#i wish i was dead. or i wish she was dead.

[grvait]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the boys who eventually got turned into doey. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[samnoahalov]

My father had schizophrenia(he's dead), and although I know he did bad things, I also know that he was a good father(as much as he could), when I was a kid I didn't know, but I knew my father sometimes couldn't be with us because he was having a "bad" day/week and not really "okay". To this day whenever people say anything about this "kind" of mental illness I just think of my dad, yes he was violent, he hurted me my sister and my mother, but he also was strugling so much to just stay alive with us. I love my dad, I was just a kid that wanted to have time with the only person that felt truly loved them. And some of my friends also have some type of it(or a combination of), and they're the best people, literally one of my best friends is both Schizophrenic and Bipolar, she sometimed left me because she's not feelings well and want to be alone, I let her and give her a lot of things for us to talk once she's is back, even if it takes a little too long and I really miss her. I wish I could do something more, but I live too far, for now I try to be patient and nice. No one deserve to be hurted by anything(specially if it's something they're born with).

Here I am, posting something similar like the fibro post... this one goes out to my psychotic folks🫶

[ramshackledtrickster]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @thou-babbling-brook !!!! TO MY BEST FRIEND AND PARTNER I LOVE YOU SO MUCHHHHH

She really loves the deleted scene of Arno tucking Léon into bed for the Dead Kings dlc so I hope this is alright!!

But yeah she is just. Such an amazing person such a sweetheart and is so talented and wonderful and sweet and smart and funny guys I’m not even kidding everyone go wish her a happy birthday now pspspsps

I’m so lucky and grateful to have known you!!!

Also if you’re able, please also consider supporting these fundraisers and aid orgs here (people still need support through the ceasefire), and remember your daily click

[tkomptgoedluv]

girl with one eye.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.4

pt.1 here | pt.2 here | pt.3 here | pt.4

joost klein x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader is finally seeing a therapist, established relationship, they’re so so in love i wanna cry, reader just wants a good night sleep, joost just wants to help, a loootttttt of hurt, maybe too much of comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 2,833.

warnings: very detailed descriptions of SA, very brief allusion to drugging, semi-vague descriptions of a panic attack, rpf.

notes: hello angels! this is veryyyyy overdue but it’s finally here! the ending is a little rushed and i’ve only half-proofread it so please forgive me for any errors. also — this part comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING for those of you that struggle with SA, please do not put yourself at risk by reading if it’s not meant for you!

on a happier note, i’d like to give credits to @spentandpent for drawing that first image of joost in my little header thingy. their fan-art kinda inspired this whole part <3

also i wanna shoutout @howisjoostfanfictionforfree simply because sloane is one of my favourite people on this whole entire app, and she’s been so so supportive of me since my very first fic post. i ♥️ you, sloane my bbyg xx

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you wanted to kick yourself.

genuinely, you felt a little sick whenever you thought about all those years you’ve wasted by being just a little too stubborn for your own good.

all those sweet, early mornings where the sun would peak through the blinds and you’d wake up to find him still curled all around you, and how you would run from them just because they started to feel a little too real. all those nights where you’d leave him still tangled up in the sheets, breathless and wishing you’d stay just a little while longer whilst you were already halfway out the door.

for years all you did was run, and you’re yet to forgive yourself for it. because this — this was heaven and you could have had it so much sooner if only you hadn’t been such a fucking coward.

you blame it all on those three little flings that you had over the years; those three no-more-than-six-weeks-long ‘relationships’ that still, somehow, almost ruined you. the first was a guy that seemed to love his pills and potions more than you, the second was once the ‘love of your life’ before he stuck his dick in someone else, and the third was nothing more than a few too many bad hookups with a guy you couldn’t quite shake.

they were what did it for you, in the end. what convinced you to avoid anything more than the odd one-night-stand here and there. you just weren’t cut out for the whole ‘dating’ thing, apparently, and that was fine. you were fine with that; happy about it, even. as long as it meant that you wouldn’t have to go through anymore disappointment, you’d live with it. or without it, rather.

so when you found yourself stood outside in the pouring rain, arguing back and forth with joost about something you can’t even remember anymore, you still thought it to be out of the question. you were refusing to believe that you were anything more than a stress-reliever to him, because that’s all you could ever be. all you ever wanted to be.

whatever it was that you and joost had, it was special. you couldn’t explain it, and you certainly weren’t willing to lose it by feeling all the wrong things for him. you had no idea that he was the one who’d fallen down that rabbit hole, the one who’d started feeling all those wrong things first — not until he kissed you that day.

with the rain soaking the two of you down to the bone, tears pooling in both of your eyes. his chest had been heaving and your throat had felt all scratchy from the yelling; still, he had been so gentle with you. even more so than he usually was. he had his hands cupping your face and the way he’d looked at you, still to this day it gives you goosebumps whenever you think about it.

how lucky you are that for the past six months joost has kissed you just like that, every single day.

every morning now, when you wake up to the sun shining through the blinds and joost’s arms still wrapped around you, you don’t dare to move. you wait until you hear that low grumble in your ear that’s always followed by a sweet kiss to the back of your shoulder, and only then do you roll over to return the favour. sometimes it unravels into something more, other times you’re both able to show some restraint.

the afternoons are always a little more unpredictable with joost’s job being what it was. there were days where he’d say his goodbyes before midday and wouldn’t return until the early hours of the next morning. there were the months where you’d be lucky to even get a whole day together at all. but there were also the days where he’d only be out for a few hours, either at the studio or one of the boys’ houses. on those ones, whether it was your place or his, joost would always come home to you with pastries in his hand and some new art of his to show you.

for the first time in all your years of living, things were finally good. you were happy; you were in love. it was only right to assume that with that, everything else was bound to fall into place.

but you just weren’t sleeping.

you drift off for a while, tucked neatly away into joost’s arms as he engulfs you, him always being so insistent on being the big spoon. for a couple hours you’ll sleep like that, tossing and turning until you’re all the way over on the other side of the bed, and it’s there that you wake up struggling to catch your breath, shaking like a leaf.

usually, it’s just bits and pieces of that night all jumbled up that you see. quick ‘flashes’ of his face, the bloodied crack in the bathroom mirror, the feeling of the porcelain sink digging into your stomach as he bent you over it. nothing truly coherent, but enough to still wake you up in a panic at three o’clock in the morning. then it becomes a gamble as to whether or not you’re able to fall back asleep. most of the time, you’re still laying there wide awake when the sun starts to rise, still far too afraid to close your eyes again.

though for whatever reason, tonight’s dream had been particularly awful. you could’ve sworn that you were actually back there this time, relieving the whole thing. you could feel his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing, keeping you pinned down. you could feel your skirt all in a bunch around your waist again and your tights barely hanging on from how he’d ripped them to near shreds.

and now you were here, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry too loud whilst the clock ticked closer and closer to dawn. it was almost five o’clock in the morning so really, it should’ve felt as though you’d gotten at least a couple hours of good sleep. instead, you were exhausted; wide awake with your heart pounding inside your chest, but exhausted as tears slipped from the corners of your eyes.

this wasn’t what you expected, not when joost had painted such a beautiful picture that therapy was the be all and end all cure for any and every problem. it had you convinced that by the time you were a few months into your sessions, things would’ve gotten at least a little bit easier. perhaps it was your fault for getting your hopes up the way that you did.

you were trying to keep it quiet, your crying. you hadn’t told joost about what had actually happened that night yet, let alone the nightmares about it. he had a habit of carrying other people’s pain so that they wouldn’t have to themselves — you didn’t want to be one of those people.

after a while though, you didn’t have that choice anymore. there was a bang from outside, nothing more than just an old, cheap car backfiring, and you jumped. you made the bedframe shake a little more than it already was and yelped just loud enough to wake joost up from his sleep. you swore underneath your breath as he grumbled something you couldn’t quite hear before looking back over his shoulder at you.

“you heard that too?”

when you didn’t say anything he turned over fully, the sheets rusting and the mattress creaking as he moved.

you heard him whisper your name, just in case you really were still asleep, but even in the dark he could see that your eyes were open and staring blankly at the ceiling. it was a quiet sniffle that gave you away in the end, because the dark did well at hiding the wetness in your eyes. still, it couldn’t conceal the quick wipe of your nose; even in the dark and without his glasses on, joost could still see that.

“hey, are you crying?”

you didn’t mean to flinch when he went to brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, and you didn’t mean to worry him by doing so. it made his eyebrows furrow as he pulled his hand back and sat up slightly, propping himself up on one of his elbows.

“what’s going on?”

“nothing, i just…i’m just being a bit stupid. i’m fine; you can go back to sleep.”

maybe if there wasn’t that waiver in your voice you would’ve gotten away with it. joost would’ve mumbled something of an ‘okay’ and kissed you goodnight before rolling back over. you would’ve been left alone to wait for the sunrise, a cold sweat coating your skin despite the warm summer air that was rolling in through your open windows.

but even if he was half blind without his glasses on, joost’s ears worked just fine. he heard the waiver in your voice as well as the sniffle in your nose, and he knew.

joost wasn’t stupid; he noticed things. noticed the way the bags under your eyes had been growing heavier over the past couple months, and saw how even the smallest things were making you jump out of your skin. he knew what you were like though, knew better than to try and ask you about it. all he could really do was hope that the therapist you had now would be enough.

but he’d found you near-sobbing at five o’clock in the morning now; heard the fear in your voice, saw the tears in your eyes. it didn’t surprise you to see him immediately sit up and reach over, switching on his bedside light before turning back to face you. but it did bring on a wave of sickness to your stomach, the kind that made your hands feel clammy.

“no, you’re not fine. what happened?”

you wiped at your nose again, and then at your eyes. as you spoke you refused to look at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the ceiling because you truly did believe that all of this was stupid. your tears, the heavy beating of your heart — all of it.

“just had a bad dream, that’s all.”

you heard a soft sigh from bedside you and felt gentle fingers in your hair, finally tucking that one strand behind your ear. this time, you didn’t flinch. you leaned into the touch, letting a single tear slip down your cheek as you realised that soon, this might be the last time he’ll ever want to touch you.

