#like can you imagine that scene with any other sort of music

[cassmouse]

That bit in Bad Seed Returns where Emma hums the Clair de Lune so her uncle knew it was her that trapped him under the car was basically the equivalent of that bit in B99 where they get all the criminals to sing I Want It That Way and I'm sorry but that's so fucking funny to me

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

obsessed with their different reactions to being called starcrossed lovers

[transmascutena]

some thoughts on photography and memory in utena:

on the wall in nemuro memorial hall, there are pictures of real people. i'm not sure who they are, but i assume they're of people involved in making the show. either way, they're obviously not real; in the close-up shots of them, they change into pictures of the black rose duelists and other imagery from the show. i imagine it's there as a fun detail by the creators, but also to show how weird and inconsistent reality itself is in the black rose arc.

as for the black rose duel images themselves, it's possible that they are literal as i've talked about in a previous post, but what i think is more likely, is that utena noticing them is a visual representation of her connecting the dots of what's really been going on in this arc.

when mikage brings up the idea of memories and eternity, we see the picture on the wall behind utena, of her at her parents funeral. and behind mikage we see one of his own defining memories.

a pretty clear line is being drawn between memory and photographs. in fact, memories are so important to mikage that photographs are his black rose duel symbol. it's the one he keeps of mamiya and tokiko, altered to look like anthy's disguise, just like his memories are. through mikage we see both how memories of the past can keep you trapped in it, as well as the malleability of these memories. let's look at everybody else:

saionji has a framed photograph of him and touga as kids on his desk. he values their friendship, or at least the memory of how it used to be. he idealizes the time touga was less cruel (or maybe just the time saionji wasn't aware of his cruelty.)

miki doesn't have any literal photographs of kozue or the sunlit garden, though his memories of them are often framed as such. he also keeps a picture of anthy amidst his sheet music. she is his idealized memory now.

juri has the locket of course, inside of which is a cutout of shiori from a picture captured in the moment that ends up defining their entire relationship. is this the version of shiori that juri idealizes? not really, but she is fixated on her resentment of shiori's percieved cruelty, just not the cruelty of taking the boy away. juri keeps this photograph closer than anybody else does with theirs, but she also keeps it hidden. this could mean she treasures her memories the most out of everyone, and is also the least open about it, although i'm not sure i believe the first part.

nanami has the photo-album of her and touga; she idealizes her relationship with him, as well as their childhood. when she makes the connection that touga is adopted, the photos are scattered all over her bed, probably to represent her emotional state.

touga doesn't keep any photographs from what we see, which makes sense with everything we know about him. unlike the rest of the council, he doesn't have any idealized memories of his childhood. but he does use akio's camera, so let's talk about that.

the camera is, much like the car, a tool that only akio is shown to own (although, wakaba does mention a photography club in episode 34.) like the car, it is used to facilitate his grooming (specifically of touga and saionji when he takes those shirtless pictures with them.) and, also like the car, he offers to lend it to touga, to make him feel more like an equal part of the whole thing. unlike the car though, touga accepts the camera.

the photoshoot scene in episode 37 has a transition where the camera shutter sound effect is played over the previous scene. over the shot of utena and anthy holding hands after confiding in each other about akio. i think it's to show that he's always watching, and that they can never truly be free of him as long as they're in ohtori.

i think it also shows the idea of akio framing the narrative of the show as a whole. he plays a sort of director role in it, in that he directs the events happening, as well as how they're portrayed. it's no coincidence that he is quite literally behind the "camera" in episode 33. like the car, a symbol of akio's power and sexual abuse (which is not-coincidentally also present in all of the photoshoot scenes,) his camera (his narrative, his biased framing of events) is ever-present.

and then there's the most important photograph in the show, the frame it all ends on. the picture utena and anthy took together is, unlike every other photograph, used as a look into their future. the reason they take it in the first place is because utena realizes she has no photos of anthy, which distresses her, presumably because she worries that their friendship might not last forever, and she wants something to remember anthy by. this obviously comes with the risk of making anthy an idealized memory, like every other person put in a photograph in this show, but instead it ends up as a symbol for their love. akio may have set up the camera, but anthy (with the help of chu-chu) manipulated their positions so her and utena could hold hands. she also cuts akio out of the frame, much like she cuts him out of her life in the last episode. she doesn't want his presence to tarnish her and utena's memory anymore (although he isn't completely gone from the photograph either, as he will never truly be forgotten.)

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

OLIVIA COOKE IN THE INTERVIEW FOR ELLE MAGAZINE.

TALKING ABOUT ALICENT'S RELATIONSHIP WITH HER CHILDREN IN S2.

She must handle her sons “as the power goes to their head and they see her as irrelevant.”

“She’s terrified of Aemond and what he’s become, and she can’t access Helaena.”

As Alicent slowly becomes invisible, it’s also strangely liberating, “because all of a sudden eyes aren’t on her and she can sort of do whatever she wants.”

ABOUT FILMING THE SEX SCENES IN S2.

When it came to sex scenes, Cooke worked closely with House of the Dragon’s intimacy coordinator, Vanessa Coffey. Given Game of Thrones’ reputation for nudity, she had originally braced herself.

“I thought there’d be way more, and so I’m relieved that when it has been used for me, it’s showing Alicent being pleasured, which is amazing and doesn’t feel gratuitous.”

“It feels like we’re telling a story.”

She recalls one bedroom scene she filmed that was cut: “It was messy as fuck. It wasn’t beautiful, and that was really fun to do.”

It was “carnal” and even “animalistic.”

“I think Ryan [Condal, the showrunner] said we weren’t learning any more about the characters, which I disagree with slightly, but it’s okay. It’s his show,” she adds, with no hard feelings."

"Maybe we’ll see it in the bloopers, she says, laughing."

ABOUT THE CAST OF HOTD.

OLIVIA COOKE:

“They’re like my family, and we adore each other.”

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY:

“We put the wigs on and the costumes on, and all hell breaks loose.”

TEAM GREEN TALKING ABOUT OLIVIA COOKE.

FABIEN FRANKEL:

“She’s a dear friend and a great giggler.”

PHIA SABAN:

Who shared many scenes with Cooke this season as Alicent’s daughter Helaena, remembers their antics while filming an otherwise somber procession scene.

“We just got really hyper, and it became a little bit of a chamber of music actually.”

“Lots of singing.”

EWAN MITCHELL:

“I think Liv’s performance this year is one for the gods.”

TALKING ABOUT RHAENICENT.

“They practiced proper adult relationships on each other” Cooke says of the severed friendship.

“When you break up with a friend, it’s so much more heartbreaking than breaking up with a lover a lot of the time, because they know every single part of you and it’s so much more vulnerable.”

And of course, parts of the fandom ship Rhaenicent, a.k.a. Rhaenyra and Alicent as a couple.

“Don’t they ship everyone together, though?” Cooke asks when I bring up the imagined romance.

A fair point, but wouldn’t things be better if the old pals just made up and ruled the kingdom together?

Cooke humors me. “Absolutely. Matriarchy now, please.”

EMMA D'ARCY TALKING ABOUT HER FRIENDSHIP WITH OLIVIA COOKE.

“It’s funny to talk about a friendship that is so fundamental in your life.”

“The thing I find strange is to realize that I suppose we haven’t known each other that long in broad terms, but she’s a pillar in my life."

"I would have found this a challenging experience if Liv was not on it.”

[eamour]

all about techniques.

there are so so many techniques and methods that people have come up with to make manifesting easier and more entertaining. so, let’s talk about the most important points when practicing those techniques!

manifestation techniques.

a technique in terms of manifesting is a method to make you experience the satisfaction of your desire within your imagination. it does not only make manifesting easier and more enjoyable for you but it also helps you to shift your concept of self. you can use any technique to help you embody or identify with your desire.

techniques don’t manifest.

the problem with techniques in manifestation (such as visualisation, affirmations, sats, the "i am/void"-state) is that people tend to assign power to these techniques — more power than to themselves.

again, a method is supposed to HELP and ASSIST you. it’s not doing any of the creating-your-reality work, unlike you. YOU are indeed manifesting things into your reality, with or without a technique. remember. you are manifesting at all times, you are occupying all sorts of states throughout the day, making your current state of consciousness manifest. are you scripting for each state which you NATURALLY shift to? no matter what technique you do, its only purpose is to help you create experiences you would like to have mentally. that’s where all manifestations take place first — in the MIND. not because you have written it down on paper.

all techniques are equal.

when i say "equal", i'm not saying that each technique is the same in terms of what you're doing and how you're doing it. no, all techniques are equal because they all FUNCTION equally and guarantee the same results. no technique works better than the other. no technique is either superior, or inferior.

here's the thing: the reason why people say "this technique works so much better and faster for me!" is because they favour it. they enjoy doing it. doing the technique feels natural to them and doesn’t require a lot of effort. it’s not something that they have to bring themselves to do with force — they LIKE doing it. that’s because we are all different. i know people who could write a fucking novel with the scripts they have in mind. then i know people who love to affirm whenever they can because they think it’s convenient for them to do. and then there is me who loves to listen to music and visualise my desired scenes. what we have in common is that we do all these techniques because they suit us and we can choose to try any other technique whenever we want. we aren’t tied to one technique only. sometimes i end up writing a whole list of things that i want to have, accept it as mine, and go on with my day. works JUST as well as visualising.

please, do not …

... force it · for example, the scenes you could visualise when trying to fulfill yourself or let yourself experience a scenario you desire should come to you naturally. the affirmation you would like to use should feel natural to you. a technique is always something you choose to do voluntarily. it isn’t a rule you need to follow. you're not obligated to do this exact technique for this long and that many days, and so on.

