#I think a more narratively interesting question to ask is why he called her Belle and why she didn't introduce her real name

[dayaoguai-alice]

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime or Belle (Dir. Mamoru Hosoda, 2021) tells an incredibly sweet story with profound emotional depth that is better understood when it's not viewed through the lens of romance. More specifically, it's crucial that you detach notions of romance from your understanding of love in order to understand the film.

Because although the film draws from the established story of Beauty and the Beast, Belle itself does not hinge on the transformative nature of "true love" as a core theme. That theme is one conventional and popularized understanding of the original tale. This is a new interpretation and a new story. And in this story, it's love as compassion for another that is the central focus. The character Belle, and by extension Suzu, did not have a rushed romantic relationship with the Dragon. She did not meet a "bad boy with a heart of gold" as was joked about in the film, and then suddenly wrote a song to confess her feelings. Her relationship with the Dragon was formed on the basis of seeing another person in pain, and then reaching out and connecting with his suffering. Her heart went out to him even though they had no prior connection, and she couldn't bring herself to abandon someone in need. Just like her mother. None of those actions are inherently romantic. In taking a chance to help him, she was the catalyst for changing both their lives as they opened up to one another and found it in themselves to trust again, which for Suzu had the added nuanced of giving her the strength to actually process her grief and insecurities, and allow her to live as her authentic self. That trust, that kindness, and that self sacrifice for someone vulnerable forms the core of the film's narrative and its tension. Belle is an inherently compassionate narrative. Compassion is the root of the film, rather than something that stems from romance alone. Even when they have that moment in the rain together and he told her that he loved Belle, the subtext of the film showed that it wasn't a confession. It was instead an expression of admiration and gratitude for her courage and compassion. It was a thank you for reaching out despite all the obstacles. Because she really did stay "by his heart's side" (as per the original title of the song, "心のそばに") despite who he was and the ugliness of his trauma and situation, just like she promised she would in her song! She thanked him too, not as a rejection of interest, but because he inspired her to stand up to her fears. It also shows that she's capable of accepting kindness as well. The film ends with Suzu choosing to take initiative and singing as herself with her friends, family, and community. It was such a tender scene where you could see how it was she who transformed and was moving forward. It's important to note how the film doesn't end with the triumphant concert in U, because U served as the place where she could leave her emotional baggage behind and supposedly feel whole again. However, in reality she was just hiding from her grief and insecurities. She was stuck in place. At the end of the film, she can talk to the people she pushed away. In doing so, her interpersonal relationships can finally progress. She's starting again, but in the real world. Seeing her committed to living as herself is what resolves her character arc. So the question of whether she returns to U or adopts her persona again isn't exactly narratively important to ask or answer despite her singing ability and true self being affirmed. To me, the feelings expressed within the film was very reminiscent of how Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli tries to portray love and relationships. He had famously said that he hoped to write characters that "mutually inspire each other to live," which speaks to all kinds of relationships. This sentiment really showed through in the film. Consequently, it's quite a disservice to understand love in Belle through the lens of romance alone. Although the film does have some problems with pacing and could have resolved certain plotlines better, I believe it was a complete story. And a wonderful one at that.

[renaerys]

22. for reds 🤡

This is 100% not what you asked for (yet...👀), but I give you part 1 of what we're calling the Weird King AU. I'm turning this into a proper multi-chapter High School fic because I love you and I'd jump on any bandwagon for you.

xxx

Like most young, conventionally attractive Supervillains, Brick had made a bit of a habit of failing upwards. It was pretty easy in a town full of simpering morons content to project their own narrative assumptions onto him, and who was he to crush their dreams when they made his life a little easier?

For example, dating.

“You can tell me, you know.” His cute date, Tracy, sipped her milkshake across from him.

“Tell you what?”

She softened and reached her hand across the table. “Your tragic backstory. I’ll listen without judgment, I promise.”

Brick tried to think of something tragic, but it all seemed pretty underwhelming as far as Supervillain origin stories went. “You mean like how I was born in a toilet?”

She made an oh shape with her lips. “We all have those days where we feel like we were born in a toilet, Brick.”

He’d dated Tracy for three months before she broke up with him out of the blue in tears: sorry she couldn’t fix his baggage, she just wasn’t strong enough to handle all that tortured darkness, but she wished him nothing but health and happiness. Brick deleted her number from his phone and spent twenty whole minutes staring at the toilet in his bathroom, wondering what the lesson here was.

But everything changed when Mojo got out of prison and moved Brick and his brothers back to Townsville, where he enrolled them in the local high school alongside their former arch nemeses, the Powerpuff Girls.

Suddenly, everything Brick did pre-supposed ill intent. These people remembered him as the pest who had graffitied their local monuments and blown up their cars and endangered their children. They held no love for him, and at best they feared him. This was not Citiesville, where he’d been a tall, cold glass of Voss water in a sea of recycled Dasani.

He found himself thinking about his birthing toilet again as he stepped into the cafeteria alone and the conversation quieted down as his new classmates watched him from the safety of their tables. His next moves here were critical. He was no longer at the top of the food chain, but fear and mystery surrounding his origins and character gave him a certain power over his peers.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of social suicide, I will fear no cringe,” he said to himself.

The jocks were out. Capable though he may be, Brick was not much of a team player unless there was a blood contract involved requiring his participation on pain of satanic torture. The drama kids were also a hard pass, not because he thought drama was lame, but because they had barely noticed him walk in, and Brick did not have the energy to deal with people more self-involved than himself. Some of the unaffiliated tables could be safe, but without a good understanding of the nuanced social dynamics in the high school, he could be heading toward irreversible doom, and that was a risk he was not willing to take.

He saw his salvation just ahead. It was the only option, all else being equal. In an environment where he couldn’t be certain of his baseline status and potential for upward mobility, there was greatness to be had only by association and certainty only in the devil he knew.

Brick helped himself to the empty seat directly across from Blossom Utonium to a chorus of gasps and staring.

Blossom did not startle like her table mates had. She watched him critically behind a head full of bangs as she balanced her soup spoon in her hand. “Really.”

Brick unwrapped the burrito he’d purchased in the lunch line and brandished it before him. “Really.”

He took a bite of the burrito. It was not hot enough. The two girls to Blossom’s left whispered to each other about that bad boy and he’s hot, though.

Blossom daintily spooned soup into her mouth without spilling a single drop as she continued to watch Brick for signs of his imminent dark side transformation.

The guy next to Brick was brave enough to ask him what his next class was. Brick had a mouth full of disappointing burrito, so he passed the guy the printout of his class schedule in lieu of answering.

“Wow, all APs, huh? Hey, we’re in U.S. History together next period, nice. I’m Mike Believe, by the way. Brick Jojo, right?”

Brick didn’t answer him immediately on account of the burrito currently occupying his mouth hole, and Mike took it the wrong way.

“Oh, yeah, we all know who you are. Blossom sort of filled us in.” He winced like he’d inadvertently revealed a terrible secret.

Brick swallowed his food and washed it down with a gulp of water. “Saves me some time.”

Mike looked super relieved. “For sure! Hey, I could lend you my notes if you want to catch up. Gershwin’s giving a quiz on the Progressive Era on Friday, and she’s a hard-ass who definitely won’t care that you just transferred…”

Brick chewed on his lunch as Mike continued to talk at him about classes and other vaguely helpful, albeit uninteresting, information. But Mike seemed normal enough, a little chatty but not in an overeager sort of way. Blossom was no longer clocking his every move and seemed to be absorbed in her friend’s latest swim team cheating scandal, until Brick reached for his water bottle and she suddenly laser-focused on his wandering hand.

Her keen attention to him was honestly flattering, if expected. It was in his nature to be noticed, and in this narrow respect she was no different from anyone else whose head he turned. If she chose to feed her interest with the flames of suspicion, then it was no difference to him.

But if she was anything like him—and on a chemical level she was probably the closest to him that a person could get—he suspected it took tremendous effort to hold her full and sustained attention. The world they inhabited was as vapid and mundane as the humans that surrounded them, and even the most gracious of gods grew bored of worship. Which explained all the smiting and fucking and generational curses upon entire households in everything from Greek mythology to the Old Testament.

Brick was pretty deep into a fantasy of Blossom going full Ixion and the Wheel on the swim team when Mike tapped his shoulder. “You ready to go?”

It took him a moment to realize the bell had rung and he had a class to get to—AP U.S. History with Mike, apparently. Brick gathered his tray and his bag and followed Mike. When he looked back at the table, Blossom was already gone.

xxx

That whole first week was painfully boring. No one bullied him, or pranked him, or picked a fight with him, of course. But no one really approached him, either. His brothers were more determined to make an effort. Boomer announced he was trying out for the soccer team because there was no rule saying a Super with extremely well documented ties to active criminals and the forces of Hell couldn’t kick a ball around a field. Butch had gotten himself invited to a midnight screening of Snakes on a Plane in some rich kid’s home movie theater, but only after that same kid had accidentally spilled milk on Butch and burst into tears in front of a cafeteria full of Juniors and Seniors. Brick declined the invitation Butch extended to him. He had that AP U.S. History exam to study for on Friday, anyway.

He shared all of his classes with Blossom. Even in the classes where her assigned seat was behind his and he couldn’t see her, he could feel her lobotomizing stare at the back of his head whenever she glanced up from her notebook. And while Mike’s notes were perfectly adequate and the friendly gesture counted for more than the content (a gesture Brick would not soon forget), there was a far more efficient way to accomplish his goal of murdering the class averages while also taking the edge off his loner doldrums.

“Can I borrow your class notes?”

Blossom rose from her seat and pulled her hair tie out to re-do her extremely long ponytail. She held the elastic between her teeth as she worked. Her teeth were very straight, he noticed. Some pretty nice girl-teeth, generally speaking.

“Which class?”

“All of them.”

He watched her wind the elastic around her hair with quick, adroit fingers. “That’s a lot of notes.”

“You’re the top of every class. No point in asking anyone else.”

She moved toward the hall. He followed her out. “Why would I help you?”

A legitimate question delivered without venom. Unlike her sister Buttercup, who’d “run into” Brick after school on Monday and told him to watch his back, Blossom didn’t have to do anything but maintain a general proximity to make her superiority complex known. Which was the kind of flex he could fuck with.

“Isn’t helping people sort of your mandate?”

They had arrived at her locker, which she opened with enough force to rattle the hinges. “I help the helpless. Are you helpless, Brick?”

Brick smiled at her baiting. Had she ever actually said his name at a normal volume before? It sounded good even in her baseline bitch timbre. “Critically helpless. I’m the new student who transferred in the middle of the semester, and you’re the only person who knows me.”

A couple other students clearly trying to get to the lockers Brick was blocking hovered just out of reach. They whispered to each other, but neither of them actually worked up the courage to ask Brick to move. He ignored them.

Blossom rummaged in her locker for the binder she would need for the next class. “Make friends.”

“Working on it.”

The locker door slammed and she faced him. There was something confrontational in the way she held herself before him that kicked him in the nuts back in time thirteen years to their more uncouth days when all he wanted to do was destroy her so he’d be the only one. Now they were older and wiser and he actually did need her notes to study, so destroying her was not high on his list of priorities.

“You want to be my friend.”

“We have so much in common.”

“So do lions and hyenas.”

“Both are apex predators, so.”

She took a step closer and peered up at him. Brick did not move, although he wondered what was so interesting about his face. She probably just thought he was hot. She was probably as bored as he was. She probably—

“You have lettuce in your teeth.”

Brick pulled back and covered his mouth on instinct. God fucking damnit.

Blossom was already walking away from him by the time he’d picked the food from his teeth. “I’ll expect my notes back in mint condition before first period tomorrow morning.”

Brick pressed a fist against the lockers and quietly fumed. “Dumbass…”

“Um, sorry, but do you mind…?”

The student who’d been waiting for her locker space to clear up had her palms up as if to assuage a feral stray. Brick pushed off the lockers, but his fist left a dent where he’d unleashed some of his impotent self-pity. He looked back at the girl, and she shook her head.

“It’s fine! It, uh, it happens sometimes.” She pointed a couple lockers down to Blossom’s, which was dinged up worse than the others.

Brick stared at Blossom’s locker, and then back at the girl. Her narrow, dark eyes were wide, but not out of fear. She was waiting for something, and like an idiot it took him a moment to catch up. “You’re trying to make me feel better about fucking up your locker.”

She laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s really fine! You just looked so miserable for a second there, and I just thought…”

Great, he was moping so hard he had an audience.

The five minute warning bell rang, and a flood of students rushed past them on their way to fourth period. Brick stepped aside so the girl could get to her locker.

“Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

The new guy, yeah. How quaint. Except, she was waiting for a response, which wasn’t the absolute worst thing that had happened to him all week.

“Brick,” he said. But of course, she already knew that, and she was just being nice.

“I’m Kim. Kim Chan.”

“Okay.” He didn’t have anything else to say to her, so he decided to get his shit and get to his next class.

“Welcome back to Townsville, Brick.”

Brick shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked off. It didn’t occur to him until later that Kim was the first and only person who had properly welcomed him back home.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

style

pairing: eb!frank x reader

summary: frank realises he’s in love with his sister’s best friend. inspired by taylor swift’s style, a prequel to this.

You've got that long hair slick back, white t-shirt and I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt, and when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style. So it goes, he can't keep his wild eyes on the road, takes me home, lights are off he's taking off his coat

Parties had never been Y/N’s cup of tea, she found them more to be an excuse for people to drink and smoke their worries away rather than deal with their issues. It was more of an escapism, in her mindset, for those which daylight brought too much worry and thus the night darkness and blinding neon lights allowed for a forgetfulness of what awaited outside. As one to try and solve whatever came her way, she absolutely despised them. There were better ways of socialising. However, Clara seemed to be just like her brother when it came to partying as right now, the house that during Christmas looked like every American sitcom’s house looked more like the drug den where the mafia would be hiding out with all the empty solo cups and random people making out on various corners.

Nevertheless, she was here and somehow here sounded better than her cold, mouldy student apartment. With a solo cup in hand, Y/N had taken refuge by the door, looking as people exited and entered the home and taking mental notes about Clara’s behaviour and how to properly tease her once her drunkenness faded away.  Still, the real reason why she wasn’t inside freaking out whenever someone did use a coaster was Frank. When she agreed to come to the party, not in the wildest of her wildest thoughts did she think Frank would be around. He lived in the city and, following his mother, would only come out if he was broke or in huge trouble, however, here he was. Well, at least his broken up, terrible car was and considering how much he loved the piece of junk, he was probably around trying to flirt with as many university girls as he could while she was hiding, not wanting to face the events that took place during Christmas. 

     - Y/N ... - she could hear Clara almost sing out her name as she stumbled onto the porch of her home, tall and probably older man next to her which made alarm bells sound on her mind. The drunk girl must’ve realised that as she quickly explained who was next to her. - Y/N, this is Jack. Jack is a friend of Frank’s and he’s a writer like you. Thought you’d like to chat. 

     - Pleasure. - he stuck out a hand for her to shake which she did, worried look still settled on her face. Clara, happy with her match making, returned to the inside of the house, probably to down more of the cheap cider she had gotten from the corner shop. - So, what are you majoring on? 

     - English at Yale. 

     - Yale, that’s a big one. How is it going so far? One of my mates has started a teaching assistant position there, all I hear are good things from it. - he was nice, maybe too nice. Nice enough that Y/N wondered if he had a weirder darker side he wasn’t showing to her as that would be the only reason someone would decide to be friends with Frank whose occupation was still a big question mark on her head. 

     - Well, it’s Yale, never changes that much I suppose. - she shrugged, not entirely sure how to keep the conversation interesting.

     - Who are you hiding from? - he leaned by her side, a much less used solo cup in his hand with clear liquid which Y/N guessed by the colour and smell was probably vodka. Not her favourite poison. She raised her brow at his question, wondering if she was putting it out in the world that she was constantly trying to escape from that party. - No one wears full black and then hangs by the porch unless they’re trying to hide from someone.

    - Maybe I’m in mourning. - she tilted her head slightly up, smirk on her lips as she took the last sip from whatever cheap corner shop strawberry flavoured wine she had been drinking for the past hour. - Besides, July nights have the best night skies. 

     - I’m afraid I’ll have to agree. - Jack looked upwards to the particularly clear sky. It was one of those weird hot nights which contained only the slightest of warm air coursing through and one of the most stunningly clear skies. Had she been back in her youth, Y/N would have been rushing outside with her telescope to see if she could see any celestial bodies. 

Meanwhile Frank was having his own sort of fun. He was never one to say no whenever his sister rarely invited him to a party with her university friends as that normally meant a wide array of less than five dollar spirits, cheap keg beer and people willing to give you a cigarette if asked. It also didn’t hurt that university girls were extremely easy for him to flirt with, however, tonight, he was looking for Y/N. He had even arrived earlier to see if he could catch her helping Clara with the decorations but she was nowhere to be seen and in the past four hours, he hadn’t seen or heard her name. It wasn’t like Clara was much of help, ignoring him whenever he asked for her best friend. 

Things were starting to get boring and he wondered if he’d be better off at home either sleeping or having quality alcohol. As he saw yet another couple climb up the stairs to what he hoped wasn’t his childhood bedroom, he decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. Y/N most likely wasn’t at the party, it wasn’t her style, and he was wasting time. Besides, he was a fully grown man and she was a girl in the middle of university, not even mentioning his sister’s confidant. This was probably just his instinct of trying to stick it up to his sister by screwing around with her friends. 

Frank threw his cup onto the growing pile in the bin and grabbed his jacket Moving through the crowds of people and ignoring the few girls who tried to stop him by grabbing his hand, he eventually made it to the red entrance door which was slightly open to reveal Jack. Maybe he was up to go to an actual bar, Frank thought to himself. However, what he wasn’t expecting as he stepped closer was to see Y/N in a slip black dress with a drink in hand and a stupid little smile as if Jack was telling her the best of jokes, which he probably wasn’t considering he had no sense of humour. At least not a good one. 