“anything i can do?”

you really didn’t want to do this, but you knew you needed to.

“can i…can i talk about it? you know, about what happened that night?”

joost didn’t hesitate, he couldn’t — not when this was such a rarity for you. he nodded and laid back down, his tired eyes watching as you rolled over until your back was facing him. he couldn’t bring himself to ask why you wouldn’t look at him, just listened quietly as you sucked in a deep breath and watched as you curled yourself into a ball.

“the guy, he was nice at first; saw that i was on my own and wanted to know how i ended up there, i guess. he seemed normal, like he just wanted to get to know me.”

your voice was shaking as you spoke, and you were struggling to breathe through your stuffed up nose.

“i should’ve known that something was wrong when i started to feel like, drunk drunk, after only a couple of drinks. maybe he slipped something in one of them, i don’t know, but when he asked if i wanted to do a line with him i didn’t think i could say no.”

a large hand squeezed your hip from over the covers when you paused for a moment, a few tears getting caught in your throat when you tried to swallow them down.

“i uh, i followed him into the bathroom and i let him lock the door behind us, and i did the line he racked up for me. he promised me that it was a gift, that he didn’t want anything for it; he knew i didn’t have any money to pay him and he said it was fine. but when i tried to leave he told me that he’d changed his mind, said i could pay him back another way.”

joost’s hand fell from your hip when you slipped out from underneath it and curled in further on yourself. it meant that all he could do was watch from the other side of the bed as your shoulders began to shake from the small, pathetic sobs that you couldn’t hold back.

“i said no, joost. he got me up against the door, tried to reach underneath my skirt, but i said no. he didn’t like that — didn’t like it when i hit him, either. he…he bent me over the sink, hit my head against the mirror, told me that i owed him for what he’d given me.”

you had to fight to get the words out through all of your blubbering; through each of the hiccups and all of the gagging. you truly were in a bit of a state now, spiralling further and further down into the memory, but you needed to do this. no matter how much it hurt, you just needed to get it out.

“he held me down by my neck and he…he laughed when i told him i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t move, joost, i couldn’t get him off so i just…”

when you started to trail off, a pair of arms scooped you up and gently pulled you across the bed until you were flat again joost’s chest. you felt him rest his head in the crook of your neck, a dozen salty tears of his own dripping down onto your shoulder. for a while, neither of you said anything else; you’d gotten yourself too worked up to find the rest of your words and quite frankly, joost didn’t need to hear anything else. he had an imagination, he knew what happened next.

you caught him off guard when after a couple minutes, just after the silence had settled, you started to apologise over and over again. like a child too consumed with guilt, you were spewing out desperate ‘i’m so sorry’s one after the other until the words all slurred together.

“hey, hey, hey, stop that. you don’t need to do that.” you felt him kiss the back of your ear, your neck, your shoulder. “i’m never gonna blame you for it, okay? — it’ll never be your fault.”

joost’s grip on you tightened when you began to cry harder, your tears soaking the pale, bare skin of his arm. he nuzzled his face deeper into the dip of your neck, listening to the unsteady beat of your pulse as you breathed in quick, shallow breaths.

“i-i’m sorry.”

“shhh, hey, it’s alright. just focus on breathing, honey. that’s all you need to do.”

it took you until little drops of sun were spilling through the blinds to finally relax enough to breathe right. neither of you had moved an inch, you were both still all wrapped up in each other, only now the tears had dried and your eyes were growing heavier.

carefully, you twisted in his arms until you were facing his chest, and it was there that you curled up again. you felt him leave kisses all along your crown; in your hair and on your forehead. as you hooked a leg over his, he used an arm to pull you closer, only satisfied once you were as close to being under his skin as you could be.

the warm summer air was still blowing in through your bedroom windows. it made the whole room hot and sticky, making you sweat even more than you always were from being so close to joost. beads of sweat were gathering along your hairline as well as his, and the bedsheets were beginning to cling to your skin. it was clammy and uncomfortable — still, you wouldn’t move.

“thank you, by the way.”

it was the sound of your own voice to break the silence again, but it was your words that made joost shift a little, only to tilt his head down to get a better look at you. when he met your eyes he saw that you were already staring up at him with something of a smile tugging at corners of your lips.

“for what, baby?”

“for letting me talk about it…and for not running away afterwards.”

with his eyes drooping and his breathing slow, joost simply scoffed. his hands danced their way up to your jaw and cupped your face, his thumbs gently stroking along the pink blush of your cheeks.

“i could never run away from you.”

[lafey]

I remember I had this friend in college that said whenever she was angry she would smash everything in her room. I remember looking at her dead in the eyes and saying "I wish I had the money for that".

what are you even supposed to do when youre angry.  cant scream at anyone cos im not a dick. cant break anything cos i paid money for that. cant rip my hair out cos i need it on my head. literally what now

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

hi - do you have any fics with scenes like the one in "but the world won't stop turning" where derek time travels and meets his mom? in this one she knows it him by scent (in her time he's 7-ish) and they just have lunch and talk bit. it's very bittersweet. i was hoping there might be more like it?

Hi anon. Let's see.

But The World Won't Stop Turning by thepsychicclam

(1/1 I 19,906 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek glances at Stiles, who is watching him with a curious expression.

“Oh shit,” Stiles exclaims as comprehension dawns on him. “Everything makes sense now. Derek, I know what the witch did, she cursed you with – “

But before Stiles is able to finish his sentence, everything fades away and Derek is surrounded by darkness.

***

A Chance Worth Taking by ash_mcj

(1/1 I 1,885 I General i Sterek)

When Derek woke up, he thought he was in a dream.

There were posters littering the familiar forest green walls that he hadn’t seen in years—Star Trek, Black Eyed Peas, even a Destiny’s Child one he had completely forgotten was on the back of his bedroom door that he’d stolen from Laura’s wall when she’d left for college. A burgundy and white letterman jacket was slung over his desk chair, bold letters spelling his surname and his basketball number across the back with Beacon Hills Cyclones Basketball on the lower half.

This wasn’t possible—this room had burned to ash years ago, and his nightmares almost never featured such simple scenes as this one. There were no foreboding feelings, no sharp smell of smoke, no guilt-inducing screams. 

And just as he was about to dig his clawed hand into his thigh in an attempt to wake himself from this maybe-dream, he remembered. ___

[or: with the help of some magic, Derek and Stiles go back in time—giving them the opportunity to save not only their future pack, but also the first one Derek lost]

Days Like These. by Missy_Moo

(6/23 I 8,801 I General I Sterek)

Derek and Stiles mated right after Stiles finished highschool, they had been trying for a baby ever since. Unfortunatly nature was against them and everything they tried had failed. Until their third and final round of IVF, they were pregnant! Deaten finds the spell to send Derek back to stop the fire on the very same day that they find oout about their pup. Now its Dereks choice, his new family or his old one.

-

Or where Derek goes back in time stops the fire, forgets about Stiles and has to find his mate all over again. While Stiles pouts his way through a virgin mary style pregnancy.

Blood of my Veins, Bone of my Body by DaoOfGay

(4/? I 10,679 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek Hale was a stupid and very proud teen. He always regretted the words he told the one that was his Soulmate... That day was the day he threw away his chance at happiness while pushing someone down a path of no return.

He regretted it so much...

Now, at such old age, he lived a lonely life. His friends, family, and others he loved- he pushed them away slowly, and he didn't even notice it. So, as he died alone, all he wanted was to go back...

"-rek, tell me this freak is lying and that you two aren't Soulmates-"

He hadn't even come to his senses- everything was so weird, but when he heard those words, his entire being screamed and he opened his mouth to say: "Of course we're Soulmates-"

There was only silence in the school cafeteria.

Back to the Beginning by erraticallyinspired

(7/? I 18,532 I Teen I Sterek)

"The last thing he can remember is turning his back to Jennifer-Julia. It was stupid, of course, because she was the Darach and knew perfectly well how to handle werewolves. [...] He has to be dead."

Jennifer knocks Derek out in the elevator, but he doesn't wake up there.

A Simple Wish by monkeyihihji

(5/5 I 23,022 I Teen I Sterek)

In less than seven days, his girlfriend had randomly broken up with him and kicked him out. He was forced to move back home to a family that seemed to not really want him. His bed was too small. And his former childhood best friend--who he just figured out he was in love with--was with someone else. Happy Birthday, Derek. It was a great week, really. The candle flickers and seems to mock him. He takes a deep breath and blows.

"I wish I could go back and fix this whole mess."

Time To Say Goodbye by matildajones

(1/1 I 34,323 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek finds an older version of himself at his front door, along with Stiles, a boy from the future.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Autopsy of a Scene: "Ellen meets Professor Von Franz"

Context

Victorian society (early 19th century): views on sexuality, especially female; women seen as innocent and naïve (infantilization); marriage and motherhood as a woman's destiny;

Victorian medicine: Ellen's supernatural gifts (trance mediumship) medicalized by Victorian doctors as "hysteria" and "melancholy".

Ellen and Count Orlok backstory

In the prologue of “Nosferatu” (2024), we are introduced to teenage Ellen crying, and praying for "a guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, spirit of any celestial sphere... anything..." to come to her. She is 15 years old, as confirmed by composer Robin Carolan in an interview. She’s considered a “child” in the narrative at this point because the concept of “teenager” and “adolescence” didn’t exist in the 19th century: a person would go from “childhood” into “adulthood” without anything in between. The concept of “teenager” (as a phase between being an actual “child” and an “adult) was only created after World War II.

Why is Ellen crying and calling out for “anything” to come to her? What’s the context? The answer is in her first scene with Professor Von Franz (more on that later).

Ellen didn't merely "summoned" Count Orlok: she was the one who brought him back from the dead, and cursed him to be a strigoi. His corpse was dead and rotting since the late 16th century (that's why he calls her "his affliction", as in "disease"; "sickness" or "plague"). And this isn't only confirmed by Orlok twice, and by Ellen herself, when she cryptically says it to Professor Von Franz ("I wished..."), and when she reveals to Thomas: "I have brought this evil upon us."

