#threads: delia

[ofdemonessence]

There’s a blush present on those chubby cheeks. He has a question. A question he’s been scared to ask since the beginning of their date. While it was no secret the baker was attracted to Delia, often distracted by any hint of cleavage. He was still a shy bean and the baker was always worried to come off as a little sleazy. But they were already dating, so it was only a matter of time before one of them made the first move. Chris pauses as he gets lost in her eyes before finally coming to his senses. “Would you like to come up to my place? I promised I’d make you dessert tonight…if you’re cool with it!”

Oh? He was doing that thing again, where he was doubting himself. Without missing a beat, she leans in closer.

"Chris, darling," she purred, "I thought you'd never ask. Making dessert together sounds absolutely delightful, but I have a better idea. How about we skip the dessert for now and head straight to your place? I'm more interested in savoring the taste of you tonight."

Her boldness leaves no room for doubt as she reaches out to gently brush her fingertips against his cheek, her gaze filled with desire. The invitation is clear, and she's ready to take the lead in exploring their mutual attraction that was there all along.

@bewitchingbaker

[iincantatorum]

Another Face Off || Delia & Killian

There he was. That man, who ruined her day, and then later, her sleep that night. In the cold chill of the night, she stood at her cabin's porch, wearing a crop top and her shorts all wrapped around her beige robe. Delia's anger burned with a mixture of betrayal, resentment, and a fear of being hunted.

The demoness turned to face Killian, her eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and pain. She took a step back, creating a distance between them, her voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "So, this is what it boils down to, Killian? You, a hunter, turning against someone you claimed to want to learn about, because of what I am?"

Her voice wavered with a blend of hurt and indignation, her emotions raw and exposed. Delia's pale hands clenched at her sides, her demonic nature almost palpable in the tension that filled the air.

"Understand that I am more than the labels you assign," she continued, her voice growing stronger. "I trusted you, Killian, a stranger I decided to give the benefit of the doubt, and you used that trust in attempts to hunt me down. How could you have betrayed me like this?"

@monsterxlayer

[swcctcrbittcr]

starter for @lustbitten

really, cambrie couldn't stand this. the having to pretend, to smile and hold delia's hand in front of others, laugh at her stupid jokes and over all seem entirely enamored and in love. not when it was further from the truth. there was nothing fairytale or romantic about this arrangement, thanks to her parents and their incessant need to control her life and their image. delia was the perfect match on the outside - but behind closed doors was an entirely different story.

"quit squeezing my hand so fucking hard." she whispers through a smile as she leans toward delia. "you make me wanna cut it off."

[darkhearthorns]

The Dragon and the Demoness || Maverick & Delia @ofdemonessence

The moon hung high in the midnight sky, casting an ethereal glow upon the ancient forest where shadows danced and whispered secrets. Maverick, the brooding and enigmatic prince, stood at the edge of a moonlit clearing, his piercing eyes scanning the surroundings with a mix of caution and intrigue. The air crackled with a sense of anticipation, as if the forest itself held its breath, waiting for something or someone.

A soft breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. Maverick's dark wings, shimmering with an iridescent sheen, unfurled behind him, their elegant span adding an air of mystery to his figure. He was a creature of the night, drawn to the shadows and the secrets they held.

As he stood there, lost in his thoughts, a flicker of movement caught his attention. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the figure emerging from the darkness. It was a young woman, her hair cascading in waves of midnight black, her eyes gleaming red with an otherworldly light. She moved with a grace that matched his own, her steps purposeful yet filled with a silent invitation.

Curiosity mingled with wariness as Maverick watched her approach, his brooding aura enveloping him like a cloak. He wondered what had brought her to this secluded place, whether she sought his counsel or harbored secrets of her own. There was no denying the magnetic pull between them, a connection that seemed to transcend the realm of mere mortals.

With a slight tilt of his head, Maverick acknowledged her presence, his voice a low, velvety timbre as he spoke. "Who dares venture into the heart of the darkness? What brings you to this hidden realm, where secrets whisper and shadows dance?"

[0ctobres]

tag dump: lydia

[yamujiburo]

I've always LOVED the seviper comic you recently reblogged (where Delia tries to face her fear of snakes), but every time i've checked the hanamusa masterpost, I haven't seen it anywhere. I like that comic a lot (Seviper's expressions are so cute!!), and i want other people following this au to see it. Could it please be added to the Hanamusa masterpost?

it's in there, just threaded since it's a two parter~

[musicalmumu]

lydia deetz tag dump

G E N E R A L

❝ I MYSELF AM STRANGE AND UNUSUAL ❞ ╱ lydia deetz

「 aesthetic 」 lydia deetz

「 canon 」 lydia deetz

「 headcanon 」 lydia deetz

「 inbox 」 lydia deetz

「 musing 」 lydia deetz

「 thread 」 lydia deetz

「 visage 」 lydia deetz

V E R S E S ( explained here )

tbd

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

「 lydia ft. adam」 ♡ ˙ ˖ ✧  ❝ IT WAS LIKE THE PERFECT DAD JOKE ! ❞

「 lydia ft. barbara 」 ♡ ˙ ˖ ✧  ❝ THIS IS THE FIRST NICE MOMENT​​​​ I’VE HAD ... ❞

「 lydia ft. betelgeuse 」 ♡ ˙ ˖ ✧  ❝ BUT HE’S MY MONSTER ❞

「 lydia ft. charles 」 ♡ ˙ ˖ ✧  ❝ DOES THIS COUCH MAKE ME LOOK DEAD ? ❞ 「 lydia ft. delia 」 ♡ ˙ ˖ ✧  ❝ YOU DON'T ALWAYS GET IT BUT YOU'RE A PART OF IT ❞

「 lydia ft. emily 」 ♡ ˙ ˖ ✧  ❝ MAMA WON'T YOU SEND A SIGN ? ❞

[distinctlywhumpthing]

idk about you but i would literally sell my firstborn for a future/more-recovered-aiden-chapter 👀

~ 🍯

Once upon a time, the scene of Aiden waking up in the back of Leo's van full of painting tools, thinking for a second he was seeing in monochrome would not leave me alone. Three years ago today, I posted the first part of Unintentional to start telling that story <3

As a postiversary present to everyone from the beginning (seriously, this ask is from 2022), here's a timeline jump. (Don't tell Leo, he's a real stickler for order.) Thanks for sticking with me and the boys <3

More Than This

Masterlist

Snap. 