    - Hey man, you alright? - Jack noticed him as he turned to place the cup on the ground. - Going home already? 

    - It’s a university party, I’ve had my few share of it. - his eyes lingered on Y/N who suddenly found the tree of their front garden the most exciting and fantastic thing in the whole world. He probably should’ve just ignored it and let it slide but he couldn’t help it. - I see you’ve meet Rory. 

    - Shut up, Frank. - she rolled her eyes at the nickname he refused to drop. Jack looked utterly confused at the both of them, he was certain Clara had introduced her as Y/N and not Rory. Was he that drunk already? - Frank insists in calling me Rory, I’ve told him to stop.

    - You know each other? - he moved his finger between both his friend and Y/N who was trying to find something to look at other than Frank. 

    - We’re acquaintances. - Y/N quickly replied before Frank had any ideas or any snarky comments, which, let’s be honest, he most likely did. - Spent Christmas together. 

    - Oh ... - Jack rubbed his neck and, feeling the atmosphere settling between the three of them, decided to go back inside with the excuse of needing a refill which he clearly didn’t. If looks could kill, Y/N’s look as he left would’ve dropped him straight to the ground in less than a second yet sadly they couldn’t and now she was stuck with the last person in the world she wanted to be stuck with. 

    - Flirting with my friend to get my attention? - he spoke up in that tone of voice that made her want to hit his head against the side of the house. - You could’ve just come and find me. 

    - Knock it off. - she threw her plastic cup at him, watching as the pink of her drink stained his shirt and took off inside the house to try and find her purse. Why she had stayed in so long she didn’t know but suddenly the moldey, icy apartment sounded like paradise to her.

Y/N entered the storage closet which Clara had conveniently turned into a coat hanger and stared to look for her coat and purse. All she wanted to do was find her coat and her phone so she could call an Uber and evaporate from this party before Frank could find her and make another snarky remark. Sometimes she wondered if he only existed so he could poke fun of her.

As she kept browsing through the endless sea of jackets, between the noise of the crumbling fabrics, she heard the door being shut behind her. Y/N rolled her eyes, expecting it to be Frank trying to play a trick on her but as she turned to face the door she didn’t see Frank. Instead, she saw one of her colleagues with whom she shared Medieval Narratives class with. 

   - Hi Nate. Looking for your coat? 

   - I was actually looking for you. Clara said she saw you come in here so I followed you. - he took a step closer to her, turning their once comfortable distance into one that she wasn’t very comfortable with. - You look stunning tonight. 

   - I know. - she said, taking a step back hoping it’d send a message that she was not keen with such closeness. She grabbed her coat from the hanger and purse quickly and tried to excuse herself but he refused to move. - Nate, I have to go. I have some essays I need to look into and I’m not in the mood for whatever this is. 

   - C’mon, I’m a nice guy. - he put his hand on her waist thus ending the tiny shred of patience that was still within her. With a might, she kicked him in the leg, making him crutch which gave her enough time to reach for the door, opening it wide and power walking out of it. However, he seemed to not be done with the constant following. - NEXT TIME DON’T DRESS LIKE A WHORE IF YOU DON’T SOMEONE TO APPROACH YOU!

She stopped on her tracks, still facing the door as she wondered if she had heard it correctly. By the sounds of the people surrounding her who had suddenly stopped their chats allowing her to listen to the music playing wide and clear, she had heard it well. 

   - You’re drunk, Nate. - she turned around to look at him, still keeping her distance and surrounding herself by other party goers who had found her answer not interesting enough to hold their attention. 

   - And you’re clearly still the same uptight goody two shoes who needs a good fuck to be put in her place. - Y/N rolled her eyes. Just what she fucking needed tonight. As she prepared to find a comeback for that and return to her beloved mission of reaching her home, someone punched him, the strength of the blow itself sending him to the ground. - What the fuck? 

   - Stay down if you know what’s good for you. - she recognised that voice way too well to know who it was. Her gaze went from Nate who was standing on the ground, clearly following orders, to Frank who had just punched him hard enough to scare him into not going up. God, great. Just what she needed, Frank to get a saviour complex. 

Deciding this was too much for her, she returned to her mission of reaching the outside which after a few “are you okay?” from some of her friends who were sober enough to recognise the situation, had been successfully reached. Y/N sat down on the sidewalk by the house, phone in hand as she read that her driver would be in her with an hour. On that specific moment, she agreed with Frank as she let out angry huff. 

   - Fuck the suburbs. - she mumbled, bringing her knees up to her chin. There was no way this night could get any worse. 

   - Are you alright? - Y/N looked up to see Frank. Had she not been harassed by someone she probably would need to see again, she would’ve probably found the strength within to tell him to leave her alone. - I can leave if you want me too, Y/N. 

   - Nice to know you can use my name. - she commented. - You didn’t need to do that, didn’t need your help. 

   - Yeah, I know but he was asking for it. - he took a seat on the sidewalk, a bit further from her. - I think Clara’s got the rest of the beating handled. God, she’s ruthless when she drinks cider. 

   - Should’ve seen her during Fresher’s week. She climbed up the roof of our student housing topless and screaming the lyrics of "Wake me Up Before you Go”. - Y/N giggled at the memory of her and her flatmates trying her hardest to remove Clara from the wet roof. 

   - How come you never tell me the interesting stories? - Frank slightly turned to look at her. He couldn’t see her face completely due to her hair in front of it, but of what he could see, she thought she was the most stunning thing brought to life. 

   - Well, you never ask me. - she too turned to look at him. - You cannot tell Clara that I told you that. 

   - Can’t promise anything. - he raised his hands. - How long til your Uber arrives?

   - An hour. - she huffed again. - Now I understand why you like the city so much.

   - Get up. - he raised from his seating position, lending her a hand so she could do the same. - I’ll take you home. 

   - Frank, I will not enter the death machine again specially when you’ve been drinking. - her eyes turned to the same car. God, how come someone whose parents were well off decided to get that type of thing and call it a car? 

   - Cheap alcohol does not affect me besides I want to give you a ride. Just to make sure you’re safe.

   - I’m safe enough in an Uber, Frank. 

   - Consider this, you’re an university student and it’s not gonna be cheap to catch an Uber during a Friday night. Just humour me, you don’t even have to speak with me, I’ll just drive you and drop you off. - he took his keys from his jacket pocket, the little keychain catching the little and she couldn’t help but let out a small smile as she recognised he was still using the keychain she had given him for Christmas. - You pick the music? 

  - No snarky comments? - she decided to negotiate. - And by snarky comments it includes calling me Rory Gilmore, Gilmore, Rory or any variation of the name. You will make me hate watching Gilmore Girls. 

  - Fine, deal. - Y/N followed Frank into his death machine also known by common people as a car. He kept his promise, not saying a single word and only turned on the radio which was playing some instrumentals. Throughout most of the journey, both their gazes were set on the road, not entirely sure how to interact to each other. She was the first to break the gaze from the road, turning her head ever to slightly to look at the side of his face. Y/N would never admit it out loud that Frank was an attractive but he was and somehow managed to look even better whenever his face was calm. Lips partially open, eyes slightly narrowed as his hands gripped onto the steering wheel. Her gaze settled on his parted lips, almost as if she could feel them against hers like Last Christmas.

If she were to be completely honest, she had put the event right in the back of her head fully knowing exactly what type of guy he was. She didn’t need to hear it from him, she knew it from accounts from Clara who’d normally complain about how many girlfriends her brother had gone through and how he liked to mess around with her friends to get under her skin. However, she was still a woman with taste and as such she found him wildly handsome.

    - Stop staring at me, Y/N. - he pulled over one of Yale’s residencies, not entirely sure where Y/N and Clara lived. - We’re here. 

    - Thanks. - she put her hands on her lap, diverting her gaze from him. - Uhm, I think I should also thank you for punching Nate. 

    - I would punch whatever guy disrespected you. - he shrugged, almost as if being her protector came to him naturally. - Even if you flirted with my friend prior.

   - I did not flirt with Jack, Frank. Even if I did it was none of your business. - if she didn’t know any better, she would’ve said he was being jealous. - Clara introduced us, if you must know. 

   - You can tell me you fancy him. I saw you all smiley as if he were a comedian which let me tell you, sweetheart, he definitely isn’t. 

   - I don’t fancy him. - she harshly opened the door of his car, huffing as she stepped out. Frank did the same but instead of lighting a cigarette, he instead walked to her, arms crossed. - Even if I was interested in Jack, I wouldn’t owe an explanation. You, out of all people who is constantly screwing around. 

   - Just asking, sweetheart. No need to get worked out over it. 

   - If it bothers you so much at least admit it, Frank. Don’t sulk about it like a school boy. - she took a step forward, heel clicking against the worn out asphalt of the ground.

   - You’re my baby sister’s friend, I couldn’t care less.  

   - Seems like you’re awfully interested, Frank.

   - You wish I was. - he put his hand on his pocket to fish for his cigarette pack along with his lighter. - Is that why you were flirting with Jack?

   - You know what ... - she dropped her purse to the ground, hands coming to grab his face as her lips collided with his for the first time since Christmas. The kiss went on for a while, lasting substantially longer than she had intended.

Y/N tested the waters plenty of times by pulling away slowly but, much to her surprise, Frank took a step forward each time with a smirk against his lips as he slowly pushed her against the side of his car. She thought it would last forever or at least until one of them lost breath. That someone proved to be Frank, who pulled away, a very large stretched grin across his wet chapped lips as he stared down at her, her eyes staring right back.

    - Hey! - a bright light shined their way, interrupting the moment. She looked in the direction seeing one of the campus security guard with a flashlight in hand. - No funny business on campus grounds. 

    - Sorry. - she mumbled as the guard went his merry way. Her eyes settled back on Frank. - I should go back to my flat. 

    - I’ll walk with you.

    - No. - she raised her hand. - You can go back, I know the way. 

    - Y/N ... wait. - he rushed after her. - I know you don’t wanna talk about it but I don’t flirt with you just because you’re my sister’s friend. 

    - It’s really not the point, Frank. I know the type of man you are and I know exactly how you act. I should probably know better but I don’t and I’m a few cups in of cheap wine so my judgement is clouded. 

    - Listen, maybe when your judgment isn’t so clouded, we can discuss this.

    - Sure, Frank. - she sighed, tired and wanting to go into a hole and scream at herself. What was wrong with her? God, this was worse than when she had a crush on the neighbour’s son. Why would she kiss him? Out of everyone? Was she feeling way too thankful for him being her weird white knight, she did not know, all she knew is that she needed to leave his sight, fast. - Good night. 

    - Night, Ace. 

[sunshinesholland]

the one (and all the others) | t.h.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 3.16k

Summary: Everyone in your life knows how much of a hopeless romantic you are. You’re constantly diving into things headfirst, and expecting a fairy tale ending. You tend to laugh off any remarks your friends make, take them in stride, as it’s kind of commonplace in your friend group to joke about your romantic escapades. But this time it feels different.

Warnings: swearing, angst/pining, mention of shitty past relationships, allusion to PTSD 

A/N: Again, it’s kind of based on some personal stuff. Getting back into writing is easiest when its based on self experience for me. I have the rest of this mostly written out, so let me know if you like it!

part one || part two || part three

New York winter has brought with it snow, accompanied by a brisk wind that harasses anyone caught outside. Lucky for you, you’re inside and warm in the shelter of your favorite cafè with a good friend and hot coffee.

“He said he couldn’t stop thinking about me since first semester,” you gush, “he said whenever he sees the film I did my midterm on in class, he thinks about me.” 

You’re practically swooning, your vanilla latte in one hand, and an earl grey tea in the other. Zendaya, reaches for the cinnamon among the array of wooden sticks and sweeteners as you continue your story.

“Yeah, I’m sure the guy has watched Love Jones so much the past four months,” she comments, smile on her face as she takes a taste-sip of her coffee. Satisfied, she begins walking with you to the usual table. It’s tucked in the corner with a view of both the wooden-framed windows and the small stage where a guitarist plays softly. 

You continue speaking as though you didn’t hear her smart remark, “I mean he’s got an accent, and he’s really cute too, Z. I didn't even present the analysis that well, you know I had work and that huge paper for music theory class due,” you babble, and she just sips her coffee and listens.

The bell atop the cafe door chimes and the cold breeze from outside manages to reach you in the corner. Your eyes flicker up to Tom as he begins walking over, shaking the snow out of his hair, his curls slightly damp and his cheeks pink.

“What were you guys talking about?” He asks, shrugging off his jacket and sliding into the seat beside you.

He smiles at you as he grabs the tea you’ve ordered for him, a silent thank you despite the fact that you do it for him every time you arrive before him. 

“I was just telling Daya about the guy from our film history class last semester,” you grin, “you remember him?”

How could he forget? You gushed over him then too, and the bastard was bold enough to make advances towards you during class discussions. Not to mention the times when he would stop the two of you on your way out of class to flirt, while Tom would have to wait for you and watch it all unfold.

You and Tom have known each other since day one of university, when you complimented him on the Spider-Man pin on his backpack. It was the pin his baby brother Paddy had given to him before Tom left to attend university in the states, and your complimenting of it instantly made him warm towards you. He’s been friends with you since he held the elevator for you, the same day you both realized you’re neighbors at the same apartment complex. He’s been your best friend since the day you stayed up all night with him after having only known him a month. He was stupid enough to put off writing an important paper for his literature class until last minute and you still stayed up with him all the same. You brewed coffee and kept him company, making him laugh all night long all while encouraging and motivating him. 

And he didn’t realize at the time but he’s been in love with you since he called you at 11 PM, heartbroken, and despite the fact that you went to sleep hours ago and had work early the next morning, you didn’t let him wait past the second ring before answering. You were up and knocking at his door moments later, still in sleep shorts and a t-shirt, half awake. You met his bloodshot eyes and hugged him tightly, there to be whatever he needed at that moment. You let him ramble and cry into your shoulder while you stroked his hair. You watched over him while he drank to numb the pain, and you were there to rub his back the next morning for the aftermath. He knows he isn’t exactly special, you’d do this for anyone you care for and somehow it makes him love you more.

When he did realize his feelings, he didn’t make a move, as you were in a toxic on-again, off-again relationship, and you didn’t need anything else on top of what you were going through. The love from the way you valued him as your closest friend was enough for him. It’s possible he would have outgrown the crush, but after one night, everything changed. And the worst of it all is that the two of you don’t talk about it, or even acknowledge that it happened. But that’s how it always goes right? It’s good until it’s not.

Tom is pulled out of his thoughts and reminiscing when Zendaya asks, “When’s the date with prince charming then?”

“It’s this weekend,” you mumble, looking past her to avoid her eyes.

“This weekend? Y/N, you said you’d come to Laura’s party with us,” her tone is criticizing because she’s fine listening to your interactions turned romantic narratives, but abandoning plans you’ve already made with your friends is where she draws the line. 

You avoid her eyes, looking down at your cup and then out the window at passersby on the street. You don’t want to be a bad friend, really, but it’s one night and you’ve been looking forward to the date since he asked you last week. And you really don’t like parties anyways. You don’t make a habit out of canceling plans, you truly try to be as reliable as possible, there whenever your friends need you. Your only fault is that finding love is almost as high on your list of priorities as your friends.

“I know but I’ll come to the next one. She’s always throwing parties and what difference does it make to miss one? I don’t even like parties either, I wouldn’t really be fun to have around anyways,” you try to reason your way out of the guilt.

“Yeah. Sure. Let's just talk about something else, okay?” She huffs, not wanting to argue and knowing you won’t cancel on prince charming. 

“Okay… Tom when are you going to ask out Perrie from downstairs? I think the whole complex is getting second-hand embarrassment from the poor girl’s obvious and multiple advances,” you grin, because anything to do with romance is welcomed by you. It doesn’t just have to be your love life.

He already feels sick because while Perrie is a lovely girl, she’s not you and no one else is either. Answering the question why he won’t ask out the pretty, single, and clearly interested girl is something he barely admits to himself. But lucky for him Zendaya is who she is in that she always seems to know what to do. Though she’s never had it officially confirmed, she knows on some level about you two. She’s your roommate and the three of you are all close and in the same friend group, and honestly, how could anyone miss the way you look at each other? More often than not, she gets back from work and finds you two asleep on the couch, scrunched up together under one blanket. If she comes home, and you’re not in your room all she has to do is walk across the hall and you’ll likely be at Tom’s. But again, Zendaya is who she is, and so she allows you two to define what you have the way you want. But she sees the color drained from Tom’s face, and for his sake, she changes the subject.

“Or... we could talk about the fact that I got offered my first modeling job!” she exclaims, effectively taking the heat off of Tom.

Your supportive friend nature kicks into overdrive, Perrie from downstairs long forgotten, as you gush over how much your friend and roommate deserves this and so much more. Tom gives Zendaya a half-hearted smile, which she returns before chatting with you about the details.

—

“I really do think he could be the one,” you smile back in the mirror, while Tom searches through your display of Spider-Man comics. 

You’ve been best friends for so long and you live across the hall so it’s only natural that Tom comes to keep you company when you get ready for your dates. No matter how often he's there, or what feelings he has, he wouldn’t ever turn down an opportunity to spend time with you. 

He grabs your favorite issue, the front page worn as a result of how often you read it. You could cover them in slips and store them on a dusty shelf, preserving their value. But you’re a firm believer of loving what you have, not shielding it away to protect it, and maybe that applies to more than just comics. He drops onto your bed unceremoniously, looking up to meet your eyes in the mirror. You finish curling the last section of hair that frames your face, unplugging the iron afterwards.

“I don’t think you can really call him the one, if he’s the tenth you’ve called that so far this year,” he replies light and jokingly, despite the insensitive words he’s spoken. He’s the only one who’s never poked fun at your dating habits, but maybe it’s just the mention of the prince charming from film history.