This is the first time Orlok appears to Ellen, at her bedroom window, asking for entrance. Windows are connected to strigoi myths from Romanian folklore; where it’s said when strigoi rise from their graves for the first time, they return to those they have loved the most, because they wish to relive their lives together. The strigoi is said to appear at their loved one’s windows, asking for entrance (probably the origin of “vampires need to be invited in” lore). The strigoi usually torments them until they are dead, too (which is also what we see with Orlok and Ellen’s characters in this film). And there's a immediate recognition from Orlok's part ("You... you..."): he not only knows what Ellen is (enchantress), but who she is.

Ellen’s window in “Nosferatu” (2024) also has another reference: the “Wuthering Heights” inspiration, with the theme of “Catherine’s window”. In this novel, windows (and doors, too) are usually connected with Catherine and Heathcliff’s separation, and his inability to reach her. In “Nosferatu” (2024), we also see this with Ellen and Orlok: in the prologue, Ellen’s window is wide open (when she meets and develops a relationship with him), then it’s shut (separation) until the second and third act, when she asks him to come to her (reunion). It’s Ellen who grants or denies Orlok access to places, including to herself.  

We are probably dealing with reincarnation themes in this story as well, with Ellen possibly being Orlok's wife (since Bill Skarsgård confirmed Orlok was married and had a family), or the lover/bride he didn't get the chance to marry. Robert Eggers has confirmed he's a ancient spirit ("Orlok is an ancient noble, predating even the foundations of the Romanian Empire") so, we already dealing with reincarnation here because Orlok is a corpse from the late 16th century, with a whole boyar and vovoide backstory, the sovereign of a Transylvanian county (count). He's a Pagan worshipper of Zalmoxis, after all, he learned the secrets of immortality, life and death.

Linda Muir, the costume designer, also revealed in one interview that Orlok remembers lilacs from when he was alive; which isn't surprising since these flowers are native to the Balkans, but they are also the visual narrative device that symbolizes Ellen and Orlok's connection in this film: if Orlok associates these flowers with both his "human life" and Ellen, what is this supposed to mean? And even Ellen herself associates lilacs with Orlok, and it's a scent she is very fond of. Ellen also understands Orlok speaking Dacian (in this film it's a reconstructed language, fictional but well-researched), even thought it's an extinct language which hasn’t exist in spoken form for over a millennium and a half, and she's German. How come Ellen understands Dacian?

However, Orlok being in the "darkest pit" (O’er centuries, a loathsome beast I lay within the darkest pit") means his soul was deemed unworthy of entering Zalmoxis' kingdom after his 16th century life, or he couldn't enter it, for some reason. Instead of ascending (and preparing for his next reincarnation?), his soul appears to have been stuck in some sort of limbo, and when Ellen summoned him, his soul returned to his former body, cursing him to be a strigoi, a walking corpse who feeds off the blood of the living. "Loathsome" in Old English (which is what Orlok speaks, being from the late 16th century) is also connected with another word: "grievous" as in "grief".

“Your passion is bound to me […] I cannot be sated without you. Remember how once we were? A moment. Remember?”

The use of the term "sated" in this context can have a different meaning of "satisfied" (food and lust). In Old English, it's connected to the verb "sit", which means rest or lie. "I cannot rest without you"; which makes sense with their covenant being about them together ever-eternally in death, in the Afterlife. Orlok can’t find peace in death without Ellen's spirit by his side.

Either way, Ellen and Orlok end up developing a sexual relationship (lovers), as he symbolizes her sexual awakening in this story. As Ellen reveals to Thomas during her "possession scene": "At first it was sweet, I had never known such bliss." Then, Ellen tells him "yet it turned to torture, it would kill me" which is a reference to both her medicalization by Victorian society ("torture"), and their covenant ("it would kill me"), because she has to literally die in order to be "one with [him] ever-eternally", after all ("you are not for the living").

However, and even though Ellen end up marrying Thomas, what she and Orlok had never left her her mind/heart, as ilustrated by the lilacs around her (wedding dress, her perfume, and even her gowns): the lilacs (and Ellen's window) are the visual devices (visual storytelling) that represent the yearning between Ellen and Orlok.

Ellen's Medicalization

Victorian society was sexually repressed and Victorian doctors were obsessed with demonizing sexuality (especially female) to the point endlessness pathologies were theorized about it throughtout the 19th century, and it was during this time period the notion of “paraphilias” was created.

In the early 19th century, the ideal Victorian woman was a model of virtue, purity and modesty, and being a wife and a mother was a woman's destiny. Female sexuality was seen as a plague and a monstrosity in need of containment, which is what many literary critics see in “Dracula” by Bram Stoker (one of the main inspirations for this film), where the physical figure of the “sick woman” is one of the principal ways in which female sexuality manifests as a contagious disease, through the portrayal of Lucy Westenra and her degeneration into vampirism.

"I am disposed to recommend that she sleep in her corset. It encourages the correct posture, calms the womb, and revives circulation. And if her stirring escalates, you can always tie her to the bed. I'll increase the eter."

The Victorian characters patronize Ellen Hutter; she’s blameless because she’s “sick”, she has a “disease” she’s not able to control. Anna says she’s innocent, and a “sweet Romantic”, and believes her "hysteric fits" are caused by her husband's disappareance (because a woman's life revolved entirely around their husbands, and they didn't had "inner lives"). Thomas dismisses her premonitions as a consequence of her "melancholy", too.

Ellen is perceived as ”blameless of her malady” by the Victorian characters because Victorian women were expected to be innocent, ignorant and naïve about the world. And if a woman wasn’t innocent, she should pretend to be, which is what we see with Ellen, as she infantilizes herself before others ("Everything I say sounds so childish") and accuses Orlok of corrupting her innocence and being "a villain", even though she was the one who summoned him (and cursed him to be a strigoi), and she's also the one who grants and denies him access to places, including to herself.

The average Victorian woman wasn’t allowed to be educated nor possess knowledge outside of the domestic. And so, Ellen supernatural gifts aren't recognized by the Victorian characters, and later she will be seen as a victim at Orlok's hands, because, being a woman, she has no agency of her own.

And this medicalization is connected with the symbolism of Ellen's corset in the narrative, which was confirmed by costume designer Linda Muir in an interview with "The Art of Costume":

"One example of costume design serving the plot, as you mentioned, is Ellen’s corset. I came across a particular style called a fan-laced corset during my research, which I’ve also referred to as a “self-tying corset”—though it doesn’t actually tie itself! This type of corset can be tightened from the front, allowing the wearer to adjust it independently.For Robert, this design was ideal. When Ellen is in the throes of her supernatural connection with Orlok, the men around her—Sievers and Harding—try to impose control by tightening her corset. Because of the fan-laced design, we can see her anguish and convulsions, as well as the men’s oppressive actions, without needing to obscure her face or body by laying her prone. This moment is a perfect example of how research and storytelling can come together harmoniously in costume to enhance a scene."

The Victorian characters force Ellen to sleep with a corset, tie her to the bed and drug her with opiates, to restrain and control what they call “hysteric fits” and “epilepsies”, caused by her “melancholia” (depression) and “hysteria” (“wandering womb”, deeply connected to female sexuality), which are, in fact, her mediumship (which is what Professor Von Franz will recognize in her).

What Victorian doctors are trying to contain is Ellen's nature, her mediumship, and also her sexuality. Victorian society sees her nature, her true self, as a dangerous disease who needs to be stopped. As female sexuality in the Victorian era was seen as a plague and a monstrosity in need of containment, and "the threat of female sexuality" theme from the "Dracula" novel.

Ellen meets Professor Von Franz

Professor Von Franz agrees to examine Ellen, and once he arrives at the Harding household, it’s clear he disagrees with Dr. Sievers methods. He orders Sievers and Harding to untie Ellen, and notices she’s drugged. Sievers confirms he has been using opiates (probably Laudanum, because it was widely used during the 19th century). Ellen immediately sees he’s not like the other Victorian doctors, and is hopeful.

"Untie this child at once! […] Untie her! […] Drugged?"

Von Franz promises he’s there to help and asks Ellen about her childhood. Here, Von Franz isn’t physically examining Ellen, he’s performing a psychological analysis of her.

Important detail here: Ellen is drugged, and that's why she's speaking this like in this scene. Dr. Sievers gave her a "opiate"; which is can be any opium-based drug (Laudanum was a misture of opium and alcohol; or morphine; heroine, etc.).

"Dr. Sievers tells me you have had these spells since childhood. Would you describe them to me."

Von Franz asks Ellen about her childhood to determine if she has any subconscious trauma. " In medical terminology, "spells" are sudden and recurrent symptoms (not "magical spells").

“I know things."

Ellen confirms she has been a somnambulist ("these spells") since infancy ("I cannot always remember them. As if my spirit wanders off. Sometimes it was… it is like a dream") and, then, she speaks of her supernatural gifts: “I know things. I always knew the contents of my Christmas gifts” and she had a premonition of her mother’s death (“I knew when… that my mother would pass”).

"I was his little changeling girl."

Then she talks about her father; "Father… he would find me in our fields… within the forest… as if – I was his little changeling girl." Ellen's father called her “his little changeling girl” as in European folklore of children kidnapped by fairies, elves or demons and a substitute child being left in their place, because she enjoyed playing and being in nature. When she was supposed to be indoors (domestic sphere).

However, this started to displease him as she grew older, and Ellen being a teenager would rebel: “but as I became older it worsened… Father dispraised me for it…” As Ellen was growing into a woman, her playing in the woods was no longer acceptable for a young lady in Victorian society, so, evidently, her father wouldn’t allow it, anymore ("dispraised me for it"). As it was expected of her, Ellen should learn how to be a proper lady, and future wife to a respectable husband.

"I frightened him. My touch."

