#and the executives gulped audibly and assured themselves he knew what he was doing
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Hot take
You can gauge how much creative liberty Robert Eggers was granted in each movie by whether there are penises present.
#like they went robert#do whatever you want this time because we were stupid to try to tell you what to do last time#and he went#you know i did want dicks in the northman#and the executives gulped audibly and assured themselves he knew what he was doing#and he took care to give a decaying dick to his decaying vampiric manifestation of evil#and what's more he made sure we knew he used it#and ooooh he used it#like he was falling apart#but there was some rigor mortis involved there iykwim#aityd#does this count as spoilers? don't wanna spoil bill's appearance for anyone#gonna tag it as spoilers#spoilers#nosferatu 2024#nosferatu 2024 spoilers#nosferatu#nosferatu spoilers#robert eggers#count orlok#bill skarsgård#i did a lot of deep analysis i deserve to be silly now#lighthouse doesn't count now i think of it because he conceded it was better to be restrained smart man#the northman#the lighthouse
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heather & nathaniel - otherwise occupied
The party hasn’t quite gotten started by the time Heather interrupts them with the insistent staccato of her fist against the bedroom door, but it’s enough on its way that they both visibly flinch, mouths detaching with an audible pop, and stare at each other in mutual frustration.
“Occupied,” Rebecca calls out, then yanks Nathaniel back down by his neck to resume her attack on his face.
“Sorry, can’t hear you, coming in,” Heather intones back.
The door opens as promised to reveal a wine-drunk Heather, bottle in hand, and Rebecca growls at the intrusion, executing a poorly-aimed shove and roughly extricating Nathaniel’s hand from under her shirt.
She flops heavily onto her back. “What do you want, Heather?”
Ignoring the question, Heather jerks her chin at Nathaniel. “Can I get under the covers, or are you not wearing pants?”
He stares at her for a moment before reaching for his discarded t-shirt at the foot of the bed. “Maybe I should just go.”
“Hey,” Rebecca says abruptly. “What are you doing? Don’t—do not put your shirt back on. She’s leaving!”
“Yeah,” Heather says with a shrug, blatantly looking him up and down. “I mean, it’s fine.”
He frowns and tugs the sheet up over his chest as a compromise.
“He might still be wearing his pants,” Rebecca grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest and staring straight forward at the wall, “but I’m not making any promises.”
“This side it is. Scooch over, lover boy.”
Heather lifts up the corner of the bedspread and shoehorns her way in with such matter of factness that Nathaniel finds himself shifting over without question, nudging Rebecca closer to her edge of the bed as a byproduct and earning himself disbelieving scowl in response.
“I see what this is,” Rebecca says, yanking out the sheets where they’ve gathered uncomfortably beneath her. “This is payback for last weekend. But it’s not going to work. Ha-ah-ah, nope. You know why? Because I love sleepovers. Sleepovers are my favourite thing, so. Of course I’m going to love a sleepover with two of my favourite people. Right? That’s just… twice the fun. Which means I’m going to enjoy this way more than you.”
“Cool,” Heather says, the infinitesimal twitching of her lips only serving to needle Rebecca further. “Then let’s hang, roomie. Bring it.”
Nathaniel continues to fidget from where he’s caught uncomfortably between them, still clutching the comforter to his chest.
“Oh, are you, like, low-key pitching a tent or something? Don’t be embarrassed—I’m outdoorsy. I knew what I was walking in on.”
His eyes flutter shut as he tilts his face up towards the ceiling. “Well and truly taken care of, believe me.”
“Do you guys want some wines?” Heather asks, angling the neck of the bottle for a refill and narrowly avoiding missing the glass entirely. A trickle runs down the side onto the bedspread.“Oops. I only have one glass but we can share, it’s fine.”
He can practically see Rebecca’s eye start twitching as she stares at the pink blotch blossoming in the fabric of her covers, and he squeezes her thigh in an attempt to appease her. “We’re good,” he says, clearing his throat.
Heather palms the remote from the nightstand and immediately commandeers control of the television, punching through the channels until she settles on reruns of Planet Earth, curiosity sufficiently piqued by the colourful shots of schools of tropical fish and the pleasing lilt of David Attenborough’s dulcet tones.
Nathaniel would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested, but the simmering agitation is still rolling off Rebecca in waves beside him. He knows better than to spend too much time looking at the screen.