Although he may be joking, he’s right. You glance down at your vanity, a mess of makeup and hair products showing just how much effort you’ve put in the last forty-five minutes. No matter how many first dates you go on you’re always saying things like this. Most everyone in your life makes remarks like this and usually you would let it slide and laugh or brush it off. But it’s Tom, who knows better than anyone the heartache you’ve experienced and how even though you refuse to admit it, it’s a coping mechanism. You’d like to think your past doesn’t define you and so you tell yourself you’re in love and hopeful, but the trust issues and self sabotaging comes shortly after. Tom should know that, having seen the relationship that was responsible for the cycle and the beginning, quick middle and eventual end of every relationship since. 

So you’re immediately defensive at the fact that your best friend would make some comment like this. He lifts his head up at you, as you spin around to face him.

“And why can’t I?” You ask and Tom opens his mouth to reply but you’re continuing and challenge him further, “What’s so wrong with being a hopeless romantic, with feeling things deeply?” You question, not waiting for a response as you continue.

“There’s not one person in my life who hasn’t said shit like this to me! Out of all people I thought you would understand,” you raise your voice, hurt evident in your tone. 

“You know how hard it was for me. I’m just doing my best to hold myself together, and I’m an adult, if this is how I decide to cope, I’m allowed to!” You’re shouting now, standing and pacing around your room in frustration.

“I’m just hoping there’s someone out there who is willing to love me kindly and fully, and I think I’m perfectly justified holding out for that,” your voice softens, your back is facing him, posture slumped as you huff, overwhelmed with emotion. 

Your frustration is tangible in the air and Tom blinks, placing down the comic book before scooting to the edge of the bed towards you. You tend to laugh off remarks, take them in stride, and it’s kind of commonplace in your friend group to joke about your romantic escapades. 

He feels unbelievably guilty, he never would’ve said something if he was aware you felt even one one-thousandth as upset as you’d just displayed. He had been there for the awful relationship that had you sick with heartache. He’d been the one Zendaya would come to when you’d refuse to leave your room for anything but classes, if even that. He just feels idiotic for not connecting the dots, he just thought you were strong for having such an open heart after everything. You’re always compassionate and supportive others and you’ve definitely helped him through his fair share of heartbreak, and wow he feels like a dick. Whether it’s orchestrated by heartache or not, he admires that you’re willing to keep trying despite everything. He only wishes he was brave enough to bare his like you always have.

“Hey,” Tom speaks softly, reaching for your hand and slowly turning you around to face him, “I’m sorry, Y/N, I never realized this is how you felt,” He mutters, tone gentle, coaxing you to turn to him.

Tears have managed to well up in your eyes and if he didn’t feel like a huge jerk before, he absolutely does now. But it’s really not about him, it’s about his best friend who he’s unintentionally made feel invalid in her feelings. You’ve never once asked him to justify how he’s feeling, or poked fun at him for his emotions. Well, except... maybe when he broke his pinky finger in a fit of anger, after having punched the face wall when his team lost the European championship (though you did apologize for it and you grabbed him ice right after). 

“It’s, erm, it’s fine, it’s stupid anyways,” you mumble back, voice unsteady as you try to blot your tears away with your sleeve in an attempt to prevent your makeup smearing. You’re just overwhelmed and it all bubbled over. Tom has never said anything like that before and it was dramatic to blow up at him like that, you think. 

“It’s not, N/N, and you know that. You’re crying and I know you hate crying and so I can tell you’re upset. Even if you don’t want to admit it, I’m still sorry,” He apologizes, rising to stand with your hand still in his. He pulls you into a hug, resting his cheek atop your head. 

“Thanks,” you murmur into his shoulder. It’s not completely his fault, because you really hadn’t voiced any sort of animosity for the jokes made about it. You never really talk about how hurt you are by the past either, not anymore than in passing at least. 

You just stand there for a minute, his hand stroking your hair absentmindedly, and he’s messing up your curls but it’s comforting because it’s Tom. Thinking to ask him to stop isn’t even on your mind. 

He’s thought about it before, but now more than ever he just selfishly wishes he was there before your ex, to see you unguarded and truly hopeful. Not as a coping mechanism, not as an extreme reaction to hurt, but to love because it’s all you know. Because maybe then things would have played out differently for the two of you.

He’s lost in his thoughts, stroking your hair and his other hand rubbing your back, your ‘getting ready’ playlist ends. Somehow the algorithm has decided to play One by Ed Sheeran, soft, melodic and completely dissimilar from the upbeat tracks playing a moment ago. But Tom couldn’t be more grateful, because if he closes his eyes he can almost pretend you’re at the before, and he had the guts to ask you out on the first day of class. If that was true, when you’re in your room with him now. You’d be aware of how he feels about you, and you’d feel loved in that kind and gentle way you’ve been hoping for, because you’ve never known anything else.

The soft ballad ends and when you glance up at him, the façade he’s formed fades away before his heart has the chance to beg it to stay.

“I don’t really want to go on this date anymore, I probably look a mess and I’m just...not in the mood for not finding ‘the one’ tonight. I’ve got you, and that’s enough for now,” you confess, smiling up at him. 

You say that, because as cheesy as it sounds, friends are a kind of soulmate too, and you’ve already found them. You can always look for ‘the one’ some other time. This revelation would feel sweet to any other friend, but to Tom, it hurts just a bit that to you he’s just a placeholder. 

He manages to crack a half smile at your heartfelt statement, because no matter how he feels, he’s lucky to have you. Even if only as a friend.

“So how about we order a pizza and watch New Girl for the fiftieth time?” You question, oblivious and smiling up at him before pulling away from the hug and wiping at your wet eyes.

Any other time he would stay in with you, happy to watch you laugh to the point where he’s grinning at just your reactions. But he’s gotta be a good friend too, because well, he’s in the same boat as you. Except he’s found the one, and he doesn’t want to leave. Yet he knows the right thing to do is to go to the party he promised Zendaya and Jacob (and previously you) that he would attend. Though he still isn’t happy to admit it to you.

“I was going to go to Laura’s party tonight…” Tom grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck, because he knows you don’t like parties and you’re likely emotionally exhausted on top of that. He’s only going because he’s made a promise, and really— trust him— there’s nothing he’d rather do than spend time with his favorite person.

“Could I maybe go with you?” You ask, because being with friends, even if you don’t like parties is better than sulking at home alone. 

Tom cracks a smile, and it’s easy to fall back into friend-mode with you. Because that’s what comes when it comes to you, before anything else.

“Well, I mean if you clean up I suppose I can just take you with me,” he teases you, “because I cannot show up with you like that.” He jokes and laughs as you shove him. 

This kind of banter is normal and makes your heart feel just a little less heavy in your chest, because Tom always manages to make you feel better.

“Okay, just let me text him and let him know I won’t make it, and then I’ll try and look better for you,” you reply, laughing all while rolling your eyes. 

You’ve got your phone in one hand texting, while your other wipes away at the makeup on your face. You’ve got a focused look on your face, squinting a bit because you don’t have the best eyesight and refuse to wear your glasses on first dates. But you look lovely to Tom, despite the crease between your eyebrows, your slightly opened mouth, and still smeared mascara. 

part two

[skullsandwineglasses]

Life Lessons

The things you thought you wanted when you were 18 are very different from the things that you realize are important when you’re 24. 

1. Meet cutes

You fantasize about running into a stranger at a coffee shop, a book store, a library aisle, a grocery store lineup, etc and that you’ll click with them right away. You think “the one” is out there somewhere. But Ashley from bestdressed put it best: do you really think that out of the 7 or 8 billion or so people on the planet, you were born down the street or a city away from your soulmate? How is life going to be that convenient?

I thought college would be my Debut(TM), especially after a comfortable but uneventful time in high school. But college was quite anticlimactic. I was even less social if that was even possible. It’s hard to make friends when you’re not forced to sit next to the same people everyday. You instead meet people from afar who seem to be living, breathing real-life protagonists: beautiful, smart, witty, stylish, artsy, outspoken. I found myself trying to emulate them. I felt like I was falling behind in terms of who I should be in life. 

I tried to take control. If you don’t put yourself out there, how would meet cutes ever happen? So,

I go to coffee shops: but everyone’s too busy to look up from the work on their laptop screens to pay any attention to anyone else. 

I go to bookstores: but everyone’s too busy scanning the titles on the shelves to pay any attention to anyone else. 

I go to the library: see coffee shop.

I’m in the grocery store and someone asks me about the best coconut milk to use for curry: they get their answer and leave. 

I go to a jazz bar: again, everyone’s too busy listening to the band to pay any attention to anyone else.

I go to a swing dance social night: but everyone’s too busy trying to dance with as many different partners as possible in order to diversify their skills to linger any attention on anyone

You can’t say I didn’t try. 

Bonus:

Imagine you’re feeling bummed that you got assigned an aisle seat on the plane, only to approach your seat and see that a cute guy is sitting in the window seat next to yours. Could this be the meet cute you’ve been waiting for? You sit down. He says hi. You return the greeting a little too excitedly. You move to the fasten your seat belt. He speaks again: “So, my girlfriend has a window seat a couple rows back. I was wondering if you...”

Stunned, you pull the seat belt back and get up, gathering your stuff. “Oh yea, for sure, no bother at all. I wanted a window seat anyway.”

I kid you not. Cringe writes itself. It was like the opening of a bad romcom where the side character has one romantic failure after another. 

-> Moral of the story: Don’t expect to arrive at a place hoping that you’ll lock eyes with someone across the room. People go to places for the services that the place provides, and so they’ll be focused on their purpose for having gone to said place. Taylor Swift songs and YA novels did a wonderful job of misinforming me of how indifferent the social environment is like in public spaces. 

2. Exchanging phone numbers

So, maybe someone finally asks for your number. You part ways at the subway station. He promises to talk to you soon. But after 3 days, you wonder why he hasn’t texted you yet. You get a text from him Sunday morning asking you to meet for coffee that evening. You’re outside the cafe at 7:15, waiting. He texts you apologizing for being late because he was jogging around the lake and lost track of time. He says he’s on his way. You never hear from him again. 

-> Moral of the story: Even if you do ending up having a cute first encounter with someone at a subway station, it doesn’t mean things will work out. I’ve been ghosted like this 3 times. It’s gets harder trying to give men the benefit of the doubt each time.

I had thought that my self worth depended on how many strangers would approach me for my number. I thought that being liked was the only way to be validated. And while being asked for your number is flattering the first time, the illusion quickly shatters when you learn that the success of a relationship hinges on more than just the circumstance of the first meeting. 

3. Reading signs

You’re in line at the airport after returning from a conference trip, waiting to get through customs. You finally reach the customs officer who asks about the reason for your trip. 

“A conference,” you say.

“For?”

“Narrative. You know, like storytelling”

He hands you back your passport. “So are you an author?”

“Oh no, I just study the psychology of storytelling”

His face lights up. “Wow yes, storytelling is so important. It’s the foundation of civilization. That’s great”

“I’m glad you’re able to appreciate it. Not many people do when I tell them.”

“Well that’s because they don’t understand how important storytelling is to the basis of civilization. And for me too as someone who works in law enforcement.”

“Yes, for sure,” you say nodding. You look at the line behind you and start to move to leave.

“Well, it’s too bad we can’t talk more. Have a great day, miss”.

You walk towards the exit where the baggage claim is, and your head’s a blur. Was he...flirting? You’ve never met a stranger who was that interested in your research before, much less a border officer who was willing to stall the line just to ask you more about what you do. 

You begin to wonder if you should have left a card or a number so that you could talk later. You know, for research purposes. It’s always nice to make a friend outside your field who shares the same interests as you. But none of that matters now anyway because #ACAB. What’s done is done. But you still wonder about what his intentions were when he started that conversation. It’s too bad we can’t talk more. Yeah. A shame.

-> Moral of the story: Be more assertive. Offer a way to connect if you’re interested. Why do we keep reinforcing the idea that women can only be acted on and can’t act themselves?

4. To love or be loved

Like many young adults, I often question if my mother really understands what it means to be in love. She seems to like the idea of love, the idea of the perfect fateful meeting, but proudly says that she never fully gave her heart to anyone. She’s always warning that it’s better to receive love than to give it. That you end up at a disadvantage if you love first and love more. 

But I think I’d rather have the agency to make that choice than to be chosen. All throughout high school and in the media, we seem to glorify having someone choose us and love us unconditionally. But that’s unrealistic. There’s no such thing as unconditional, but I do hope to get as a close as possible to it. I want to love someone even if they might not love me back. I want to know how it feels like to put someone else first. Maybe this is just another teenage fantasy that has re-manifested itself in adulthood, but I want the freedom of stretching my feelings out than to feel the weight of that of someone else’s whom I can’t reciprocate. 

It also has to do with how much the alpha male is romanticized in our culture. I realize that I don’t want a domineering male version of my mother, who herself is controlling, obsessive, and possessive. I want a friend, not someone who thinks that I constantly need to be coddled and protected for my own good. 

It’s also a stupid expectation to have of real life men. If the men in my life are any indication, then they have goals and ambitions that they want to pursue. Everyone does. A relationship is a mutual support system. It’s not about how much as can take from someone. 

5. Choices

Some people say that you can fall in love with a city by falling in love in that city. 

TW: Sketchy interactions in ubers/taxis

I was grabbing coffee with a guy that I just met in a foreign city that I was visiting. It was approaching 9pm and he said that he had work the next morning, so we decided to call it a day. I was heading towards the subway station when he said that he called an uber and could drop me off at my hotel. Obviously, warning bells went off, but I was so worried about disappointing him, even though I knew that I wouldn’t see him again anyway after that evening. I just didn’t know how to say no. I reluctantly got in the car with him and instantly regretted it. He moved closer, but when he saw that I was uncomfortable, he moved away. Thankfully. We had an awkward conversation, and the driver dropped me off at my hotel after 10 minutes. I was lucky. I knew it. But looking back at the encounter now, I do wonder what would have happened if I had reciprocated the interest. I mean, I was definitely was curious at the time, but mostly because I was inexperienced and a little desperate to be completely honest. But, I knew that I didn’t want my first kiss or first whatever to be with a stranger who I knew I would never see again since I was leaving the next day. I knew about the emotional confusion that it would cause. I also wasn’t prepared to go as far as I thought he wanted to go, so I didn’t want to give him any wrong impressions and assumed that it was just easier to not show any interest at all. From time to time I still wonder about him and how he’s doing and whether I’ll ever run into him again if I’m back in the city. 

-> Moral of the story: Learn to say no and to stop worrying about whether you’ll offend someone because you want to keep yourself safe. I should have never gotten into that car, and my friends always remind me of that every time I tell them that story. I also acknowledge that some people might not always have that choice, and we should never victim blame. 

For me in that situation, I had a mix of different emotions. Curiosity, attraction, anxiety. My friend told me that I should have told him what I felt at the time and what my boundaries were instead of shutting off. But at the same time, he should have been vocal to me too and voiced what he was thinking, instead of just moving closer in the closed space of an uber. Sketchy af. 

6. Fate (is a lie)

I like to believe in the idea of fate and soulmates. My mother always tells me how I was the product of fate and so a part of me feels entitled to a little bit of that magic too. 

But I got my wake-up call when I walked into a dive bar one Friday night and could have sworn that I saw my first crush from middle school sitting at a table in the centre of the room with a group of his friends. 

We made eye contact, but it was too dark to know for sure. I walked past the table to the bar and asked for a table for one. I sat in the corner and watched him and his friends, curiously.

No one just walks into a dive bar and suddenly decides that the first person you see when you walk through the door is someone you once knew from middle school. I was almost sure that it was him. Was he? 

I was in a city an hour away from where we went to middle school. What are the odds. Was it fate? Was it a coincidence? After 12 years of having never seen this kid, I run into him in a dive bar I’ve never been to before in a city I only go visit maybe once every 2 months. 

Out of all the kids I went to middle school with, I had to run into my first crush? Seems like a joke. What kind of message was the universe trying to send?

In the end, I finished my sangria, and left. He never took one look back at me. And I walked out knowing that I’d never see him again. What seemed like an impossible coincidence just ended up mounting to nothing. 

That’s when I learned that coincidences are just coincidences. There’s nothing more to them unless you decide to make something out of them. 

Concluding remarks:

Maybe y’all are smarter and more perceptive than I am and already knew about these things when you turned 18. But these are lessons that took me 6 years to learn and then some. And even at 24 and having a couple of serendipitous experiences under my belt, I’m still no closer to being the confident, mature, and level-headed adult that I think I should be. I still feel 18 with the unrealistic expectations and mentality embodied by someone that age. Hell, to be honest I’m not entirely sure I remember when it feels like to be an 18 year old anymore. I just feel like an inadequate 24 year old. I shouldn’t be insulting 18 year olds like this. 

[nicka-nell]

Just one night - Chapter 2: That’s not right

Masterlist     | Chapter 1 - Deal      | Chapter 3 - Next night then END

Words: 4.147 Chapters: 2/3 Pairing: Keishin Ukai x reader Narrative perspective: second person Warning: I think none, maybe a bit angst

Sighing, Ukai looks out the window and watches you go into the small dark apartment. With the far too few clothes you wear, and the cute stockings that cover your skin on your calves.

It’s wrong to think of a student. To think of her the way he does. Actually, he’d like to ring the bell right now and stay with her. Even if he knows it wasn’t real today, he wishes it was real.

-

He hears his beeping phone vibrating in his pocket and gets it out. A call from his mother. “Hello Keishin I hope I don’t disturb you both while sleeping.” her voice sounds on the other line. No, y/n’s already gone to bed. But I’ll lie down with her soon. The day was exhausting. Why are you calling? Did we forget something at your place?” he’s lying. No, no, I’m just calling because we wanted to have a barbecue on Saturday. Are you two coming over? Y/n really is such a great woman Keishin. Your grandfather didn’t admit it, but he’s happy for you. So are you coming?” Her voice is full of joy, and he does not want to disappoint her. But all this had only been planned for this one evening. Nothing more. He has to cancel.

“Yes. We like to come.” he says instead. “Great! See you on Saturday, my boy.” She’s looking forward to it. “Shit…” he curses and hits his cell phone against his forehead.