And, as she was getting older, her father stopped giving her physical affection, as well, because that would be inappropriate. "I frightened him. My touch": this indicates Ellen probably wanted to hug her father (or something of that sort), and he would recoil from her touch. And this hurt Ellen, deeply.

"Then a presence…"

She talks about when she summoned Orlok next, when she was 15 years old, without outright saying it: "I was so very alone, you see and… I wished for comfort… then a presence… and the nightmares, the epilepsies." To Thomas she will say: “I sought company, I sought tenderness, and I called out…”

Robert Eggers tells us in one interview: “She's [Ellen] an outsider. She has this understanding about the shadow side of life that is very deep, but she doesn't have language for that. She's totally misunderstood and no one can see her," he says. "Because of this gift, in her teenage years, she ends up reaching out to this demon lover, this vampire, who is the one being who can connect with that side of her. But then that other, sensual, erotic world is connected to this evil force, which only increases her shame.”

Ellen begins having what the Victorian doctors call “epilepsies” and "nightmares" when she starts to communicate with Orlok. As Von Franz will determine next, these “hysteric spells” are, in fact, “trances”: Ellen’s mediumship and her communicating with the spiritual realm (which doesn’t involve Orlok, specifically).

And as Robert Eggers tells us Ellen’s sexuality is connected with Orlok. In the Victorian era married heterosexual sex was the only socially acceptable sexual expression, and everything else (masturbation, homosexuality, prostitution, etc.) was considered deviant, and labeled as “sinful” and “evil”. In the early 19th century, women's sexuality was owned and controlled by their husbands, and was seen as a marital duty for male pleasure alone. Women were believed to have no sexual pleasure nor desire, at all, hence Ellen's shame. Being a woman, she isn't suppose to have these yearnings, nor enjoy it (this applies to Orlok because he's not her husband).

Then she talks about the episode when her father found her naked, and threatened to have her institutionalized: “At last Papa found me once laying… unclothed, I was… my body… my flesh… my… Sin! sin, he said… He would have sent me to someplace… I shan't go… I-”

"Sin! sin, he said…"

Here, Ellen uses the term "Papa" instead of "father" (as she used before), because she wants to showcase innocence and naivety: she's talking about sexual matters in the presence of men, and, like Robert Eggers tell us, she's deeply ashamed of this. The subtext here is clearly masturbation ("sin"). Especially because this will ressonate with other scene in the film:

And with what Ellen says next:

"It all ended when first I met my Thomas."

Unlike with Orlok, her sexual desire for Thomas is socially acceptable, especially because she probably wanted to marry him right away (which was common back in the day). "From our love, I became as normal." Her sexuality was integrated within marriage, as Victorian society decreed, and so, she cuts off her connection with Orlok. Which again tells the audience, Ellen does have agency over her whole deal with Orlok.

And, indeed, we do see Ellen happy with Thomas at the beginning of the film. They are newlyweds, fresh out of their honeymoon, which means sex (historically necessary to consummate marriages). However, Ellen clearly has a high sex drive, and she wants more. But Thomas has to go to work.

And later, at the Hardings household, Friedrich asks Thomas when will he and Ellen have a baby ("And when will you two newlyweds –?), and Thomas replies "When I am no longer a pauper." In a time period where contraceptives weren't the standard this means abstinence.

"Yet these visions and night wanderings have returned to you?"

"Night wanderings" is a reference to Ellen's sleepwalking (somnambulism). And Ellen says "He left on a fool's errand. I fear for him so." Because she knows he went to Orlok.

Now, we have to go back in the narrative, because Ellen has premonitions, and she knows Thomas will be sent away: "He has the position already. He’ll send him away." This "he" is Herr Knock. And she's correct, because that's what happens, and her mind goes back to Orlok, as he looks at her window.

Later, and before leaving for Transylvania, Thomas gifts Ellen, a bouquet of lilacs, which was a popular choice because it evokes feelings of young love and innocence; however, lilacs remind Ellen of Orlok; as we see her connecting these flowers with archetypal Death (Orlok), and not with her marriage to Thomas. And she has a over-the-top reaction because it's as if Thomas is confronting her with her "shame", her dirty secret. Here, Robert Eggers is reshaping a cult horror classic to his own vision, because in the 1922 “Nosferatu”, Ellen’s character also asks Thomas “why did you kill them... the lovely flowers...?”. But in the 2024 adaptation, this scene has an entirely different meaning.  

And now things are about to get dark, because we have to talk about the "maiden's token".

Before Thomas' departure, Ellen cuts a lock of her hair, and places it inside of her heart-shaped silver locket. She then gives it to her husband, apparently for good fortune on his travel. These sorts of gifts were considered a sign of love and devotion. However, during the Victorian era, it was also common to keep locks of hair from deceased loved ones in pieces of jewellery, especially lockets, which is another symbolic connection with Death (Orlok).

The scene where Ellen cuts a piece of her hair is also eerie, and she does this in front of her window (Orlok). She knows Thomas will be sent to him. And when he's is in Orlok’s castle, the count notices his “maiden token”, and asks to see it. As he opens it, and smells it, he immediately notices the scent of lilacs on Ellen’s hair. To Orlok, this is a confirmation of Ellen’s yearning for him.

“You are fortunate in your love.”

Orlok keeps the locket for himself, because he knows it’s meant for him. And this interpretation is also supported by the “Wuthering Heights” inspiration behind this story: after Catherine’s premature death, Heathcliff goes to the chapel to see her coffin. He places a strand of his hair inside of her necklace-locket, for her ghost to haunt him. It's Ellen's locket that gives Orlok access to her, again (not the "divorce papers" he tricks Thomas into signing in exchange for a sack of gold). And this is why Lily-Rose Depp says: "I don’t think she’s [Ellen] a victim at all. Because she’s kind of calling the shots the entire time.” It's the “Leptirica” (1973) inspiration (confirmed by Robert Eggers).

"Your husband is lost to you. Dream of me... Only me."

And this is also the explanation for this dialogue, when Orlok accuses Ellen of being "false", and "so you wish me to prove my enmity as well?" ("enmity" as in "hostility" and "antagonism"):

Thomas is a part of the Victorian Point of View of this story, and he's "love": Victorian love was meant to be chaste, modest and restrained. The opposite is Orlok: passion, erotism and "animalistic impulses" (sexual desire), which the sacrament of marriage was suppose to repress and contain (especially in women). And in this narrative it did, for a while. In this story, Thomas is already "doomed by the narrative" in being unable to not give Ellen what she wants and craves; which is why Ellen asks Professor Von Franz this question:

"Professor… My dreams grow darker, they sicken me. Does evil come from within us or from beyond?"

And he'll only give her the answer to this on their final scene together, in the third act of the film.

[thoma-nari]

Navi

Albedo - He smells like acrylic paint, mixed with shampoo mainly elderly people use... Like the really floral ones. It's nice, and smells like a regular overpriced art store.

Amber - Gingerbread... She just does despite never eating them unless its Christmas. Her shampoo is subtle, so no one knows where the gingerbread scent is from.

Barabara - She is subtle, she's not getting any attention from smelling too bad or too good, you'd have to take a six second dog whiff to even realize she uses some floral shampoo.

Bennett - Gun powder, or fire in general. He mainly just feels a bit lucky that his bad luck doesn't lead to him constantly smelling like BO or crap. It isn't great, but there could be worse.

Diluc - Freshly Ironed suits, champagne, and some subtle cedar wood cologne. You'd have to corner him with a gun to ever get him to confess he wears cologne, let alone admit which type he wears.

Diona - She can wear as much perfume, or brush her teeth as much as she wants. But a cat simply escape the fishy smell, it's practically a given for any feline. But it's not overpowering luckily.

Eula - This is specific... But you know those perfumes made for kids that have Disney princesses on it and are like 'Berry blast' or 'Apple sparkles'. She smells like those, artificial fruit scents.

Fischl - Really nice oddly enough, an odd scent but a nice one nonetheless. Like blackberry cobbler or cherry cheesecake, it's uncommon but not unwelcome.

Jean - You know this woman got some perfume bottle she is religious to, only one bottle, specific brand and scent, no others. Miss Dior 'Rose N Roses', gifted to her from Lisa.

Kaeya - Old Kaeya wore axe body spray, but realized he got no babes with axe... So switched to a much nicer cologne. Switches between different Christian Dior depending on which is cheaper.

Klee - A literal child, but if an answer is needed so desperately. Fireplaces and cheap Easter chocolates. Jean makes sure Klee stays clean and smells good.

Lisa - Fresh books and sultry perfume, like the type that is really nice to smell and makes you want to steal a sample. Probably some type of luxury vanilla or cherry perfume.

Mika - Sweet boy, he doesn't really have a strong scent. But if if he's close enough, it odly smells like a clothing store. Like he straight smells like an Old Navy store.

Mona - She smells like an Old library, not in a bad way, it's cozy and comforting. On the rare times she has actual Mora on her, she smells like any salad she ordered bulks off.

Noelle - My girl, my first wish. She smells like croissants and vanilla, some may say roses... But I know she smells like a five star bakery. Just off of vibes alone.

Razor - I adore Razor, I really do. But you can't tell me he doesn't smell like mud and fresh grass... On the good times. Of BO and wet dog... On the bad times. It's 50/50.

Rosaria - Cigarettes, wine, and weed during Mondstadt events she was dragged to and really doesn't want to be there. Overall the scent of a sexy but very dead inside baddie.

Sucrose - Anxiety... Kidding. She likely smells a bit like Albedo since she's always with him, so a mix of acrylic paint, and some lavender from the body wash she uses.

Venti - ALCOHOL AND DEPRESSION. Kidding... Sort of. Very much alcohol, but can cover it up with the scent of baked goods and when sober he can smell like a nice summer day.

[thottythoughtdaughter]

VOYEUR

hollywood agent gavin x debut star freelancer au [ fem!freelancer, second pov ]

Tote'm was mostly empty, but for the few heads roaming between aisles of candied fruits or sliced potato chips. You headed for the jars of marinara sauce, stacked precariously in a pyramid. Pasta, ground beef, and a few ripe tomatoes filled the basket on your arm. The meager ingredients for your meager dinner, because you could not stand the watery Academy food any longer.

