 temp hp, disAdv on all saves, and will fly into a DM guided rage if annoyed. until long rest it away.

iron wine, from a mining/ distilary in the cliff side of the moors. an Emonian clan distil this glorius brew. taste of blood and mild flavoured berrys, but the main flavour is pure, stinging alchohol. It gives advantage on con saves if u make the initial DC10 to hold onto it. and raises ur AC by 1, and any fleight/ jump/ vehical motion or asuch will prone, paralyze and make u through up.

Absinthe-ay Chromatamagoria

brewed in Ard Carmen, it changes flavour based on ur latitude, like a note block. so bars have a weird placement of people, talking to friends through spells, who ae across the bar enjoying a different flavour. And can be found with a bunch of reveling wizards, in a feild, because they found a perfect latitiude for a crazy cool elemental flavour.

Bog Brandy, hags make it. goblins, orcs and ogars go berserk. Rage effect and if they drink 3 without vomiting DC 15 (1 try/Lrest), they upgrade to the bigger goblinoid, 1/year. Hob Goblins, become violent aggressive and naked drunks. others who survive DC15, still think its awful but get the affect of a 5 uses primal savagry cantrip.

'Flower of the Felwood' dc15 it marks u as a demon, u understand abyssal, feel demonic presence within 30f, and it tastes like mint, then just cold, then it feels sooo cold it burns the throught.

Mermaids' spite. it makes u very forgetful right now, short term/ this day, keep remembering the thing that angered u most and u get furious about it, ranting and fighting anyone who argues with them. but after falling asleep AFTER 6 hours active (keep them awake til) they will fall asleep and on waking wont remember the thing that they are angrey about, and will have a very spoty, often dream-like memory of the day they were drunk.

poison of tears. 6 poison damage, and they cry snot and droll like crazy for an hour. extreme dehydration and exhaustion if they dont find water within the next hour.

poison of night. 6 dmg, and if fail DC 10 con sv, they are blinded for ten turns/ 1 min.

snake poison. no dmg, if they fail dc10, they beacome paralyzed for 2 rounds/ 10 seconds

charming poison. They act like theyre very attracted to the first thing they see after shaking their head (dc10, Cha sv). maybe they grow shy of a tree and move away ignoring the battle around. or they love an enemy and just propose right there. or silently defend them, or chat em up while still fighting (non lethal). those who dont feel attraction, naturally or by circumstance arnt afected, they just shiver wildly.

bee venom. looses concentration dc10 Con, bees hate those who are hit, and all insects are attracted to attack them.

Brinacle Bath Water. DC 20, or loose movement, next turn dc15 or loose movement that turn, next turn dc10 or loose it again. if they fail all three, then at the end of that third turn the poisoned will freeze. anyone with fire relations. sorceres with fire spells, fire elves, natural fire spells, fire related patron or farmilier.

exuberance. from the city of love, it makes u extremely excited, excitable. ur beaming smiling, everything u say comes of in good humour and happy. people assume ur having the best day ever, that ur a genuinely happy person, and a fun person to be around. HIGHLY illeagal outside of the city, Lady Love knows its become an addiction, and cant moniter people outside teh city, so has her followers smash or spill smuggled ones over her shrines in sacrifice.

potion of wish. u honestly believe ur wish came true. they character then hallucinates (with narration to no body in particular) their wish coming true.

moon light collected for a month. as a potion it keeps ur illusions up under scrutiny. as a poison/ splashed, it melts illusion like they were fire, it flickers and wobbles.

potion of storms, it randomly blinks u out of existance, and u manifest somewhere random within 30f. every time, a massive thunder clap sounds from both places, but people cant triangulate it with the loadness and echos. Lightning strikes if u outside, not harming u but often dealing 2d6 to others. this may release a storm elemental if ur in a place of nature energy.

potion of... fish? immortal fish that, might be a potion? if they talk, it says 'just keep swimming', if they swollow it, they become a were-fish (60f darkvision with weird eyes - webbed didgets/double spd in water - claws do four dmg - gills can breath water - u need hydration quick rub on ur skin, every 3 hours or exhaustion). the affect is perm but 3 days without water or 24 hours in heated sand will force a reversion to natural form.

Warping Walker potion. gravity affects u differently when u turn ur head, u can walk onto a wall or ceiling, and that becomes ur 'down' in terms of gravity, u also jump 10f forward, 6f up. be aware stepping off a roof will send u straight up...

mind crack. DC (must be embarrassed) u start hearing peoples thoughts, beside u, around u, people u know, love/hate. its not mind reading its random daily thoughts totally mundane, espetially goofy thoughts and then they are all taken over by shouted catch phrases, funny quotes from ur party, then an animals mind is locked on eg Mmm grass, good grass, milk me. soon soon. milk soon. Then the perosn will start acting like that animal. they know therir friends, more afectionate now prob, they know their enemies, much more lickly to attack (in the fashion of their animal) but cant use wepons or magics. can use abilities.