-

And again your alarm clock wakes you up. Extremely tired, you rub your eyes and look annoyed at the ceiling. You’d like to lie down. You don’t want to go to school and somehow you also lack the desire to go to the sports club. But you have to.

With a whisper you get up in bed and move towards the bathroom. Your hair is completely disheveled, sleep is in your eyes and the lack of sleep does not make your mood any better. Nevertheless, you try to prepare yourself as well as possible for school and then get rid of yourself after an hour.

To your astonishment, the day passes quite quickly and before you know it, you are already in the gym. When the coach enters the hall shortly after you, your eyes meet. A strange feeling is spreading within you, and for a moment you don’t know what to say.

However, Ukai pretends that yesterday evening never happened and welcomes his team. Somehow it makes you sad. But what else did you expect. So you also try to do the training as normal as possible and above all as quickly as possible.

“Hey y/n? Can you help me for a second?” you hear Sugawara waving to you. With quick steps you go to him and stand in front of him. “How can I help you?” you ask joyfully and put your head aside. He glances discreetly at Ukai and makes sure that he is looking in your direction, but then bends a little further forward.

“Look, I don’t need any help, but this is a real tragedy with you two. Ukai can’t take his eyes off of you. He’s like a dog trying to run after a female dog in heat. Just that instead of running and panting, he just can’t keep his eyes off of you.” he whispers.

“W- What?” It escapes you, since you do not understand how Sugawara comes on such a thought. “Shh, I’m not done! You now stand behind me and pretend to teach me something…” he still whispers and explains his plan. “Understood? You will see that Ukai will not like it.” he grins now. Nodding, you stand behind him and grab his thighs to bring him to his knees easily.

At that sight, Ukai’s eye begins to twitch shortly. What are you doing there? Your hands move his thighs up to his upper body and with your delicate fingertips, you wander his shoulders to his arms and bend your head forward to whisper something in Sugawara’s ear. As he turns his head, your lips can almost touch. What kind of game is this?

“Hey Sugawara! Can you practice some quick attacks with Hinata, please?” Ukai himself is frightened by his words. He doesn’t understand why he just said that. “But, I’m training with Kageyama…” Hinata intervenes. “You, you also have to practice with Sugawara.” he just hisses and crosses his arms. Grinning, Sugawara looks over to you before he goes to Hinata. A ‘I told you’ is written in his face.

The training comes to an end and again the boys disappear in their locker room. Only Ukai and you are in the hall. Yachi left early again to look for Shimizu. You just put the last ball in the basket and want to pack your bag to leave the hall, but Ukai, who stands with his arms folded against the door, stops you.

“Hey, say, can I talk to you…” he asks in a serious voice and looks outside. “Sure…” you nod and drop your bag. “Between you and Sugawara… Are you two somehow together?” he still asks in a serious voice. “What? No, what makes you think that? Because of earlier? I was just helping him with an exercise.” You answer a little surprised and scratch the back of your head.

Now he looks down from the sky and skeptically looks over at you. “An exercise? Looked more like a foreplay with clothes on before sex.” he hisses annoyed. “Say what do you really want…” angry you take your bag in your hand again and pull up an eyebrow. Annoyed, you just want to step out of the door when Ukai holds you by the hand and turns you to himself. A little scared, you two look at each other.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” he stutters quietly and lets you go. "I, so my mother invited us to the barbecue for Saturday and I wanted to say no but somehow I said yes. Would you please help me again…? I’ll pay you, too.” Begging, he looks you in the eye. That was exactly what you wanted. “I don’t want money. But I’ll do it anyway.” You smile.

Your answer makes his eyes bigger. “Really? Thank you!” It escapes him, and with his words, he steps forward and takes you firmly into his arms. He smells of tobacco but also of a strict aftershave. “Sensei Ukai, I can’t breathe.” you try to say, but your words only come out dull.

Scared by how good that hug felt for him, he lets go of you. If anyone saw that… He’d have lost his job. He really needs to be careful. “I’m sorry. Take your bag, I’ll lock the hall now.” Clearing his throat, he pushes you out the door and locks the gym. “See you on Saturday.” he says goodbye to you and leaves you alone at the gym. Sighing but also smiling, you put your hands in your jacket pocket and slowly make your way home.

Thoughtful, you’re standing in Ukai’s shop. Isn’t your dress a little too seductive? You chose a short black dress and black pumps. And again you forgot your jacket.

When Ukai comes out of the adjoining room and sees you standing in front of him with the short dress, how you look at him with sparkling eyes, an unusual feeling spreads within him. “You look really sexy… Eh I mean, you look good.” he stutters in front of him and puts his newspaper on his counter. “Thank you. Are we going now?”, “Yeah…” It escapes him quietly and you both go in the direction of his car.

Once in his car, he sighs and looks at you again. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he asks you in a deep voice. “What do you mean, Ukai?” you answer with a question. “You’re careless, little one.” he replies, bending over to you with his upper body, his hand on your thigh. “You come to my store with this short sexy dress and then you sit so seductively in the car of an older man you barely know. Aren’t you afraid I’ll do something else with you?” he whispers to you quietly.

His breath still smells like smoke and his aftershave also enter your nose. With his words, however, you notice how a benevolent feeling spreads in your stomach. Smiling, you turn your head in his direction and bend forward. Your noses can almost touch and Ukai can look perfectly into your neckline from this position.

“Tell me Keishin…what are you gonna do to me?” Your breath is on his lips, and he would love to press his lips against yours. However, this is not acceptable. What’s going on in him again? “Nothing, after all, you’re my student.” He clears his throat and puts the key in the ignition lock to start driving.

What was that all about? Does he really only see you as his student? “Just so you know… My mother thinks you live with me.” Still thoughtful, you look out the window. “Is there anything else I need to know?” you ask, a little bored. “"No, don’t think.” he answers you briefly and an unpleasant silence comes back.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Keishin?” you try to interrupt the silence. “Can’t find my dream girl. And you? Why doesn’t a pretty young woman like you have a boyfriend?” His eyes are still looking on the street. “The men I find interesting don’t seem to find me interesting.” You laugh sadly because you have to think of Ukai.

“I can’t imagine that. What guy shouldn’t be into you?” he asks implausible. “You’re not into me either, are you?” With your eyebrow raised, you fold your arms in front of your chest and look at him skeptically. But he won’t look back at you.

He can’t say he’s attracted to you right now. He needs to think of something else to say. “By the way, we’re at my old shitty one today. There it is better to grill.” he tries to change the subject. Sighing, you just nod and look out the window.

“Do you want to have children in the future?” it slips out before you can really grasp your words. “What? Don’t even start with that now.” he answers grimly and with eyes wide open. “But to answer your question… Actually, yes. But I don’t have much time, and I need the right woman. So far, there’s not a woman I thought was the one. You know what I mean?” he adds.

“Yes… I understand.” you murmur so softly that he can hardly understand your words. “Let’s cut the questioning, shall we? We’ll be there soon anyway.” he sighs and grabs the center console to get a cigarette out.

Arriving in front of the old Ukai’s house, Ukai opens the door for you like last time and helps you get out. He looks at you with a narrow smile and, after closing the car door, puts his hands in his pocket.

“Put your hand around my waist. That looks more normal.” You whisper to him as you stand at the door. He looks at you a little hesitantly, but then takes his hand out of his pocket to put it around your waist. On his touch, you get warm and unconscious, you squeeze a little closer to Ukai.

“There you are at last! We’re waiting for you. Ukai is already outside at the grill and the table are already set. You can go out and sit down.” Ukai’s mother greets you joyfully. She’s a really nice woman.

Together you follow the delicious smell of meat on the grill until you stand in the garden. "Hello y/n. I hope you weren’t too tired after the last night. And the weakling is also here. Great.” With a broad grin, and the barbecue tongs in his hand, old Ukai stands before you. Behind him, however, you see two little boys standing.

“Sensei Ukai? Can you play with us one last time before we go home?” With puppy eyes, the little boy pulls on the shirt of Ukai to get his attention. “I have to take care of the food here. Ask y/n. I’m sure she can toss the ball for you one or two more times. And then you go home!” He grins at the boy and points the barbecue tongs at you.

The two boys run happily towards you and now also want to look at you with their puppy eyes, but you have already agreed with a nod and take the ball from them. “Okay, but only three times. After that, you have to go home, because it’s going to be dark soon.”, “Okay!” they both say in unison and step into the field with you.

Leaning against the garden door, Ukai watches you play with the two children and can’t resist a smile. He has to think about the conversation in the car, that he had not found a woman until now, where he thought, this is the right one. And now he’s standing here in his old man’s garden, watching you play with children, and now, of all times, the words enter his mind. This is the one.

“You know you could lose your job as a coach if it comes out with you and y/n, right?” the voice of his grandfather gets him out of his thoughts. “Nobody in school knows. We’ll keep it a secret until she’s out of school. After that, it doesn’t matter anyway.” He mumbles to himself and now turns his mouth angle down as he looks to his grandfather.

“Don’t get me wrong. She’s a great woman, and I’m glad you got at least one thing done in your life. So don’t let her go. Because she can have a lot better than you.” The old man laughs and turns the meat over on the grill.

“You really won’t change until death…” surly Ukai reaches into his pocket and takes out another cigarette. Annoyed, he puts it in his mouth and wants to light it when it is taken from his mouth.

“Keishin my bunny… You promised me you’d stop smoking…” pouting, you look at him and put your hands around his neck. Briefly his eyes grow large and you have the feeling that his face has taken on a light pink color. “I’m sorry, honey. You’re right.”

“Wow, my Keishin stops smoking because of y/n? Oh y/n why didn’t you enter his life before?” With beaming eyes, his mother now steps out of the house and walks past you with two bottles of sake and a few bottles of beer. “Because a few years ago she was still a minor and it might have been illegal there.” old Ukai adds his mustard. “You always have to have the last word… Come on, sit down!”

You are now sitting in the garden for several hours. The plates are empty, the sky is dark, small moths fly around the lanterns, which bring a little bit of light into the garden. In addition to the chirping crickets, only your laughing voices and the clanking of the sake glasses can be heard. You have to admit, you’ve been drinking a lot and feeling a little light-headed. Ukai is also red in the face due to alcohol.

Ukai is the first to straighten up and put the plates together. “Leave it there, my boy. I clean it all up when you go home.” However, his mother stops him. He nods to her, but then his eyes wander back to you. Actually, they’ve been focused on you all night.

“Shall we go slowly? It’s late and we have to walk. I drank too much to drive a car.” He scratched the back of his head. “Yes, let’s go, my bunny.” You only say with a smile.

Like last time, you say goodbye to his mother and grandfather and slowly make your way home. Behind the intersection, where his family can no longer see you, Ukai lets go of you and puts his hands in his pockets. It scares him how familiar everything feels. How real this feels.

“The evening was really funny.” You smile and rub your hands against your arms, as you are getting cold without a jacket. Ukai thoughtfully looks at you and then stops for a moment. “Here…” he mumbles to himself as he pulls his sweater over his head. “Put this on. You’re freezing.” he adds.

And before you can say no, you feel how the warm orange cotton sweater is warming your naked skin. It doesn’t just warm your skin… because the sweater smells like Ukai. Manly, smoky, strong. “Thank you Ukai.” You mumble and look up at him.

All the way over you are silent again and again the silence is overwhelming. It takes a felt eternity until you finally arrived in front of your apartment door and still a bit dizzy you reach for your key to open the door. But the key falls out of your hand and you bend over to pick it up again.

“Oh god…” it escapes him quietly. He catches himself tilting his head to get a better look at your ass. Because the way you’re bending down, he could see your naked ass if he took another step back. “Keishin… Pull yourself together.” he says to himself.

“Did you say something?” you ask in wonder and turn around questioning. “No. Thanks again for today. This is really the last time.” He laughs embarrassed and just wants to make his way home without his sweater when you hold him by the wrist. Sugawara said you should go more on the offensive.

“Do you… want to come in? You’ll have to walk another 20 minutes to get to your shop. You could also sleep here. I can wash your sweater, and you make yourself comfortable here with me? For the one night?” Playfully you bite your lower lip and your eyes come out under your eyelashes to look at him seductively.

“I… I can’t just sleep in a student’s apartment.” he stutters before himself. With your eyebrow raised, you approach him and throw yourself around his neck. “Why not? You should not sleep with me but in my apartment. “You whisper and do not give him the opportunity to answer. Because you pull him into the apartment with a sweaty grin.

“Hey wait a minute!” he’s still calling out to you, but you’re already in the living room with him. “Do you want a drink? I can make you tea.” You ask him and you tell him to sit on the couch with a head movement. “I don’t want anything. I shouldn’t be here.” For a second, you disappear into the bathroom and take off Ukai’s sweater to throw in the washing machine.

“Well, your sweater is already in the washing machine. Either you stay here…” you call him when you enter the living room again. In your words, you face him with a grin and lean forward so that you can look him right in his eyes. “Or I’ll bring the sweater to the gym in front of all the boys on Monday.”

You see how Ukai looks at your body and slowly falls back on the couch. “You really are a brat. Good… Now go to your bed. I wait until the washing machine is ready and then go home.” Ukai hisses. Does he really want to go? Again, you have to think of Sugawara’s words. 'Go on the offensive.’

“We could watch a movie together.” you whisper in his ear as you sit on his lap. Your legs left and right of his thighs. Your dress has slipped up, and if Ukai looked down now, he’d see your panties.

“What… What are you doing there?” He asks surprised and pushes you away with some pressure. His eyes are big as they look into yours. “What…are you drunk or something?” he adds. “No, I just asked you if we wanted to watch a movie together.” You now say in a normal tone and push yourself against his pressure back to his body.

“That… doesn’t look like watching a movie to me, brat.” he whispers, putting his hands around your hip to pull you even closer to him. You feel something hard under you and look at Ukai with a dark grin. “But… you seem to like it, not to watch a movie.”, “That’s not right… that goes too far y/n.” his voice is quiet. Barely audible.

“You just helped me with my problem, so why are you doing this now? Are you trying to tease me? Because you’re telling me I’m not gonna get one like you anyway? That I should keep this action in my mind?” he hisses annoyed, while his eyes wander from yours to your lips.

“What? I don’t want to tease you. I’m sorry about that… I didn’t want to put you in a situation that makes you uncomfortable. I just thought… If this evening is not to be our last night, I need to do something so you might want to have another night with me. Because I find you really sexy.” It comes out of you and quickly you put your hands on your mouth. Oh God…, did you really just say that? Is that the effect of too much sake?

In your words, Ukai’s eyes enlarge again and his mouth, which was closed before, is now wide open. Roughly he grabs your wrists and forces you to take your hands off your mouth. “Say that again!” he demands hastily. “I…” you’re stuttering. But then you look down ashamed.

With a lot of strength he pulls your wrists, and thus also your body, close to himself. Your noses can almost touch. Again, it’s all quiet. The only thing that is still easy to hear is the running washing machine in the next room.

“You’re on thin ice, you know? You have a far older man sitting here in your apartment. In an apartment where you’re alone. And you want to tease me? Don’t you even think about what I could do to you?” Angry, he whispers this words to you.

There’s no trace of the Ukai you had sitting next to you at the barbecue earlier. “Again… I don’t want to tease you. I mean it. I would-” but you can’t finish your sentence. Because by now Ukai’s hand, which held your wrist just a moment before, lies at the back of your head and presses your lips on his. They are rough, partly cracked, due to smoking.

That makes the kiss seem very rough to you, but it’s not. He is passionate, stormy but also loving. He’s anything but rough. However, the kiss does not last long, because it is interrupted by Ukai immediately after a few seconds. “I’m sorry…” he starts to apologize hastily. But you don’t want to hear an apology. You just want to feel his rough lips back on your soft lips.

[arabian-bloodstream]

Gendrya are married. Period.

*I decided to just post this here in its entirety.

I believe that Arya and Gendry are married. Period. And (almost) all of the clues were right there in front of us. Why was it sub-textual instead of clearly there in the text? I have three thoughts on that. One is that I think that D&D miscalculated in thinking that viewers and even die-hard fans would over-analyze the series like they had in the past looking for answers. That simply was just not going to happen since this was the final season and viewers expected definitive answers.

I did analyze (and over-analyze) everything having to do with Arya and Gendry’s arc and this is what I’ve come up with… you may or may not agree. I think it’s pretty clear, however, when taking in all of the following that Arya and Gendry were wed when Game of Thrones came to a close.

A Wedding Foreshadowed

The Fruitful Mother 

Cloak of Protection 

What Gendry Knows 

That's Not Me 

Life Versus Death 

A Gift To No One 

His Wife 

Third Time's The Charm 

She Begins Where He Ends 

She Wore His Colors 

The Ship That Was Promised 

Circles and Secrets

To the End of the World 

Happily Ever After

  Below the cut (because this sucker is long) I break down all of the above.

A Wedding Foreshadowed

The night before what many thought was going to be their last day, Arya briefly joined the Hound on the parapets. This scene held significance or three reasons. Firstly, it set-up their conversation in the fifth episode, "The Bells," where the Hound once more fights for Arya. In that, his fight for her is his determination to turn her away from his path of dying for revenge and turn her towards living.

The second is one that had played throughout the season, how his story with Arya was connected to Gendry’s with Arya. When Arya first saw the Hound, Gendry came right behind him. When Arya first spoke to the Hound, it was in defense of Gendry, and Gendry was witness to their reunion. In the following episode, Gendry and the Hound discussed Arya, Gendry went to Arya, and her next scene was with the Hound, a thread of life and death, choosing life or death running through them.

Finally, Beric showed up and joined Arya and the Hound and spoke to Arya, in so many words, apologizing for how things ended with them. Viewers who remembered their history knew that his apology was for selling Gendry to Melisandre. The Hound’s question to Arya if Beric was another one on her list and her acknowledgement that he was for a short time was another nod to her history with Gendry.

And the nods to that history are important to note because of the Hound’s line when Beric first came upon them and the scene that played right after Arya left the “two miserable old shits.”