Plucking a glass jar from the tower, your basket tipped, and a tomato rolled merrily on the ground.

Cursing beneath your breath, words a young woman would never be caught dead saying, you chased the tomato down. It had rolled, seemingly with a mind of its own, to the back of the store.

It bounced into a shelf and stopped. With a sigh, you stooped to pick it up, and found yourself eye-level with a pair of trousers.

Dropped trousers.

With a choking gasp, you froze. You could see glimpses of bare, muscled thigh between the rows of cereal boxes that filled the shelves. The buckle of the pants glinted in the convenience store's poor lighting. A hand gripped the thigh, straining.

"Ah ah ah," a sensual, flirtatious voice tsked. "What did I say? No teeth."

A quiet, wet slap. A moan. A mumbled apology. And then--

Your face flushed, and you quickly picked up the tomato and tucked it into your basket. This was not meant to be seen, even if done in a Tote'm's hardly private aisles.

In a panic, you stood, and made direct eye contact with the man who's trousers were currently kissing the floor. He smirked at you over the shelves. His eyes were a void-like black.

"Well look at that, Lasko," the man purred. "We've got ourselves a little voyeur."

The man who was-- well-- he made a little panicked squeak. The dark-eyed man laughed, throwing his head back, and suddenly your memory began to work again.

"You're Gavin Boyd," you said, somewhat stupidly, holding that damn wretched tomato.

Gavin Boyd, the name everyone knew. Its syllables brought to mind shadows and smoke, glitter and passion. Gavin Boyd, the kindly crook, the charming charlatan, the dashing demon.

His biggest claim to fame was the success of Lydia Song, the nobody girl from California, risen to the greatest heights of stardom. Money, power, prestige, she now had it all, all thanks to him. Her films populated the theaters like cockroaches, flooding all of America with the love bug for Lydia Song. Queen of the Nile, on-the-up businesswoman, the enchanting princess of mythological beauty, the hardworking peasant girl. Lydia Song had played them all, and owned each and every one. You had stared longingly at her posters and wished for even a fraction of her fame.

"Indeed," he purred, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as Lasko apparently made a very skilled move with his tongue. God. Why were you imagining it?!

"Swell. That's really-- yeah. Anyway. Bye!"

You panicked and ran. At checkout, all you could think of were those white teeth sinking into red lips. You cursed again, and fled the store, groceries in hand.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . *

You were a university student at Dahlia's Academy for Motion-Picture Novices, studying acting in what felt like vain. Tuition was an arm and a leg, and in order to afford both tuition and rent, you were working endless cleaning jobs between classes.

You scurried on your way to another one of these freelance jobs after studying for your History of Art exam, head spinning with dates and names. There was no way to memorize all this, and you already felt your mind slipping. Lines and song notes and dance routines had already been crammed into your head: history was the last thing you needed to think about.

Plus, the little encounter at Tote'm had shocked every semblance of study from your brain. Not only was it highly inappropriate, it was... arousing. You were ashamed to admit it, but the idea of being a voyeur had been an appealing one. Appealing enough to temporarily distract you from your work in favor of more... personally intimate studying.

Now your next job called, and you felt both frazzled and wild at once. You simply knew this was going to be the end of you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . *

Weeks later, on a dimly lit, starry night, you wandered the streets of New York. Exhausted, there was an ache in the back of your throat like you had cried all night. Except you haven't, because you haven't had time for crying, or anything but working. Your fingers were chapped, worn to the bone, raw and cracked.

The only thing keeping you from collapsing was the reflection of the city in the dark water, yellow bits of stars among the murky waves. It was impossible to feel so sad when something so beautiful wavered before your eyes. The air was cool, soothing your raw throat as you took in a deep breath.

Head tilted back, throat exposed to the night, hair tumbling down your back. You felt like the movie stars, the ones in the pictures you spent your meager pay check on.

Magically, you were. A presence crept into your awareness, and you opened your eyes, embarrassed at your moment of fancy.

"No, no," the voice crooned as a man slipped into the light, a pleased smile dancing in his eyes. "Continue. You look ravishing in this light."

You felt your heart drop to your stomach.

Liquid, dark eyes. Perfect teeth. Seductive smile. You felt your stomach flutter and, well, something throbbed almost compulsively, even as you shrank against the wall in surprise.

"You're--"

"Wildly bored," Boyd sighed, languishingly, leaning his elbows back on the boardwalk's fence. He tipped his chin to the sky, the sharp bones of his cheeks glinting in the night.

You felt your breath catch as wildly inappropriate images of where those cheekbones should brush against filled your mind. Goddamnit, that Tote'm encounter had really shaken you.

Boyd lowered his gaze, smirking as if he could read your very thoughts. "And are you?"

"Am I-" your voice was slightly strangled. You started again. "Am I what? Pardon me."

"Bored," Boyd supplied, tracing the edge of his lip with his tongue. His eyes seemed to swallow you whole. Swallow...

You cleared your throat and hoped your cheeks weren't visibly burning red. "I- Yes, I guess I am. Working endless cleaning shifts isn't very stimulating."

"A working girl," he purred. God, those eyes. That voice. The butterflies in your stomach felt more like a flock of flamingos. "Working for what, a fiancé? A little domestic bliss?"

"Academy," you managed to get out, clearing away mental images of domestic blissing in Boyd's bed. "I want to act."

Boyd's mouth split into a grin, a true grin, not the permanent smirk that seemed to be all in the eyes and pull of his jaw. "A budding actor?"

"Hardly budding," you snorted, forgetting yourself for a moment. "Can't bud if you haven't been planted."

"If it's seed you're looking for..." he trailed off, shooting you a mischevious grin. "Seeds, I meant. I'd say I'm quite the farmer in that sense. I'd gladly help you. For a price."

Your head spun. You couldn't tell if he was talking about an acting job or... a wholly different kind of job. You could only feel the heat of his gaze, the flush of your cheeks, the constriction in your chest.

Get it together. This was absolutely pathetic. You gave him your best smile.

"I'd love that," you began to walk, thankful for the breeze cooling your flushed cheeks. "But I believe your prices are out of my range of comfort. Monetarily and bodily."

You gave him a pointed look.

He grinned. "What, Tote'm isn't your preferred location of debauchery?"

Your look practically grew spines. "No."

"And yet you so seemed to enjoy watching it, my little Voyeur."

"This has nothing to do with my acting, so I presume the conversation to be over. Thank you, Mr. Boyd," you bit out, despite the thrill at being called his voyeur. As if you were his.

"Gavin, please," he did a little one-two step, scurrying to catch up with you.

"Begging already?" you arched a brow.

He looked wildly pleased, eyes flying open from their typical disinterestedly erotic gaze. "Feisty, aren't you."

You gave him a once-over. "You don't even know the half of it."

He chuckled, adjusting the lapel of his suit.

"Listen," you said sternly. "You don't know me. You haven't even seen me act. I'm no fool: I can clearly see what thrills you chase. You needn't lie and promise false contracts to get in my sheets. It won't happen either way. So I appreciate your interest, but I'm more inclined to a career than a kiss."

Boyd gave you an impressed, albeit haughty, look. "You'd do well as a diva, I can already tell."

You rolled your eyes, increasing your speed. He matched your pace, though hardly seemed to walk any faster at all.

"I'm serious about the contract," Boyd vowed. "I'm good at what I do. I know what potential looks like."

"Thanks," you said sarcastically.

He shrugged. "Just being honest, Voyeur. You've got the looks. You've got the voice. You've got the work ethic. The acting isn't all that important. You have something more."

Your heart fluttered, though you'd never admit it. What would Gavin Boyd see in you? Not enough to sweep you away to Hollywood after a moment's encounter. Boyd might be a good agent, but he was not a good person. Trails of broken hearts like candy wrappers littered the path that Boyd traversed. You knew of his casanova pastimes.

Sexy as he was, you did not want to be another discarded wrapper. Not after Kody.

"I'm just fine, Mister Boyd," you said firmly. "Thank you."

You made to cross the street, but he caught your arm.

"Let go," you snapped, wrenching your arm free.

Boyd backed off, hands raised. "I'm sorry Miss..."

" ," you said coldly.

"Miss ," he conceded. "I truly am sorry. But I am also equally sincere in my proposition."

Between two elegantly extended fingers --god those fingers-- he grasped a business card. White, simple, clean. GAVIN BOYD printed in a neat, tidy font, with a telephone number below.

"Please do call," he said, and those dark eyes nearly softened from a void to a galaxy. Powerful, but gently swirling. "I promise to show you a good time, if not a glorious career."

You slowly took the card. "Fine."

He turned with a smirk that was very nearly a smile, and sauntered into the dark.

[ a little tester: if ppl like this, i'll definitely write more! also fun note, Tote'm is what Seven Elevens used to be called in the 50s ]

[holyguardian]

That grin was contagious, one glance was all it took for Aerith to mirror the expression with a hint of pride. She wasn't ashamed of her weaknesses so much — perhaps it was a good thing for Somnus to be aware of such things, like her slow descent into chaotic actions when she grew bored of a task.

"... mh. That's a sweet thought." she conceded, gaze lowering to the bound parchment again. Some of the papers were warped from being painted heavily with water strokes. Perfectly imperfect, nothing neat or proper about her soul or true heart. That sounded right. "You are more than welcome to look through them, I'm not precious about guarding my paintings. Though I would rather you look at this one especially." she insisted, giving the bound pages a small wave before passing them to him for safe-keeping. "It's some of the most recent things I have painted, and I find I don't flinch away when I look back at them."

When Aerith lifted her gaze properly to the Prince again, she found herself humming a curious tone as she tilted her head. She followed his own gaze. Her mouth opened around a silent 'ah' of realisation, and for a moment she seemed to gentle in both her expression and her stance.