... perfect it · when you do a technique, it’s not your goal to do it as perfect and as accurate as possible. you don’t have to visualise a picture perfect scene, nor will you fail to manifest if you miss to affirm the rest of your affirmations-list. you can forget details when scripting, be as detailed or vague in your visual scenes, or only affirm one single affirmation — that’s perfectly fine! your perfect scene in imagination or your affirmations aren’t what makes it perfect in the physical world, it’s the FEELING you get from it. if you can perfectly FULFILL yourself, then it will be perfectly reflected back to you in its physical form. inner acceptance is what creates fulfillment, not the perfection of a technique.

... complicate it · a technique cannot put you into a spiral and make you question your whole reality just because you think you haven’t done it "correctly". there is no right way to do a technique and no fixed way to practice it. do whatever you like and however you like it!

... follow others · now, you can definitely try a technique that seems interesting to you, that has been introduced to you by others or that you think will be enjoyable. nevertheless, a technique that feels normal and natural to others doesn’t have to feel normal and natural to you. don’t commit to doing something because you think or you've been told that this is the technique you need to do in order to manifest your desire.

no have to's, only want to's.

the premise of each and every technique is that you WANT to do it. there is no forcing, no pushing, no "need to" or "have to". it’s personal, it’s something YOU like doing, not what the bigger collective seems to be practicing. this is what i always remind myself of when practicing anything loa related: you cannot commit to something you dont love, you’ll cheat. meaning, you won’t be able to do a technique properly (as in, having and being), therefore won’t change self and remain the exact same.

if you like visualising, do it! if you like affirming all the time, do it! if you like counting your affirmations, do it! if you like scripting, do it! if you do the lullaby method before going to bed, do it! if you like rampaging after you wake up, do it! again, you are the creator and you choose which technique(s) suits you the best.

what to do.

when manifesting with the help of a technique, focus on inner acceptance. accept your desire as factual. make it a present, undeniable fact. because accepting your desire to be true means to identify with it in imagination, therefore you BE or HAVE it. that’s your goal, that’s your priority.

with love, ella.

[namidew]

Updated Apollo and Artemis designs !! (Still subject to change and clothing changes)

Details below for design concept ramblings (not including a few details explained in prior posts) !!

Complementary Details - Apollo and Artemis are very similar in physical appearance, which is to show that they are close to each other. Not just as a design choice by me, but within the story they choose to look similar, as the gods can change their appearances. Apollo has gold (jewelry, eyes, and hair strands) and the sun halo for the domain of the sun, and Artemis has the silver (jewelry and eyes) and the moon halo(?) for the domain of the moon. They have a light-and-dark outfit contrast to highlight their different domains, such as Apollo’s domains of the sun and light, and Artemis’s domains of the moon and the wilderness. They both have green himations, with Artemis’s being “warmer” in tone and more earthy, while Apollo’s being “colder” and more “refined(?)” in a way while the two still match.

Apollo - Individually, his chiton now has faint yellow stripes shooting from the gold jewelry, in resemblance of the sun and its rays. His himation has lighter green lines, resembling a blank music score, to represent his domain of music. If drawn for a comic or an illustration, I like to imagine he’d have the melody of a related song on it.

Artemis - Her chiton is now a dark brown rather than the previous white, allowing her to blend in more within the woods at night. She has a deer pelt over her shoulders due to her domain of the hunt and her association with deer, as well as a more “woodsy” look. Her himation now has darker green details of leaves, also adding to her wilderness and nature theme.

Story Dynamic - They’re rather close siblings, always looking out for each other. I’d imagine they talk frequently but have the sort of relationship in which they can go a long time without talking and return to normal even after. I’d imagine Apollo to be pretty conflict avoidant and of the tendency to try to keep the peace, while Artemis may be more impulsive depending on the circumstance, as based on their domains. Not entirely sure about the next concept, but it would be interesting if Apollo, while rather amiable and within good graces with many, actually tells little about his personal details (as in the type of person who you think you know well until you try to recall anything about them personally) while Artemis is the opposite where she’s more of an open book so long as you start a good conversation, but it’s not a concrete idea. It would be an interesting concept though, given how the moon is physically closer to the earth than the sun.

Unrelated and Miscellaneous - First, I’m considering toning down the vibrancy of Aphrodite’s chiton and possibly Dionysus’s purple (grapes, eyes, himation) for the sake of more cohesive of a color palette (warm and earthy), but I plan on waiting until finishing all the Olympian designs to finalize that, given there’s a few others I plan on giving a more cool-toned color palette. Second, the next few Olympians are going to be a bit more difficult to design, for me it seems, so ideas are greatly appreciated ! Third and lastly, if I were to make this story more than an idea, it would likely be a non-linear slice of life “comic” series in which random drawings or scenes are posted in no real order. I’m not good at writing stories anyhow, and while a written story, actual comics, or animatics/animations would be very cool, I haven’t the skill for any of those.

Anyway, thank you very much if you read all these ramblings, and if you have any suggestions or ideas, I’d be happy to hear them !!

[biblical-chronicles]

Breaking the script

___________________________________________________

where the reader is cast in a High Flying Birds music video but the line between acting and reality becomes quite blurry.

(Right you lot, this one’s for the grown-ups, yeah? But don’t worry it's all done proper classy, if you know what I mean)

___________________________________________________

It had been a rough few weeks. The gigs weren’t coming as often as you’d hoped, and money was running tighter than ever. You sat on the edge of your flat’s bed, chewing on your lip as you dialed your agent.

"Look," you started after a few pleasantries. "I’m proper brassic this month. Is there anything going? Backup vocals? A commercial? I’ll do a bloody jingle for washing-up liquid at this rate.”

Your agent, a patient but perpetually stressed woman named Mandy, hummed on the other end. “I’ll see what I can dig up. Might be a bit of a wait, but hold tight.”

“Ta, Mandy,” you said, hoping she could hear the gratitude in your voice. You needed this break, even if it was just enough to get you through another month.

A few days later, your phone buzzed while you were out grabbing a coffee. You nearly spilled it fumbling to answer.

“Alright,” Mandy said. “I’ve got something for you. It’s a music video job. Couple of auditions to send in, but I think you’ve got a decent shot since you've done some work before.”

“A music video?” you asked, trying not to sound too desperate. “Who’s it for?”

There was a slight pause on the line before Mandy said, “Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds.”

You nearly dropped your coffee. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious. It’s for the next single, big budget production, too.”

Heart pounding, you tried to keep your voice steady. “What’s the role?”

“Well, the brief’s a bit vague,” Mandy admitted. “Could be anything from a featured extra to a lead. You’ll have to wait and see if you get it. Just send over the tapes as soon as you can.”

When the call ended, you slumped into your chair, trying to wrap your head around it. A potential job with Noel Gallagher? You quickly gathered your thoughts and got to work recording the audition tapes, pouring everything you had into them.

A week later, Mandy called back. “Good news—you got it. And not just any role, love. You’re the lead.”

The words barely registered at first. “The… lead?”

“Yup. Looks like you’ll be playing opposite Noel himself.”

You felt a mix of excitement and sheer panic. “What’s the script like?”

“It’s a bit abstract,” Mandy explained. “But, uh… there’s a kissing scene.”

Your stomach flipped. “Right,” you said faintly.

“You’ll be fine,” Mandy reassured you. “Just keep it professional, yeah? No fangirling.”

The next few days were a blur of preparation. When you finally got the script, your nerves kicked into overdrive. The kissing scene was there, clear as day. You tried not to dwell on it—after all, it was just acting, but the thought of being that close to Noel made your heart race.

The day of the shoot arrived in a haze of nerves and excitement. You were ushered into hair and makeup the moment you arrived on set. The stylists worked quickly, crafting a look that was sort of timeless and fit the aesthetic of the project.

“As you already know you’re playing opposite Noel,” a production assistant had casually mentioned as she handed you the day’s schedule. “He’s already in the building. Shouldn’t be long now.”

Your heart skipped a beat, not only meeting, but also working with him still felt quite surreal.

Once your look was finished, they led you to a side room where Noel was waiting. As you entered, he was perched on the arm of a chair, one foot on the floor, flipping through the script like he couldn’t care less. When he looked up, his sharp blue eyes met yours, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

“Ah, so you’re the one they’ve stuck me with,” he said, standing and tucking the script under his arm. His voice as dry and deadpan as you’d imagined.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you said, sticking out your hand.