Aiden huffs, twisting and grinding the broken pencil tip through the last stroke even as it threatens to tear through the paper under his force. 

He should be able to do this. It’s all he ever does now. Practice speaking, practice reading, practice writing. Follow the plans for eating, for exercising, for sleeping. He shouldn’t complain, he finally knows what to be. There was a time he’d have let a routine like this support him like it was his spine. He was given a role to play but all he does is just that: pretend. He hasn’t made progress in weeks. The only thing he knows is how precisely he is failing. 

Across the room, Leo stops typing. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been at it for a while.” 

He doesn’t need to look to know that Leo will have that concerned crease between his brows, mouth turned down at the corners as he tries to assess what the problem is this time. Aiden is nothing but problems. 

“I’m fine,” he mutters but of course Leo is coming over. Would have no matter what he’d said. 

Leo fills a glass at the sink and turns to lean against the counter across the island as he sips it. Aiden doesn’t want to see whatever look Leo is giving him that will just crumble his resolve. The triangles and circles on the page blur in and out of focus as he blinks back tears. Tears from the strain of making his damaged, useless brain process not-even-fucking-letters for the last few hours. Nothing else.

When Leo finishes his water, he fills a glass for Aiden, slides it in front of him. “I’ll do some work with you then.” 

“No.” He definitely can’t look at Leo now. 

Leo takes a measured pause.

The apology is on the tip of Aiden’s tongue but he keeps his jaw locked. Harder to stave off are the physical reactions. His body wants to shrink away, to flinch and hide and beg and be hurt and held. He tightens his fist around the pencil, pulling it into his lap to hide that he’s shaking. 

“I know you want to make progress but it’s okay to take breaks.” Leo makes his voice gentle, tiptoeing through the minefield between them. "It’s not going to send you back, you’ve been working hard.”

“Nnnno. I…mmm—” He shakes his head as if he could shake off the rising frustration coming up to tighten around his temples, his throat, his chest. He’s been trying to avoid the stuttered conjunction between every word, always made worse by times like this. Harrison guaranteed he would never get out of a painful situation too quickly. 

Leo steps up to the other side of the island, leaning onto his elbows to lower himself into Aiden’s line of sight. “C’mon…”

He shakes his head, can’t trust himself to speak coherently. He’s being stubborn and stupid. Harrison would have threatened him by now if he hadn’t already backhanded him. He never dreamed of pulling something like this back with Archer or the Songs.

  “Alright, hon.” Leo gave him one last long-suffering smile and turned back to the sink. 

Aiden swallowed a sob, furiously blinking away hot tears prickling his eyes. Leo was never going to push him more than a little. Lead him to whatever line he’d drawn or found, offer to help him step over it, but be the first to abandon the idea if it was too much. 

“Why?”

Leo shut off the tap. “Pardon?” He dries his hands on the bright salmon-pink tea towel threaded through the pull for the dishwasher. Delia says I shouldn’t be so allergic to real colors, he explained when Aiden pulled it out from the perfectly folded stack of muted earth-toned cotton in the cabinet.  

“Why?” Aiden repeats, voice strained by the tightening in his chest. “I…don’t…mmm—” He squeezes his eyes shut, pushes past the stupid mumbling. “Why?”

“Why what, hon?” Frustratingly calm and earnest, so eager to help in whatever he can. 

Aiden wants to scream. It’s not fair, it isn’t Leo’s fault, but whatever has been sparked rages inside him beyond his control. “Why…do…mmm…mmm—” He mashes his lips together, forcing his lungs to fill with air. He will not start crying. 

Leo tilts his head to the side. “Why do I…help?” Aiden shakes his head, huffing out a breath that is perilously close to a sob. “Why do I…care?” 

It puts a rock right in the middle of his throat. He lifts his chin a fraction. 

Defiant despite having literally no ground to stand on, Harrison used to taunt when Aiden was strung up on his table. 

“Because I do. I do care about you…” 

Aiden’s heart skitters in his chest. He looks away, all the wind gone from his sails because he’s as easily swayed as a feather. No. He won’t be weak, pathetic, and needy. He’s angry right now. Frustrated and bitter. 

“There’s no one reason—”

“I…don’t—mmm—mmm—” He clenches his teeth together until they creak in the back of his jaw, blinking away more of the hot tears that refuse to fucking stop pooling in his eyes. 

Leo stands there calmly, crease between his brows confirming that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. He’s worried. Always so worried and concerned and caring. 

Because he cares. 

Aiden stands, pushing away from the island and Leo. “I-I-I-I—” God, he wants to break something when it's like this. A wall he is just banging his head against, all the while becoming less coherent.

“Breathe,” Leo says, slowly rounding the end of the island toward him. “It will come. Just—”

“No. I…mmm…don’t…w-w-mmm—Fuck!” He slams his fist down on the counter. 

Leo doesn’t even flinch. 

Why should he? Of course he wouldn’t flinch. 

Aiden moves away from him, starts pacing back and forth. He wishes he could run, pound his feet into pavement until it dulls whatever is going on inside his head. 

“Aiden—“

“Not…mmm’my name.”

Leo’s expression falters. 

It’s a low blow. Aiden knows it, they both know it. All it does is deepen the disparity between them. Making him all the more desperate as Leo regains his composure. 

“If you want a different name—if you want me to stop calling you that, all you have to do is tell me.”

How can Leo be even calmer than before?

A sob escapes Aiden’s throat before he can swallow it. He turns away, circling the island to put it between them again. He doesn’t want Leo trying to comfort him. He doesn’t want it and he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I don’t want you to keep the name just because at the time you thought it was my place to give it. That’s not how I saw it then and that’s certainly not how I see things now.” 

Shame is oil on the fire, it only burns hotter. “Doesn’t…mmm’matter…”

“It does to me. I’ve never seen you as a Companion or treated you like one. I don’t expect anything, you know that.” 