"This... is my birth father." she answered, captivated by her mother's painting so much so that she continued to look upon it. "He died when I was only a baby. Mum... she did her best. Tried to build a connection to him, I suppose, but... I was so little, I didn't understand that I was missing something, you know?"

Aerith sighed a little, her shoulders melting into a more relaxed posture. Finally she looked back to Somnus again. "I get it now that I'm older. I wish I had gotten the chance to know him in life, but I am blessed to have met his spirit. The one thing I will say is... don't be ashamed of noticing him. For pointing him out, some people are funny about death like that." Though Lucis seemed to honour their dead's memory with great care too.

Amidst their conversation came a gentle knock at the door. Her lady's maid must have heard their voices here. "Princess Aerith, the bath is prepared."

That small announcement made her perk up with a smile. "Thankyou!" she replied, bright-eyed as she looked back to Somnus. "Right. Let's show you how we do bath time here, you're going to need one thing first."

Aerith approached her wardrobe, easily pulling free a couple large robes, one she placed aside and the other she handed to Somnus. "You'll need that. We don't dress ourselves in the same room where we have a bath, the air is steamy, and you're begging for a mess. So, once we're clean, we dry ourselves down as good as we can then we put on that robe. Trust me. They're.. modest." she offered. "It's a little odd, maybe, but we walk like that from the bath, back to our room. It's very uncommon for anyone to just walk a royal wing without good reason, but because it's so obvious among the staff that a bath has been drawn up, I cannot stress enough that no one will see you."

It was her little promise to him.

"Follow me." Aerith offered. She gestured to their shared chamber door. "You will obviously come back and enter through that door. The bath is the first door on the right." She opened up the door and gestured him inside. Inside was a wooden tub, and inside that tub was lined with a white cloth. The water itself was a milky colour and it smelled of flowers, yet another difference from Lucis. "Alright. Sponge there. When you're stepping back out, stand on that folded cloth unless you like to live recklessly, the stone can sometimes be slippery if it's too wet." Then she rolled her wrist. "And enjoy." she offered, smiling as she pulled the door shut behind her, giving him his privacy.

A map of her childhood. And she had just handed him the key to reading it perfectly. Just like that. Somnus could appreciate this fact. His eyes wandering over all the various paintings, he could imagine a smaller Aerith sitting at her table. Probably propped up on her knees with paint all over hands and face already as she focused oh-so-hard on drawing her family.

She must be similar now. It was apparent that she never paused long in her drawings. The table was evidence enough. She still painted. A lot. And she bound her work – forced or not. That was a large part of her… and Somnus liked it.

Grinning at the difference in bindings, he let his fingers trail along the frayed and neat edged for a moment. He wanted to see all her works. But he did not dare to simply take and flip through all these parchments. This was highly… intimate somehow.

“I heard people say they put their souls and true heart in what they paint.”, he mused, looking at her bound artworks, “If you would allow me to see yours one day, I would be honoured.”

The small grin shifting into a smile, Somnus nodded towards the epicentre of it all. The drawing coming from Queen Ifalna. A man with brown hair and a moustache. He looked kind. Funny, a little. But it was no one that Somnus knew.

“Who is he?”

[fuck-customers]

We have a new hire at work (relatively new, she's been here about 3 months and is still the newest) and and I think the phrase is she was hired for her "soft skills," she's super friendly, nice, easy to get along with, everyone really liked her at first but the problem is she doesn't do her job. At all. She just uses the equipment herself or sits and plays on her phone while the rest of us are fighting for our lives trying to help customers, answer the phones, and keep up with the paperwork.

She was supposed to help manage the workload, but not only does she not help, she adds to it because we have to take time to train her on tasks she then proceeds to totally ignore unless you specifically say "answer that call" or "register that customer," then she'll do the task exactly once and never again. And none of us are managers so we'll get yelled at for bossing her around if we tell her what to do every time. This has happened in the past, we are literally not allowed to tell anyone else to do tasks, only how to do it or we get reprimanded if a boss hears.

Every single member of our department and some people outside our department have noticed and commented that she's friendly but she doesn't do anything even when calls are going to voicemail and customers are waiting, and I know at least two people in the department have submitted official complaints that she's getting paid for not working and it's tanking our whole department's numbers.

Yesterday she was actually talking to a customer for once (while using the equipment herself) and she said "yeah I'm new but I really like it, everyone is super nice, like really really nice" and now I'm torn between being impressed that no one's been mean to her despite our intense and justified frustration, and feeling awkward that she thinks we're so friendly when actually everyone is furious at her and complaining about her behind her back and wishing she hadn't been hired.

I'd feel better about the whole situation if she was snobby or rude about it, but she's not so I just feel kind of guilty like we're being gossipy high school bullies or something. But we're not! Nobody hates her personally! We're just drowning in work and want her to do what she was hired to do instead of being dead weight!

I heard through the grapevine management's put a trace on her employee account after the most recent complaint was filed and they are going to compare her completed tasks against tasks that went undone during time she has no logged activity for the next week (I feel like they should already have that information though? Every single thing you do including picking up the phone gets logged to your employee ID. She's here 3 months. There should already be plenty of data?) and if they determine she actually isn't working (she's not) they'll "take action," whatever that means.

I'll feel bad for her if she gets fired because she seems genuinely unaware there's a problem, but come on. It's been months. You've been trained. If everyone else is running around like crazy and clearly stressed out, and you're sitting there playing on your phone not doing anything, shouldn't you be at least a LITTLE aware you should be trying to help out with what you were hired to do, and that people will notice and get irritated if you don't?

Posted by admin Rodney

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

The dialogue for this came to me out of nowhere while I was trying to fall asleep last night and I knew I had to write it, so here's my take on Circe meeting Penelope

“Spit it out, Hermes.”

A chuckle from the treetops was the only indication Circe got that the god had heard her. “Tired of my company already?”

“Always.”

“Hmm. No accounting for taste.” Hermes deigned to descend from the treetops at last, his winged sandals bringing him to hover just above the ground. “But since you insist, I came to give you a warning.”

Circe stiffened.

“A ship will be arriving shortly.”

She stood, dropping her basket of herbs.

“It’s friendly.”

She blew out an exasperated breath, even as her muscles relaxed. “Your definition of a warning could use some work. If they’re not a threat to me, why did you come all this way?”

“For their sake more than yours, darling. I have a vested interest in making sure you don’t add this particular crew to your pigsty.”

Circe rolled her eyes. “I haven’t turned anyone into a pig in eight years.”

“She’ll be glad to hear it.”

“She?”

Hermes disappeared before the question had fully left Circe’s lips. She rolled her eyes again, so hard that it sent a spike of pain through her skull, but she had to admit that he’d piqued her interest. The nymphs of Aeaea had come from many different walks of life, bearing many different tales, but none had ever arrived by boat. Whatever woman approached now would be different than any Circe had met before. It would only be fair to greet her in person.

Arrival at the shoreline only deepened Circe’s confusion. The boat docked at the beach was just like all the others that had arrived on Aeaea in recent years: same wood, same design, same pattern of men moving about. The lone, black-haired woman standing at the ramp truly was the only strange thing about it.

The man beside her caught sight of Circe and began waving frantically with both arms— more out of excitement than fear, she thought. Perhaps the woman wasn’t the only strange thing after all.

Circe waved back, albeit with a single hand and much more dignity, and approached the ship— only to stop in her tracks as her breath caught.

The man lowering his arms was clean-shaven and youthful and tall, but otherwise, he was a dead ringer for— 

“Odysseus?”

The man bowed. “No, Lady Circe. My name is Telemachus. Although I’m told my father and I look a lot alike.”

So this was the boy Odysseus had spoken of with such affection. “It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, prince of Ithaca.” Turning to the woman at his side, Circe added, “I suppose that must make you Queen Penelope.”

“That’s right.”

“Has the king come with you?”

“I’m afraid not. Our seas have never been calmer, but he still says he’s had his fill of sailing.”

So he had made it home, in the end. Warm relief trickled down Circe’s spine, but it chilled at Penelope’s next words. 

“May I disembark so that we can speak more easily?”

Circe didn’t think the only kind man to set foot on Aeaea in centuries would have sent his wife and son after her for revenge, but it wasn’t out of the question that they had come on their own. She’d grown accustomed to her empty sty, and she wasn’t eager to fill it again. Best to find an excuse to send them on their way. 

But still, Circe was curious— curious about what had become of Odysseus, curious about what his wife was doing on her shores. An entire crew might pose a threat to her nymphs, but one mortal woman she could overpower if need be.

“I’m not in the practice of allowing men into my palace these days, but you may disembark alone, if you wish.”

Penelope hesitated, and Telemachus squeezed her shoulder. “Go ahead, Mom. I’ll keep an eye on the crew.”

Penelope kissed her son on the head and swept down the ramp, clasping Circe’s hand once they reached the bottom. She let Circe set the pace as they set off for the palace, seeming content to walk in silence.

Circe made it all of five minutes before she could no longer tolerate it. “For what it’s worth, I apologize for attempting to seduce your husband.”

Penelope actually laughed. “Well, it’s not as though you knew he was married. From what Odysseus has told me, his loyalty to me was what inspired you to help him in the first place. And besides, having seduced him myself, I understand the urge.”

“Perhaps. But I doubt you were trying to get him to let his guard down so that you could kill him more easily.”

Penelope stopped, and Circe tensed. But when she turned, it wasn't anger on her face. It was sorrow. Almost pity, but not as grating. It was empathy.

“From the moment my cousin returned from the war with no news of my husband, men from across the island came to my palace to vie for his crown. I held them off for years, used every trick I could think of, while they eat my food and stole my possessions and tormented my child. Every single night, I barricaded my door and fought tooth and nail to sleep through my terror.” Penelope’s eyes hardened, holding Circe’s gaze. “Again, Lady Circe. I understand.”

In all her millennia, Circe had never felt so seen. It was a deeply uncomfortable experience— but liberating, in its own way. There was no shame in seeing herself in a mortal when she had been cast away by the gods. Circe had spent her years trapped, using all her cunning to keep her daughters safe. Just as Penelope had waited in her own prison, her wits the only thing keeping her and her son from ruination.