“Noel,” he said simply, shaking it with a firm grip. He gave you a once-over—not in a rude way, but with a hint of curiousity. “Right then, you reckon you’re ready for this?”

You laughed nervously. “I hope so.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. “Well, no pressure or owt. Just me name on the line if you’re shite.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond until you caught the playful glint in his eye. “No pressure for you either, right? Only the whole world watching if you’re shite.”

He chuckled, a low, genuine sound. “Fair play.”

Just then, one of the assistants poked their head in to tell you both that you had an hour or so before filming started. “Right, well,” Noel said once they were gone, “might as well sit down. We’re supposed to be in love or summat, so better get on.”

You hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you.”

He waved you off. “You’ll be less of a bother here than legging it round the place. Sit.”

You sat beside him on the couch, careful to leave a bit of space, but he leaned back casually, his knee brushing yours. He reached into his pocket, pulling out some chuddy. “You want one?”

“Uh, sure.” You took the piece he offered, unwrapping it while he popped one in his mouth.

Silence settled between you for a moment as you fiddled nervously with the wrapper in your hands. Noel was the one to break it. “So, you’re from round here, then?”

“Yeah,” you replied with a nod. “Grew up near Burnage.”

He raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ah, so you’re proper local, then. That’s more like it.”

You chuckled, shrugging. “Yeah, nothing fancy. Just tried to keep my head down and graft, you know?”

He nodded, his grin softening. “Well, seems like it’s paying off now.”

The conversation flowed easily from there. He asked about your life then music, your influences, what got you into it in the first place. His questions weren’t just polite—they seemed genuinely curious. On top of that, he had this way of looking at you when you spoke, like he was actually listening, not just waiting for his turn to talk. It made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected.

At one point, you cracked a joke about struggling through a particularly bad gig, and when you gestured, your hand brushed his arm. He didn’t move away, and instead, his eyes lingered on yours for a fraction longer than necessary.

“You’ve got your head screwed on right for a youngin,” he said after a while, nodding slightly. “Don’t see that much in this business.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “That means a lot coming from you.”

He shrugged, but his eyes softened. “Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you quipped, smiling.

He chuckled, and the corner of his mouth twitched into that smirk again. The kind of smirk that could make anyone weak at the knees. Before either of you could say more, there was a knock at the door.

“Right,” called the assistant. “Time to head to set.”

The first scenes were easier than you’d expected—walking through some streets, laughing together, doing some hand holding here and there. The chemistry between you and Noel came quite naturally, he seemed relaxed, even playful at times.

By the time you reached the final scene—set in the car—you were buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

You slid into the passenger seat while Noel climbed into the driver’s side. He adjusted the mirror, glancing at you sideways with a faint grin. “You reckon this’ll win us a BAFTA?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Doubt it, but maybe we’ll get a free drink at the afterparty.”

“Oh, well then, worth the hassle,” he said dryly. After a beat, he added, “You’ve done good today, y’know.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. “Ta” you said, smiling shyly. “I’ve really enjoyed it.”

He turned his head toward you fully, his eyes catching yours. “Yeah? Not bad spending the day with an old git like me?”

“You’re not that old,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “And anyway, you’ve still got your charm.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, but before he could respond, the crew interrupted with final instructions. “Alright,” the director called. “Let’s make it look real, yeah? Just natural.”

You and Noel nodded, and the cameras started rolling.

The director gave a few last-minute instructions, and you both nodded, settling into your places. The car was dimly lit, the scene designed to feel intimate and slightly moody. You adjusted your position in the passenger seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the closeness between you and Noel.

He glanced at you, his lips quirking into that familiar smirk. “Don’t look so terrified. It’s not real, y’know.”

You gave him a shaky laugh, trying to steady your nerves. “Oh, cheers for the reminder. You should write self-help books with lines like that.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat as he adjusted his collar. “Right, let’s get this over with, eh? Can’t be harder than sitting through Liam’s tantrums.”

You stifled a giggle just as the director called action. Noel turned to you, his expression softening as he slipped into character. It was incredible how effortlessly he shifted from his usual sarcastic demeanor to something that felt so real. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that made your stomach flip.

You leaned in, just as the script called for, and suddenly his lips were on yours. At first, it was soft—hesitant, almost—but then something shifted. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, and before you knew it, it didn't feel like just acting anymore. His lips moved with an intensity that made your head spin, and your fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.

Somewhere in the background, you vaguely heard a muffled giggle, but it didn’t register until the director’s voice rang out: “Cut! Oi, you two, save it for later!”

You pulled back abruptly, your face burning as you glanced at the crew. A couple of them were snickering behind their cameras, and the director looked half-amused, half-exasperated. Noel, however, didn’t seem the least bit bothered. He leaned back in his seat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave the crew a lazy grin.

“What? Thought you lot said natural.”

The crew laughed, and the director shook his head. Meanwhile, you were desperately trying to compose yourself, your heart still pounding from the kiss.

Before you could say anything, Noel’s agent appeared by his side, clipboard in hand. “Noel, got a couple of things to go over before you’re done for the day.”

Noel sighed, standing up and giving the car door a light push. “Right. Can’t bloody wait.”

As he turned to follow the agent, he paused, leaning down so only you could hear. “Give it half an hour, yeah? Come by my room.” His voice was low, his breath warm against your ear.

All you could do was nod, too stunned to speak. He gave you a quick wink before walking off, leaving you to sit there with your thoughts spiraling in a hundred different directions.

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you returned to the dressing area to freshen up. Your reflection in the mirror betrayed just how flustered you were—cheeks flushed, lips still slightly swollen from the kiss. You dabbed on some powder, trying to steady your nerves as you checked the time. Exactly thirty minutes had passed when you made your way to his room.

You hesitated outside the door, your hand hovering just above the wood. What am I even doing? you thought. Before you could talk yourself out of it, the door swung open, and there he was.

“Thought I heard you mooching around out here,” Noel said, leaning casually against the doorframe. His tone was light, but his eyes had that same intensity from earlier, the kind that made it hard to look away. “C’mon in.”

You stepped inside, noting how sparse the room was—just a couch, a small table, and a couple of suitcases. He closed the door behind you, and the click of the lock sent a shiver down your spine.

“Alright, then,” he said, nodding toward the couch. “Make yourself comfortable”

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the cushion while he sat next to you, arms crossed. For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze lingered on you, his head tilted slightly, like he was trying to figure you out.

“You’ve been driving me bloody crazy all day,” he said finally, his voice low and rough.

Your breath hitched. “Me? You’ve got it backwards. It’s you driving me crazy.”

That made him smirk, and he pushed off the table, taking a slow step toward you. “Oh, yeah? How’s that, then?”

You swallowed hard, your eyes flicking to his mouth before you could stop yourself. “You’re... impossible. That’s how.”

“Impossible?” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue seamlessly. He was sitting even closer to you now, close enough that you could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his shirt clung to his chest. “Funny, that. Don’t feel so impossible when you’re snogging me in a car, though, does it?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t give you the chance. His hands came up to cup your face, and then his lips were on yours again—fierce and demanding, like he’d been holding back all day and couldn’t keep it in anymore. You melted into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you closer, practically lifting you off the couch.

“Christ,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice husky. “You’ve no idea what you do to me.”

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, your hands sliding to his chest.

He groaned softly, deepening the kiss until your head spun. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, the curve of your hips—and you couldn’t get enough of him. When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your heart pounding as he kissed you again, softer this time but no less intense. It wasn’t just passion—it was connection, something you’d felt from the moment you met but hadn’t been able to put into words until now.

Noel pulled you closer, his hands sliding down to your hips as he guided you onto his lap. The weight of his hands was grounding and electric all at once, like you’d been waiting for this moment longer than you realized. His lips didn’t leave yours for a second, kissing you with the kind of hunger that made the world outside his room blur into nothing.

“You’re summat else, y’know that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and gravelly. His hands splayed over your thighs, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. “Got me all worked up—can’t think straight.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kissed him again. “I could say the same about you.”

He grinned against your mouth, and you felt his grip tighten, grounding you against him. “Good. About time someone got through to me.”

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jawline, then down to your neck, where he pressed a series of slow, deliberate kisses that made you shiver. Your head tilted back instinctively, giving him more access, and he took full advantage, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave a pleasant ache behind.

“Is this alright?” he asked softly, his voice almost a whisper.

You nodded, your breath catching as you whispered back, “More than alright.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. His hands roamed freely now, sliding up your back and down your sides, tracing the contours of your body like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. He pulled you impossibly closer, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back just enough to make sure you were still with him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, his words muffled against your skin. It was an unguarded moment, one that felt more like a confession than a compliment, and it sent your heart racing even faster.

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “So are you,” you said simply, your voice steady despite the way your body hummed with anticipation.

That seemed to unravel something in him. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands tangling in your hair as if he never wanted to let you go. The way he touched you was careful but insistent, like he was caught between savoring the moment and giving in to the urgency building between you.

