-β β β β β ββ β β β β βaria's multi muse and it's the same but it's brat so it's not.
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@vampien
-β β β β β ββ β β β β βaria's multi muse and it's the same but it's brat so it's not.

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-β β β β β ββ β β β β βaria's multi muse and it's the same but it's brat so it's not.
had a dream that i met nicole k.idman , baz l.uhrmann , and got to tell them how important m.oulin rouge is to me.
oh personally i'm just crying over the idea of satine getting to read d.aniel's book for the first time and just crying alone, maybe throwing it or tearing it apart, maybe tearing her own hair out or destroying her own home, maybe going out and finding all the awful men she can and just draining them on a spree.
while i'm on this tho like reading this would make her have to confront this concept of the fact that she is perceived outside of christian's eyes. that no matter how much she tried to stop performing, there's something about her that leads to people having perceptions of her and her own existence. of course, it's obvious that people acknowledge her existence, but she never ... thought about it like that, that anyone outside of christian has an image of her in their mind, and having to read louis's perception of her, or how daniel wrote about louis's perception of her or him maybe meeting her in dubai, whatever ... she has to come to terms with her own monstrous existence, her own physical form disconnected from christian, and so much -
oh personally i'm just crying over the idea of satine getting to read d.aniel's book for the first time and just crying alone, maybe throwing it or tearing it apart, maybe tearing her own hair out or destroying her own home, maybe going out and finding all the awful men she can and just draining them on a spree.

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Satineβs costumes in MOULIN ROUGE!Β (2001) dir. Baz Luhrmann
i think that on satine's worst nights , her darkest nights , she probably would chop her hair off and make it hideous to absolutely try and destroy her personal image , only to wake up with it how it was , how it always will be.
(@survivores),β β β β β βl.estat said:β β β β β β" am i really so horrible that you don't recognize me? "
perhaps i should've said something, rather than just stare at the other monster before me as if i had to recall from a shrouded place in my mind what he once was.β β β β β βif he had been deserving of such kindness, perhapsβ β β β β β...β β β β β βyet in front of me was a contradiction of emotions, a contradiction of memories.β β β β β βi could see us, my family and his, enjoying the new orleans nights side by side in dramatic fashionβ β β β β β(his elegance and my own perfectly pairing alongside the quiet and thoughtful conversations of louis andββ)β,β β β β β βbut i also see behind his tired eyes that seem as though they have been open without even a sliver of sleep, the very man claudia loathed, the very man claudia ran fromβ β β β β β...β β β β β βand finally, maybe most unfortunately, i saw a version of myself, someone who could understand the way my chest felt like caving inward anytime i thought of him, of my love.
" yes. "β β β β β βnot the kindest answer, but it was the one that he most deserved, at least in my own mind.β β β β β βhis disheveled appearance hardly carried anywhere close to the aura he had about him back when i knew the vampire, back when i didn't look to him with a venom on my tongue, ready to spitβ β β β β β...β β β β β βback when maybe i even appreciated his friendship.β β β β β β" you look terrible. "β β β β β βi let the words hang in the air, for my own enjoyment and for the chance to make him feel small, as i had been craving for years, but only for a few seconds.β β β β β βdesperation then sank in, and the reality of my outreach had landed heavily on my chest.β β β β β βno one understood, not louis, not armandβ β β β β β...β β β β β βno one, as if i had anyone else to call upon but him, the poor shell in front of me.β β β β β β" i'm not here just to insult youβ β β β β β...β β β β β βlouis told me about nicki, and iβ β β β β β... "β β β β β βi paused then, and i could feel it:β β β β β βmy brows sinking to the middle of my face and my lower lip trembling, the words coming next only just a whisper, as if i couldn't bear to hear them myself.β β β β β β" christian is dead. "
(@monstroum),β β β β β βsantiago said:β β β β β β" hell's better than this shithole. "
" you're lucky no one else is around to hear you say that. "β β β β β βthere's a playful raise of her brow, one that when thrown in the right direction, creates an enticing aura about her.β β β β β βthere's parts of her waiting to be deconstructed, like the performance in privacy that she seeps into, opting for dramatics over vulnerabilityβ β β β β β(and when the two mix, maybe she's truly as close as she can be to her true self),β β β β β βbut it's hard for her to pull apart, what part of her is performing to santiago and what part is true expression?β β β β β β" come on now, you don't mean that.β β β β β βyou preform to applause every night, and you're very good may i add, i would know. "β β β β β βone leg falls over the other, an act of ease as she offers him a gentle smileβ β β β β β(she can feel it, a genuine compliment, and slowly any anxiety of a one-on-one conversation, with transactions voided, becomes a bit simpler). β β β β β β" you know i used to come see you before i turned?β β β β β βi loved it, every secondβ β β β β β...β β β β β βso why the long face? "
Let the Right One In (2008) | dir. Tomas Alfredson Β

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Satine.
