#then she fell

[lizardrosen]

later tonight i'm going a local theater company's immersive play called Port of Entry, which focuses on immigrant experiences, and the small audience gets split up and everyone has different experiences with different scenes. a few years ago this same theater company did one called Learning Curve, which was performed in a catholic school and took you through the high school experience at the time. that first one was devised in collaboration with Third Rail Company, who did Then She Fell in new york, and it was fantastic!

[mobyfitzwilliam]

GHOSTWRITER - The Arrival

I write with the full knowledge that this documentation will not be found until long after my death. Indeed, my purpose is not to be read, but to document this experience for personal posterity, as my only real intention is to work very perversely to please myself.

I have always seen myself as a character in a gothic novel, and after living this experience, I know that the final step is simply to record the story on paper.

Be warned, there will be little rhyme or reason to this tale at first, but much as I became acclimatized to the mystery as it unfolded, so too will you grow accustomed to the world, hypothetical reader.

One final word of warning. Darkness is contained within this text, and by engaging with it, it cannot be guaranteed that you shall be safe. Go safely forward, but beware.

I first arrived in Glamis Forfar following an extended stay in the Kingsland Ward of London, where, despite the best intentions of the staff there, I'd found myself completely and utterly mad. Upon my release, I had decided to make my way back to my family's estate in the upper part of Scottland. However, I changed my plans after being advised by a gentleman I met on the train to book myself into an extended stay at the McKittrick Hotel.

"It's a far-flung part of the world," he advised me, "and they don't get too many visitors."

"I suppose there is nothing much to see," I replied.

"It all depends on what you mean by nothing."

The train station was little more than a platform, raised overlooking the village of Gallow Green. It was a lush evening, just the faintest hint of a chill on the breeze, lightly fluttering my capelet. I lowered my hat to shield my eyes from the sunset, dipping just behind the enormity of the hotel looming before me.

Stepping down from the platform, I crossed a disused high street, and down a series of steps. I would later come to know that the train station was built atop what used to be called Gallow's Hill, which had been the sight of many witch hangings some years before. I was rather sympathetic to the poor souls lost there. Doubtless that in such a place as this, with its eerie woods, sudden fogs, moaning winds, and lonely houses, I may still today find myself looked at askance. Once upon a time, I may have even been branded as a witch, myself.

Descending to the hotel entrance, I passed a patio upon which several empty chairs and tables sat, largely overgrown by brush and vegetation. A sign advertised the Manderley Bar within the hotel, opened nightly, and I resolved to investigate it once I had settled in.

Before entering the hotel, I turned back to see the remainder of my surroundings. It seemed the village was off to my left, as a series of closely knit buildings sat, laced together by once manicured trees. Off to the right sat a building slightly smaller than the hotel, with the ivy wrapped brick of the facade fading into the forest it sat before. It was far enough away that I couldn't make out the sign indicating the purpose of such a place.

As I observed, I noticed I had not been, as I assumed, the only person to exit the train. A young woman was walking with resolved trepidation into the village, wrapped in a tartan capelet and carrying with her a suitcase. It seemed this little town had some life in it yet.

The lobby of the hotel was dimly lit, even at this hour of the early evening, and much of the furniture was covered by dust sheets. Yet, a Porter sat behind the front desk, engaged so deeply in a paper folding exercise that he did not notice me until I rang the bell upon the desk.

It was such a quiet, dusty place that the bell's ring echoed throughout the entire space, hanging sharp in the air. The Porter instantly looked up, staring me dead in the eye.

"I've been waiting for you. I had begun to think you might not come." He spoke in a monotone voice that somehow conveyed a majority of feeling.

"I don't believe I have a reservation," I said, knowing full well that I had never heard of the place until I began my journey, "but I'd like to book a suite for an extended stay."

The Porter pointed down to the sign in book, and I was quite shocked to see my own name, written next to today's date.

"We've been closed for quite some time, due to unfortunate circumstances, but we are pleased to welcome you," the Porter intoned.

"Am I the only guest?"

"We have some long-term residents you are likely to meet, and the locals tend to pass through regularly."

"Come, you're not going to start telling me strange tales of ghosts in lonely houses, are you?"

"No, I am not."

I sensed for the first time something behind those blankly expressionistic eyes, something akin to fear. I had no inclination, however, whether that was fear of me or for me.

"I'm likely to be here quite some time," I said, changing the topic of conversation as I scribbled down my signature, "I have some writing to do, and I was advised that this may be the best place to find inspiration and solitude."