“Fuck…you.” He surprises himself but pushes on anyway. Even steps forward so they’re closer, eye-to-eye, bold with the slab of stone between them. “That…doesn’t—doesn’t mmm’make a…difference. Doesn’t mmm’make..mmm’me…different—”

“Wait, that’s not what I’m saying—” 

“You—”

“I didn’t mean—”

He raises his voice to speak over Leo. “I’m’mmm…that’s…what-what…I am…” 

Leo waits to make sure he’s finished this time. The stretching silence makes his shouting seem ridiculous and Aiden burns under the unearned patience, the undeserved consideration. 

“I know,” Leo finally says.

“If you…don’t…mmm’w-w-want…this…why?”

Leo’s face falls and Aiden almost goes with it. He backs away from the gaping hole in his resolve. One misstep and he’ll be at the bottom of it, down on his knees. Putting a chink in Leo’s composure is no kind of feat. It only makes him feel that much closer to coming apart entirely. 

“Please,” Leo moves around the island, trying to get onto the same side as Aiden again. “It’s not that black and white—”

“Mmm…yes…it-is.” 

“But—”

“You-you…mmm…hate…it—” He points at Leo. Anyone else would have broken his accusatory finger. “You…hate…this…mmm’what…I am’mmm—” He backs away shaking his head. 

“Wait, no. Aiden, that’s not what I meant. You misunderstood—”

“No!” He wants to hit the ceiling. Better yet, put his whole body through a wall and get the fuck away from here. From these feelings. Leo wouldn’t follow if he went up to his room. Not even if he slammed the door and started breaking things. But he can’t. He’s only acting brave enough to set this fire, he could never leave the blaze unattended. Just like he’s only acting like he’s recovering into a real person.

It’s all just acting. None of it is real. 

Why?

He’s trapped and boiling, glaring at the charcoal-grey cabinets. He once put his fist through another one. A honeyed pine varnish with dark grain, an arched frame around the flimsy middle panel of each one. Hardly took any force to slam through it but he put his whole weight behind his fist anyway. 

Of course, Leo’s damn cabinets are solid wood. 

He cries out, turning away from Leo to slide down the cabinet he hasn’t so much as dented, cradling his hand against his chest. No point holding anything back now. He’s sobbing by the time he hits the floor, curling up tightly. 

When Leo comes over, Aiden’s reaction slips out before he can catch it. He shrinks back, sobs turning to whimpers. “Please…mmm’sorry, mmm’sorry…mmm’good—” He can almost see himself from above, staring up at Leo with those distrustful, unblinking eyes. Lips still moving through the shapes of pleas he’s crying too hard to vocalize. 

He hates that less-than-person. How little it controls and how much power it still holds. His shameless meltdown only puts him back exactly where he belongs. He’ll never be anything different. 

“I know, I know. You are good.” Leo kneels carefully, holding his hand out, palm up, between them.  “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s all good.” 

Aiden shakes his head, gulping in air between sobs, knuckles throbbing. “I didn’t—didn’t mmm’mean…” He didn’t know if the apology was for trying to ruin Leo’s kitchen or for exploding or for falling back on old habits. 

“I know, it’s okay. We’re good. Come on, let me give you a hand?” 

He swallows and tries to take a deep breath. Tries to compose himself, tries to get his mind to stop spinning through replaying and catastrophizing. He just wants—He needs—

“I—I used…t’be mmm’more than…this,” he blurts. 

Leo stops waiting for Aiden to take his hand and slides in next to him against the cabinets instead. They sit in silence long enough that Aiden starts to wonder if Leo even heard him but Leo finally says, “I know.”

Aiden bites his lip, afraid to look at Leo but he can’t look too closely at his hand or he’ll draw unwarranted concern. 

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Leo says after another long pause. “I care about you. I’m here for all of it and I’m not going anywhere. I think maybe you know that or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“It's okay, hon. We're figuring things out as we go."  

Leo always means what he says so Aiden looks up, it’s for a different kind of reassurance. Leo gives him his half-smile, reaching out to squeeze the back of his neck. Goosebumps run down Aidne’s spine and he drops his head onto his knees, hiding his face. Leo wraps an arm around his back. 

Aiden has long since stopped preparing himself for Leo to pull away before he’s ready by the time Leo says, “So, how about that break?” 

He lifts his head from Leo’s shoulder, trying to gauge what he means.

Leo pulls him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go for a drive.” 

And his heart falls.

Masterlist

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps

@batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight

@whumps-and-bumps @i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney (og asker?)

[rtfics]

Seeing BJ2 the 3rd time.

LONG & FILLED WITH SPOILERS

SO much to think about, and my memory is shit.

I rapidly scribbled notes during the film. But when I got home and tried to read them:

So here's an overview. I'll post other details if I ever translate my notes.

First, the casting was perfection. I'd never seen Jenny Ortega, Justin Theroux, and Monica Bellucci before, so for me they were the characters.

It was interesting that the film opens with the Warner Brothers Studio lot in black & white. Why B&W? It sort of sets the tone.

Donna Summer singing lines from "MacArthur's Park" was a foreshadowing. This film was made by a guy who was a teen in the 70s, and it's for others his age (he's only 2 years older than me). BJ2 is packed with 70s nostalgia that only those who were alive then would get.

This sequel was also made for die-hard fans of the original Beetlejuice. Burton took special care to give us the Winter River we love, but updated it to show the story and its characters aren't stuck in the past. The covered bridge is there, the church, cemetery, Miss Shannon's, and fire station are there, and so is the Maitland's building, but it's a coffee shop now.

Seeing Lydia as shell-shocked and pill-popping threw me, but the plot gave it sense (I'll go into detail in a separate post).

Rory, OMFG, I've known Rory. Anyone who's had anything to do with the entertainment/media biz, even peripherally, knows Rory. His "enabler" bullshit was so spot-on; faking that he's going to get Lydia off her dependency on drugs while keeping her hooked by making it seem that he's doing it because she's begging him. Classic user methodology. You just know he's the one who got her on "coping" pills in the first place; all the better to manipulate her. I loathed him immediately.