“Say somethin’ smart now, eh?” he teased breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours. “All that wit earlier—gone quiet on me now, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your hands sliding under the hem of his shirt to trace the lines of his stomach. “You’re one to talk. Weren’t you supposed to be the eloquent one?”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning even as his breathing hitched under your touch. “Guess I’m a bit distracted. Can’t imagine why.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something between affection and pure want.

Time seemed to slow, every moment etched into your memory as you lost yourselves in each other. His shirt hit the floor, your dress following soon after, and then it was just the two of you, unguarded and vulnerable in a way you’d never experienced before. His lips trailed along your collarbone, his stubble brushing against your skin and leaving a pleasant ache in its wake. Your nails traced the lines of his back, pulling him closer, silently urging him on.

He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced by genuine care.

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. “Never been more sure,” you whispered, your voice steady even as your heart raced.

That was all he needed, the moments that followed were a blur of sensation, his hands gripping your hips, the warmth of his skin against yours, the way his name slipped from your lips in a breathless whisper. He moved with a deliberate intensity, as though he wanted to draw this out for as long as possible, to savor every second.

The couch creaked beneath you as you shifted together, the air in the room thick with the mingling sounds of your shared breaths and quiet gasps. Every touch, every kiss, felt like an unspoken promise, a silent declaration of everything you’d both been holding back. It was intoxicating, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world, the way he made you feel like you were finally exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, the passion gave way to a quiet stillness, the room settling around you both. Noel’s arm draped over you as you lay on the couch, your head resting on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounded you as you tried to catch your breath.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the reality of what just happened sinking in. Noel’s hand moved lazily along your back, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice low and laced with a hint of his usual humor, “that wasn’t in the script.”

You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest. “Pretty sure it was better than anything in the script.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Not gonna argue with that.”

Silence settled over you again, but this time it was comfortable, a shared understanding passing between you without the need for words. You knew this wasn’t just a momentary lapse, something to be brushed off when the sun rose. This was something more—something neither of you had expected, but both of you were more than ready to explore.

Noel shifted slightly, his fingers tilting your chin up so he could look at you. “You alright, love?” he asked, his tone soft, almost hesitant.

You nodded, your smile genuine. “Better than alright.”

His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “Good. ’Cause you’ve just gone and ruined me, y’know.”

You raised an eyebrow, your laughter bubbling up again. “Me? Ruined you? That’s rich coming from you”

He smirked, pulling you closer. “Yeah, yeah. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll ruin you all over again.”

The playful edge to his voice sent a thrill through you, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the moment. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closing briefly.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, neither of you in any hurry to leave the small world you’d created together.

_________________________________________________________

my 'angin brain’s come up with this just for you lot. Thought I’d make the grown-up bit a bit more sensual, a bit more romantic with less filthy detail (not that I don't support filthy detail). Let me know what you thought, me dirty celestial beings xx

and cheers to whoever requested this, hope you liked it, and it was at least close to what you wanted to see x

[wings-of-ink]

I'm trying to make my own IF story, if it's ok to ask how'd you come up with the ideas? Or how'd you build off it to make a whole (beautiful and amazing) story?

I've had a few ideas but get caught up in trying to make everything in one section fit, and then I feel like I'm getting no where

if you have any tips Id love to hear (your game has become one of my favorites in the 24 hours it took to play ♥️)

Hello Nony! I am so glad you enjoy GC, and am happy to answer that question as best I can. I'm free-styling here, so this will be a bit long.

For me, most ideas just sort of spring up, but they aren't full ideas when they do. GC started from a thought about a cursed MC. That was it. I just dwelt on it and sort of answered questions about it - where did the curse come from, etc... It grew a lot from there as I tried to answer questions about it. The nature of those details gave me my fantasy setting, which I grew as well. I just started small and found a place for each layer that I needed to add to the structure. This can take quite a while depending on what you're cooking up. GC had months and months of building and background before I ever started writing the actual story.

In this poll, the IF idea I had for "Shivers" was literally inspired by my brother-in-law. He actually has that nervous tick, and he jokes about it, and we tease him (good-naturedly). He says that his future gravesite must be under a parking lot or a sidewalk because people keep walking on it, lol. It just made my imagination spin.

The "gritty drama" idea from this same poll stemmed from one of my OCs. I just made a setting for her and then thought of the type of world she lives in and what I could do with it.

Other ideas I have had came from thinking of a cool "scene" while listening to music. Music is a great medium for me to help me think about my characters especially. Just listen to your favorite tunes and let your brain go wild.

It just sort of also depends on how you think. There's nothing that says an idea just needs to come to you, you can set out to find one.

I would recommend focusing on themes and genres that you enjoy reading as well. I am a long-time fan of fantasy, I have written several fantasy stories in the past, and it just feels comfortable for me. You are more inclined to think of story ideas in the niches that you love the most.

One thing I would highly recommend for IF's especially is that you make sure the MC is the center/focus of your story. Some IFs can feel like the MC is a secondary character, and the story is really about the ROs. They can still be great stories, but your reader is often looking for a personal experience in addition to the story and romances.

And just an aside that I think is important, since in the IF communities you see themes repeated, especially popular ones. Do not worry about if your story is completely unique. As long as you do not pluck ideas and words directly from others, it's okay. In the literary and entertainment world, truly unique ideas are very rare if not non-existent, but your version of it has not been told before. You also don't need an earth-shattering idea to make it interesting.

I hope this helps you a bit. If you have more questions or comments about any of this, feel free to send in another ask. If you tell me more about your personal process and experience, maybe I can think of other things that would help if you like. ^_^

[circussbeetle]

Hotchreid Snippet

I figure since this fic is taking so much longer than i thought it would i may as well post a snippet (that happens to be my favorite scene so far)

Summary: a drunken conversation in a shared cab after a long night

Words: 1.5k

Spencer spots a cab approaching them towards the end of the block, waving his arm until the driver pulls to a stop in front of them. Hotch opens the door for him, always a gentleman, and Spencer slips into the cab as he gives the directions to the driver.

It's only after he’s finished giving his address that he realizes Hotch is still hovering by the open door, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Are you coming?” Spencer asks with a furrowed brow. Hotch scratches at the back of his neck, lingering.

“I could always catch another one…” he trails off uncertainly, and it clicks for Spencer right then that he never answered Hotch’s earlier question.

He’s still waiting for permission.

“Hotch, it's cold and it’s raining and I can hear my duvet crying for me. Get in the cab.”

Hotch doesn’t try to argue with the finality in Spencer’s demand, climbing in next to him and closing the door with a heavy thunk.

The ride is quiet at first. Spencer leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes, listening to the sounds of the raindrops hitting the roof, the wheels hissing as they pass through water pooled on the street below, the wind whipping around the car. It’s peaceful, just enough noise to not be overwhelming but to fill the silence as Spencer adjusts to being away from the overly loud music in the bar.

His limbs feel heavy, his bone marrow interlaced with lead and steel and his legs anchored to the floor like he couldn’t move them if he tried. He can feel the exhaustion of the last case creeping up on him, slowly enveloping him and draining him of his last vestiges of energy.

To avoid falling asleep in the car he opens his eyes and rolls his head to the side, taking in Hotch’s stiff form.

He’s been a little strange all night, rapidly oscillating between relaxed and anxious. He goes from cracking jokes in that dry humor of his- almost flirtatious at times, but Spencer doesn’t allow himself to entertain the thought- to sitting pin straight like he’s got a titanium rod in his spine for seemingly no reason at all.

Spencer thinks that maybe this is just what alcohol does to him; he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Hotch drink quite as much as he had tonight, at least not since he and Haley were together and she’d come along with them on their nights out.

And it’s not like he’s belligerent by any stretch of imagination- he handles his liquor leagues better than Spencer himself- but Spencer’s rarely even seen him tipsy, let alone genuinely drunk. Then again, it’s nigh impossible to resist the all powerful Penelope Garcia when she really sets her mind to something.

Maybe it throws him off kilter, makes him nervous to have less command over his words and his movements. It would certainly make sense. Hotch’s entire life requires him to be alert at all times, always one step ahead, always the leader, always in control. It follows that having that stripped from him, even of his own will, would make him a little jittery.

Spencer can relate, in a way. But he’s always found a little more peace in letting go, smothering his ever racing thoughts til they disappear completely, allowing his overstuffed skull to empty for once.

That yearning for tranquility is why he has to be so careful with his intake, why it's so rare that he affords himself the refuge. That sort of numbing could lead down a dark, winding path faster than he could even realize he’s lost.

A part of him that he doesn't want to acknowledge wonders if Hotch feels that same solicitous temptation, if that’s what’s fueling his unease.

Whatever it is, Spencer doesn’t like seeing him like this. The tension lining his shoulders, the way he’s clenching his jaw as he looks straight forward at the partition, his hands tightly folded in his lap and his brow low, severe. Like a cadet standing at attention.

The passing streetlamps cast animated highlights across his face like a movie projector, the yellow lamplight that kisses his profile cutting the cool blue dark of the cab. Soft against the harsh angles of his features, his furrowed brow, his pursed lips. Illuminating his eyes for just a second, just long enough to catch the worried glint hidden by those thick eyelashes. A portrait against the scene of raindrops hitting the window beside him.