“Divine blood runs through your veins. I can sense it.”

If Penelope was confused by the abrupt change of subject, she didn’t show it. “Yes. My mother is the Naiad Periboea.”

It wouldn’t give her the same strength as one descended from a god, but Circe had taught many a Naiad before. She could make it work.

“With your husband’s return, I would imagine your suitors no longer plague you. But I’d happy to teach you how to turn such men into pigs, if you wish. There’s never any harm in being prepared.”

For the first time, the queen of Ithaca smiled. “Lady Circe, why do you think I'm here?”

[midnight--sadness]

i need more hc of gihun being insecure over inho’s past and inho realizing whats happening please please please pleaseeeee🥸🥸

u got it 🫡😘

okay so anon is referring to this ask i got!

thank u for sending me this bc i kinda wanna expand it a bit!

i often talk abt inho's wife here, even in the context of inhun, because it think she is very important to his development into the person we know him has. her illness caused inho to burrow money from criminals which was seen as a bribe and cost him his job. her pregnancy and progressing illness caused him to be desperate enough to join the games so he might win enough money for her surgery. and her and their child's death broke inho to the point where he was longer the person he was before. she is integral to him even if she is dead. hell, the narrative directly compares her to gihun!

now, in the au we were discussing, where inhun are together and expecting children, i can see her still being brought up.

i personally believe gihun to be painfully insecure and those insecurities would be aggravated by knowing that the man he loves and is married to and is expecting children with, once had someone with whom he wished to go through this experience with. and that person was not gihun.

(inho doesn't have the same issue because gihun and his ex-wife divorced. she didn't tragically die while they were in love, they had their problems and grew apart and separated and nothing was left unsaid, no stone was left unturned.)

gihun would definitely have thoughts of "i'm only his second choice, if she hadn't died we would never be together". of course he feels horrible for feeling like this, and guilt weighs heavily. so, his mood turns and he becomes irritable, snapping at every little thing. he can't handle anyone looking at him because he thinks they'll see every horrible thing about himself that he's trying to him. this goes especially for inho.

inho, who has suffered such terrible losses, is now "settling" with gihun. he had wanted a wife and a baby. he hadn't wanted gihun, only whatever companionship he'd offer and the children he'd bear.

obviously we know this is fake, inho genuinely loves gihun and loves their children. he'll always love his wife but the two of them can fit in his heart. they are so similar after all!

so, inho notices the shift in gihun's mood and try to talk to him, get him to open up. and i think what finally makes gihun crack is when they're fighting over something trivial, maybe gihun hadn't eaten much all day because he was stressing himself out over the situation, and inho tried to get him to eat for the babies and gihun snapped that inho didn't even care about him, only the twins.

inho was stunned into silence and he asked gihun what he meant, but when gihun doens't answer, he gets a bit mad. how dare gihun say inho doesn't care about him when everything he does nowadays is for him only. inho says that gihun is being silly, that he obviously cares about him, he loves him like he never loved anyone before. and gihun quietly asks "what about your wife?" and inho sighs because he knows, he knows where gihun is going with this conversation.

gihun would lay his cards down on the table, would say that he feels like he is a second choice, that he'll never compare to inho's wife... and as he's explaining, he actually hears himself and breaks down crying, apologizing and feeling terrible (again). after this, he is even more sure that inho would prefer his wife since she was not an insecure idiot who hurts the people around him.

inho tries to explain, as much as he can as an emotionally constipated man, that his wife and their child are in the past. he had loved them deeply and their loss changed him forever, but he's made his peace with never getting that part of his life back. it's gone and he can't grasp at the wind, it'll only slip through his fingers. he can't change what happened, can't bring them back, no matter how much he had wanted. and the keyword here is that he had wanted that.

because now he is with gihun and he loves him to the point where he doesn't recognize himself. he hadn't thought possible to love someone as strongly and fiercely as he loves gihun. and he loves their babies so so much. he's thrilled to be a father and while he's worried that something might happen to them, he's never been happier.

they are his family now, and they will coexist with the family he has lost. one does not replace the other, they exist in their own times.

[gloomybadger4life]

Azula remembers something her uncle said once: all old people know each other.

She supposes mother should count as old.

The crew has new orders. Find Jeong Jeong the deserter. Do not turn him in, do not capture. Request an audience.

Jee can see the gears turning in Azula's head. He never planned to go against the firelord but, losing a son in the war, nearly losing his own life. And the princess has been so... He hesitates to call her warm, or kind. She is practical. Maybe she does not care for them on an emotional level. But she does so in the practical. She reminds him of his own son, always focused, determined.

......

Zuko dashes through the starlit caldera rooftops. His mission is clear. A low ranking colonel has been spotted talking to known traitors. There is little physical evidence. There is no need for it anyway. Zuko grips the standard issue army dagger and slits his throat.

The man is no more.

Ozai is pleased as he receives the report of mutiny, apparently a lowly soldier took it upon himself to end the colonel's life.

Zuko is shedding the last of his stealth armor when his father walks into his room.

Ozai: A job well done.

Zuko: thank you father. The mission was important.

Ozai: indeed. I have another assignment for you. One of utmost secrecy.

Zuko kneels and Ozai smiles.

Ozai: within the earth kingdom there is a general. His name is Fong. The fire nation needs him dead before we can capture Omashu. This is a long mission. Fret not. Even if you have to cut your hair. Your honor will not be sullied. Dismissed.

Zuko bows and stands, continuing the process of getting ready for bed.

Ozai quietly slips out of the room realizing he dismissed Zuko out of his own room. The kid did not blink an eye or question it.

....

Azula arrives at a small town, talking to a man named Chey.

Azula: I am here to see Jeong Jeong. I come in peace. No weapons, no traps. I only wish for an audience.

Chey: You look young. Are you what. Fourteen?

Azula: you look whatever age you are. Look. I am... Politeness is not my strong suit. bind my hands if you must. The...

She pauses for a moment. Old people. Uncle Tea freak. Something he said once to a merchant.

Azula: the white lotus opens wide--

Chey: follow me.

......

Zuko arrives at a fortress, short hair, a set of burn scars drawn on his arms and face. His eyes are somewhat covered by a hood.

The night is eerie, cold, dry.

Through shadows and corners he sneaks in, patrolling earthbenders startled but dismissive of what sounded like an otter-squirrel burrowing.

The two sentries die from poison tipped senbon, which are immediately extracted.

Their uniforms stolen.

A third earthbender is held under threat of fire dagger to the throat. He buries the other two and makes a hole for himself.

Zuko covers him with a tarp.

In uniform his rampage is not needed. As he mimics their salutes and mannerisms he makes his way into the main barracks.

A fire starts inside Fong's room. One that is aided by some clever use of bending to create thicker smoke. Zuko is by no means a prodigy. But he knows how to make soot and dirty fire.

The general passes in his sleep. The fortress is on fire.

Zuko slips out only after making sure the body he stashed burns with the building.

He will book passage to Yu dao the next day. Once he arrives he is to get himself arrested. From there his second in command will handle exfiltration.

.....

The old firebender stares at who he recognizes as princess Azula.

Jeong Jeong: you know of the white lotus

Azula: my uncle is obsessed with pai sho. It was a calculated risk. I'll level with you. My father cannot rule anymore. The war. Well. You see how old I am and where I am. My crew will follow me.

Jeong Jeong: are you... Deserting.

Azula: and seeking your help to find my mother.

JJ: why

Azula: because Zuko is going to end up a monster if I dont. Do you rememeber Zhao? Your student. He has risen to commander. Last time I checked he is planning something. All I heard was si wong desert and find a library.

JJ: But why are you deserting.

Azula lifts up her tunic revealing the burn scar on her midsection.

JJ: Ozai.

Azula: after I fought him. Long story. Are you in or out? Or do I have to find uncle and bribe him with enough Jasmine tea for an entire ship.

Jeong jeong laughs out loud.

JJ: you have guts.

Azula: i have no other choice.

JJ: i'll help. On both accounts.

....

@chaosmagetwin @wingchunwaterbender

in an au where zuko and azula swap narrative places i think the series is three episodes long because azula just Fucking Kills Ozai and damn the consequences

[radioisntdead]

I have another one! Rosie, Velvette, Verosika, and Loona (respectively) x reader.

Reader 'dies' in a big heroic explosion/self sacrifice way. Then a day or two later, they get a text from reader that is legit just the "I lived, bitch." meme; them all bandaged up in a hospital bed giving the middle finger. How they react to the initial death and the surprise text.

(Cartoon violence rules are in effect, so don't be afraid to let any of them be angry if you see fit.)

THE WAY I LOVE THIS REQUEST??! THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE RARAR

Warnings: None but this isn't taken seriously at all, it's pure crack and silliness, some of these are a little short because I'm writing them while sleep deprived

Rosie

You died during extermination day, based off reports from other cannibals you saved one of the cannibal kids [who shouldn't have been there in the first place where the fuck are their parents?!?] In exchange for your own life.

You had a empty funeral, she cried whilst holding your portrait, she has a little memorial for you in her house.

Now I imagine Rosie doesn't have a modern phone, so imagine her surprise when she receives a letter from you??

You?? Her darling who died??? Was this some type of sick joke???!?

Inside the envelope the letter only contained a few words, no apologies just.

"Greetings Ro-ro!! I'm alive!!!!! Was in a coma but I'll be home soon!!! <3"

With a picture of you giving heart hands in a hospital.

[disclaimer your wounds are not as bad as Captain Curly's from mouthwashing.]

HOW ARE YOU SO CAUSAL ABOUT THAT??? WHAT THE FUCK???

You didn't specify where you were, so she had to play detective to find out where you were because WHAT IS THIS???

The moment she finds you, you are going to get SMOTHERED with affection but not before getting scolded because??? The letter??? You think you're cute being all "Teehee I was in a coma!! I'll be home soon teeheehee (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)"

AND NOT PUTTING YOUR LOCATION??? GET RECKED THE NURSES ARE NOT SAVING YOU FROM ROSIES WRATH.