I adore what they did with Delia. It completely fucking made sense, and followed what's happened in the modern NYC Arts scene. I love how she and Lydia now get along, I mean, shit, Lydia's in her 50s and Delia's in her 70s, they're both middle-aged women, and, bless their hearts, the screenwriters and Burton made them act like grown women.

Astrid seemed older than 16 to me, but hey, I'm not around teenagers these days. I appreciated that she wasn't a brat. Her resentment and having her back up were appropriate for her family situation; a beloved father whose body was never found (I think); a mom always working or promoting because of Rory, doped on pills and famous for being a ghost-seeing nutjob, who can't see Astrid's father. That's a lot to deal with.

The way they handled Charles was perfect, especially his claymation demise. His afterlife body was comically gross, and an ingenious way of including Charles in the film without having to recast another actor, except for his voice. Charles being in the Netherworld provides a great thread to Delia's later death. His headstone being the shape of a shark's fin was a humorously grim touch.

The Sylvia Young Theatre School Choir sang at Charles' funeral, and their voices were beautiful.

Arthur Conti was fantastic as Jeremy (70s teens remember his grandfather, Scottish actor Tom Conti). His American accent was flawless. He was the perfect balance of cute and mature, and his niceness made his being evil all the worse; while Astrid says the incantation you can see him slightly out of focus behind her, smiling in a chilling way. I love that there isn't the slightest hint that he's a multiple murderer, and of his own parents! When he's about to get his passport stamped he shows absolutely no remorse toward Astrid, which makes his damnation all the sweeter.

Beetlejuice . . . . What can I say? Michael Keaton created Beetlejuice as we know him, and he fit right back in character as easily as drawing breath. His body language, his weird way of walking, his expressions, everything is just as you'd expect Beej to be. But then we get to see more! I can't express how happy I was to see Beej's origin story, which turned the throw-away line about having a pretty good time during the Black Death into something more substantial. Seeing Keaton as human Beej was a delight.

An important detail was that, even though Beej says his heart had long since withered, he fell for Delores. He says he was "bewitched." Perhaps not love, but lust certainly. It's quite clear that Delores was much higher in social station than Beetlejuice, so he must have thought he'd won the lottery with her choosing him. My god, his ego had no problem with his drunken ass being hauled to bed by his new wife, and his enthusiasm was huge. I love that they gave him the gut in his human form (Keaton doesn't have one).

Richard was the nice guy I hoped he would be. But it was telling that, when he says goodbye to Lydia at the ladder in the mausoleum, they don't hug. They don't even shake hands. It shows the truth of Lydia's previous statement to Astrid that she and Richard's relationship had ended long before his death.

Wolf is every 70s crime drama/movie distilled. Hammy, over the top, constantly spouting his Catch Phrase.

Why are there so many shrunken head guys? And why did Beej hire people who can't talk to answer his phones? It's loony and fits the Netherworld random login. They're Beej's Minions.

I've seen a lot of people on tumblr, as well as professional movie critics, say there were "too many villains" and that the plot was "too hard to follow."

For those who agree with this, I recommend you never attempt to read anything by Charles Dickens, Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo, Edgar Allan Poe's detective stories, or Agatha Christie. Because your brains would fry.

Look, there are two villains. Just two.

Delores poisoned Beetlejuice, he killed her with an axe in revenge, in the Afterlife she reassembles and hunts him down, killing others in her wake, which sets Wolf Jackson and the Ghoul Squad after her, until she's defeated with a sandworm.

Rory has been manipulating Lydia, keeping her doped, gas-lighting her, until under the Truth Serum injected by Beej he spills the beans and Lydia rejects him, until he's eaten at the same time as Delores by the sandworm.

As for "Delores and Rory weren't given enough story," what more do you want? How Delores joined a soul-sucking cult? How Rory became a user, seeking out vulnerable, grieving women to exploit? We learn as much as we need to. Anything more would have stuffed the film with unnecessary crap.

The only shit I didn't care for was the baby.

The whole Counseling scene was a big gross-out, and I'm sure Tim Burton intended it that way. The original couldn't have been more gross than it was or it would have earned an R Rating, keeping out everyone under the age of 18 (21 in some states; this was the 80s). But now, Burton could be a lot more graphic. I was stunned that he had Lydia go through the "pregnancy," but it obviously didn't hurt her. For me Babyjuice has no point. It doesn't advance the plot, and its reappearance only drives home the weirdness of the ending.

What the ever fuck was the ending??

Especially Astrid giving birth to the Beetlebaby. It would suggest Beetlejuice is its father, which means he and Astrid had sex. Which we can be pretty sure they didn't . . ? In the counseling scene Beej refers to the baby as his "inner child." So its not his literal child? Even so, why would Astrid give birth to it the same way her mother did?

I've read all the theories about the ending, and at this point one's as good as the other. Perhaps that's the point: To keep us all guessing. Because I'm sure, all along, there's been a plan for Beetlejuice 3, IF this movie was a hit. If it wasn't, if it bombed (since 2010 all of Burton's films have bombed), the ending would lead to speculation forever, to people writing fucking dissertations about its symbology and metaphors, etc.

But if it was a hit, which it is, the seeds are there for a third and final film. But so fucking murky no one can guess what it'll be like.

The only part of the ending I liked was Beej shaking awake and saying, as he glances at Lydia, "I just had the weirdest dream." And Lydia looking over. Not terrified. Not screaming or leaping out of bed. Not seeing the indentation in the pillow and yelling in protest. Just staring.

Do I want a third film?

I love Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. I love it more every time I watch it. I accept everything in it as canon, even the baby, resentfully.

But Burton might fuck up the last one. He might do things I never wanted to be canon. When a sequel is made of a hit film, the creators sometimes become self-conscious. BJ2 wasn't, because it'd been 36 years since the original. They had no idea whether this version would fly. Since it has, massively, I'm afraid the screenwriters and Burton may become too aware of the audience and try to cater to it. OR they'll go the opposite direction and try to come up with a plot they think fans would never imagine.

So I'm pretty much stuck in the same place I was before I saw Beetlejuice Beetlejuice.

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2023.12.16

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. One single thread of gold tied me to you by @phoebe-delia [T, 1k]

►Draco nearly choked on his champagne and had a coughing fit when he saw Harry Potter again.

