fuckkk I just realized the final scenes are a rebirth!! In murdering Elspbeth, Oliver's narrative comes to an end. He no longer has anyone listening to his story and therefore has no reason to continue to orchestrate his lies. His memories of Felix belong to him, the house belongs to him, his actions now belong wholly to him. He no longer has to pretend or twist his motivations for the sake of his narrative. He kills Elspeth and lays on her chest like a baby, wrapping her limp arms around himself like the distorted hug of a mother to a child. The next shot is Oliver naked and dancing freely within the walls of Saltburn. GAH Elspeth's death functioned as Oliver's metaphorical birth into a new life here. Oliver is showing us that he has been liberated from the constraints of his narrative and is now free.
Are you frustrated you can't leave second kudos on AO3? or third kudos? or whatever-who's-counting kudos?
Well, have I got the html for you!
Plop any of these in a comment (by copy&pasting the code) to make an author's day and show your appreciation!
Second kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/tHMjbb6/second-kudos.png" alt="second kudos">
Third kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/52bggQH/third-kudos.png" alt="third kudos">
nth kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/6y7qGtC/nth-kudos.png" alt="nth kudos">
yet another kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/wKtcj0s/yet-another-kudos.png" alt="yet another kudos">
It will look something like this (and will be transparent with white outline on dark backgrounds):
Feel free to spread and use these as much as you like! (and if you have ideas for other variations, let me know ✌️)
What a year this week has been.
MCR5 truthers waking up on Nov. 1 getting ready to speculate a Christmas album
"noooo it's just a silly pic!!!" nah, there's obviously a deep meaning here.
C:
~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Note: This is that Angel Face backstory I was talking about. His name is Caleb Handover because I'm not going to call him Angel Face the whole time. There will be no "spice" because I type this on a school computer and honestly I want to expand my writing abilities. ~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a horrible way to start a journal, probably the most over-done and unintriguing sentence used to start a story, but my name is Caleb Handover. I’m 16 years old, and I live in Wilmington, Delaware. I go to Mt. Pleasant High School, class of 2001. That makes me a Junior.
It’s boring. Every single day is the same. The ducks pass over the sky when I’m walking to school, and it looked cool when I was nine, but nowadays it just feels like I’m watching someone drive to work.
Delaware duck schedule: 6 AM, wake up to the same alarm as everyone in the neighborhood. 7 AM, fly to the pond for breakfast and a bath. Pass by that blond kid again.
My hair was born white. People on the street asked my mom while she was pushing the stroller, why do you bleach your baby’s hair?
She never did.
First period is Advanced Placement Calculus. I’m thinking about ducks. Derivatives, ducks, hyperbolas, ducks, factorials, ducks, integrals…
My mom called my hair duck-fuzz.
I like math, but I only say that because high schoolers have to like something. If you say you don’t like any subjects in school, you sound like a wannabe-dropout loser. I’m 16 years old and taking AP Calculus. I don’t think I’m a wannabe anything, but I don’t think I’m genuine, either. I’ve already done the warmup question on the board. Find 34! It’s just a factorial. Does anyone see me?
“Caleb Handover?”
Only during attendance.
I raise my hand until my elbow is about six inches off of my table, parallel to the smooth, fake-wood surface. Not high enough to seem like a geek, but still giving effort.
Invisibility is a science.
“Here.”
There’s a pause. My hand stays in the air.
“Caleb Handover?” my teacher tilts his chin up and surveys the room, his pencil hovering over my name, ready to write truant.
“I said I’m here,” I said louder as I raised my hand higher. My pen balances between my peace-sign fingers. My teacher flicks his eyes to me, and his eyebrows soften. He adjusts his glasses. The sad taste of desperation lingered in my mouth after essentially begging to be accounted for.
“Oh, hello Caleb. Sorry I didn’t see you.” My teacher laughs dryly and clears his throat. “Serena Hofstadter?”
She has mono.
“Gordon Jacobs?”
That’s how Serena got mono.
For a moment I picture Serena and Gordon as Romeo and Juliet during the final act. Gordon drinks from a tall, crystal vial of mononucleosis extract and collapses. Serena, covered head-to-toe in orange spray tan and blonde highlights underneath her Shakespearean garb, discovers him on the floor and gives a tearful soliloquy before kissing him feverishly in an attempt to drink the mono from his lips. In the end, they’re both bedridden, and everyone knows.
In fair Delaware we lay our scene.
I don’t know why, but I’m angry at them. Serena and Gordon. My knuckles turn white as I grip my pen harder, gritting my teeth and thinking about my peers who go to parties to drink and kiss and do drugs. I didn’t even think parties were a real thing until I started listening to rich kids’ conversations.
“I got home so late last night…” quote from the boy wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
“I’m, like, so hungover.” quote from the girl wearing sunglasses indoors at 8:30 AM.
“Her house was so tacky.” quote from the girl whose locker is head-to-toe in sequins and leopard print, who uses perfume to cover the smell of anxiety pheromones.
I’m not jealous, and I’d rather have lifelong diarrhea than be in the same boat as these kids, but it would be nice to have a life.
It would be nice to be a part of something bigger than myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~ Author's Note: Please let me know what you think, and if I should keep writing this. It would be appreciated :)
you guys see it right?
JACOB ELORDI as FELIX CATTON Saltburn (2023) · dir. Emerald Fennell
@official-graveyard-posts
do you think truckers realize that theyre dentists of highways