Her stony silence persists, though, and when she rolls her eyes and pushes herself down the bed to bury her head into her pillow—back turned towards them, the cold shoulder clear—he lets himself grow a little lax. He doesn’t watch TV particularly often, and while Rebecca’s generally a fan of a late night movie, more often than not they tend to find themselves somewhat preoccupied.
“She should get a new mattress, right?” Heather says during a lull in the commentary, between ungraceful gulps of her wine. “You should tell her to get a new mattress. This one feels like it was passed over by Goldilocks, the princess from Once Upon a Mattress and the princess from Slumbered. Just, like, all the exhausted princesses.”
“The bed is fine,” Nathaniel says, raising his eyebrows. “Sleep like a baby, every time.”
“Well, okay then, Papa Bear.”
Though he immediately hates himself for it, after a beat he asks, “Was Goldilocks a princess?”
“Yeah. But like, a people’s princess.”
Rebecca lets out a sleepy moan and rolls back towards Nathaniel, burrowing into his side. “If you hate my mattress so much, leave,” she says, the words garbled from the way her face is smooshed into his ribcage. His palm curls around her shoulder on autopilot but she shrugs him off irritably, oversteering and tipping too-far towards the edge.
She lets gravity take its due course and melts out the side of the bed to the floor, taking half the bedcovers with her. Once she manages to push herself to her feet—pantsless, as promised earlier, but thankfully with a flash of blue cotton visible beneath the hem of her t-shirt—she tangles a hand in her mussed hair in frustration. “Dude, seriously. What do I gotta do to get you to leave? Coitus interruptus aside, I just fucking want to go to bed.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving,” Heather assures her. “One—you’re right, this is payback for last weekend. Two—as long as I’m here, you two aren’t having sex. Which means I don’t have to listen to you two having sex. Three—your television is bigger than mine, so. Pros all round.”
Nathaniel recognises what’s about happen approximately two seconds before Rebecca launches herself forward, and by some miracle of reflex he manages to intercept and haul her off Heather before she has the chance to substitute a sharp writing implement with her bare hands at her housemate’s throat.
“Okay,” he says, swinging her back towards the other side of the mattress with a grunt despite the admirable struggle she puts up. “That’s enough.”
“Let me go, you turncoat,” she gasps, so taken aback by his unexpected betrayal that her assault on Heather is momentarily forgotten.
She clambers back off the bed, turning around to yank on the bedspread as an afterthought, pulling the covers off entirely and exposing the twin lengths of their ridiculously long legs. Nathaniel comically scrunches up in a ball at the unexpected gush of air but Heather remains unfazed, tilting her head in Rebecca’s direction.
“Well, rude,” she says.
“You,” Rebecca growls, jabbing an index and middle finger in Nathaniel’s direction. “Put your shirt on. We’re leaving. This sleepover has officially been relocated to your apartment and Heather’s not invited.”
Nathaniel opens his mouth to say something then quickly closes it again, sneaking a furtive glance at the television that has Rebecca jerking her head towards him and widening her eyes, enraged.
“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather stay in bed and watch late night TV with my drunk housemate than continue taking off the rest of my clothes?” When he hesitates she adds, “For the record, there is very much a right and wrong answer to that question.”
Rolling his eyes, he retrieves his shirt from the end of the bed and tugs it down over his head, compressing the crest of his hair and sending it bouncing comically upwards once it escapes containment. “Are you really going to make me drive across town right now? It’s almost midnight.”
“Are you really leaving me to infer that your answer is yes—you would rather stay in bed and watch—”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he assures her, reaching across Heather to retrieve his keys from the nightstand.
“Well, you kids have fun,” Heather calls after them as Rebecca aggressively shepherds Nathaniel from the room, tossing one shoe then the other at his retreating back and eliciting a protesting yelp each time. “I’m just gonna, like, chill here and crash.”
She starfishes across the bed in satisfaction.
mini fic prompt meme.
#crazy ex girlfriend#it's hot here in hell so ship it all away#rebecca x nathaniel#heather davis#nathaniel + heather#brotp: what are you doing in my house?#my fic#mini fic prompt meme#catty-words#replies#this is not remotely what it was supposed to be#which was a lot more of heather and nathaniel watching tv#but rebecca really likes to make things about her so here we are#it almost fits the prompt??
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