2. Secrets Undone (the Lightning Order) by @xx-thedarklord-xx [M, 39k]

►It started out as a secret. Their love was hidden just between the two of them until it became a revolution. One where Harry and Draco would change the world. He just had to pass his O.W.L examinations first.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. Lethe by Anonymous [E, 70k]

►A new form of vanishing sickness is sweeping across Britain. Healers Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are on the case. When Draco Malfoy is admitted to the isolation ward, Harry never imagines falling in love with him will be the easiest thing he’s ever done – and watching him fade away to nothing will be the hardest. ★ H/D Erised 2023 | @hd-erised

[wolfbrawn]

— dash game . get to know me!

alias  /  name :  Puffin. birthday :  16th of March. zodiac  sign : Pisces (Sun), Cancer (Moon), Sagittarius (Ascendant). height :  178cm / 5′10″. hobbies :  Writing, gaming ( currently replaying Bloodborne with @shellcrack ♡ ), sea swimming, pole fitness. favourite  colour :  Just about everything that exists on the blue-green spectrum. Duck egg, teal, blue mint, etc. current  book : Studying for my (uncompleted) PhD ruined my ability to read outside of roleplay threads. I have Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens sitting at my bedside table, but I haven′t started it yet. last  song :  Blah Blah Blah by The Saw Doctors. last   film  /  show : I recently finished Kin, a fictional crime drama set in Dublin. inspiration :  Heaps of inspiration comes from chatting and writing with my lovely mutuals, honestly! Plus music, canon material, the usual sorts of aesthetic images and quotes so popular on Tumblr, that sort of stuff. behind  url : There′s nothing deep behind this one. Wolfbrawn – wolf because of Farkas’ lycanthropy and brawn because he’s known for being big and burly. fun  fact  about  me :  That when anyone asks me for a fun fact, my mind immediately goes blank. Who even am I? Uhh, hi. My name is Puffin and I have hypodontia, so I′m missing one of my lateral incisors. Also, I have citizenship in three countries.

tagged by : @the1ongcon – thank yooou! ♡ tagging : @shellcrack, @cldhrbour, @divinehr, @selunyte, @hircineswrath, @fckedleft, @flamexbound.

[ofdemonessence]

Just Some Cow Girls || Delia & Alex {from X}

"You're right," Delia agreed, her voice filled with a touch of nostalgia. "Winter will soon be upon us, and we'll be bundled up in layers, just like these adorable calves. But for now, let's savor this beautiful day, and just being in one another's company."

Delia listened intently as Alex mentioned the term "enthusiastic" and its resemblance to saying someone has a nice personality. She chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Ah, yes, 'enthusiastic' can sometimes be a euphemism," she replied, her tone light. "But I get what you're saying. And trust me, the image of me attempting a cattle drive is quite comical. I'll have to leave that to the experts."

Delia's eyes filled with curiosity as Alex mentioned her experience herding cattle from a young age. She leaned in closer, her interest piqued.

"No way! That's so cool." Delia exclaimed. "I actually wouldn't have guessed. I really think it's incredible to have such a connection to the land and its creatures. Oh and what made me think of it? Well, I suppose it was the way you effortlessly interacted with these cows. It's a skill that seems to come naturally to you. I'm jealous- since I'm supposed to have a connection to these creatures myself, but I kind of... don't?"

"But yeah, it sounds like such a unique and enriching experience," Delia began. "I'd love to hear more about it! What was it like growing up herding cattle? Are there any memorable moments or stories you'd like to share?"

@xseen2muchx

[iincantatorum]

"It's nice to finally get a chance to catch up, how have you been, Gia?"

@interestellar-butterfly

[misspeelpants]

What's underground and up in the clouds

Left: Amongst fantastic thoughts and future clothes, ideas painted by Pablo and Delia, a real dream girl in their sky blue leather, dipping up and down in two skirts, painted in panoramas. Handpainted belt and headband. To order at Mr Fish. Tights by Mary Quant, 18s. 11d, Galeries Lafayette. Patent platform shoes threaded through with ribbons here, 10 gns, at Ravel, New Bond St, Kings Rd. Hair by…

[claygoestothemovies]

⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2

Tim Burton’s legacy sequel BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE is finally here, a mere thirty-six years after the original captivated fans the world over back in the late eighties. Is it worth the wait? Not really, but it’s still not a bad way to spend a couple hours at the movies.

The story is truly all over the place, with far too many characters and plot threads that never reach anything nearing a satisfying conclusion. But the main gist of the story involves the living characters from the original coming together after a death shakes the family to its core. At least, that’s what we’re told. Nobody seems very bothered in the finished product. Lydia (Winona Ryder, wearing a series of ever more hilarious faces) is now apparently a television host in the vein of Ghost Hunters. She has a daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega, trapped playing a teenager yet again), who steadfastly believes that ghosts aren’t real. Delia (Catherine O’Hara, doing her thing) is at least still recognizable as the character we know and love from years gone by. As for the titular Beetlejuice (Michael Keaton), although I feel he got far too much screentime, he is still up to his mischievous ways. We’ve also got plot lines following Justin Theroux’s cringy Rory, Willem Dafoe’s undead detective Wolf Jackson, Arthur Conti’s boy-next-door Jeremy, and the most underutilized of all: Monica Bellucci as soul sucking villainess Delores. Exhausting, isn’t it?

A lot of what doesn’t work feels like mistakes that a first time director would make. Being so excited to finally get to make a movie that they try desperately to cram all their ideas into one film, and as a result none of it gets executed very well. On the bright side, the glorious practical effects work is still stellar. If you’re a fan of old school practical effects, this film will fill you with glee from shrunken head to dismembered toes. The jokes, when they land, *are* very funny. Unfortunately, the ratio of jokes that work and jokes that don’t isn’t in the ideal range. You’ll be groaning nearly as often as you laugh. That being said, humor is subjective, so take that with a grain of salt, I suppose.

Ultimately, it’s a fun, yet deeply flawed and frustrating watch. I had less of an issue with it than some as I’m not the biggest fan of the original film, so I’m not precious about the material. I think wasting Monica Bellucci is the biggest sin it commits, and I don’t believe for a second that Lydia would go into television for a career, but otherwise, I had a fun time! It has less heart than its predecessor, feels shallow, and never really justifies its existence; but in this age of countless legacy sequels and reboots, this is definitely better than it had to be. Cautiously recommend.