"a little birdie told me," and there comes the voice, its hollow sound, the roughness of it like radio static while she's being tuned in. except it comes from behind, breath cold as ice directly against the carotid, like a kiss before the bite. "you're alone now. truly alone, i mean. no longer holdin' on to scraps and rafts." she's mean, meaner than she was alive, meaner than she probably means to be, but satine doesn't want kindness right now, does she? christian is dead. christian is dead. daniel wants to play with the corpse of him like a puppet on strings and satine's no is an echo that meets no audience. and now? well, now she is bathing in the leftovers of a feast she did not enjoy, and there is nothing, nothing, nothing left for her to endure for.
if claudia was more than a collage of memories, more than a phantom tool of torture, perhaps she'd do more than sit in the wreckage with her, singing softly of a birdie who wanted freedom and found it wanting. she'd hold satine. she'd tell her-- it's okay. it's okay. there's more beautiful nights ahead. but claudia is dead. claudia is dead. claudia is dead. satine is alone-- truly, completely, unbearably alone. "what now? a grand fire, one last performance?" and the ghost is bitter. it's a woman who wanted a life and was thrown under the unforgiving sun, now watching her friend waste years and years because she can't get the fuck up and do something about that miserable life of hers. "disappointing." @vampien
she's white knuckling a countertop, as if gripping it will send the bird on her shoulder awayβ β β β β β(and if that very bird didn't sing the song of someone she once knew, satine would gladly take it between her hands, squeeze it, silence itβ β β β β β...β β β β β βbut maybe she misses company, or maybe this is what she deserves).β β β β β β" stop it, claudia. "β β β β β βthere's some sort of certainty attempted in her voice, but it fails with the misery of her own existence.β β β β β βeyes flutter shut and she waits, hoping that that request will be enough, but no:β β β β β βthe bird sings, and she sings and sings like satine once did to crowds of desperate men.β β β β β βthis voice is almost worse than the occasional humming of christian right between the walls, calling out to her to come with him, disappearβ β β β β β...
" no more performances. "β β β β β βall she can do is whisper, and a human emotion dances over her features, furrowed brows and a quivering in her lip.β β β β β βblame comes then, internal curses and questions:β β β β β βwhy didn't i save her?β β β β β βwhy didn't i stay?β β β β β βhow could i have let someone hurt her like thisβ β β β β βββ-β β β β β βno matter the lack of fault at hand, guilt was always suffocating.β β β β β β" no one wants to see another performance of mine, "β β β β β βnot like how people probably wished for one more of hers, of claudia'sβ β β β β β...β β β β β βone day their little birdie was thereβ β β β β β(and they taunted her without their knowing, laughing and pointing at a grown woman in a cage),β β β β β βthe next she was their monster, and the next gone.β β β β β βnot many cared for the sparkling diamond in that way, not many cared for her like thatβ β β β β β...β β β β β βbeauty could be replaced, superficial dances, give them some time.β β β β β β" get out, "β β β β β βshe white knuckles harder,β β β β β β" i'm not playing these games with you.β β β β β βyou're dead, and i'm sorryβ β β β β βββ-β β β β β βi'm sorryβ β β β β β...β β β β β βi'm sorry.β β β β β βso leave, leave me. "
vampire satine you have done nothing wrong.
this isn't even the original file , this is a screenshot of it because my computer stopped working : follow earthspin for this kinda stuff!
i could talk for hours about the intensity of satine's facial expressions when performing, versus how delicate her expressions usually are in moments of vulnerability or in moments of genuine feelings. like she goes through the movie with this very big personality but we get these moments of glimpses into the woman beneath the performance.

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christian is a whimperer, i could expand, or i could not, but i think .... i won't.
THE FOUR DEATHS OF THE VAMPIRESS SATINE.
oneβ β β β β β(the death of celine laurent):β β β β β ββ β β β β βfor all intents and purposes, celine laruent is dead.β β β β β βshe is dead in spirit and she is dead to all who knew herβ β β β β β(and those were a very few, because to know her was to be more than a body to her, was to allow her to open herself upβ β β β β β...β β β β β βin retrospect, its as if no one knew celine laurent).β β β β β βceline was found on the streets of montmarte by harold, a man who was just about to finish his creation:β β β β β βa beautiful dance hall, a bordello as well, and he had a vision.β β β β β βthis place, decorated with a red windmill, would need a star:β β β β β βand there sat, starving and desperate on the streets, a red headed girl looking for somewhere to sleep, somewhere with a roof, somewhere that needed her.β β β β β βhe offered her his hand, and celine took it with hesitation.β β β β β βthere he asked for her name, and with one quick swing of a knife, against her own throat in her own mind, was the first death.β β β β β β" satine, "β β β β β βshe answered, and he grinned, that was a name of a starβ β β β β β...β β β β β βin that moment, celine laurent was dead, killed by someone who was both her and not her.β β β β β βthe name meant nothing in that very moment, and the name would mean nothing to anyone ever again.