#alcohol #potion #poison

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webseriesviral · 1 year

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The common wisdom that “the book is usually better than the film” is as true of children’s literature as of its adult counterpart: cinema is stacked with adaptations of children’s classics that may be perfectly proficient, but haven’t the inspired individuality of the works at their source.Devotees of Roald Dahl have learned this a lot over the years. His offbeat humour and offhand storytelling style, so irresistible to kids, rarely translates all the way to screen — it’s thwarted such titans as Steven Spielberg, who whiffed with The BFG (Netflix), though Wes Anderson’s droll Fantastic Mr Fox succeeded by inventing eccentricities of its own. Best of all, Nicolas Roeg’s very adult sense of the macabre proved a delicious fit for The Witches (Amazon Prime), notwithstanding a simplified, studio-mandated happy ending.‘A small miracle’: Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are. Photograph: Warner Bros./AllstarThe somewhat clunkily titled Roald Dahl’s Matilda the Musical, which hits Netflix this weekend, falls somewhere in between: adapted from the hit stage musical, so already once removed from the text, it’s bright and lively and exuberantly performed, particularly by a thundering Emma Thompson as wicked headmistress Miss Trunchbull. That will secure it repeat play in many a household, though Matthew Warchus’s film dials down the book’s perverse darkness and melancholy. I prefer it to Danny DeVito’s broadly Americanised 1996 version, but a great screen Matilda eludes us still.What are the children’s films, then, that stand up to the books they’re drawn from? Not a huge success when released, Spike Jonze’s beautiful, bittersweet adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are is a small miracle: a film that doesn’t stick to the letter of its source but to its roaming, curious spirit, with an intense interest in children and how they absorb and invent stories. Also on the more philosophical side: animator Mark Osborne’s loyal, loving stop-motion take on Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince (Netflix), a text that has previously defeated film-makers who have tried to make it more narratively tidy. (A dreary musical version from the 1970s is best forgotten.) Osborne’s film trusts in young viewers to empathise with abstract ideas, to unpack metaphors for themselves.Extravagant children’s fantasy is a challenge to film: the risk of cramping or negating readers’ vivid mental images is high. Films of Philip Pullman’s Northern Lights and CS Lewis’s Narnia books felt more dutiful than sparked by imagination; of the respectable Harry Potter films (which all landed on Netflix last month), I think only Alfonso Cuarón’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban takes flight independently of the book. (Years before, Cuarón delivered a ravishing, definitive version of Francis Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess; I’d trust him with any treasured volume.)But I retain a fondness for German director Wolfgang Petersen’s mad, sometimes visionary 1984 adaptation of Michael Ende’s The NeverEnding Story, with its fearlessly nightmarish imagery and ornate world-building; and also anime legend Hayao Miyazaki’s swirling, fanciful take on Diane Wynne Jones’s Howl’s Moving Castle (Netflix). Still, the gold standard for applying one unique fantastical vision to another might be Czech auteur Jan Švankmajer’s jaggedly surrealist Alice (Amazon), a loose, feverish spin on Lewis Carroll, combining live action and expressionistic stop-motion. It won’t be for all children, but it’s richer than Disney’s various attempts.Noah Hathaway as Atreyu in The NeverEnding Story. Photograph: Constantin Film/AllstarTalking animals, a staple trope of children’s literature, can be harder to present on screen than on the page, though Paul King’s two Paddington films (BBC iPlayer) – already enjoying national-treasure status – and Babe, Chris Noonan’s wry Dick King-Smith adaptation, make it seem wholly natural. In animation, of course, the illusion is a little easier to pull off: see Don Bluth’s immersive rodent quest The Secret of NIMH or the noble rabbits of Martin Rosen’s exquisitely visceral, parental-guidance-very-much-required Watership Down.Back in the real world, Lionel Jeffries’s beloved version of E Nesbit’s The Railway Children (BBC iPlayer) is most striking today for the modesty of its storytelling, as it trusts children’s interest in the everyday. Ditto Agnieszka Holland’s wonderful, stately telling of The Secret Garden, shorn of the needless sparkly fantasy applied to the more lavish 2020 version. Even among books for older children, few are adapted today with the perceptive tough-mindedness of Kes, Ken Loach’s unimprovable film of Barry Hines’s A Kestrel for a Knave – though recently, in a sea of mushy YA adaptations, George Tillman Jr’s The Hate U Give stood out for its integrity and ambition in presenting ugly adult realities to young viewers. It’s a rare and tricky balance to strike: in cinema, taking on children’s fiction definitely isn’t child’s play.All titles are available to rent on multiple platforms unless otherwise specifiedAlso new on streaming and DVDAvatar: The Way of Water. Photograph: Moviestore Collection Ltd/AlamyAvatar: The Way of Water (Disney) James Cameron’s watery mega-sequel finally comes to DVD and Blu-ray, though it’s hard to imagine how well it’ll play minus the eye-popping 3D of its cinema release – even on the big screen, the roving immersiveness of its underwater spectacle was doing a lot to cover for its thin, recycled story and one-ply characters.God’s Creatures (BFI) Complex, anguished performances by Emily Watson, Paul Mescal and Aisling Franciosi are the standout virtue of this solemn Irish village drama, in which a prodigal son’s return to the fold aggravates lingering trauma in others. It’s handsome and absorbing, though missing the original, dynamic cinematic spirit of directors Anna Rose Holmer and Saela Davis’s previous film, The Fits.Pacifiction (New Wave) Iconoclastic director Albert Serra obliquely tackles Tahiti’s legacy of colonialism in this meandering, gradually hypnotic study of a shady French official (a superb Benoît Magimel) wheeling and dealing his way around the island. Serra demands your patience, but rewards it with some dazzling, sensual coups de cinéma. [ad_2] Read More

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