3.5/5

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Eleven

Summary: Rogier feels the ends of hope and hopelessness. He might still be saved. He’s already been marked for death. In the end, it doesn’t matter whether or not he accepts it. Delia doesn’t. 

Author’s Notes: 3.7K words here! There are some rather… important (to the story) items I list out later in the chapter. If anyone’s interested, they can be purchased from the West Limgrave Nomadic Merchant, which is a quick trip down the mountain and up the coast from The First Step! I also pulled dialogue out of order for this, which I’ve been trying to avoid, but have been doing in pieces throughout. Gotta get that flow, though.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: abstract horror? I think? Suggestive content, unedited (basically), unfinished story- read at your own risk!

He had it.

He finally had it.

He had no idea how long it had taken- it felt like days, it felt like it could have been only a few minutes- but he had it.

The name he’d been searching for.

Lunar Princess Ranni.

His hands shook with the excitement of it.

And with the nervousness of telling Delia.

What would she think? Would she call him mad, deluded? As D had?

No.

He oughtn’t even have the thought in passing.

He turned his attention to the pages he’d copied for her, finally dry after the grease he’d applied to protect them from water. He still needed to bind them somehow.

He only deliberated for a moment when the idea struck him. He unbuttoned his jerkin, reaching into a tiny pocket inside for the needle he kept there. He paused, thinking of the luminescence of Delia’s eyes in the dark, and unfastened his cloak as well. He shrugged the garments off entirely, face heating at the very idea of being so undressed around her. He shook himself from the thought. Then he lifted his hat from the bedpost, grasping the glintstone he’d hung from the brim for power and luck. He caressed it for only a moment before yanking, snapping the cord at the base.

He threaded it through his needle and began to sew. It had been some time since he’d had need to sew anything, and so he found himself pricking his finger from time to time. But it went quickly, and he was tying off the cord when the heavy wooden door opened. 

Delia strode in, throwing back her hood and tossing an easy smile his way that he returned. He relaxed at the very sight of her. When she turned, he saw that a great, curved blade was strapped to her back. His smile widened. 

“Always good to see you safe,” he said, letting warmth seep into his words. “Found yourself a new toy?”

“Indeed.” She pulled it from its sheath, laying the blade across his palms and collapsing backward onto the bed beside him. “It’s proven quite useful. It’s enchanted to-”

“Cloak its user for a quick forward approach?”

Delia sat straight up, gaping at him in indignance. “I thought you studied that… that…stone…” she waved her hand in an irritated motion. 

“Glintstone sorcery,” he supplied smoothly. 

“Yes, glintstone sorcery,” she glared. Rogier beamed. 

“It’s a beautiful weapon,” he conceded. He handed it back to her and she smiled, pleased.

“Thank you. And now that I have it…” She lifted his rapier from her belt. Rogier’s heart sank. She saw the expression and leveled a serious gaze at him. “I don’t want to hear it. I saw you reach for it when I surprised you last time.” She held it out to him, wrapping his hands around it when he tentatively took the hilt. “Besides. I know you’ll use it again.”

She said it with such sincerity that he found himself nodding before he realized it.

“And on that note, I brought you some things.”

Delia pulled a leather satchel out from beneath her cloak, upending the contents onto the bedside table. Various leaves, butterflies and fireflies, berries, and flowers tumbled out.

She unbound another leather pouch from around her thigh, drawing out bundles carefully wrapped in larger leaves and cloth. She glanced up at him. “Bloods and greases and the like.”

Then she reached under her cloak for yet another pouch, this one bound to her waist. She held it in both hands, as though hesitant to show him. She looked at him through her lashes. 

“I’m not… entirely certain that these are what you’re looking for.” He set aside his rapier with care, pulling himself up and facing her. She opened the bag, reaching in carefully to withdraw small, fleshy globes in vibrant green, indigo, and crimson. 

Boluses. 

“Delia,” he breathed. “Where… how…?”

“So these are them? Boluses? Will any of them…?”

Rogier was already shaking his head. He reached forward, taking the green globes carefully. “These treat poison.” He pointed to the crimson orbs in her hands. “Those staunch blood loss.” He gestured to the indigo spheres, which she’d lay on the tabletop. “And those lift sleep magic.” His gaze caught on them as the words left his mouth.

Delia, of course, saw this. “Have you slept?”

He looked up at her, suddenly dumbstruck at the memory of her in his arms. It had felt so good to hold her, so right. Her heat had driven out the cold of the Blight, warming his chilled body. Her breath fanning against his neck had nearly undone him, keeping him awake, longing and pitiful, long after she’d drifted off. He’d lay trembling each time her lips brushed his skin, only following her into sleep after she shifted to lay her head against his chest. 

It was the soundest sleep he’d had in ages.

And then there had been the almost kiss. He’d wanted to kiss her, desperately, body moving of its own volition. Hadn’t even registered what was happening until it was almost too late. It had taken him far, far too long to gain control of his senses, wading through the mire of sleep and Death.

He swallowed hard. “Not since you left.”

Her eyebrows pinched together, drawing a furrow between them.

He looked away. “I should tell you. Lately, I feel I'm on the precipice… of falling into a deep… fathomless slumber. It’s too hard to wake up,” he admitted quietly. “And… I’m afraid I won’t.” When he looked up, Delia’s expression was pained.

She lay a hand on his, squeezing lightly. “Will these help?”

He looked back to the collection of boluses on the table. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. But I’ll try them. I don’t want to fall into this sleep- I have an inkling it could spell trouble for you somehow.” A slow smile spread across his face as he spoke. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I can be quite useful. So I just wanted to get the apology out of the way, beforehand.” He leaned forward to nudge her with his elbow, now fully grinning. “Since you’re so scary and all.”

Delia scowled at him. “At least one of us can find amusement in this.”

He felt his face fall.

She grimaced instantly, raising her other hand to his. “Sorry,” she whispered. 