twoβ β β β β β(the dimming of mortality):β β β β β ββ β β β β βit was across time that the duke had hinted at a future for satine, one beyond fame and stardom, but something so unholy it rose above that.β β β β β βshe had learned to never care for the sanctity of her actions, and where they fell in the religious gaze of those who sat just outside of montmarte with judgmental gaze.β β β β β βit intrigued her, but never enough to care for his timeβ β β β β βββ-β β β β β βuntil she needed to be a very part of his time to save herself, harold, and all the dancers who relied on her steadfast determination.β β β β β βit was here that he promised her no more pain, no more anguish, and eternal beauty.β β β β β β" a gift,"β β β β β βwas what he called it, as he sunk his teeth into her nick, and drained her slowlyβ β β β β β...β β β β β βslowly.β β β β β βshe grew cold, she grew quiet, and then suddenly there was nearly nothing, with the last thing she could see being christian's face, as if he were there, as if he were watchingβ β β β β β...β β β β β βand the first thing she had called out was his name, after the dukes wrist dropped from her lips, after blood dripped onto the floor as she clung to each and every sound around her with an awareness she hadn't previously had.β β β β β βit was here that satine, was officially dead, and yetβ β β β β βββ-β β β β β βofficially alive once more.
threeβ β β β β β(the falsification of her last breath):β β β β β ββ β β β β βwhen harold had informed satine that if she dared try and stay with christian, the duke would only have him killedβ β β β β β...β β β β β βshe believed him.β β β β β βthe duke was, as harold described, a powerful man, and now as she sat, hearing her own blood pumping, feeling over aware of everything around her, she knew that was true.β β β β β βshe sat in fear, she waited in fear of what the duke could do beyond the trap that he had placed her inβ β β β β β...β β β β β so she went the next night, right before the opening of spectacular, spectacular, to tell christian that she was choosing the dukeβ β β β β β...β β β β β βbut when she got to him, the sight of christian was too much, the smell of him even worse.β β β β β βshe had wanted him before, craved his touch and his words and his love, but never like this, never with the quiver in her lip that wanted to attached onto the crook of his neck, noβ β β β β β...β β β β β βnever like this.β β β β β βshe did her best, still reeling from the "gift," and left him there in shambles, screaming for her and begging to know what was wrong.β β β β β βit pained her in a way she hadn't thought possible, as if the ache was accentuated by a drug that flowed within her.β β β β β βit didn't matter tho, this ache was hers and hers alone, the duke was her companion, it had to be so.β β β β β βthat is:β β β β β βuntil christian showed up to her performance, a performance that almost drove her madβ β β β β βββ-β β β β β βshe knew then, as her hands shook and eyes connected to the vein in his neck, that he had to be hers, and the dukeβ β β β β β...β β β β β βwhatever would happen, would happen.β β β β β βit was harold who had informed her only the night before that she was dying, and if it was a show they wantedβ β β β β β...β β β β β βthen it was a show they would get.β β β β β βso she died in his arms, she took a breath and coughed up blood she spit from her inner cheek, she died to save him, she hurt him to save him.β β β β β βto the moulin, to harold, satine had died there on the stage, where she was always meant to be.β β β β β βthe duke, instead of ripping her apart as he wished, abandoned her, as he had many fledglings before.β β β β β βshe would starve, and suffer, and go mad with hunger, and if he had his way:β β β β β βshe would've torn christian's throat out instead.β β β β β βbut, no.β β β β β βsatine was dead to them all, to all of them except christian, for whom she revealed her fabrication later on that night.β β β β β βsatine was declared dead, satine would no longer be a problem, not to paris, not to the moulin.
fourβ β β β β β(the cessation of immortality):β β β β β ββ β β β β βthere would be no forgetting of christian's voice, it was an impossibility.β β β β β βdecades could pass, even hundreds of years and it would not matter:β β β β β βit was there, in the back of her mind like a haunting, always ready to whisper in her ear and have her check over her shoulder for his hair or his eyes.β β β β β βnever was he actually seen, and with every passing year, with every reckless decision, she would grow lonelier, lonelier, lonelier.β β β β β βthat is, within itself, a madness, to crave something untouchable, to love someone that death had taken.β β β β β βit kept making her worse, and he slowly grew louder, and louder.β β β β β βweeping or cries, screams or whispers, she could hear every breath of him in the corners of walls or in the key of a piano.β β β β β βand without him, mistakes became her second nature, tactics used to draw and dull the sound or subdue the hurt only became more and more of a reminder of the empty room she would sleep in, of the coffin that felt far too large for her liking without another iced body pressed next to her.β β β β β βit was one night tho, when the voice had turned from a crying to a begging, that she stared out an open window into the moonlight that bathed her skin.β β β β β βhe called, he called, he begged, with a whimper that she knew and neededβ β β β β β...β β β β β βso, it was one night when she sat outside for all hours until the sun rose, sitting and letting his voice carry in the winds to ease her until a sense of peace, even as the sun burned and pulled her apart.β β β β β βmany men had tried to disect her like this before, but none had succeeded like him:β β β β β βher christian, who, with his whimpers and cries, lulled her into the sun, into nothingness.