In a spur of confidence more fueled by liquor than logic Spencer reaches out to the other side of the backseat, his movements slow and intentional like he’s walking up on an injured stray. He lays his hand gently over Hotch’s, holding steady when he flinches under the touch.

Spencer can feel Hotch’s eyes on him now but he doesn’t look up from his task, slowly wiggling his fingers between Hotch’s joined hands until the older man catches on and reluctantly releases his hold.

Spencer takes Hotch’s hand in his own and brings it across the space between them to rest over his knees, cradled in both of his hands like something precious. Because the touch, the silent buzz in the air between them, the manufactured intimacy of their own little world behind the partition is precious to Spencer, and right now he wants Hotch to feel that, even if he knows it’s probably a bad idea.

Hotch doesn’t object, silently watching Spencer’s movements with a wary tilt of his head.

“You have an accent,” Spencer murmurs as he stretches Hotch’s fingers out one by one, rubbing his thumbs up each digit methodically with a consistent pressure.

Hotch’s hands are big and wide, long thick fingers and hair tracing down the backs of them. His fingers aren’t much longer than Spencer’s but they make his hands look petite in comparison, his cold, thin and boney where Hotch’s are warm and strong.

“So do you,” Hotch’s voice comes out so soft it’s almost inaudible over the mechanics of the car.

Spencer smiles softly at the deflection, Hotch’s natural instinct to turn the attention away from himself at all times, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, the idea of being known.

“You have a southern accent,” Spencer specifies, because for once he wants to dig deeper, to push Hotch out of his comfort zone, his safety bubble of isolation.

He massages Hotch’s hand now, firmly pressing his thumbs deep into the meat of his palm. Hotch twitches and his hand tenses for just a moment, and Spencer tenderly brushes his thumb across the expanse of Hotch’s palm as an apology before he continues working at the knots under the surface.

“Virginia born and raised,” Hotch offers an attempt at lighthearted banter but it falls flat, his low baritone laced with apprehension, strained.

“Grow out of it?” Spencer prods, turning Hotch’s hand in his lap to trace over his knuckles, the outline of intricate veins beneath thin skin, the bones below them.

He can see Hotch shake his head out of the corner of his eye, can hear the fabric of his shirt and jacket rustling at the movement, but he doesn’t respond right away.

“No, I uhm…” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat uncomfortably, “I had it trained out of me, in law school. Learned pretty quickly that no one takes a prosecutor with a southern twang seriously.”

Spencer nods as he explores the planes of Hotch’s hand, thinking about a twenty something Hotch doing his best to fit in, to prove himself. Thinking about Hotch now, almost thirty years later, carrying those lessons with him.

“Do you always change parts of yourself to manage other’s perceptions?” The question trips past his lips before he can think better of it.

Hotch tenses, his hand clenching and unclenching in Spencer’s hold like he wants to pull away from the conversation, from Spencer.

His hand stays in place.

“Doesn’t everyone?” He asks quietly, and something about his tone makes Spencer look up for the first time since he started this bizarre interrogation.

Hotch is looking at him like he truly wants an answer, like he wants reassurance that he’s not the only one with something to hide, an audience to perform for. Like he’s pleading to know if he’s the only one putting on a show.

Spencer almost doesn’t want to break it to him.

“No,” he says, looking back to the hand in his lap and lacing their fingers together for a selfish moment, a breath, “not everyone.”

A rigid silence follows, charged with something combative, a bristling sort of energy that Spencer can feel jolting between their joined hands, static shocks biting his fingertips like little strikes of lightning. Hotch stiffens like he wants to argue, and Spencer waits patiently for the debate.

It never comes.

Spencer looks to his side only to see that odd look in Hotch’s eyes again, like he’s searching Spencer for something he’s not even sure of himself.

And then he nods, subtly at first and then firmer, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Spencer. He turns away to look out the window, raindrops casting long shadows down his cheeks and below his eyes as they race to the bottom of the glass, and Spencer feels it in his chest when the moment breaks.

Hotch never pulls his hand away. Spencer draws shapes across his knuckles.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Movie Thoughts: Choreography and Rehearsals

There’s been a couple of great essays on the one-shots in the movie and the theatricality of those scenes (see here, here and here), and I just want to talk a little about choreography and ferally scream a little about rehearsals.

Taylor mentioned in one of their interviews that a lot of the intimate scenes had a certain musicality to them, and as the boys both have theatre experience, Robbie communicated with them on the subject almost like creating a dance. It’s essentially, choreography. So here’s my interpretation of the choreography part.

I love dancing and took ballet classes for 14 years, and something really important in dancing and choreography is beats. And there are two ways to go about this.

One is literally every beat is a specific motion, it’s a series of sharply changing movements. It’s very apparent for Henry/Nick during the first section of their first hookup in Alex’s room. You can literally count 8 beats as you would for a piece of music, and for every beat, Henry/Nick is doing a specific move:

1: Block the door -> 2: Push open the door -> 3: Right Hand grab Alex/Taylor’s Neck -> 4: Kiss -> 5: Left Hand Grab Alex/Taylor’s Arm -> 6: Left Hand moves to Alex/Taylor’s Neck-> 7: Blank/No New Hand Movements -> 8: Left Hand in his Hair

You can literally count the beats, and hell, in this scene in Henry/Nick’s case, the beats are fairly even. You can almost follow the motions with a metronome.

The other kind is hitting marks: as in there are “key poses” to strike at certain times, but how to get from one pose to the other is more up to the actor. (There’s a great video explaining this idea in fight choreography/sword fighting: check it out here) I think that’s what the red room kiss counts as the boys have certain marks to hit: both of them hitting the wall, Alex/Taylor grabbing Henry/Nick’s thigh, then pushing him onto the table, then grabbing his waist while Henry/Nick grabs his hair etc. They have specific places for their hands and legs and well, themselves to be, but everything in between is pretty continuous motions that I don’t think can be precisely designed. You can still sort of count a beat, but it’s much less clear than the example of Henry in Alex’s bedroom.

 

So here’s my question.

How many of the scenes in the movie are choreographed, and what scene was which kind of choreography?

There are the two literal dance scenes, and then most of the intimate scenes go without saying, because it’s not just a matter of the choreography, but also requires discussions on intimacy and boundaries. Among the photos Matthew posted about rehearsals, I’m assuming all photos with the boys on a couch are the intimate scenes. (Matthew said the first hook-up was shot exactly as rehearsed)

But another photo Matthew posted was the hospital storage room scene, the absolutely adorable photo with Nick and Taylor squeezed together in the middle of a bunch of chairs.

Which means the mess of Henry and Alex falling into the storage room then flailing their limbs trying to figure out how sit properly without crushing each other was choreographed. And honestly…how? Because that scene looked like such a mess and so damn chaotic, I really can’t imagine any part of it being designed besides the general idea of “fall over, push each other a bunch, end up with Henry/Nick on the right and Alex/Taylor on the left.”

Also the Paris scene. Of course that has to be choreographed, but I just… can’t imagine how? Like the red room scene, Alex’s room, the polo tack room, if I don’t immerse myself in the movie I can sort of see the performance, the directing aspect of the scene, but the Paris scene, I completely can’t. It’s so well done, it looks so damn real. Of course, I know it’s not, but I can’t see it. That’s how well done the scene is. How in the fucking world did they do that? On top of that apparently, people who went to the March screening said there were three positions (which, please fucking release everything PLEASE), so again, how the fuck did they do that?

What other scenes were choreographed? They had two weeks of rehearsal (although Taylor said he got Covid on the second week so I don’t know how they went about that), how much did they do?

God I know Matthew’s slowly releasing behind-the-scenes footage and I’m guessing a, he has a lot, like a lot b, he’s understandably taking his time, but I wonder if he’ll ever let rehearsal videos see the light of day. Besides my own curiosity about how their rehearsal worked, there's also that one adorable picture of what looks like Taylor said something that made Nick laugh which is just so cute, it would be nice to see what the boys themselves were like during rehearsals and what their banter was like

Anyways all this to say MORE BTS FOOTAGE PLEASE 

[innercircleweekofficial]

*✧･ﾟ:Prompts*✧･ﾟ:

🎨: Charlie Bowater

Here are the prompts! Can't wait for all the amazing content you guys will create for our favourite group 🥰.

You can participate in any form, such as fanfiction, fanart, moodboards, playlists, etc. We only want to celebrate the Inner Circle and the joy they have brought us these past few years 🤍.

You can also find us on Instagram. When posting your submissions there, we'd love for you to invite us to collaborate!

If you haven't read the rules of the event you can find the post right here.

Day 1: Court of Dreams/Home ->

"And what is this court?" I asked, gesturing to them. The most important question. It was Cassian, eyes clear and bright as his Siphon, who said, "The Court of Dreams." ~~~ Each member of the Inner Circle struggled as children to have a home of their own. Luckily they found one another and now, they are each other’s home. How do you see them as a family together?