Oh, for fuck's sake, may as well be at a bloody wedding.

Three people in the cold, dark night in a castle of thousands and that is what he said… hmm. And right afterwards, Arya laid with Gendry for the first time.

The Fruitful Mother

Prior to the actual lovemaking—and yes, it was lovemaking. She had to have sent word to him where she was otherwise, he wouldn’t have known. It was Gendry that she wanted, period. Ahem… prior to the actual lovemaking, any type of sexual situation with Arya and Gendry happening was *obviously* going to happen in the forge. Because, you know, Gendry=the forge, thus the hashtag #forgesex was well associated with Arya and Gendry literally years before season 08.

In fact, even after Arya and Gendry actually had sex in some random storage room, their lovemaking is still referred to as forgesex. Here’s the thing, though, was it random? Where Arya and Gendry did the deed was on sacks of grain. Why not in the forge? Arya had already gone and sought her weapon once before. Wouldn’t it have made sense for her to go looking for that weapon yet again as an excuse {wink*wink} to see Gendry in the conveniently empty forge for… wait for it! …. Forgesex! Actual forgesex.

Nope, instead, they were in a storage room filled with sacks of grain. Yes, grain. Hmm. And what does grain make one think of? Harvesting, and digging deeper, we can look at mythology and my mind automatically went to the Greek goddess of harvest, Demeter. Although, she is often described simply as thus, she also presided over the cycle of life and death. (See that section below). Around 205 BC, the worship of Demeter was merged with that of the Roman agriculture goddess Ceres. In Roman culture, married women were taught to emulate Ceres, the devoted and fruitful Mother.  By following these rites, it was believed that would help ensure a good harvest and increase the fertility of those who partook in the tradition.

So, instead of forgesex, we got grainsex. Grain=harvest and harvest=fertility, life, renewal, rebirth, many things that Arya eventually chooses for herself in the end and when this reference comes into play Gendry is literally joined with her in this particular process.

A reach, perhaps, admittedly, but it’s yet another piece to add to the whole.

Cloak of Protection

Arya’s third and final scene in the second episode held yet another significant clue. Cloaks are a major symbol of marriage in Westeros.   During weddings, a bride wears a cloak of her house (called “the maiden’s cloak”) and during the ceremony, the maiden’s cloak is removed and the groom places a cloak of his house and colors upon her shoulders. This signifies her moving from one house to another and that his bride is now under the protection of her husband and his house. (Recall the humiliating situation that Tyrion found himself in when he was unable to place his cloak on Sansa during their wedding due to Joffrey having the stool removed.)

When Gendry came to Arya in the storage room with her weapon he was dressed up as nicely as we’ve ever seen him. Including wearing a cloak that featured, oh so coincidentally, the House Baratheon colors. (Nice, Gendry.) The fur was a burnished beige-ish gold and the rest of the material was black. And in that final scene when the two lay atop those sacks of grain in the aftermath of their lovemaking—while Arya was dealing with all of the feels she’d unleashed, she was covered by Gendry’s cloak, kept safe and warm from the cold.

Yes, indeed. A small thing, but yet another one.

What Gendry Knows

One of the most important scenes in Arya and Gendry’s story was when he chose to stay with the Brotherhood without Banners. He did so because he’d never had a family and he chose them for that chance to have one. Arya told him then that he could be her family, and in doing so she was telling him that she loved him. We know because Maisie Williams told us that she was directed to say that line like “I love you,” and that was the take that was used. Gendry’s response was that she wouldn’t be his family, she would be “milady.” Bluntly put, Arya offered herself to Gendry and he turned her down.

When Gendry proposed to Arya, it was a reverse of *that* scene. In other words, it put them on equal standing in absolutely every way. They are not only now both technically a lord and a lady, but they had both offered themselves to the other and been rejected in turn. Instead of saying “I love you” in so many words with “I can be your family,” as Arya did to Gendry, Gendry actually said the words. He told her, “I love you.” He said: “Be my wife.” He offered himself to her, and she turned him down.

So how is this a good thing and part of the Gendrya Wedded Belief? Well, since we had Gendry rejecting Arya, and Arya rejecting Gendry how does the narrative go? Third times the charm. When they next meet, the offer to be with one another will come again and this time it should be accepted. How do we know this for sure? Again… it was all there on the screen, in what was said. Gendry made it perfectly clear where he stood. He knows exactly what he wants. He always has. That has been a consistent with this character. This is what he told Arya before he got ahead of himself and made his drunken, clumsy proposal:

All I know is you’re beautiful and I love you and none of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me.

There was a reason this line was included in their scene. Especially that last part. “None of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me.” What was the point of that if it didn't matter? Everything, because *it did* matter.  For Gendry, none of it is worth anything without Arya, so... he is going to give it up. We just didn't see it. Because, again, as I stated atop, D&D perhaps thought that fans would over-analyze like they had in the past and figure it out themselves.

And so the pile keeps growing.

That’s Not Me

First off, let’s get the meaning of Arya’s infamous "That’s not me," out of the way. The full conversation was essentially about gender inequality.

Arya: [Bran] wants to be a knight of the Kingsguard. He can't be one now can he? Ned: No, but someday he could be lord of a holdfast or sit on the king's council or he could raise castles like Bran the Builder. Arya: Can I be lord of a holdfast? Ned: You will marry a high lord and rule his castle. And your sons shall be knights, and princes, and lords. Arya: No, that's not me.

So, yeah, Ned—as great a father as he was—essentially told Arya, yeah, you're just going to be some man's property and pop out his babies. THAT is why Arya said, "that's not me." So when Gendry (drunkenly and thus stupidly) phrased his proposal as he did, he put her right back in that position of just being a lord's wife who was expected to pop out his babies, and, no, that is not her.

However, that's not who he wants. He has zero interest in a lady like that because he's most definitely not a lord like that. However, he didn't say any of that, instead he just asked her to be his lady and so she kissed him sweetly and softly and she told him that he would be a wonderful lord and any lady would be lucky to have him. She did that because she wants him to be happy, and, yes, because she does love him. You could see that written all over her. She loves him so much, it was shining all over her face, radiating from her very being.

That's not the only reason she said no, though. Once she had made her decision to tell him no, it was only at that point that she allowed herself to show him her love—thus his confusion. Prior to that moment though, when Gendry told Arya that he loved her and proposed, she looked terrified. And that made perfect sense.

Think of how the episode began. She had lain fire down on a funeral pyre for a man who had sacrificed himself to save her life. She felt the pain of that after being numb for so long, Arya had only recently begun to allow herself to begin to feel again. Feelings that include pain. She's not ready for that. Compounded by that, she doesn't want Gendry getting hurt or dying. She never wants to feel that pain. So, she's going back to the numb persona from her years on her own, before she saw Gendry again.

Plus, she had made her decision to go to King's Landing and finish her list. Arya was going to kill Cersei Lannister and she didn't expect to survive. So how could she tell Gendry she would marry him if she was planning on dying? She couldn't. So she fell back on her old stand-by. She wasn't a lady, not in words, not in action. It just hadn't occurred to her that Gendry wasn't a lord in words or actions either.

But it will, because Gendry isn't going to remain drunk forever. He knows Arya, and he's going to figure out where he went wrong—especially because she pretty much spelled it out for him. He doesn't want a lady like she described. That's not him.

Life Versus Death

I mentioned in the first section about how the Hound’s story with Arya was connected to Gendry’s with Arya throughout all of season 08. It was because they represented opposite choices of her life going forth.

The Hound is death. Gendry is life.

It’s all tied up together. Gendry (life) chose to walk away from her all those years ago, and then Arya ran away and was captured by the Hound (death). In episode 04, Gendry (life) offered himself to her, but she chose to walk away and met up with the Hound (death).

This is the reason that Arya’s story was entangled with the Hound and Gendry all season long. And it absolutely was.

In her very first scene Arya saw the Hound and literally a few seconds later she saw Gendry. Of particular interest was that the Hound was on a BLACK horse and Gendry was on a WHITE horse. Throughout history, mythology and literature, black horses are often associated with death and darkness, while white horses are associated with peace, fertility and life.

When the Hound first saw Arya, Gendry was there, and of course, when Gendry first saw Arya, the Hound was present. This was in their reunion scenes with her that were literally combined. Gendry’s was just extended so that when the Hound was gone… Arya was still there with Gendry. Yes, again… when the Hound (who represented death) was gone, Gendry (who represented life) remained.

As mentioned in the first section, the night before the Battle of Winterfell, Arya left the Hound (and Beric who died during that battle to save Arya) to be with Gendry.

The Hound (of *all people*) told Gendry he should be celebrating life (with Arya)… not Davos, not Tormund, not Jon, but the Hound!

When Arya left Winterfell–and Gendry–she left on a BLACK horse and met up with the Hound. Remember when the Hound first arrived in Winterfell, he rode a black horse.

Arya left death and destruction behind her in King's Landing on a WHITE horse. Again, remember when Gendry first arrived in Winterfell, he rode a white horse.

Maisie Williams mentioned in her pre-season press tour that Arya would be torn and that is something that we hadn’t seen prior to episode 05. After episode 04, I had believed the struggle would be that Arya was torn between choosing death or life. And that is exactly what happened.

It eventually came down to Arya making the choice herself to walk away from death–which I believed that the Hound would push her to do–and choose life, and as I’ve pointed out, in many ways, Gendry equaled life just as the Hound equaled death. And that is what opened her eyes and did give that final push. As the Hound told her while the Red Keep was falling down around that them:

You think you’ve wanted revenge a long time? I’ve been after it all my life. It’s all I care about and look at me. LOOK AT ME! You want to be like me? You come with me, you die here.

This is what David Benioff said about the scene itself in “Inside the Episode” right after the show aired.

It’s a small scene, but it’s also, for us, one of the most important scenes in the whole episode because it’s the culmination of their story together. The road to vengeance always ends in one place. Which is what the Hound is saying to her here. "I’ve made my choice a long time ago, and this can only end in one possible way for me. But for you, you have so many other options.

The Hound has genuinely come to have affection for Arya. I think he loves her, as much as he’s capable of loving someone. And he knows that if she comes with him at this point, she’s not going to make it out of there.

And here’s where we go back to the section above. Arya knew that that she wouldn’t get out alive too. After she turned down Gendry’s proposal–in my analysis, rejecting life–and joined the Hound on the road to King’s Landing to kill Cersei, expecting to lose her life in the process, she rode a black horse.

After listening to Sandor’s words, after choosing to let Cersei die by a means other than her hand, running through the streets of death and chaos, she fought to live, fighting to try and help others live. She survived because the God of Death declared that no, my former pupil, death was not happening, not today, Arya Stark stood amidst all of that death and she stood in the light. The sun shone upon her and she saw a way out of that darkness, away from all of that death, back to life. She saw a white horse.

And she rode on that white horse away from death. To life? To Gendry? I think so. Why? Well, that brings me to another couple of key scenes that led me to my Gendrya Wedded Belief: the first and last scene with the Hound.

In the first scene, Gendry and the Hound were at the feast celebrating the North’s victory over the undead–Arya’s victory. And, of course, Arya was nowhere to be found.

Gendry: Have you seen Arya? The Hound: You can still smell the burning bodies and that's where your head is at? Gendry: I just want to thank her– The Hound: I'm sure you do. Gendry: Look, it’s not about that. The Hound: Of course, it's about that, you twat. Why shouldn't it be? The dead are dead. You're not.

The Hound made it pretty clear that he was well aware that Gendry wanted to *be* with Arya and when Gendry tried to deny it, the Hound called him on it and, surprisingly, pointed out that it was exactly what he should be doing. Now, let’s make this clear. Gendry wanted to celebrate LIFE with *Arya* and the Hound flat-out told him that such was exactly the thing he should be doing.

Contrast this with the final conversation the Hound had in the episode.

Arya: You're heading to King's Landing. The Hound: I have some unfinished business. Ayra: Me too. The Hound: I don't plan on coming back. Arya: Neither do I.

So, there we had the show using the Hound to illustrate that *Gendry* is life as Gendry wanted to celebrate life with Arya–who you remember was “celebrating” by shooting arrows at a target–and on the opposite spectrum, that Arya had indeed once more chosen to pursue death. Therefore, the conclusion to draw from those scenes that bookended one another so beautifully—when taking into account that Arya did choose life in the next episode—is that in choosing life, she will choose Gendry.

Gendry came riding into Winterfell on a white horse. The Hound rode a black horse. Arya left Winterfell and headed to King’s Landing on a black horse, expecting, intending to die. The Hound did die, Arya lived, and rode out of King’s Landing on a white horse.

The Hound is death. Gendry is life.

Arya chose Gendry. Just because we didn’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Everything added up to such is exactly what did indeed happen.

A Gift To No One

Now, taking all of the above into account, the Arya and the tangling of Gendry and the Hound–which just had to be deliberate because it was so meticulously crafted–this little bit of tidbit gave further credence to my Gendrya Wedded Belief. In early Spring of 2018, D&D helped create a new Spotify playlist: Game of Thrones: The End Is Coming. Upon doing so, they told For the Record in an email:

The answer to the ending is one hundred percent hidden in the playlist choices. No one will believe us, but it’s true.

One particular song caught my attention specifically because of a video on the official Game of Thrones YouTube channel. It’s title: Game of Thrones | Season 8 Episode 5 | The Hound’s Gift (HBO).  The description of the video is: "Maisie Williams explains Arya’s choice."

Why *this* was interesting is because prior to that episode I had been going on quite a bit about Arya having to make a choice between life and death. I had even written a post before episode 04 titled “Arya’s choice.”  That one essentially revolved around much of what the previous section here entailed. In the video Williams was talking about the "gift" that the Hound gives Arya.

This is a really important moment, the Hound realizing that “I don’t think this kid knows what she’s gonna get into.” And turning around and giving her this incredible gift, which is the second ticket to a new life.

He’s wanted revenge his entire life, and do you wanna be like him? “Is that what you want?” Just a moment in Arya where all those emotions that she’s been trying to suppress and trying to ignore and trying to focus on the task at hand all bubble up again, and this man who she cares so much about and has learned so much from and admires so much turned around and says ‘You don’t want this. You—you go.’ She realizes there is another way. There is another life that she could have.

Breaking down what she said, it obviously lined up completely with where I had seen her arc going. Arya stepped away from her whole list-friendly, emotionless persona and having Sandor basically tell her that she doesn't want to be a miserable old shit like him was a real wake-up call.

Her first “ticket” to life was obviously the coin from Jaqen Hagar. This was her second, and getting that from the Hound who had seen and been through so much with Arya, as well as seeing the devastating horror of rampant death and destruction all around her brought that message home loud and clear. She doesn't want that life, his life. That life which is death. She is choosing now to take what she wants. And what does she want? Well, that brings me to that Game of Thrones Spotify list and those clues that D&D talked about.

While going through the songs, and having watched this particular video clip the day before, I was pretty damn shook when I got to the end of “No One Knows” By Queens of the Stone Age. Here are the complete lyrics. However, what I want to focus on is the chorus and the outro as we close out the song.

[Chorus]

And I realize you're mine Indeed a fool am I And I realize you're mine Indeed a fool am I

[Outro]

Heaven smiles above me What a gift here below But no one knows A gift that you give to me No one knows

That’s right.

What a gift here below / but no one knows / A gift that you give to me / No one knows

The Hound gave Arya a gift. Arya was No One.

No one knows a gift that you give to me. The Hound gave No One (Arya) a gift (life). And what had the show made clear—as I’ve already shown? Gendry represents life.  What happened prior to Arya choosing life, she had rejected Gendry’s proposal because she was choosing death.

Now look at the chorus again.

And I realize you’re mine / Indeed a fool am I / And I realize you’re mine / Indeed a fool am I

Arya’s choice. As Maisie Williams said, Arya would be torn during the season. She was torn between choosing life and death. Arya made her choice. Life. Sure, life doesn’t necessarily mean Gendry… but so much points to that it does, doesn’t it? It’s just all adding up.

His Wife

Quite a few people noticed this one. While Arya was reeling through the destruction of King’s Landing, trying to get out of there alive, she ran into someone who looked vaguely familiar. He wasn’t a character we knew; he was just a random citizen of King’s Landing who was desperately trying to survive, and more importantly, he was desperately trying to find his wife.

Why he looked familiar to so many is because, quite frankly, he looked like Gendry from earlier seasons before he’d cut his hair from when he and Arya had traveled together in their youth. There were countless tweets and comments on Tumblr about how much this guy looked like him. That was interesting enough, I mean, of all actors to cast in this small role, they cast someone who has the same coloring and hairstyle as Gendry opposite Arya from when they were together before. (Although, really, the man didn’t look all that much like him. It was just that in the quick flash of time we saw him in the chaos, the similarity to Gendry is what was striking.)

However, we then get to the why of the scene at all? Why have a guy who looks so much like the Gendry of old—the Gendry that Arya first fell in love with (per Maisie Williams)—grab onto Arya in the midst of all this madness as if to momentarily ground her and ask for his wife? It’s almost like it’s a reminder that the last time Arya saw Gendry, it was that he asked her to marry him!

But, wait, there’s more! This Gendry-look-alike’s wife’s name is Alanna. OK… and? Well, you know, Alanna sounds quite similar to Lyanna. As in Lyanna Stark, Arya’s aunt, the one that Arya is compared to quite a bit in the books—if not in the series, but there are quite a bit crossover book readers/show watchers. Oh, and Lyanna also just happened to be the woman that Robert Baratheon—that would be Gendry’s father—was in love with.

Yeah. A reach, maybe. But it’s yet *another* reach and if you keep on reaching, eventually you’re going to get your target. We’ve been reaching quite a bit.

Third Time's The Charm

So, despite everything in the narrative pointing to Arya choosing Gendry, the offer presented and accepted this third time, it didn’t happen. In fact, there was just a blip of interaction between the two in their “scene” in the final episode. That scene was in the Dragonpit where they were surrounded by others and basically didn’t actually interact at all. All that happened is that after Arya threatened Yara, we got a clear focus on Gendry’s reaction which many a fan interpreted as ‘Yup, that’s my murder bae!'