"Certainly, sir, I don't believe we've ever had a writer in residence, but there are many... creatives in the area. Your key." He slid an ancient looking brass key across the desk, attached to which was a playing card.

"Do you have any identification for us to keep on file?" he asked.

I opened my bag, looking for my passport or personal papers. In my haste, I removed a Tarot card that had been sitting within my bag. The devil.

"That will do perfectly fine," the Porter smoothly spoke, taking the card from the table where I had absentmindedly placed it.

I slowly closed my bag.

"Please, leave your luggage with me, I will transport it to your suite. James is waiting in the elevator to escort you. The Manderley Bar will be open this evening, and a grand ball is soon to follow. Do not hesitate to visit me at the front desk, should you require anything at all, and do enjoy your stay." With that, he swept out from behind the desk, took my suitcase and leatherbound black satchel, and was just as quickly gone into the darkness behind a heavy black curtain.

Off in an even darker corner of the room, a tall and severely handsome man emerged.

"Do come in," he cooed with the low voice of a bird of prey.

I entered, discovering he had stepped out of a cleverly obscured elevator, as vast and empty as the lobby had been.

"Welcome to the McKittrick Hotel. I have just a few words of advice for your stay."

His eyes stared intensely into my own as he spoke, but unlike the Porter, from whom I experienced a sense of overwhelming dread, this man seemed to emanate a sinister glee in my presence.

"This place is a mystery, but it is yours to solve during your stay. Should you encounter any of our residents, recall that fortune favors the bold."

The door opened onto an atrium containing a table upon which sat a taxidermy eagle, frozen in perpetual attack.

"Your suite is at the end of the hall," he said as I exited, and before I could turn back for clarification, the door had slid silently shut.

Before too long, I had found my way to my suite, a room of remarkable excess and comfort, lushly furnished in red velvet. I found myself so weary from the day's adventures that I resolved to settle in for an evening's sleep. Turning on the room's radio, I allowed myself to drift off to the crooning of the melancholy tune that echoed from within.

Every night about this time

Memories haunt me

Wondering too

Who’s dancing with you

Every night about this time

I slept so soundly on that first night, encased behind the heavy curtains of the four-poster bed, oblivious to the rest of the world's goings on. Had I awoken and glanced out to take in the view of the Gallow Green night, I would have seen the figure in a long red dress walking down the High Street toward the town, only to stop as she passed the hotel, looking directly up at my window.

Yours,

Fitzwilliam

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[babydarkstar]

honestly no wonder harrow forced ianthe to lobotomize her so she could save gideon. listen…LISTEN…if i was a secret-war-crime cult nunlet princess worshipped by my entire planet and the only person that (barely) kept me in check was my childhood nemesis—a butch a year older than me, towering over me in stature and physical prowess, and so hot it made my teeth hurt from how hard my jaw clenched in her presence, who wielded a two-handed seven-foot sword and had irritatingly huge biceps and told very lewd stupid jokes and also learned how to wield an entirely new weapon and be my bodyguard with startling accuracy in three months—only to have us finally learn to trust each other because we got invited to a magic murder mystery and then before the bubble burst i spilled the worst secret about myself that i was born because my parents murdered an entire generation and tried to Kill Her along with them and she just wouldnt die, and i told her this expecting a swift death i believed i deserved, only for her to fucking cradle me in her big butch arms and kiss me on my forehead with her soft butch mouth and just. forgive me for a shameful weight ive carried my entire life and then MAKE AN ACTUAL NECRO/CAV VOW with me despite every evil thing i have done to her……to have her tell me, in the end, bleeding and broken after putting up the most beautiful and glorious fight of her life, that she understands purpose and she understands duty and she knows loyalty more fiercely than ever now, that she knows who she is to me, that there is no her without me….to have her backed into a corner and make the ultimate sacrifice…..for me…..to recite scriptural wedding vows of eternity to me in her last wisps of soul-consciousness…..if i thought there was even a snowflake’s chance in the pyre that i could save her by turning myself into her very own locked tomb, i’d be begging ianthe tridentweirdius to crack my skull open and turn me to mush too, goddamn. i understand you harrowhark girl you don’t have to explain a thing to me. god said you couldn’t undo the lyctor’s bond bc it’d kill you. you told god and his angels that not even a lyctor’s bond could outshine the power of female spite and lesbianism and they didn’t listen. they didn’t believe you. but i heard you loud and clear and i was 17 and hormonal and hopelessly romantic not too long ago unlike those fucking dinosaurs and i’m saying it’s valid it’s what i would have done and really everyone should be thanking you for not being worse and more wretched about it, all things considered