Day 2: Warriors/Power(s) ->

The Inner Circle is known to be a powerful group—if not most—in Prythian. Shall we revisit them conquering the struggles of war? How do you see them using their skills? How do you see them coming into their powers?

Day 3: Past/ Future ->

Throughout the books, we've learned little pieces about the Inner Circle members' pasts. Like how the bat boys grew up together in a war camp, or how Mor was a dreamer in Court of Nightmares. How do you see their younger selves' interactions? How do you think they all met? Or how do you see their future be like? How do you see them being a family with the newest addition- Nyx?

Day 4: Headcanons/Shenanigans →

"Cassian, considering the fact that the last time you visited, it didn't end well-" "I wrecked one building-"... "The last time Amren and Mor got into it, they left my favorite mountain retreat in cinders." ~~~ Share with us your headcanons! What are these people up to behind the scenes? What mischief do they get into?

Day 5: Masks →

Inner Circle members are infamous for their cruelty among the rest of Prythian. They all wear various masks as a protection of their home and people. How do you see them when they don't have their masks on? Or what sort of mask would they slip on to protect, and how much of those times wasn't merely an act?

Day 6: Winter Solstice/Holidays →

"It's a special holiday here as well, right?" I asked casually. "Not just in Winter and Day." And Spring. "Oh, yes," Nuala said... "We love it dearly. It's intimate, warm, lovely. Presents and music and food, sometimes feasting under the starlight ..." ~~~ In the novella -A Court of Frost and Starlight- we've got a glimpse of the centuries, the Inner Circle has been celebrating their traditional holidays! Who would they invite? What present would they give each other? It could be winter solstice or any other holiday, it's up to you!

Day 7: AU/Free Day →

What other universes do you see Inner Circle in? How would their dynamic work? This is a day to truly embrace your creativity and imagination. We can't wait to see what you guys will do this day!

PS: If there's any question regarding the event, you can contact us through our ask box or DMs.

[penguicorns-are-cool]

Dr dillamond gets killed by clock? What other differences does the book have from the musical?

oooooh ok this is a big question

the short answer is basically almost everything but I'll give you the highlights

Elphaba's mom is not cheating Elphaba's Dad is a Quadling guy named Turtleheart who her parents are in a threesome with

the existence of Quadlings. Quadlings are a race of people who live in swamplands. Think of every possible indigenous stereotype and you'll have a good idea of what they're like. They're main character traits are being magical and peaceful to a fault.

After Turtleheart dies Elphaba's family becomes a missionary family (Elphaba's Dad is already a big religious figure so now he's a traveling priest in Quadling lands)

Elphaba is canonically intersex (like she has a micropenis) and was born with very sharp teeth

Also Elphaba has a brother

Nana is the only one in her family who seems to actually love her, she is very into Lurlinism

the four big religions are Lurlinism, Unionism, Pleasure Faith, and Tiktokism

Nessa is born without arms, she can't walk because without arms she can't balance. the red ruby slippers are enchanted to help her balance while she walks later on.

Elphaba works very hard and gets into shiz on her own a year or so before Nessa

Fiyero's character is split into two, Fiyero and Avaric Tenmeadows

Avaric is Boq's roommate and he is the big party boy and is always asking Boq out to the Philosophy club

the one time Boq does go to the Philosophy club he gets chosen in a raffle for a big sex show orgy thing (anyone who gets in the club is in the raffle automatically)

Fiyero is a prince from somewhere in Vinkus country (Vinkus country is in the west and imagine every stereotype about Africa and you'll have a good idea about what it's like) Fiyero has already been betrothed since he was like 9 and doesn't really care for Glinda at all

Dr. Dillamond is the science teacher and is trying to prove that animals can become Animals because for some reason this will be a huge discovery for the pro Animal rights (this is why he's killed)

Madame Morrible has some weird prophecy for Glinda, Nessa, and Elphaba about them all having immense amounts of power and not remembering this at all

Glinda and Elphaba do kiss

Glinda and Elphaba go to Oz for fun one day not to see the Wizard

Elphaba stays behind because she sees how many poor people they are and wants to help

part two starts decades in the future with an affair between Elphaba and Fiyero, like it opens in a sex scene

After this Elphaba goes to some sort of protest thing that goes violent and she gets hit on the head and into a coma for an entire year

She wakes up in a monastery with a child (she doesn't know which kid is hers the nuns never really tell her that she's had a child but when she leaves many years later she's sent off with a child, Liir, and a broom)

She goes to see Fiyero in Vinkus country in Kiamo Ko (where he's the king)

Fiyero is dead she's now living with his widow and her kids

Fiyero's kids are little shitheads who try to kill Liir all the time, except the youngest who's spoiled and her older brothers don't like her either

Liir is somehow protected by the ghost of his father although Elphaba never considers him her child and is a horrible mom to him

Elphaba is still trying to do activism stuff but failing miserably and also the Animals are all being used for slave labor now

She tries to kill Madame Morrible except Madame Morrible was already dead

Nessa is drunk with power after her Dad died

Elphaba finds the grimmerie in Kiamo Ko which is when she starts having any significant amount of magic powers

She gives chistery wings and tries to teach him to speak to continue dillamond's research

she is currently increasingly mentally ill

Her entire family at Kiamo Ko except Liir and Nana (she came in for fun and so Elphaba could care for her) gets killed by the Oz army and the youngest is taken prisoner

Elphaba is now dedicated to getting the youngest daughter released and meeting with the wizard about it

When dorothy comes to kill her she doesn't really want to but when Elphaba tries to give her the broom she accidnetally sets herself on fire and Dorothy throws water on her to put it out

elphaba is deathly allergic to water

there's more but i'm stopping now

[yellow-yarrow]

Music, mathematics and the Pale

This turned out to be a long post, but it started with thinking about the sound of sleigh bells that appear at different parts in the book.

We know they come from Ulv playing music and reading the pale, but what if they are part of one of Émile de Pérouse-Mittrecie's dodecaphonic works, that was remixed by Theo van Kok (or maybe by some other musician)? because it's hard to imagine electronic dance music having that instrument, and while the comte's concert scene only mentions a string section, there is classical music that uses bells.

I think it would tie in well with Rodionov saying "your music will reach us from the true end, even further beyond there, where all matter is but memory. So sounds the white light that shines into every darkroom, turning all revelations into nothingness.”

But that could also refer to Zigi listening to the track titled "Grave" when he is in the airship, or how even during the end of the world the radios play his music. And at one point the Lund girl's voices are compared to the bells, plus we could say that the Ignus Nilsen Waltz (a track from the game's OST) also has some kind of bells.

to my understanding, dodecaphonic works are composed according to some mathematical logic (I'm not smart enough to understand any of this, but for further reading for those who are interested [this artilce] plus the wikipedia pages) and the person who likes the comte's music the most is Rodionov, a mathematician

I'll get back to the bells but speaking of mathematics and the pale

Joyce -"The further into pale you travel, the steeper the degree of suspension. Right down to the mathematical -- *numbers* stop working. No one has yet passed the number barrier. It may be impossible." Abandoned Lorry - It looks like an article ripped out from a radio-enthusiast magazine. Complex mathematical equations explain the basics of something called 'the ULAN frequency system'.

"A pale latitude compressor is used to sort of... make the pale more manageable. With a lot of these, you can force a radio signal grid on the pale -- literally crunch the distance across it." (..) It's meant for forcing dimensions on something that doesn't *have* them. Needless to say, the frequencies used are... out of this world. "At the upper limit is the large prime number generator station. It's used specifically for pale latitude compression. That's why you may be hearing some numbers.

“It’s maths, right?” Jesper is sitting with his hands under his head. “Some mathematical rule explains this [the killer wave]?” “ (..) but the same non-linear effect also explains the pale. They use it in entroponetics. This is how the pale behaves when it sweeps over the world.”

Recording and playing the swallow in the church causes the building to shake, it's described as a tidal wave approaching that gives Egghead "the worst high he has ever been on". (waves and water often symbolize the pale) Soona says: "It was mathematical information -- from the anomaly -- presented as a waveform. That's what it was *technically*"

My point is, I think the comte's music doesn't just simply play as some kind of background music to the end times, he accidentally composed something that can be used to do something to the pale.

Jesper says "That’s right, [Ulv] talks with the dead. They’ll come if he plays them some Van Eyck and old Rietveld. That’s why he’s alone like that. No, dear, apparently he doesn’t tolerate Fakkengaf.” He doesn't mention Theo van Kok so maybe it's not the Theo van Kok / comte remix that has the bells, but maybe those were just a few examples that he plays? Theo van Kok was very influential for him after all.

When Harry looks at Arno van Eyck flyers, there are these checks:

Shivers - A GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST Inland Empire - And so all our lives become but a faded memory, an ephemeral vision of a Van Eyck concert flyer... blink or you'll miss it.

This could be a reference to the fact that his songs can be used to access memories in the pale?