OK, I’m half-joking here, however, they did make a point of including Gendry reacting differently to her threat than everyone else, and his look did rather read like, ‘she’s so cool.’  And Gendry was looking over at her, making sure that he got a good, nice view. So, what was the point of that? Really, what was it? I can’t think of any other than to remind viewers that, yes, Gendry still has the feelings for Arya.

Despite what she told him to do, he sure isn’t ready to just move on. Nope.  Of course, that was made clear in another way, sartorially-speaking. Gendry is the fourth male (now) legitimate Baratheon we’ve seen, and thus attired in the official House Baratheon garb. His, however, is the first to have claw marks on the shoulders slashing into the leather. Perhaps (as in, absolutely!) letting the world (as in, Arya) know that he belongs to a certain wolf. Outfitted as such, is it that much of a stretch of imagination that once the votes were cast, Gendry had a word with the newly-appointed King about his lack of qualifications to be the lord of Storm's End?

After all, Storm’s End clearly has been running fine without a lord there since Gendry showed up all nicely garbed. That is something we actually can be pretty certain of. How? Well, no one was lord there for quite some time which means a steward was probably in charge and quite capably so, definitely better than Gendry would be–again, he has literally zero no-how in the lord-ing department. We know all this about Storm’s End because we were literally told that by Daenerys when she legitimized Gendry. She asked (in so many words):

Hey, who’s running Storm’s End? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? No one knows? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Here, you! Yeah, you, kid who has zero experience, no-how, nothing, you can have it since your daddy was a big ole whore. No big. It makes me look good.

Oh, and speaking of that, not only was Gendry a Fleabottom-bastard-recently-made-legitimized lord with no lordly training, he was legitimized by the Mad Dragon Queen. There’s not going to be too many people who are going to be all in for this guy as the Lord Paramount of one of the biggest regions of Westeros for those two reasons alone.

Finally, remember, as he told Arya when he saw her after he was given the title and the lands and all of it:

None of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me.

They both survived the Battle of Winterfell. She survived the Battle of King’s Landing. And here they are meeting once again. Third time’s the charm.

She Begins Where He Ends

This is a very small thing, and may likely not mean anything at all, but… in the first episode, Arya saw Gendry in her first scene. He wasn’t looking at her, so he didn’t see the way she was looking at him, but she definitely saw him and she liked what she saw.

In Gendry’s last scene, he was looking at Arya. She wasn’t looking at him, so, like him in her first scene, she didn’t see the way he was looking at her, but,he definitely saw her and he liked what he saw.

Again, a small thing, but that bookend of their scenes—Arya’s first was her looking at Gendry, admiring him, and his was looking at Arya, admiring her—had a lovely symmetry to it.

Another reach? Sure, but they add up.

She Wore His Colors

In the first and second episode of the final season, Arya is wearing a cute capelet (her version of a cloak) and the colors are those of House Stark: Grey with the fur, a mixed shade of grey and white. In the final episode, when she tells her family that she is going West of Westeros and when we see her on the bow of her ship, she is wearing a similar capelet. There is a very distinct difference, however.

The material of the capelet is now black, and the fur is a beige-ish gold color. You may recognize those colors as described above from the “Cloak of Protection” section. They are the colors of House Baratheon. Also from that section:

Cloaks are a major symbol of marriage in Westeros.  During weddings, a bride wears a cloak of her house (called “the maiden’s cloak”) and during the ceremony, the maiden’s cloak is removed and the groom places a cloak of his house and colors upon her shoulders. This signifies her moving from one house to another and that his bride is now under the protection of her husband and his house.

In addition to the capelet now bearing House Baratheon colors, the prominence of her dagger and sheathe—both golden in color—highlight even more so the gold of House Baratheon next to the black of the capelet (cloak) that she is wearing. (Here’s a comparison of the colors.)

In other words, after seeing Gendry at the Dragonpit—after seeing Gendry upon deciding to choose life—the very next time we see Arya, she is wearing his House colors. Arya Stark is no longer wearing the colors of House Stark, instead she is wearing the colors of House Baratheon. The only time a maiden wears the cloak of a house other than their own is when they join that house which they do… by marrying into that house.

Arya doesn’t generally follow the rules, but, again… added to everything else, yeah.

The Ship That Was Promised

This is another reach admittedly, but I think it maybe, might (probably doesn’t) mean something. Arya and Gendry are two characters who were both connected with ships/boats coming and going by the end of the series. Yes, you had the Greyjoys, but they were about the sea, ships in general. And other related characters, who were seaworthy (Davos, for instance), but again, it was in generalities. But with Arya, the fourth season ended on her on the ship leaving Westeros and then arriving on that same ship in Braavos in season 05. It was an important part of her journey, partially, because when she left Westeros, she was essentially leaving Arya Stark behind her.

The same was the case for Gendry. When he left our screens for an extended absence of time, it was on a boat and normally such a thing wouldn’t be a big deal. However, Gendry on a boat became quite the meme; it even made it onto the show when he returned. ("Thought you might still be rowing.")

Now, Arya is embarking on an extended journey on a sea vessel, just like Gendry. Once again, the two are on similar paths. Yeah, it’s a small thing, and likely this one really doesn’t mean anything, but it caught my attention.

Circles and Secrets

This is for the book readers mostly and could honestly be one of the reasons why we didn’t get the definitive, ‘yes, Arya and Gendry are married.' Although, we did get the well-known quote from the first episode from Robert to Ned:

I have a son, you have a daughter. We'll join our houses.

Arya and Gendry being wed is definitely the payoff to that line. However, D&D simply did not seed the parallels between Arya/Gendry and Robert/Lyanna that are lain throughout the books into the television series, so that payoff that will almost definitely be there in ASOIAF just wouldn’t land in the show even with that line from the Pilot.

Here's the thing, Gendry and Arya are essentially the getting-it-right version of Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark. Gendry is strong, stubborn, handsome like his father, but he’s also good and loyal and knows to treat his Northern lady with respect and love for exactly who she is. Arya is strong, willful, beautiful like her aunt, but she’s also loyal and steady and would never betray her vows, her home and leave the rest of the world to destroy itself.

Robert and Lyanna began this story and it ended quite badly. I think that George R.R. Martin–with all of his foreshadowing and seed-dropping (I mean, he wrote a love song for Arya and Gendry) intends for them to *finish* this story happily. Arya and Gendry joining the Stark and Baratheon Houses brings the story full circle. They are the ship that is promised.

Now as for the couple that got it wrong, let's talk about Lyanna for a bit. As I mentioned above, it didn't happen much in the show, but in the books, there are quite a few comparisons between Arya and her Aunt Lyanna. And what did her Aunt Lyanna do? She defied convention and ran off with a married man, an enemy of her family, left her betrothed in the dust and secretly wed him. Now, obviously all of Westeros didn’t know this. They believed that she had been kidnapped, but Lyanna damn well knew what she had done. And a war—and so, so, so much more happened—because of her actions.

While the circumstances aren't the same, if Gendry did give up his wardenship and Storm’s End (I doubt he would have given up the legitimacy) to be with Arya, that would have caused quite a stir. Arya marrying him despite him doing so might cause an even bigger stir of its own. And, naturally, she wouldn’t want the fuss of all of that, so a secret wedding may have taken place… but again, it’s something that we didn’t see.

Because as I stated above, Arya doesn’t follow the rules. That’s not her. So, yes, I could absolutely see Arya deciding to follow in her aunt's footsteps and marrying Gendry, who like her, was officially a noble in name only and ready and happy to just live an unencumbered life without restrictions.

So we didn’t see it happen on the show, but all signs point to it happening in between the Dragonpit meeting and her telling her family that she was going West of Westeros. Again, a reach? I don’t think so. I just don’t.

To the End of the World

After Arya and Gendry re-connected in the first episode, Maisie Williams said something very interesting in one of the “Behind the Scenes” clips about Arya’s feelings for Gendry.

I think for Arya, it's remembering who she was before. Like, I used to be that girl and that's who I was in love with and thought I would follow to the end of the World.

As the series ends and when we last see Arya, where is she going? West of Westeros. Yes, West of Westeros, which as far as anyone knows, yup, that is the end of the World.

Interesting turn of phrase used in retrospect, isn’t it?

Happily Ever After

Yes, a bittersweet ending for a show like Game of Thrones was always in the cards. However, I find it hard to believe that not one Stark, hell, not one main character received a romantic endgame after eight seasons! Sam and Gilly did, but (a) Sam is a supporting character and (b) the resolution of their love story (i.e., the two coming together as a pair and staying as such) was back in season 05.

So, yes, not one of our main characters got a happy, romantic endgame... except for possibly Arya Stark. She is the only one who had a love story that developed during the season and with someone with which the foundation was there. The seeds of the endgame nature of her love story with Gendry was essentially planted in the Pilot with Robert's line to Ned about their children that never had pay-off in the series. (But definitely will in the books!)

With everything else that happened between the two, all of the subtext, the costume points of reference and the behind the scenes interviews and quotes, well, I think it does add up to Arya indeed being that one character who got her full-on happily ever after.

I mentioned the D&D GOT Spotify playlist above. There are a few other songs that clearly reference Arya and Gendry (”Howlin’ For You,” "No One Knows" (already referenced), "Killer Wolf," "The Time is Now," "Devil's Spoke" (possibly). Now, there is one more song that screams an Arya/Gendry endgame with references to wolves and packs and howling winds (a.k.a. the fury of a storm). It’s about a youth who’s lost to the wild, but brought back to humanity by love. A restlessness remains, but a wolf can never be tamed. Still....

Here are some key phrases (Here are the full lyrics) ...

I heard my mother shouting through the fog / It turned out to be the howling of a dog / Or a wolf to be exact / The sound sent shivers down my back / But I was drawn into the pack

When suddenly a girl wandered aimlessly /But she didn't seem to see / She was listenin’ for the angels just like me

So I took her by the arm / We settled down upon a farm / And raised our children up as gently as you pleased / And now my fur has turned to skin / And I've been quickly ushered in / To a world that I confess I do not know

But I still dream of running careless through the snow / An' through the howlin' winds that blow / Across the ancient distant flow / It fill our bodies up like water till we know

There’s another very key thing to bear in mind that I found quite, quite interesting. The song is called “Furr.” That title clearly references the narrator (a male, but still, clearly in this case would be Arya) being a wolf. The group name is Blitzen Trapper. Blitzen is, of course, famously known as one of the reindeer who pulled Santa’s sleigh. Yes, science has now proven that all of Santa’s reindeer were likely female as male reindeer shed their antlers in December, however, it is highly unlikely that when the tale was first told that such was known therefore we’re going with the original conception that Blitzen is indeed male. And since Blitzen is known as a male reindeer, well, another name for a male deer is a… stag.

So, not only does the song itself alone howl to the winds an Arya and Gendry endgame (it really, really, REALLY does) but the group name + the song title + the meaning of the song literally = The Stag caught the Wolf with his love.

Yeah. Arya and Gendry... Endgame.

In Conclusion…

Over and over I repeated that some of these were a reach, were small things, that they didn’t mean much and I don’t deny that, however… when you add them all up, put them all together, well, it makes quite a compelling argument, I do believe. All of these things are parallels and hints and bits and pieces that when woven together make a very clear picture, and I do think they prove that Arya and Gendry were wed by the time Arya’s ship set sail at series’ end. We just didn't see it happen.

But, but, but… why not make it clear that Arya and Gendry were together in the end? Give us something obviously concrete. The quick conversation between Gendry and Bran, that secret wedding (similar to the Lyanna/Rhaegar one) or… or… at least Gendry on her bed in the cabin as she was getting dressed in the final scenes. Something!

Well, I mentioned one theory at the top. Another is that because D&D saw it so clearly in their minds they didn’t feel there was a need to because all of the signposts were there that they felt the audience would know it was going to happen. We all know how D&D are... they figure the audience will fill in the obvious blanks. Such as how we didn't need to see Arya and Sansa's reaction to finding out who Jon really was. Or Jaime and Bran's initial meeting. Or... or... or... (You know, fill in your blanks...)

However, I don’t think that’s the case because if it were, D&D would have maybe confirmed the two were wed by now. Instead, honestly, I think that they didn’t want it to be concrete. Maybe they deliberately went with the leaving it open for analysis to have it both ways. A single Arya for those wanting her off sailing free and unencumbered by love because “that’s not her,” but also playing fair for those who want the love story to read the clues into the well-lain narrative of a happily-ever-after with Gendry.

Now, there is a third possibility, and this is actually the one that makes the most sense in light of the decisions made with wardrobe, with interviews, with the Spotify playlist, with the Hound=death/Gendry=life, etc. HBO didn’t want Arya to have a definitive romantic endgame in leave their options open for an Arya Stark spin-off. Honestly, that would explain a lot of the narrative decisions that all seemed to lead to a very clear Arya and Gendry happily-ever-after endgame.

And everything with Arya—with Gendry—pointed to that happening for her and for them. D&D would have written, planned everything out most likely before HBO might have put a little whisper in their ear. Since Arya is the only one that allows for a spin-off that would work without any other Game of Thrones actor (aside from Maisie Williams, of course) it makes sense that they would prefer that such a definitive endgame not happen for that specific character.  Alas.

If that is what happened, it doesn’t change the fact that all of the other key points leading up to that definitive endgame *were* indeed in place. Furthermore, until such a spin-off potentially happens nothing says that Arya and Gendry didn't get married. So… Gendry Baratheon and Arya Stark Baratheon, lord and lady in name only, sailing the high seas, living their best lives.

It all adds up; nothing contradicts this theory. It works for me, how about you?

(This was originally posted at GOT_TheUnbroken.)

[paullahotes]

Incalescent- Chapter Two

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Fem!OC

Summary: Em just wants to be loved and have a family for once in her life. But nothing has ever gone right in her life before so why should it now?

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: semi-abuse from father figure, gross feelings

A/N: Listen, I don’t think I’m a good writer so this could be terrible! Let me know what you guys think of it!

Three periods had crawled by, each one continuously going slower than the last. I was now sitting in my algebra class, watching the clock tick by slowly. This school was shaping up to be different than the others I had been to, everyone wanted to know me here. A couple different boys, whose names I didn’t remember, had all introduced themselves to me. They were all eager to meet the new girl, they rarely got new people in this town and I was ‘front page baby’. Of course I was not too eager to meet any of them and vehemently denied an interview for the front page of the school newspaper.

When I had gotten home this morning before school, my dad wasn’t there but the house was a mess. Our couch was shredded, pieces of wood and clumps of foam covered the living room. The pan he was cooking dinner in was burnt to a crisp, too far gone to be saved. When I threw it out I made sure to double bag it and bring it right to the can to make sure the smell didn’t linger in the house. The only thing I could do for the rest of the smell in the house was open a few windows and leave them for the day to air everything out. 

Thankfully Emily had given me a new outfit and food for school because I had no time for either when I looked around at the mess before me. Though, currently the wolves were the last things on my mind. The one thing at the forefront was that I had killed my mother and my father hated me for it. There would be no getting out of talking about this with him, maybe he would want to work things out. I knew though that that was far fetched, in his mind, I had killed the woman he loved. I had sucked the life out of her, leaving her dead and me a burden on him. My face practically mirroring hers a constant reminder of the tragic events.

“Miss Abbott?” The teacher called from the front of the class, his hoarse voice pulling me from the self hating thoughts. He was staring me down, waiting for a reply so I shrugged at him. The class was turned looking at me now, every pair of eyes trained on my face. “Miss Abbott, you’re new here, so I’ll give you some leeway this time but from now on you have better be paying attention.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered back copying down the notes from the board that I had been neglecting. I had already taken this math class three times, I could probably teach it by now. Taking the notes however proved to be a good distraction from my thoughts and before I knew it, the bell was ringing for lunch time.

Paper bag in hand I made my way to the cafeteria and found a table in the corner that no one was sitting at. I sat in a seat so I wouldn’t be facing everyone but so I could still see if I was going to be ambushed by anyone. The few boys who introduced themselves to me this morning all stared me down as they say at a different table. I could hear them muttering about how anti social I was and how even Bella, who had ditched everyone for Edward, was still better than I was coming off. 

I didn’t think much of it as I propped my right leg up on a chair, to help with the swelling from the bite from Paul and scrolled through the apps on my phone. The lunch Emily packed me was delicious, with a good mix of veggies and fruit. I usually bought school lunch and picked at it because it was gross so this was a good change. There was nothing interesting on my phone except for a few texts from my dad begging me to come home and apologizing but I wasn’t ready to open up that can of worms over text with him.

“You’re back!” someone said, sarcasm was practically dripping from their mouth. When I looked up one of the girls sitting at the tables with the boys from earlier was looking at some newcomers. If looks could kill the three new people who were standing waiting for seats would be dead. 

Two of them were clearly vampires, the small girl with black spiky hair had the palest skin I had ever seen, even for a vampire. She had a sincere smile on her beautiful face, looking as upbeat as ever even with a whole table of people glaring at her The other vampire was a guy, he was standing behind the vampire girl and the other human girl. He was wearing a beige sweater and khakis, his hair disheveled but there was evidence of gel suggesting he wanted to look disheveled on purpose. 

The third one of them was a human, if she didn’t have deep brown eyes instead of golden like her two companions I might mistake her for a vampire too. Her skin was so pale it was almost grey. Her long brown hair hung over her shoulders, held back by a plain brown headband. She kept looking up at the male vampire like he was a Greek god with the sun shining out of his butt. He seemed very plain to me, with his beige outfit and brooding look on his face. He looked like he was ready to cry and recite poetry about something sad.

“Our family just loves Forks so much, we couldn’t stay away!” the small girl said excitedly, taking a seat at the table. Her two friends following suit while everyone else at the table shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The rest of the group fell back into their conversations, the girl who was fake excited turned away from the newcomers to talk with everyone.