“Don’t be.” He squeezed her hands back. “And on the note of usefulness, now I have some things for you.” He released her, reaching for the pamphlet he’d created. Her eyes stuck on the glintstone, fingering it reverently as he handed it to her, then lit up when she opened it. 

He’d penned a table of contents for the lot once he’d finished, with blank pages in the back for additional recipes. Delia beamed at him. “Thank you,” she breathed. “This is wonderful.”

Rogier hummed. “Something to repay my debts to you, I suppose.” Delia’s brow furrowed again. He went on before she could object. “And now,” he bent, raising the knifeprint from where he’d laid it at the bedside. “My examination is complete. Here's the knifeprint back, with my thanks.”

Delia’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Don’t be silly,” she murmured, turning the blade in her hands. “You keep it. I’ve got no use for it.” She grinned up at him. “Besides, I can always come see it when I see you.”

Rogier’s heart sped in his chest, and he found himself smiling widely. “Now,” he began, growing serious. “I have a fairly good idea who performed the rite upon the blade. The person who orchestrated the Night of the Black Knives. Lunar Princess Ranni.” Delia nodded, patiently awaiting the explanation she expected him to give. “One of the children born to King Consort Radagon and his first wife, Rennala. Demigod and sister to General Radahn and Praetor Rykard. Hers was the name I discovered in the imprint. Truly, you have my thanks. But,” he said hesitantly. “If I might be so bold, I would also like to ask something more of you.”

“Go on,” she said softly. 

“If Ranni truly is the one who plotted that fateful night, then she should bear the cursemark of Destined Death somewhere upon her flesh.” He took a deep breath, and then spoke before he lost his nerve. “I would like you to procure it for me. And then all will be laid bare.” Delia stared at him, wide-eyed. He whispered “I will have the answers I have sought for so long.”

“Alright,” said Delia slowly. “And where would I find…?”

“I have some idea of Ranni’s potential whereabouts. There’s a manor to the north of the Academy of Raya Lucaria. It is the familial home of the Carian royals from whom Ranni descends. There’s been talk of the old royals’ vassals gathering there in recent years. Ranni’s whereabouts since the Shattering are a well-kept secret. She hasn't been seen even once. But I suspect she might have returned to the manor in which she was born…”

Delia said nothing for a long moment. “Why do you want this cursemark?”

He hesitated. “I'm afraid there's something I must tell you. Do you know of Those Who Live in Death?” She nodded. “The very notion of life in death defies the Golden Order.” He snorted softly. “By D's account, these defiled fiends must be expunged. But truth be told, I seek the cursemark to save them. And… possibly myself.” Delia fixed him with a piercing stare. He hurried on, hoping she’d hear him out.

“You may find this peculiar, but I discovered something in my examination of the Night of the Black Knives. These souls have committed no offense. They have every right to life, only, they happened to touch upon a flaw in the Order.”

“Explain the part where it helps you.”

Rogier stammered a bit, caught off-guard. “W-well, I was infected with the Blight by Deathroot. Deathroot was never seen in the Lands Between prior to Godwyn’s murder. In fact, it seems to stem from his corpse. Something about the cursemark, the rite itself, or perhaps even the very death of a demigod, must have caused its growth. If I can only understand that…”

“Then perhaps you can undo the damage.”

“Yes,” he breathed. She hummed, fixated on some point against the far wall. Her head whipped suddenly toward him, a dangerous gleam in her eye. 

“Done. How do I ‘procure’ the mark?”

He found himself stuttering again, unnerved by the vehemence in her tone. “I’m honestly not quite sure. This work is entirely unprecedented. Convincing her to come here would be the best, easiest outcome. Somehow, though, I doubt she’ll agree to that. Are you much of an artist? Could you draw it, or perhaps take a rubbing of it? Assuming you could convince her to let you so close, that is.” He was rambling, and Delia’s expression had morphed from shock to relief before she began to laugh. He frowned. “Yes, yes, all fun and games until you’re the one in the hot seat.”

“Rogier, I will be the one in the hot seat. I assumed you were asking me to cut this mark from her skin.”

He sputtered, indignant. “Do you take me for a butcher?”

“Not a butcher. A scholar,” she said fondly. Then her smile turned to a sly grin. “Besides.” She lay a hand on his abdomen, sliding it slowly up to lay against his suddenly racing heart. The heat of her skin through the thin fabric of his poet’s shirt had him breathing too quickly, too shallowly. She leaned forward until their noses nearly brushed, and Rogier found himself fighting every animal instinct to tip his chin up and close the gap between them. “I can be quite convincing when I want to be.”

She shoved lightly, sending him reeling back against the cushions. His head spun as he watched her with wide eyes. “Indeed,” he agreed, voice low. “You certainly can.”

Something sparked in her gaze then, something zealous. Something hungry. Something he hadn’t seen in her before, but something that kindled a flame deep within him. He held his breath, waiting to see what she would do. She was leaning forward, looking as though she hadn’t even noticed. 

Then her eyes flicked to his covered legs. 

Rogier felt himself jerk as though scalded, feeling as though he’d been scalded. Shame coursed through him. 

Of course. How could she ever want him? Damaged goods, and at Death’s door to boot. 

“So, you’ll seek her out?” he asked brusquely. Delia made a confused face, pausing halfway to leaning over him. He looked away. “Lunar Princess Ranni.”

She didn’t answer him right away. He could feel her slow withdrawal and wondered, belatedly, whether he’d gotten it all wrong. 

“Of course I will. I… I can go now.” There was a hitch in his voice that made him furious with himself. She’d already begun to rise when he reached for her, grasping her wrist. 

“Would you stay? Get some rest, first? W-with me?”

She relaxed under his fingers, nodding quickly. She stood, removing her cloak and armor with rushed movements. He was growing concerned at her rushed motions until she lay down, pressing herself against him, and his thoughts went blank. She wrapped an arm around him, tucking her head beneath his chin and nestling as close as she could get, and it occurred to him that she thought he might change his mind. 

Never. 

He tucked an arm under her, drawing her even closer. She raised a leg, resting it across his hips, and he drew in a sharp breath. The blouse and bloomers she wore were thin, and his own clothing did little to mask the shape of her body against his. He could feel every curve of her, at least to the point that he still had feeling; feel the contrasting softness and hard muscles at every point her body touched his. 