Back to the comte remix, it's actually the remix of "one of the old overtures" and Ulv says: “Please… do not ruin… my intro,” "This is the most important… part.” as Tereesz and Khan step into his room, Maybe the intro is a remix of the comte's overture? or it's just literally the intro of Ulv's remix.

Which is the same thing Kras Mazov and the revolutionary lovers hear as the black and white memory of their deaths turn colorful. These scenes are similar to when it's mentioned that Ann-Margret Lund's hair turned grey overnight, and that "She hears music in her sleep; light from the kitchen window floods her hair and, for a moment, it looks golden again."

These remind me of the "your music will reach us from the true end, even further beyond there, where all matter is but memory. So sounds the white light that shines into every darkroom" quote.

As Nadia jumps into the water there is a mention of sleigh bells, and then above the water:

"Everything is yet to come—piccolo flutes, her favourite instruments, and brisk fanfare, what a splendid sound! The rolling thunder of the timpani, the sound of water in Nadia’s ears is like a furor, life, ovations, and warm, warm tributes"

which is very similar to

"The sun rises from the pale. The comte thrusts his hands towards the sky and the incomparable noise of time engulfs him. It’s louder still than the wind, louder than the masses of ice rubbing against each other. The man’s mouth sputters with drool, howling his favourite cadence. It’s written by him. And the voice in the pale in front of him sounds like applause, standing ovations, the stamping of tens of thousands of feet, and whistles, deafening whistles like those of fireworks, an atom that will someday be split in Revachol. The only thing in this world more beautiful than his own music is applause."

Another comparison to the pale:

"The waves of Perouse-Mittrecie are beautiful to listen to, like the ocean, mm…grave."

In conclusion: sound and mathematics definitely have some effect on the pale. The bells could be a part of the comte's music but there isn't solid proof, it's just a theory. I think Rodionov loves Perouse-Mittreice's music so much for pale related reasons.

[tgmsunmontue]

It's all academic darlin' PART 1/10

12k+ Hangster AU. Updating 2-3 parts per week and will be finished by 31st January 2024. (Each part is ~1500 words).

Bradley is a professor but living his best life with IceMav parents. Jake is a pilot. Maverick sort-of tries (and fails) to play matchmaker, so he tries again. Touch of epistolary and sprinkling of one-sided unknown/mistaken-identity.

(Note for later parts/chapters - Ice uses sign to communicate at home, I’m typing it like sign is English despite the fact that I know it isn’t (while NZSL is my third language, I have no working knowledge on the grammar useage in ASL).)

PART ONE

                The 12 hour trip has given him plenty of time to think. He doesn’t know what possessed him to accept Mav’s offer; quiet place you can just get away from everything. When faced with the idea of going home and seeing his family, not being able to answer questions versus being offered a solitary retreat into the woods for a week or two or however long he could stand his own company… Well, he’s never spent very much time alone before and he guesses the novelty had held a certain appeal. He knows he might not actually be alone when he gets there. Mav had mentioned that his son might still be there, but that he’d be leaving to get back to school. It had made him sound young. But Jake’s seen photos, knows that Bradley has at least graduated from some form of college judging from the photos in Mav’s office and hangar, proud moments documented with pictures. 

                Sure enough when he pulls in front of the cabin there’s another truck out front, music blaring from somewhere. He steps out of his own truck and can now hear someone loudly singing along. He follows the sound around the house and yep, definitely the same guy from the photos (the flash of moustache is the clincher). He’s cutting wood, axe swinging easily in time with the music and Jake takes his time to just watch. He’s tall, maybe a bit taller than Jake and he hadn’t been expecting that with how tall Maverick was not. Shirtless, skin tanned and gleaming with sweat from the combination of summer heat and exertion of cutting wood. Jake swallows, letting his eyes run over the scene appreciatively because it’s been a little while and this right here is… nice.

                “Baby can I hold you tonight?” Thunk. “Baby if I told you the right words.” Thunk. “Ooo, at the right time.” Thunk. “Would you be mine?” Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “Baby can I hold you tonight?” Thunk.

                As he watches, he assesses; Bradley looks around the same age as Jake and the other Dagger squadron members. Not young at all then. No wonder Mav had been so insistent about getting them all home, dad-vibe just morphing to encompass them all. He’d never had imagined a man with Maverick’s history to be a family man. That somehow, somewhere along the line, Maverick managed to raise a small human into the tall drink of water in front of him. Jake doesn’t know why he feels surprised, Mav is a good-looking man despite his age but he still doesn’t see much of a resemblance between him and Bradley. He shifts on his feet, not wanting to interrupt a man holding an axe, especially one as attractive while doing so… he licks his lips, wishing for a toothpick or some gum just to have something to do with his mouth and his lips twitch as he thinks about other ways he could occupy his mouth with the man in front of him. He startles, realization hitting him hard and fast. This is Mav’s son.

                Fuck.

                He cannot, under any circumstances, fuck with this man. Literally or figuratively. Maverick would kill him. He’d find some way to make it look like an accident, or just commit outright murder and then hide the body. And there would be no shortage of volunteers to help him do it. It’s only for a couple of days before Bradley apparently has to leave, Jake can be on his utmost best behavior. And it’s not like he’s in any fit state anyway. It’ll be fine.

                “Fucking shit!”

                Jake jumps at the yell, staring into the wide eyes of Bradley Mitchell, because there cannot be that many people with that moustache in the world. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, knows he’s going to have to refrain from so many comments about that distracting caterpillar of facial hair.

                “Sorry!”

                “Jesus man, you scared the fuck out of me…”

                The urge to bite back and tell him he shouldn’t be cutting wood by himself, or have music playing so loudly he can’t hear vehicles come up the road are on the tip of his tongue but he bites them back. Best behavior he reminds himself. And when did he become such an old man? Ugh.

                “Sorry,” he starts again. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I’m Jake. Lieutenant Jake Serensin.”

                The other man’s face goes pale under his tan, eyes going wide.

                “Fuck. Is Mav okay?”

                Shit.

                “He’s fine! Totally fine. Sorry. Again. I didn’t mean to worry you. You’re Bradley though right? Mav’s son? He said you’d be here, told me he’d let you know to expect me.”

                A look of relief is quickly replaced by chagrin and Jake bites his lip, because he’s definitely not expected.

                “Shit, I dropped my phone in the lake yesterday. Haven’t checked in with anyone. Obviously you’re welcome though, any friend of Mav’s is a friend of mine,” Bradley says. He’s smiling, reaching his hand out to shake and Jake gives himself a mental slap. He’s not sure if he should correct him on the whole friends with Mav front, because he’s pretty sure the older man merely tolerates him. And this is the son of a superior officer and he’s a guest and he will remember his manners if he doesn’t want to deal with the certain Southern guilt that will settle on him later. Best behavior. Which is also why he won’t go asking questions about why Bradley calls his dad by his fucking callsign.

                “Nice to meet you.”

                “Likewise. Sorry I wasn’t expecting you. You obviously know Mav, and who I am. I figure you’re not a serial killer. Let me just, uh, grab my shirt and then I can help you with your bags.”

                He wants to tell him not to bother, that he’s enjoying the view plenty, but even something as benign as ‘don’t put a shirt on on my account’ would come out heavy with the (intended) innuendo so he keeps his mouth shut and nods before realizing he doesn’t need any help with his bags and says as much, biting back another comment about the floral Hawaiian shirt that the other man is shoving his arms through but still leaving completely unbuttoned and okay, he’s thankful for small mercies. He’s going to look, he’s not a fucking saint.

                “It’s fine man, come on. Let me show you the guest room. Did you bring groceries? I hope Mav warned you to bring food, because unless you like hunting and fishing you’re shit out of luck.”

                Fortunately Mav had warned him and Jake had organized groceries. He carries everything inside with Bradley’s help; front door opening into a large living space with a kitchen and dining area to one side, a large wall-mounted TV on one wall and then a fireplace taking up the central inner wall, clearly used for heating in the cooler months. Down a short hallway Bradley points out Mav’s bedroom, his own and then the guest room where Jake drops his duffle.

                Heading back to the kitchen he takes in the few photos, not many personalized ones, but plenty of ones of different types of aircraft and something in him feels a little more settled just looking at the pictures of the planes in the air. The piano and guitar make him pause and he wonders if either belong to Mav or Bradley. Obviously one or both of them play, although he can’t imagine Mav playing either. Then there are the books. So many books, some look like heavy texts and Jake wonders who the hell comes away on vacation to read textbooks that are thick enough to be classified as weapons. He can imagine Mav reading them over playing the musical instruments though. Bradley is putting the chilled items away in the fridge, offering him a beer and Jake takes it gratefully. One won’t hurt.

                “So how was the drive?”

                “Long.” Too long considering he’s meant to be taking it easy but he’s done worse.

                “Where did you drive from?”

                “North Island.”

                “Shit. I thought you’d just come from Fallon.”

                “Huh. No. That would have been much closer, but I needed to get away.”

                He almost expects Bradley to ask, but he guesses growing up with Mav he knows some questions won’t get answers so lets it slide and Jake’s grateful.

                “So you saw Mav yesterday?”