On the bright side she feeds you soup until you're all better!!! It's chicken soup!!

Chicken sinners are still chickens.

Velvette

You!!! You!!!!!

Do you know HOW WORRIED SHE WAS WHEN SHE REALIZED YOU SNUCK OUT TO FIGHT WITH THAT HOTEL?!?

Do you know how she held her breath when you decided to sacrifice yourself?? And of all people you decided to sacrifice yourself for, an EGG?!? A FUCKING EGG WITH A TOP HAT!!?!?!?

The stupid camera filming it was knocked out of the way before she could see if you survived.

Do you know how she had to act nonchalant when Vox's drones returned telling her that there was no trace of you anywhere???

Do you know how she wept for you? Do you know the TRIBUTE POSTS SHE HAD DRAFTED??

She was arranging a FUNERAL FOR YOU!!!

and you have the nerve to text her.

"I lived, Bitch."

With a blurred selfie of you bandaged, WITH THE FUCKING EGG?!??

THE NERVE OF YOU????!?!

You are going to WISH you died because she's beating your ass!!

She's storming into the hotel finding you and beating you up with a selfie stick.

You'll be okay, eventually, she's dragging you back to the Vee's tower.

Verosika

Do you know how heartbroken she was when she heard you died? From Blitzø nonetheless? That you apparently died during a mission gone wrong?? Saving some other member of I.M.P?

She mourned you for 48 hours until she got a text from you.

"I'm alive!! I'm stuck here help!"

And you weren't dead, you were alive!!! And from the looks of it you were stuck in a fucking Walmart.

Turns out you didn't die! But you did get stuck in a Walmart for two days with a dead phone, hiding in the ceiling and sneaking food and other things when the lights were out.

You finally managed to snag a outlet and charge your phone to contact her!! And the rest of I.M.P to get you back to hell.

Afterwards she's not letting you out of her sight for AWHILE, tell Blitzø you're on vacation.

Loona

Hey so, what the fuck???

You DIED saving her, pushing her out of the way of something.

She cried, nothing Blitzø or anyone could do or say would cheer her up, your friends mourned you, they planned a funeral.

But YOU HAVE THE NERVE, THE NERVE TO SHOW UP, AT YOUR OWN FUNERAL?????

WHO DOES THAT??

you apparently

everyone's mourning you, saying speeches and you're just in the audience, and eventually you lean over to her.

"I should've asked this earlier but who's funeral is this?"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?!"

After all the hugs and "You're alive!!!!?!?"'s

you get smacked because WHY WOULD YOU SACRIFICE YOURSELF??? AND THEY THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD???

Apparently no! You just got knocked unconscious, probably got some brain damage now, you got stuck on earth for a hot minute but you were back now!

GOOOOOOOD EVENIN' FOLKS!!!! THANK YOU FOR TUNIN' IN I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!

I'm working on a little animatic with my OCs rn and it's EHABGEEHSB I also got some fics cooking, speaking of cooking I'm hungry I should eat breakfast, which I normally don't despite it supposedly the most important meal of the day! Also I'm getting unwillingly dragged into another fandom, this time it's Sonic, Sonic underground got me when I was 11 and it's come back for me but this time it's the entire franchise wish me luck.

ANYWAYS have a wonderful rest of your night folks!!!

Psssssst!!!! Join our discord!!!! It's radio themed and any fandom is welcome!!

[lezforsapphicwrites]

𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓲𝓽

pairing: elphaba thropp x glinda upland word count: 1.4K warnings: angst, character death (fake), mentions of death & murder summary: for the first time, glinda looks back and takes her second chance with elphaba. but when she returns, she is already too late.

The grimmerie was pressed tightly into her palms, the edge of the thick cover close to making a cut.

She shouldn't have left, Glinda thought. They had talked things through and found forgiveness in each other's faults. There was a reason to stay so why didn't she? Why did she heed Elphie's words and fled with the damn book that had no use to her?!

No. She won't be torn away from Elphaba anymore. Glinda had finally been given a second chance to fix things and she will take it this time.

Glinda turned around, making her way back to Elphaba's castle with a hopeful smile. "Just wait and see, Elphie." She mumbled to herself. "We'll make it work."

The twisting dark hallways looked less daunting with how much the excitement in her body had made her giddy. She began to imagine the look of surprise and relief on Elphie's face at her return. The so-called "Wicked Witch" may be scary to the land of Oz but Glinda only knew the girl most deserving of all the love. And love she will do so, until the end of their days.

Then, she heard a scream. Her scream.

One of pain.

No… Elphie.

Her hand instantly dropped the grimmerie and ran to the source of the sound. Frustration bubbling inside her when she couldn't find it. Damn, these echoing walls!

The sounds of pain continued as her chest constricted with each passing second. Glinda knew it was her Elphie and it hurt her more than any sword to hear her in pain. But where could she be?

The throne room!

She grabbed her dress high and tight as she ran faster than she had ever done. It was quiet now and somehow that was worse.

Glinda arrived at the room, freezing at the sight before her. The farm girl held a bucket, unsure and scared, surrounded by her friends — the lion, the scarecrow, and the tin man — who were happily cheering. In front of them was a small puddle of water, most likely from the bucket, that was around an object she couldn't quite make out due to the darkness.

She needed to get closer to confirm so she swallowed the lump in her throat and fixed her dress. With the best look of confusion she could muster, she approached the group. "What has happened?" She asked in a, thankfully, steady voice.

The man made of tin turned to her with a wide smile. "Dorothy has done it!" He cheered. "She has killed the witch!"

The Witch. Killed.

Beside him, Dorothy looked conflicted and teary-eyed. "I didn't mean to…" She pleaded to Glinda, almost as if she knew what Elphaba meant to her. But that was impossible. They kept it a secret. Too well that no one would ever knew the agony she was feeling inside at that moment.

Tin Man was reassuring the girl that what she had done was good. Glinda had half a mind not to strangle him dead. What was good about murdering a woman that only wanted to help? The woman who saved the very lion with them as a cub. At least, the Scarecrow had the empathy to look a bit sad.

Glinda took another deep breath and forced a smile. "Why don't you continue your merry way to Emerald City to meet the Wizard? I'm sure he'll be happy to hear about this and reward you with a makeover. I shall let the Ozians know of your… braverism." She encouraged, ushering them to the exit.

The group gladly walked away and began talking about what to wish from the Wizard. As if he could grant it. The only one left was the girl, Dorothy, who set the bucket down gently and moved closer.

She held Glinda's hand. "I'm sorry," she cried. "I didn't think she would- I thought- It was just water! It wasn't meant to kill her! I meant to throw it as a distraction-"

Glinda stopped her, giving her a genuine smile of assurance. "It is alright, little one. Why are you apologizing?"

"Because she was your lover."

Glinda paused and met the child's eyes that knew more than she had thought.

"I heard from the basement. You loved her dearly and she loved you just the same." Dorothy paused, bowing her head. "And I took her away from you… I'm sorry."

The blonde-haired witch couldn't utter a response. It was easy to pretend when no one couldn't guess the truth. But in front of the only other person who knew? Her masked crumbled as a tear fell. She could only nod as a reply.

Was it forgiveness? Hardly. The death of her lover was a fresh wound in her heart that she will never heal. Maybe she was nodding as a sign of thanks. For at least being remorseful of her crime. But she could not bring to forgive her wife's killer.

Dorothy smiled apologetically and squeezed her hand one last time, before leaving the witch by herself.

Glinda turned her gaze back to the puddle of water and the object she had noticed earlier. Her legs felt weak, pushing it to walk as she prayed to whatever real power was watching her. Please, please, please, please…

She finally had a clear view of the black hat and her knees gave out underneath her. It was Elphie's hat. The hat that Glinda's grandmother had made. The same one that she had given to Elphie as a cruel prank, which turned to be the start of their friendship and love. Her body shook as she sobbed.

Then, she began to scream.

She screamed for how unfair the world was. How one lie had turned a kind soul into the source of children's fear. How love was taken from her so suddenly, just as she was hoping to get it back.

Oh, how she wished she hadn't left. Hadn't been so obedient to follow Elphie's words. Maybe then she could've stopped that bucket from reaching the hands of that girl. Maybe then she wouldn't be in so much sorrow and grief. And maybe then she would still have the woman who owned her heart.

She blamed the Wizard for being untrue. She blamed Madame Morrible for spreading the horrible lies about Elphie. She blamed the people of Oz for believing them. Most of all, she blamed herself, for being too weak to stand with the truth.

Glinda remained kneeling on the floor, clawing on her chest as the tears fell faster. She wanted to tear her heart out, to end the intense pain that she felt from it and feel nothing. But that would mean forgetting the love she had for Elphaba. To feel nothing would mean erasing her Elphie's existence in this world and she loved her too much to do that.

With trembling hands, she carefully picked up the black hat and hugged it tightly, ignoring the water seeping into her clothes. It was the only thing she had left of her Elphie.

"Oh, Elphie," she cried, pressing her lips on the hat. "Please come back. I'll be better. I'll never leave you again. So, please, by some miracle that only your magic can bring, come back to me and we shall run away. Just you and me. No one has to know."

She gasped for air, not realizing she had held her breath with how much she was crying. A part of Glinda hoped that maybe the grief will break her heart into stopping and she can reunite with Elphie in the afterlife. But that didn't happen. Much to her disappointment. Instead, she stood up, still clutching the only thing that remained of the woman she loved, and wiped her tears.

Elphie had told her to keep up the farce of being 'Glinda the Good' and she will do so. But that didn't mean there will be no justice. The Wizard and Madame Morrible will pay for their crimes, she would make sure of that. Goodness be damned.

So, she shall continue to play the part she had done so for so long. She will tell the people of the Wicked Witch's death and become their symbol of goodness and hope.

But in secret, she will mourn the death of Elphaba Thropp, her wife.

As Glinda left, beneath the black, marbled floor, Elphaba let her tears fall in silence.

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