[sophieeee0105]

I kinda wish the red names deaths had actual death messages cuz it would’ve been kinda hilarious that both mumbo and Jimmy died to “Etho’s dishwasher” (the name of the warden) and I feel like everyone would’ve had so much fun looking at that death messages

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

Fellow dommes, I would like to share a new thing I recently discovered that I think you should try out. We all know how nice the possessiveness of saying "you're mine" to your sub can be. Making them say "I'm yours", or cooing/growling "you're mine" into their ear while they're so deep into subspace all they can do is smile and moan. I've even seen a post making the rounds of growling "I'm yours" into your subs ears as you use them mercilessly. Remind them that only they get receive this treatment.

I see these acts of consensual possession and raise you the notion of ordering your sub to say "you're mine" to you as you make them cum. Holding their eye contact right before you push them over the edge and growl "what am I, kitten? Say it. Say I'm yours."

"You're mine?" they'll of course be initially confused, but press the idea, and as you do, push them over the edge.

"Again."

"You're mine" This time a little more confidence behind the statement.

"That's right... Again."

"You're mine" Finally getting the idea, and realizing it feels amazing.

"Again!"

"You're mine... you're mine... you're mine..."

By this point you can just watch and enjoy as they begin to chant it with the biggest smile on their face, all while orgasming in a way that they haven't before. A different kind of intensity. Continue to make them cum as they passively repeat "you're mine" over and over and over, letting the pleasure and chanting hypnotize them into a state of pure bliss. I promise you, it will give you a form of confidence in your domming entirely separate from claiming them and it feels utterly intoxicating 💕

[jakeperalta]

genuinely the way taylor clearly falls hard and fast and hopelessly in love every single time is very endearing. writing "this happens once every few lifetimes" and "no one's ever had me, not like you" on the same album that covers the breakdown of two relationships that were also seemingly destined and life changing and unmatched by anyone else is exactly what makes her so good at writing about relationships. if a songwriter doesn't feel everything with their whole chest and throw their whole being into it then I don't want it

[tiberius-kirks]

was watching a video and suddenly felt very out of touch with what an impulse purchase costs? so

[hazel-callahans]

"honestly, i feel like she's the underrated heartthrob of the film."   — ruby cruz on her character, hazel, sxsw 2023

[beybuniki]

fishing trip day 2 & 3 🎣🍀

[lizardrosen]

July 2016 :]

(send me a month and year 2010 or later and i'll share a paragraph)

you get some Wonderland/Then She Fell fic! Edie is the name i came up with for the White Queen

Edie is in very real danger of getting lost in her own hallways. She takes hold of the tales spun by someone else and uses the multicolored fiber to mark her path. It's on a gradient so she can look back and see not only where she was, but when, and roughly what she did next. It doubles as a guide to the days, but then she revisits the same spots too often and gets tangled up in the time that was supposed to save her. Always a queen, she cuts herself free of all but the last few days, and slips the excess off like a worn-out sweater. Some days must flow backwards, but Time stays the same. The White Queen remembers that which once was, and if she touches the color of that year she might as well be the same age.

[pangur-and-grim]

the golden compass is real, and this is my dæmon

[zipsunz]

a comic i did for sunny's birthday ☀️ 🎨

(art by me, script by @sunkitty143!)

[tumbke]

ADAM MUTO SAID THAT ALL FANFICS ARE VALID AUS DONT LET CANON HINDER YOU

Part 2

[clown-eating-pig]

I really love gertrude robinson bc how often do you get an older woman character who just really sucks? She sacrifices ppl that trust her. She is so focused on keeping the world from ending that she completely doesn’t notice one of her assistants routinely torturing the others. She dismembered a guy. She does her job badly on purpose. She’s cunning and sneaky. She dares her murderous, immortality seeking boss to kill her. She gets murdered by her murderous, immortality seeking boss. She’s not particularly friendly. She somehow had access to plastic explosives. She’s a manipulator and a liar. She’s bound to the avatar of destruction. She helped a guy get rid of a pig by telling him to put it in conk crete. She is like the opposite of a sweet little grandma and that’s beautiful.

[pherre]

you can’t tell me they didn’t have some sort of weirdgirl friendship in the vampverse