The table next to me began talking about the three people who showed up at the other table across the cafeteria. One of the people whispered something about doctor Cullen’s wife not liking the big city so they all came back here. The word ‘cult’ was thrown in as a reference to their family because none of them ate or really tried interacting with anyone at this school. I found out from eavesdropping that there were three other siblings that came here last year but graduated. I wondered to myself if Sam and Paul knew that the Cullens were back since just this morning, they told me that they had left.

I studied the two vampires as they pretended to eat their lunch. The girl picked her food apart trying to make it seem like she was taking bites but the guy was actually taking bites. I’d seen my dad eat food to pretend to be human over the years but he said it tasted like ashes. He told me that he assumed the venom in his system just burned it up so why not just take a few bites to blend in with the humans. 

The human girl with them also picked at her food not eating it. Maybe she was trying to make the vampires look more normal or maybe she wanted to be one so bad she picked up their habits evan as a human. One of the boys called her ‘Bella’ as she was picking apart the bread on her tray. This was the girl they were talking about earlier, comparing me to her. Which would probably make the guy vampire Edward. 

My first thought when finding out that this was the girl everyone thought was better than me was petty. She was plain and from what I could tell didn’t give a damn about anyone else besides the vampires she was with. She was listening and contributing to the conversation with everyone at the table but her eyes barely left the guy. The whole thing gave me secondhand embarrassment.

It wasn’t too long until the bell rang and I was heading to my next class. I pulled my hood over my head to keep my hair from getting wet as I crossed the courtyard to get to the little buildings scattered along a paved sidewalk. This was the first school I had been to where it wasn’t one whole building but a bunch of little ones placed around a campus. Everyone rushed alongside me, most had umbrellas and the ones that didn’t, ran full speed through the crowd to get to their class faster. 

I left my jacket on the coat hook by the door when I got to class and found a seat toward the back so that I could be left alone. The assignment for the beginning of class was written on the board, the rest of the class had started writing about it in their journals so I pulled out my notebook. Writing isn't my strong suit but the prompt on the board read ‘write a narrative about something upsetting’ and I knew exactly what to write about.

While I was writing my narrative I glanced up as two people sat at the desks in front of me. Bella and Edward were sitting there, both turned facing each other with their notebooks out. She was glancing over at him every few seconds and I could hear her breathing hitch every time. I had to suppress an eye roll at the sight of it. Sure I had been lonely my whole life but I couldn’t imagine being that into someone. Though how would I even know since I’d never been in that situation. 

The class got started and a couple people shared what they had written. I didn’t volunteer to read mine because of how emotional it sounded. Bella and Edward didn’t volunteer either and every once in a while I thought I could see Edward turn and glance my way. After the first couple times Bella noticed and turned back to me and gave me a questioning look. I made sure I looked like I didn’t know what was going on and just sat there doodling in my notebook.

“Are you new?” she asked me when the bell rang, signalling us to leave and head to our last class. This school and everyone in it was going wildly out of their way to talk to me and I wasn’t having it.

“Yeah,” I told her bluntly and quickly walked away. I grabbed my jacket off the hook and shrugged it on going to my last class. I got there before everyone else, having sped off as fast as I could. I could feel my calf throbbing as I sat down. The bite mark wasn’t an open wound anymore but the teeth outline was still there surrounded by bruises. If I didn’t think about it the pain would go away but since I was reminded of it I had to limp to my seat.

I found a seat in the back of this class as well, internally thanking the universe for giving me the best seats as this school. As I sat at my desk waiting for the other students to arrive I stared out the window.  The rain had subsided for the time being, the sky still covered in dark clouds. The day had gone much different weather wise than what it had been this morning when Paul was walking me home.

The early morning sun was peeking through the trees as Paul and I walked side by side to my house. His hand kept bumping into my arm as we went. I had seen a couple cheesy movies where the boy and girl would be walking and the boy would bump his hand into hers on purpose because he wanted to hold it. But Paul and I had just met. He was probably so close because my leg was threatening to give out at any second. Emily had thankfully cleaned and bandaged it well so I wouldn’t have to worry about it for a couple hours. 

The walk back through the forest was different than last nights run through it. It had been dark and stormy, a combo that hadn’t let me really appreciate how beautiful it was. Though my mental state probably wouldn’t have let me appreciate it either even if it hadn’t been dark and stormy. 

The scenery was gorgeous. The entire forest floor was covered in old fallen tree trunks and moss. The green had overwhelmed me on the drive in but being here with the sunlight peeking through the tops of the trees was amazing. You could hear birds chirping and if you listened close enough you could hear the river rushing over rocks a little ways ahead.

Paul nudged me and smirked as we approached the river. My mouth set into a tight line as I thought of having to jump over it with how badly my leg hurt. I frowned up at him and he still had a smirk on his face. 

“Do you think I’d make you jump this after trying to take a chunk out of your leg?” He asked me, his eyes twinkling with delight. 

“Yeah, actually,” I mumbled back to him. His smile was so bright as he looked down at me. He shook his head and stepped back a bit before putting his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and pulling them down. I looked away quickly as blush spread over my cheeks.

“You should watch this, I think you’ll think it’s cool,” I peeked back over at him making sure not to look down but directly at his face. His smile grew wider as he spoke again. “You’re cute when you blush.”

My face got even redder than before, I could feel the heat spreading across my face rapidly. Before I could even think of anything to say and let alone say it, Paul was visibly shaking. Then suddenly he exploded into a grey wolf five times his size. I stood there with my jaw practically on the ground. He grabbed his shorts in his teeth and walked them over to me.

“You were right, this is pretty cool,” I told him patting his head like I would a regular dog. He didn’t seem to like it so he nudged my hand out of the way and flung his shorts at my face. “Alright, alright I’ll carry these but I don’t know how you being a wolf is going to get me across the river.”

Paul laid down on the ground and gestured with his head for me to get on his back. My eyes widened and I took a step back and muttered ‘no way’ quietly. Then before I could do anything else Paul jumped up and ran at me full speed. I let out a shriek as he charged at me and jumped, my leg kept me from going to high and I was suddenly on his back. A low rumble from his chest alerted me to him laughing. 

“I’ll remember this,” I growled at him, gripping onto his fur. The wind whipped passed up as he ran forward, faster than I could run even when my leg was healed. I made a mental note to work on my speed so he wouldn’t have an edge on me. We got to the edge of the river quickly and he leaped across it like it was nothing, landing gracefully on the other side. 

“So how’d you like it?” Paul asked smugly a few moments later as he was pulling on his pants. It had been such a rush not being the one who was jumping. I was able to just sit back and let the wind whip through my hair and relax. Him turning into a wolf was pretty cool too, way better than being half vampire.

“It was alright, I’m glad I’m half vampire and can’t turn into some dog,” I tried ending my sentence sounding like I was teasing him. I wasn’t used to feeling anything but empty. I had never come close to even a sliver of happiness. The feelings I felt being around Paul and the feelings I felt back when we were at Sam and Emily’s house were foreign. My life had never known anything like this and as my stomach turned itself into knots I knew it couldn’t last forever.

“I know that you secretly wish you were as cool as me,” He taunted me, the bright smile back on his face. I tried not to look directly at him now that I knew I would blush at everything he did if he had that smile. 

“Please, I could find someone cooler than you without even trying,” I shot back, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. This was the longest interaction I had ever had with anyone in my whole life. Even longer than anything with my father. I didn’t even know that I knew how to interact with anyone like this.

“Hey now, you gotta be nice to me or we can’t be friends,” Paul joked back, bumping into me. I looked up at him, my mouth opening then closing because I didn’t know how to respond. The look on my face must have worried him because he grabbed my hand and said, “I was just joking, we just met but I think we’ll be the greatest friends.”

“I’ve never had one…” I mumbled looking up at him. My forehead was furrowed as I looked up at him. It was pretty pathetic that I hadn’t had a friend but it was all part of keeping the family secret.

“You’ve never had a friend?” He asked sounding like he didn’t believe me. I shrugged as we kept walking and didn’t look up at him. 

“My dad never let me have one, he wanted to keep our existence a secret and thought that if I ever had any friends that they would somehow find out about us,” I explained, the more I thought about it the more dumb it sounded. 

“Your father sounds like a dick,” Paul muttered. He was right, that is how my dad sounded. Why else would he keep me from having friends? Why else would he keep me from being happy? Maybe it all went back to him blaming me for my mother dying, though if I could go back in time I would change things. I would never kill anyone consciously, that wasn’t me.

“That doesn’t matter anymore, we’re your friends now!” Paul said trying to pull me out of my thoughts. We were coming to a clearing and Paul slowed down his walk. “The whole pack is like one big family, we fight like real siblings and we have bonfires together. I really think you’ll get along with everyone once they see past you being a vampire.”

“Everyone?” I asked sounding a little uneasy. “There’s more than you and Sam?”

“Yeah! There’s actually ten of us that are wolves, two more phased for the first time the other day which indicates that more vampires are in our area.” He explained to me as I wrung my hands together. There were ten wolves in the ‘pack’ he was telling me about. Less than twelve hours ago I didn’t even know wolves existed and now I knew about ten.

“There’s a lot of you…” I quietly exclaimed. “How do you know when to phase? How can you tell that vampires are near?”

“You’ll have to come out to a bonfire sometime and hear our tribes stories. They explain it all but in short and to quote the stories ‘we have always had magic in our blood’,” Paul explained to me as we walked along somehow even slower than before. Meeting him had been a good distraction from my feelings and the pain in my stomach told me that as soon as I was alone I would spiral.

“That sounds fancy, I don’t think there are stories of how vampires came to be,” I muttered to him. “Though if there were they would probably be dark and contain no magic.”

“Don’t sound so negative about vampires, you aren’t so bad,” he emphasized ‘so’ and wagged his eyebrows at me jokingly. I let out a small chuckle, rolling my eyes at him. 

We made our way out of the thick trees and into my backyard greeted by the sun being out fully. There were no clouds in sight. The warmth spread over my skin and I let myself smile widely. The weather had been disastrous since our arrival yesterday and the sun was a welcome change. 

“You don’t sparkle,” Paul commented from behind me. When I turned to look at him he sounded surprised, the look on his face was priceless.

“I am half human, silly,” I told him. He cocked his head to the side watching me. “Maybe that makes me deadlier than a regular vampire. I look completely innocent.”

“It sure does,” He muttered before shaking his head and giving me a small smile. “I’ll see you later right?”

“Of course, what else do I have to do? Stay home and hang out with my dick of a father?” I asked him referencing what he said earlier. He was beaming now and waved me off. As I turned to walk to my house he was pulling off his shorts again and phasing into a wolf. I heard a loud howl in the distance as I was opening my front door, bringing a smile to my face.

“Miss Abbott,” someone said pulling me out of my daydream. I snapped back into reality and saw that this teacher was catching me for not paying attention too. I stared at him until he spoke some more. “Miss Abbott, I was wondering if you would like to introduce yourself to the class but if you’re too preoccupied don’t let me bother you.”

“My name is Em and I’m new. That’s all you really need to know,” I replied, sounding sarcastic. I didn’t mean for it to come off bad but I was irritated. More so with myself than the teacher who interrupted.

“Great,” He muttered back, the edge in his voice sounding like he was ready to retire any second. None of the students were staring at me this time except for the two who were sitting directly in front of me, again. Bella and Edward stared back at me, both looking different levels of shocked. Edward looked like he was shocked and frustrated. Who knew a vampire could be so uptight about a new student with an attitude problem? 

“Mr. Cullen, one student not paying attention is enough for me for one day,” our teacher called from right beside our desks. I gave the teacher a quick glance and then looked forward to the front of the room where he had our lesson up on the board. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edward stiffen and turn around, clearly upset as he clenched his fists.

Besides a few snide whispers among the other students of ‘the new girl must already love Edward’ and ‘god she’s JUST like Bella, amazed by Edward already’, the class went by quickly and I was out the door while the bell was still ringing. The walk home was brutally cold with the wind whipping at my face, numbing it. With the way Edward already seemed interested in me I didn’t want to risk running home and being found out that I was some type of vampire. 

Each step I took brought me new anxiety, that tightened my chest with every breath. There was no doubt that my dad would be home now, waiting for me. I had no idea what to expect from him since everything was on the table now. His mood had changed rapidly during our confrontation that I didn’t even know what to expect from him in that sense when I walked through the door. 

When I turned down the street I lived on I could see the car out front of our house but I couldn’t remember if it had been there this morning or not. If he was home he would know that I was close by now, he could probably hear my footsteps and he could definitely hear me breathing hard. The door to the house swung open as I started up our front steps, he wasn’t there but I could hear him walking in the kitchen. My ears picked up on the soft sound of clothing moving against wood, telling me he had taken a seat at the kitchen table.

Once I was down the hallway and into the kitchen I could see him. He was sitting with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of his face. He didn’t look up when I came into the kitchen or as I took my time placing my backpack on the island and taking my jacket off. I took a seat at the table across from him and sat silently, waiting for him to talk.

“I didn’t mean for you to ever find out about your mother,” he stated after a while of silence. His face was unreadable, blank. This terrified more than if he was showing any emotion at all. 

“Don’t you think it’s unfair of you to have kept that a secret from me? Don’t you think it’s unfair to treat me the way you do? Don’t you think it’s unfair keeping so much from me?” I asked him those questions with a shaky voice. My body felt like it was vibrating, heat spread from my stomach throughout my whole body. I kept myself from crying but the rest of my body was reacting. A slight sweat was building up on the back of my neck and scalp.

“Everything I have ever done was to protect you,” he said a little bit of emotion breaking through. The way he said it made me want to believe him but he had kept me not only from knowing the truth about my mother but also from knowing anything outside of our little bubble. I didn’t want this to keep happening. As much as I hated myself for now knowing what I did to my mother I wasn’t ever going to die so I had an eternity to go out into the world and explore and I wanted to start doing that soon. 

“I can understand that to a point but you’ve never talked about my mother, not once. I didn’t even know what a mother was until you put me in school and I saw that almost everyone else had one. I grew up thinking it was only something in movies, I thought mothers were fictional!” My voice wavered in the end, a few tears spilling out and rolling hotly down my cheek. He sat back, crossing his arms across his chest and looked like he was thinking for a minute.

“You seem to have given this a lot of thought, I guess your little run gave you a lot of time to think,” he was calm now, back to showing no emotion. Though there was a slight edge to his voice. I took in a shaky breath, an indication of how worked up I was about this. 

“I’ve been thinking about having this conversation with you my whole life. Do you know how hard it is to not have friends? How hard it is to have the only real interaction you have be with your father and even those interactions are few and far between?” My voice was beginning to crack with every emotion I had felt over the last twenty-three years coming to the surface. 

 “Em,” he let out a long breath, his eyes almost rolling. “You know how important it is to keep our secret! If anyone found out that we were vampires there would be terrible consequences.”

“How would they find out? What harm would it be for me to have a few friends? Do you think I would go to a sleepover and just tell them I was a vampire? Do you think I introduce myself as ‘Em, the vampire’?” This was when I began to raise my voice. The tears were flowing freely down my face as my father was glaring daggers at me. 

“Do you know how hard it is to have the love of your life taken away by a child that you never even wanted?” He shouted at me, standing up so quickly the table lurched forward and shoved me back. The chair tipped back from the force and I hit the floor, not bothering to use any of my enhanced abilities to stop myself. I was lying on the floor when he continued. “You have no clue what I’ve been going through every single day since you were born. I can barely look at you, your face is just like hers, you remind me of her so much. It’s unfair that you get to live when she’s dead!”

“Why didn’t you kill me then? Why did you let her have me?” I sobbed out, tears blurring my vision so that I couldn’t see anymore. The only thing that could be heard for a while the crying, each hiccup-like intake of breath echoing off the walls. 

“She wouldn’t let me, she wanted you so bad. She wanted to start a family with me. She was so optimistic, she thought she would live and I could turn her into a vampire and we could raise you. The perfect little family that she always wanted and I was willing to give her anything,” his tone was different now, almost like he was crying too but I still couldn’t see him. My tears wouldn’t stop. “I’m going to leave for a while, to give you some time to breathe. You have my cell phone number so if anyone needs you to confirm you have a dad or anything, just call. Follow the rules while I’m gone, I’ll know if you don’t.”

With the last threat he left, the door slamming so hard behind him that the whole house shook. It felt like years before I could calm down and pick myself up off the floor. My body was stiff as I stood up and put the table and chair back where they belonged. That was when my brain decided to rearrange things and not think about or process anything that had just happened. With the couch from the living room destroyed I decided to move some chairs around to make up for it. 

Once the house was completely rearranged and the sun had set, I began to cook my myself some dinner. Though my stomach currently felt like lead I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep at any point tonight if I didn’t eat. When the house began to smell like the food I was cooking, I started to feel better. I let myself breathe the delicious scents in as I stirred my food around the pan.

All the movies and tv shows I had seen over the years told me that this is what your home should always smell like. Your parents should be cooking in the kitchen while the kids are scattered around the house doing homework or other activities. Though I was fully grown now, I had been since I was around 7 years old, but now I was considered a real adult and most people at this age don’t live with their parents anymore. I had never had that and I felt like no matter how many years passed I would still crave a family. 

The loneliness crept back in as I stared down at the suddenly inedible food in the pan. The once delicious smells were making my stomach churn, my nose crinkling in disgust. Before I could even register it I was dumping my food out in the trash and scrubbing the pan violently in the sink. I hadn’t even finished my second day here in Forks and I was crying again, the tears running down my face as I splashed the sink water everyone in anger. 

How could my father do this to me? Why would he spend over two decades with me, raising me, if he hated and resented me so much? He didn’t seem to give a shit about what my mom had wanted since he barely even acknowledged that I was around so he wasn’t doing it for her in any way. 