“You’re so cold,” she murmured. He didn’t respond, and felt her tense as realization set in. “It’s the Blight, isn’t it?”

“I believe so.”

“Do you feel it? The cold?”

“Somewhat,” he admitted. “It’s not so much that I feel cold, as that I feel the absence of heat. For example,” he said, laying his hand on her hip. “You feel hot, in the way things that aren’t hot feel it when your skin is too cold.”

Delia bolted upright, and Rogier found himself leaning up, too. “Am I hurting you?” she asked. 

He blinked. “No. It’s… nice, actually.” He looked down as Delia began chewing her lip nervously. She haltingly reached up to lay her hands against his chest, pressing him gently back. He went down willingly, and was rewarded by Delia straddling him carefully.

His ever racing thoughts ground to a halt as she settled her weight over him, laying forward to cover him with as much of her body as she could. She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, lips brushing his jaw. The heat of her was so intoxicating, her closeness tantalizing in a way that had him on the verge of begging- for what, he didn’t know. 

He was, for the first time, quite grateful for the loss of feeling in his lower body. The sensation would have been altogether too much. 

Then he felt her fingers, toying with the edges of his shirt. 

By Marika, if she- 

She did. She slid her hands under the material, palms blazing a molten trail against his skin as she ran them up his body. A great, shuddering breath went through him as he arched up into her caress, desperate. Desperate for the heat, desperate for her touch. He felt her smile against his jaw as his arms came up to clutch her tighter, felt her squeeze her legs around his hips. He imagined he could feel her knees pressed to his thighs, caging him in her body and presence. 

“How’s that?” she whispered. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded. She chuckled, raising gooseflesh where her warm breath fanned over the column of his throat. Her hands, trapped between them, had wriggled free to run down his sides. He turned his head, and she raised hers so that they were cheek to cheek. 

Her lips were so close. 

Her breathing began to even out, body soon sagging against his in sleep. The weight of her was soothing. Though his heart raced, he soon found himself nodding off, too. 

In his dreams, he wasn’t nearly the coward of reality.

In his dreams, she pressed him down to the bed and straddled him. In his dreams, he pulled her down over him to seal their lips together. In his dreams, he kissed her, fast and hard and searching, until she broke away for breath, and then he kissed her throat until she gasped and writhed in his lap. 

In his dreams, there was no Death Blight. He wrapped her waist in one arm and rolled, pinning her beneath him with his hips, arms caging her in his embrace. She panted against his mouth, pulling at his shirt and wrenching it up and out of her way. She ran her hands all over him, eyes locked on his, and dragged him down to fasten her lips to his neck, sucking on his pulse point and making him see stars. 

“Rogier,” she gasped, wrapping her legs around him. “Rogier,” she moaned as she pulled him closer, heat bleeding through their garments. 

He blinked and she was suddenly laid bare before him, stunning and stunningly wanting. Wanting of him. She scrabbled at his trousers, drawing him back down to her. Her bare skin burned him where it touched his. “Delia,” he choked out. 

“Rogier.” She was pulling his hair again, making him moan like he’d never been touched before. He really did love when she did that. 

“Rogier!”

He groaned, peeling his eyes open blearily. Delia’s worried face swam into focus then, hovering not far away. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed. She lay a hand against his cheek, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Her fingers slid against his skin and he realized that he was drenched in sweat. “I’ve been trying to wake you for… well, for a long time.”

He drew himself up slowly, looking down at his soaked shirt. “Let me help you.” Her fingers brushed his sides as she lifted the garment, making him shiver. When he looked at her, for a moment, he saw her flushed face and glassy eyes from his dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut, berating himself in shame. But when he opened them again, Delia was staring. 

He couldn’t stop the smirk that pulled at his lips, or the satisfaction rising in his chest. She noticed it, cheeks pinking as she stood, crossing the room to a chest. She rummaged in it for a moment, then drew out another light shirt. It was only then that he realized that she was already fully armored. 

“You had me worried,” she said softly. He grimaced. 

“Forgive me.” She shook her head, looking up once he’d pulled on the shirt. It was close to a good fit, only slightly tight across the shoulders when he raised his arms. “And thank you.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “It’s just an old shirt.”

“All the same.”

She was unfocused, staring at some point on the wall. Rogier leaned forward, trying to catch her eye. 

“Delia?”

She looked sharply up. “You said my name, while you were sleeping.”

Rogier felt his cheeks begin to burn. He looked away instinctively. “Did I?”

She came closer, seating herself at the edge of the bed. “Are you going to tell me what you were dreaming?”

Never. 

“I don’t remember.” The lie came easily enough, but he could tell even without seeing her face that she didn’t believe him. 

He let himself look up at her after a short time, but her expression was inscrutable. 

“You know, Rogier,” she said slowly. “I think we want the same thing.”

His heart leapt in his chest before rapidly sinking, like a spun stone skipping atop the foam of the sea before plummeting to the icy depths.

She gave him ample time- time to lie, to make excuses, to beg her to go and spare her heart or to beg her to come here and kiss him, already, heart and conscience and pride be damned.

He did, and said, nothing. 

“As I thought,” she murmured, leaning forward. 

Marika, help him. If she kissed him, he would be lost. 

He couldn’t do this to her. If she cared for him half as much as he did for her, he couldn’t do this to her. 

He had to fight to make his voice steady. “Delia, I’m dying.” She recoiled with enough force to shake the bed. He closed his eyes, unable to bear seeing her expression. “I can’t…”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” Her voice was firm and when he looked at her, her face was a stony mask of resolve. 

“Delia, we can’t stop this.” He let all his fear, his desolation, all of his hopelessness flood the statement. He lifted the blanket from his legs with a shaking hand, revealing the tangle of thorny vines piercing his flesh. The vile insects that hatched from them poured up, dispersing around them. 

Easier to forget him if she found him despicable. 

She turned calmly away, and Rogier felt himself deflate in relief and heartsickness. But then she turned back, holding some small, strong-smelling herbs in her hands. She tucked them beneath his legs, scattering the nymphs and flies alike. 

“We can.” Her voice was firm, gaze hard. “And I will.”

And in a shimmer of gold, she was gone.