                “Yep, sure did. He made the offer a few days ago and just reminded me of it yesterday and I thought… sure. Why not.”

                “Did he give you a list of jobs?”

                “No. Should he have?”

                “He must like you,” Bradley laughs and Jake’s eyes catch the column of his throat as he tips his bottle to take a drink and he swallows roughly. Okay. He looks away and hums, shrugs. Doesn’t want to mention the concussion and bruises he’s still recovering from. He’s meant to be taking it easy and Mav knows it.

                “So, what do you do? Or is being a lumberjack a fulltime gig?”

                “Ha. No. I’m a… teacher.”

                Jake quirks an eyebrow because that answer had waivered as an almost question. But it tracks with the summer break and the whole getting back to school thing Mav has mentioned. And it’s a good a conversation as any, although it is quickly turned on him, with Bradley asking him about his flying experiences, looking a little wistful when Jake mentions going through Top Gun and he wonders if it would be impolite to ask why Bradley didn’t join the Navy like Mav. Definitely. Obviously his face still asks the question, because Bradley is offering up information freely.

                “My mom asked me to not join the Navy. Not quite her dying wish, but pretty damn close…”

                Well shit. He winces.

                “I’m sorry –” Jake starts and Bradley is already waving his hand.

                “It was over twenty years ago, you’re good. I’m good. She just wanted me safe. Of course, telling a teenager he can’t do something isn’t usually the best approach. And keeping Mav from teaching me to fly was never going to happen. I got my solo license when I was sixteen and haven’t looked back. I love flying.”

                “That is something I can agree with,” Jake says, tipping his beer bottle toward Bradley.

                “To flying.”

                “To flying,” Bradley repeats, his smile wide and friendly.

PART TWO

[ginsengkitten]

Nightfall: Chapter 1

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

The morning light filtered through the canopy of tree tops, sprinkling rays through the trees. The sounds of leaves and bark crunching under the tread of their hiking boots piercing the peaceful silence of the woods.   A young family trekked optimistically on their summer break. Getting the kids accustomed to the parents preconceived love of hiking that they shared far before ever having kids. It was the kind of trip they had both imagined for their little family ever since their first was born. Billy was a natural outdoorsy kid, Maggie, however was full of animosity towards it and would rather be playing Barbies. Even toting one of her dolls with her wherever they went. Still she admired the foliage, collecting her own bouquet of wildflowers along the way. The innocence of a young child embracing the still of nature and what the earth has to offer just by being.

Maggie encouraged that curiosity by wandering from the trail after straggling behind Billy, fortunately, Billy noticed and alerted their dad. "Dad, Maggie's running off again." To which he rolled his eyes at his daughter's silly habit and proceeded to track her down. Maggie hadn't gotten far, and when the dad had found her, he found her to be mesmerized, standing still in her spot.

"Mags how many times do we have to tell you not to-" he began to scold until his eyes met what hers did, resulting in him also frozen in horror. Maggie had stumbled upon what can only described as a horror scene. A deer lie in a small grove, dead and completely mutilated. Its poor body, unnaturally contorted into a heap of twisted, mangled flesh. The fur, skinned from its body. Flies made feast upon the bloody remnants.

"Daddy, what happened?" Maggie asked in fear. Unfortunately, daddy didn't have an answer. His fatherly knowledge reduced to the same childlike fear as hers as he grabbed her and ran, only to turn around and be met with whatever beast had tore the deer apart. The beast releasing a harrowing growl.

-

"Sources are calling it a total family annihilation; Investigators continue to work with the California department of wildlife and game wardens to determine what animal may be causing these gruesome killings, but have not released any further details to the public.

Police have urged the public to stay within city limits and avoid camping and other outdoor recreation until the animal is apprehended and put down. Local government officials are in talks of implementing a city curfew if the animal is not caught soon."

You listened half heartedly to the news as you pinned another music poster on your wall of your new apartment. Mind you the apartment itself was not new, in-fact very decrepit. A cigarette perched in the side of your lips as you concentrated. A 'vintage' Rolling Stones poster. You stood back and admired the new addition, one more thing to make this dingy place feel like a home.

Your roommate Vickey walked in from the kitchen, handing you a coffee. "Stones huh? Always a classic, I can't complain." She grinned. Vickey was the only person you knew in the entire state of California. You had answered her ad in the paper about looking for a roommate. You had finally gotten a job as a music journalist assistant for a local magazine print. It was small but just enough to get by and get your foot in. Music was your passion, and music journalism at that.

Vickey was a goth punk with black choppy hair, a blunt attitude and big in the rock scene; especially in LA, so the arrangement was working out swimmingly. She took a genuine interest in your work and would supportingly read all your writings and offer insider knowledge about shows. The two of you quickly becoming close friends.

"Another animal attack happened yesterday." Vickey said sipping her coffee. "Pretty crazy shit." . You sort of glaze over that statement, still focused on your interior design pursuit. "An entire family, shredded."

"Yeah that's crazy.." you say tranced on your new poster.

The TV reporter continues:

"In related news, a local church group has began petitioning the state of California for a total recall of all metal and rock music from its shelves, claiming the genres are the primary contributor to LA's recent uptick in crime, violence, and potentially a connection to the recent killings, they say."

Your neck snaps to the tv at this. Vickey scoffs. "Here we go again with these fuckin prudes and their protests." She flops on the couch and starts rolling a joint. "Is this a common occurrence then?" You ask, sort of laughing. Vickey doesn't break from her intense focus on her joint rolling; "The day the churches stop blaming everything on the rock scene is the day the last whore stops working the sunset strip. Shits been happening for generations pretty much. You just gotta ignore it." She grumbles.

"Right. Huh.." you mumble to yourself.

"You know- this could be a good story for the print." You blurt out. Vickey looks up, ushering her joint to you, but you decline by wiggling your cigarette in your lips. "Nah. This shits been covered a million times dude. Those uptight nuns have nothing new to spew anyways." She replies. "No no not for the church, Vickey, but the scene." You countered her. Her expression changed now more intrigued. "Oh? How so?". You pace around gently in thought. "From the rock scenes perspective on it. We ask them what THEY think about it all. Like the musicians and shit." Vickey chuckles and coughs out a cloud of smoke, "I dunno I don't think any local band is gonna give you the time of day unless you got drugs or can give good hea- well, actually..." She gets lost in thought for a moment. "I think I might know a couple musicians that MIGHT be willing to say a few words on the matter. -" you jump slightly with a mute excitement. "BUT- I can't guarantee you'll get anything of real substance from them.." she tries to ease your hopes down on her half offer but your excitement is apparent. "Vickey seriously?! That would mean the world to me. Who is it? When can I see them?!" Vickey smiles at your innocent enthusiasm to go willingly into the guttural den of rock.

"It's a local band called Guns N Roses. They're playing down at the troubadour tomorrow night. I'll see if I can get you in."

[nightcolorz]

Do you think Armand has any sort of comfort item? I trust you implicitly on all things armandtism

thank u for the ask I LOVEE this question ‼️‼️‼️ it is incredibly flattering that I’m being considered the armandtism expert that is literally a dream come true and the best compliment ever 🥹❤️ armandtism is the air that I breath fr fr

I think Armand absolutely has comfort items!! His sort of intense attachment style and special interest based in technology and often portable objects makes this seem very likely to me. I think that his comfort item would be his iPad ‼️‼️ (not just because my comfort item is my iPad totally not projecting 😭 the show validates my claim). The iPad is a source for all comforts and special interests, it is a piece of technology! There is music! Videos! Movies! Games! He can draw! He can send people death threats on twitter! And more ❤️❤️ in the show Assad says that Armand is playing mobile games when he’s on it in background shots, and I definitely have that headcanon too. The iPad is a good tool for self regulation and easy quick sensory stimulation and entertainment. Armand likes to be stimulated, but he also gets overwhelmed by sounds and people, and the iPad provides accommodations for both 🙏. I headcanon that in the later books during the vampire court era Armand brings his iPad to every vampire social setting and formal meeting, it’s like a part of him. I also think Armand has other comfort items, like his rings! Armand in the books wears a ton of jewelry, especially rings, he has a ring on every finger. And I headcanon that the rings serve as a comfort item for sure. In my experience rings are a great, subtle thing to stim with. Show Armand stims with his fingers, so I think book Armand stims with his rings 🙏 they provide a grounding, familiar sensory experience for him that is probably very comforting lol, considering he wears them every day.

Physical objects and the symbolic value/symbolic comfort of objects are prevailingly important to Armand, so I’m sure he has had a ton of comfort items throughout his life. When he’s fifteen, in a scene from the vampire Armand, during Armand’s first day ever in Venice after Marius buys him, he is gifted a watch by Riccardo bcus he noticed how fascinated he was by it, and for Armand it’s a representation of how he will be safe/cared for in this unfamiliar new environment. I see it as like babies first comfort item 🥹 and I imagine that Armand continues to keep small pieces of technology on him (like watches) as small, daily comforts

thank u sm for the ask!!!!! Love this smmm ahh!!!