A sudden knock on the back door pulled me out of my angry thoughts. I jumped at the sound making the soapy water in the sink spill over the edge and on the floor, soaking the bottom of my pants and shoes. The sun had set by now so I couldn’t see out onto my porch but my ears picked up on a rapid heartbeat and a familiar scent was beginning to seep in through the crack in the door. When I flicked on the porch light I was proven right, Paul was standing there soaked from the rain I hadn’t even noticed. I slid the door open silently, letting him in.

“What’s wrong?” His hands came to my face as he asked, palms cupping my cheeks and thumbs wiping my tears away. Part of me knew this behavior was odd from someone I had just met-been attacked by, yesterday. But another part of me wanted to be cared for like this, craved the soft, caring touches. 

“My dad left to give me some space to breathe for a while,” I choked out trying to calm down. Paul pulled me into a hug and I didn’t protest, pressing my cheek to his bare chest. The heat was coming off of him in waves, practically burning my cheek. 

“Maybe this is a good thing,” Paul tried to assure me, rubbing a hand up and down my back while his other was placed on the back of my head. “He is a dick after all.”

We stayed like that for a while, until reality kicked in a told me I shouldn’t be hugging a complete stranger. I couldn’t tell why but I felt a strong pull to Paul. If I had been in my right mind at all yesterday when he was carrying me through the woods or this morning when he walked me home I would’ve realized it earlier. The second he wasn’t touching me a part of me felt empty, having not realized I felt anywhere near whole when we embraced. I hadn’t even know him for a full twenty-four hours yet so I would be keeping these feelings to myself. 

“Are you hungry?” I found myself asking him, gesturing awkwardly to my kitchen. 

“Actually I came to see if you wanted to have dinner at Emily’s,” he told me looking around my kitchen. “You said you were going to come over after you got off of school but you never did. I didn’t have a real reason to come and check on you since we just met yesterday and I shouldn’t be worried so Emily suggested that I come and invite you to dinner.”

“I’m sorry, I totally forgot about it with everything that happened when I got home,” my cheeks flushed, the heat pooling in them immediately.  Maybe my dad kept me from having friends because he knew I’d be a terrible one. 

“Don’t even worry about it, I just really wanted to see you again,” he said the last part unsurely, like he didn’t know that he should actually confess that. His cheeks turned a little red after he spoke and he rubbed a hand awkwardly on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I would!” My feet squeaked as I walked forward to go with him. I had forgotten about my soaked pants and shoes. “Let me just change real quick.”

I flew up the stairs as fast as I could, throwing open my bedroom door and searching through my boxes of clothes for new pants and shoes. It felt like I had been up there forever once I came downstairs in my new clothes. Paul was waiting for me outback already in wolf form, his shorts in his mouth.

“I can hold those for you,” reaching out I took the shorts from him and climbed on his back, gripping his fur tightly. He took off as fast as he could through the woods, it was so dark out tonight that even I could barely see. The way he ran showed me how sure of himself he was, whipping between trees and over fallen ones without hesitation. 

The sound of rushing water filled my ears as we neared the river. Paul never thought twice as he picked up speed and suddenly we were soaring over the it. The water was rushing violently from the heavy amount of rain we had gotten, mist spraying up at us as we went. We hit the other side of the river with a thud, without missing a beat Paul continued forward until we were outside Emily and Sam’s house. Their small cottage lit up the small clearing it was in. I could hear several people laughing inside as I waited for Paul to turn back and put his clothes back on. 

“Come on,” Paul said from beside me. He was now dressed and holding out his hand for me to take. My face flushed as I took his hand, feeling more comfortable than I ever had as we walked into the house with our hands intertwined by our sides. 

“Welcome back!” Emily called out to me when we walked in. She crossed from room quickly and was pulling me into a hug away from Paul within seconds. When she pulled back she kept her hands on my shoulders and looked me over. “Is everything all healed?”

“For the most part! My leg is still bothering me a bit,” I told her. She looked passed me over to Paul and gave him a sympathetic look. When I glanced back at him he looked like he was on the verge of tears. So I quickly said, “At least you guys know now that I’m not a dangerous vampire, I’d want to keep my people safe too if I were you guys.”

“What kind of bloodsucker are you then?” A boy asked from the kitchen. He was sitting next to Sam and another girl I had never seen. His face was round and youthful but his eyes were hardened like he’d been through a lot. Even though he was sitting I could tell he was a few inches taller than Paul but not as tall as Sam, the three of them the tallest people I have ever been around. The girl next to him that I had never seen was beautiful, her long black hair was pulled into a braid that she had over her shoulder, a scowl on her face as she looked at me. I wondered if they were two of the other wolves Paul had been telling me about earlier.

“I don’t really know,” I replied honestly, shrugging at all of them. “All I can say is I may be half a vampire but I’ve never killed anyone for their blood.”

“Never?” The girl asked me sounding skeptical. No one except for my mom but this wasn’t the time for that. I shook my head at her, everyone in the room looked a little shocked. 

“I do steal things though, like blood bags from hospitals so I don’t have to feed directly off of a human. Sometimes I hunt animals…” I trailed off, looking between everyone’s faces. Beside me Emily grabbed my hand and led me to the table and pulled a chair out for me. I was sitting beside the boy I had never seen with Paul on my other side. I could tell that he didn’t like me already from the way he stiffened when I sat down next to him. 

“Enough about this! Em is welcome here anytime and she is to be left alone unless she decides she wants to be interrogated.” Emily informed everyone, her eyes landing on the boy next to me. He huffed and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms,

“Don’t mind, Jacob,” Paul leaned in to whisper in my ear. “He’s still in highschool and in love with a girl who doesn’t love him back.”

“Shut up, Paul!” Jacob barked from beside me, getting up so quickly his chair flew back and slammed into a wall. The girl I didn’t know looked like she had gone through this before, Emily wasn’t paying attention as stirred some food and Paul was laughing next to me so hard the table in front of me was shaking. 

“Just sit down, Jacob,” The girl said before Sam could say anything, though he was poised and ready, his fists pressed to the table. He took a few deep breaths and picked the pictures off the floor that he knocked down with his chair and came to sit back down. This time he made sure his chair was further away from me and closer to the girl.

“Thanks, Leah,” Sam told the girl, giving her a nod. She nodded back and then went to get some food like nothing happened. Paul started to put food on my plate without saying anything, then began to hesitate when I looked over at him to ask him why.

“I didn’t know if you felt like you should help yourself or not,” Paul explained, continuing to put more food on my plate for me.

“Thank you, I’ve just never…” I trailed off not knowing how to explain this to him and the rest of the people who were now staring at me.

“You’ve never had dinner before?” Jacob asked snidely beside me, a laugh coming out of him. 

“I’ve always eaten dinner alone, my father doesn’t eat and he’s my only family,” I began to explain. What I said made the expression on Jacobs face falter, some food threatening to fall out of his mouth as it hung open.

“Haven’t you ever been invited to a friend’s house?” Leah questioned, stopping to ask before she took the forkful of food she had. 

“I’ve never had a friend,” I told her quietly. My life was starting to sound pathetic to them and I could tell. I felt Paul’s hand press against my back and rub gently. Everyone was silent for a couple minutes, quietly taking bites of their food. I pushed mine around my plate, taking small bites here and there. Even Jacob was quiet next to me, his face no longer pinched in disgust at my presence. 

“Hell yeah another blood sucker free day in the books!” A voice giddily announced walking through the door. I stiffened waiting for them to notice me. The person who announced it stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on me, the three boys following in behind him stopped too and followed his gaze to me. The youngest boy who followed in the first boy looked between Paul and I and gave me a small smile and a wave. 

“Sorry to ruin that for you,” I dead panned, our eyes never breaking contact. The young boy who smiled at me laughed quietly to himself, the two others cracking a smile. 

“Yeah, you should be,” He said walking over to the table and grabbing a seat directly across from me. As he filled his plate he began to talk to me, “I’m Jared, by the way. You must be Em, the girl Paul im-” Paul growled and kicked him under the table. Jared and Paul stared each other down for a minute before Jared finished filling his plate and began eating. I took a bite of my food as Paul calmed himself down, he didn’t seem angry but worried about whatever Jared was going to say. Though all he could’ve been saying was that Paul attacked me but he did seem to get upset when that was brought up.

“I’m Seth and these two are Quil and Embry,” the youngest boy said with a mouthful of food. He smiled at me and some food fell from his mouth and down his shirt. He began to laugh, causing more food to spill out of his mouth. I slapped a hand over my mouth as I tried to stifle my giggles. That’s how the rest of the dinner went, filled with laughter and happiness. They showed me how a real family was supposed to be and surprisingly I wasn’t sad, I was the happiest I have ever been. 

After everyone was done eating we sat around Emily and Sam's small living room talking and laughing more. Everyone except for Jacob, who was sitting outside on the porch in the dark, were sharing stories. Even Leah, who had been scowling lame when I arrived, seemed to be warming to me as I sat quietly next to Paul on a couch. The heat was radiating off of Paul in waves, warming up my body as I sat snugly against him. I felt happy here, at peace. A bunch of people I had just me were accepting me into their home, into their family. Between the heat and the melodic laughter my eyes began to get heavy and before I could even register it, I was asleep.

Tagged: @angelenemies @twilightxcx

[elcorhamletlive]

fandom: MCU ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Fluff, established relationship, Tony Stark is good with kids, human disaster Steve Rogers

Tony can smell disaster even before he steps into the room.

First of all, it’s too quiet. Usually, by now, the kids are very excited about story time, which means they interrupt the story constantly, asking questions and making weird, random commentary. So, the quietness from the room they’re in, interrupted only by a sole low, monotone sound Tony assumes is his husband’s voice, is an immediate concern.

Busy holding a baby, Tony considers ignoring it, because Steve had been so nervous and excited to come along with him for the first time to the Smithe Home for Children. It’s fair to allow him some alone time with the kids. From the time Tony has spent with them (almost three months, regularly, now), he has gathered that they can be very fun little monsters, and he wants Steve to get the full, surreal experience of trying to tell a coherent story to a group of five-year-olds.

Because the thing is: Tony loves volunteering. Sometimes the kids are moody, other times they’re more cooperative, but one thing that never changes is that they operate on a bizarrely individual logic that only makes sense in their heads, and they don’t see why it wouldn’t make sense on everyone else’s, which kind of fascinates Tony.

He was once interrupted halfway through a telling of Red Riding Hood by a girl who asked him why his chest glowed. When he replied, the girl simply nodded, then said “I love you” and motioned for him to get on with the story. He wants Steve to have a taste of this unique mix of weirdness and cuteness.

Besides, at least no one is crying.

Still, the lack of responsive noises eventually become too much for Tony, who finishes cradling two-month-old Dorota (his undeniable favorite) and places her back in her crib.

When he gets inside the storytelling room, he immediately understands what’s wrong.

The kids are sitting in a perfect circle, which is already a little odd – usually they form somewhat of an oval shape at best, given their propension to stand up at random times, switch places with their colleagues, or to simply lie on their backs on the floor. They’re also not saying anything, and, after a moment of consideration, Tony realizes most of them are not following the story – their faces have vacant stares, and they’re blatantly looking anywhere but at Steve, seemingly distracted by literally anything else in the room. Two of them are sneakily coloring.

Then Tony’s gaze lands on Steve, and, look—he can’t help it. Even after almost a year, he’s still not fully used to the idea that he gets to call this man his husband. Right now, positioned in the most uncomfortable way in a chair that’s about five sizes too small, holding a tiny children’s book in his hands and frowning as if trying very hard to convey all the nuances of the storytelling with his voice, Steve is just the most adorable thing Tony’s ever seen, beating even sweet Dorota, whose drool is still on Tony’s shirt.

Seeing Steve’s efforts, though, the children’s open disinterest stings a little – Tony wants to tell them all to stop being spoiled brats and give some appreciation to this man who’s trying so hard and just looks so cute in the child-sized chair. He wants to tell them that, by getting Steve Rogers’ attention, they’ve already peaked in life at five-years-old, so they might as well enjoy it.

Except that, well.

He kind of gets their point.

The thing is that… well, it’s not that simple, story time. It’s not just about reading—the kids enjoy interacting and reacting, and they need some kind of extra touch to follow the narrative. Steve, trying hard as Tony knows he is, just isn’t doing anything to make the story interesting – no acting out the characters voices, no dramatic pauses for extra impact, nothing. He’s just… reading, and Tony guesses the kids were instructed to be respectful in Captain America’s presence, so that’s why they haven’t raised hell yet, but there’s no denying they’re bored.

Steve, Tony notices with a tight chest, seems to have realized this, too. He keeps raising his eyes to try and see if the children’s behavior has changed, and his disappointment is clear. His performance is a disaster, and he’s clearly embarrassed about it, and Tony’s heart is already in pieces just by watching it for a couple of seconds, so--

He has to step in.

“Hey, everyone,” he says, and some of the kids break out of their trance, grinning. Tony finds Steve’s eyes, worried that he’s going to be upset Tony is stealing his scene, but there’s clear relief written on his face, so he keeps going. “So, guess what—world-saving emergency.” He raises his eyebrows in an exaggerated warn, and by now all the children are fully awake. Nothing like the threat of mortal danger to kill the spectrum of a five-year-old’s boredom. “Cap is needed to fight some aliens.”

The room erupts into questions.

“Which aliens? Like Loki?”

“Can I come along?”

“Does that mean you’ve got the shield?”

“Are the aliens like Thor? Is he going to fight Thor?”

Steve’s eyes widen, shocked to suddenly be the center of attention. Now that they know he’s going to go away, all the children are, of course, incredibly interested in him.

“How are you going to fight the aliens? Are you going to throw your shield?”

“Why do aliens keep coming? Can’t they just stay away?”

“Is Thor going to come with you? Is he going to help you fight Loki?”

“Can I please come along?”

“Okay, okay, guys,” Tony reigns the room in. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing Cap here”--he lowers both of his hands over Steve’s shoulders--“can’t handle. Just a minor hiccup, really. Happens every week.”

“Right.” Steve nods frantically. “I—Uh, I’m sorry, but—”

“But it happens,” Tony helps. Then he opens a mischievous grin to the kids. “Lucky for you guys, that means I get to take over from now on.”

The kids still have a lot of questions, but Tony lets them talk, taking advantage of their agitation to wink at Steve, who raises himself from the tiny chair and passes him the book.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Tony gives him a light, tender pat on his face. “See you later.” As Steve backs away, Tony blows him a silent kiss, because—well, because he looked really cute in the tiny chair and Tony just can’t help it. Steve smiles, before turning away in the direction of the door.

“Now,” Tony says, turning to the kids and sitting down. He tries to not get too hung up on to the fact that the chair is much more comfortable to him than it probably was to Steve. “Who wants to tell me where the story stopped?”

-

Time goes by fast. For all that Tony complains, really, he loves those children. They’re so ridiculously fun , and they enjoy his performance of the story, especially the high-pitched noise he makes for the chicken’s lines.

By the time he’s done, all of them are utterly absorbed, and Tony sees more than one pair of heavy eyes doing that slow blink one does when trying to fight sleepiness. He closes off the night by helping everyone clean up the playroom just as Kevin arrives to get everyone to bed.

On his way out, he meets Steve, who was helping the people from the kitchen clean up the kids’ dishes. As soon as they step out of the house, Tony wastes no time in getting all up in his space.

“Hey,” he says, pulling Steve’s waist closer, getting the earlier kiss back with a peck on Steve’s lips.

“Hey.” Steve grins, but his expression is a little reflexive in a way that makes Tony worried. “Hard work,” he comments as they start walking towards the car.

Alarm bells start playing in Tony’s head. “Yeah. But—” he tries to guess what Steve’s thinking by looking at him, but, nope, that’s still not in his realm of abilities, unfortunately. “You’re not upset, right? About the kids and everything.” His hand goes to the back of Steve’s neck, going up and down in a light stroke. “It wasn’t personal. I mean, they’re kids. They’re dumb. Their brains haven’t fully developed yet.”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “I’m not upset. If anything, I’m thankful you stopped me from embarrassing myself even more.”

“Hey,” Tony says, stopping them both and cupping Steve’s face with his hands. “You weren’t embarrassing yourself. It was a new experience, and I should have prepared you better, and, again, they’re kids, they don’t mean anything by it. Next morning they’ll already have forgotten all about—why are you looking at me like that?”

Steve grins, face full of wonder, and his hands go up to hold Tony’s wrists. “Because,” he lowers Tony’s hands from his face gently. “You were amazing there.” His grin grows even more. “The kids loved you, and I can’t blame them. I, uh,” he lowers his eyes, a little bashful. “I might’ve sneaked in a little to watch some of the story. And you were just…” He takes a breath and shakes his head, as if Tony is something foreign, special, and not a face he’s grown used to seeing every day. “You were just great.”

“I--” Tony starts, but he’s never good at talking when Steve is looking at him like that. He might not even be good at breathing, then. “I--Thank you?”

Steve chuckles, and then leans forward and presses his lips to Tony’s mouth, in a sweet yet hurried movement. He pulls away just an inch, his nose still brushing Tony’s and his laugh lines so visible it’s almost insulting.

“I love you,” he whispers, as if they’re teenagers exchanging confessions under the bleachers.

Tony finds that it’s hard to talk and smile a lot at the same time. “Well, same here,” he says, and then presses another peck to Steve’s lips – a peck that quickly turns into three, because he can’t help himself. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did,” Steve says, reverently, running his fingers through Tony’s hair. “And I liked coming over, too. I might not be able to help with story time, but I’m okay with doing other things. The people in the kitchen seemed a little overwhelmed.”

Tony’s heart feels so swollen it’s going to sink down on his chest, and he’s really in overwhelming levels of love with this man, because even the image of him strongly concentrating on getting the kids’ dishes clean so they can eat their next meals is enough to make him feel like swooning. He runs his hands up and down Steve’s biceps.

“Definitely,” he agrees. “But we made a deal, Cap, remember? You meet the orphanage, and I’ll meet the shelter. Ball’s in your court now.”

This gets a blinding smile out of Steve. “Fine by me. The shelter is great – you’ll see, you’re gonna love it.”

Tony has the feeling that he’s gonna love cleaning poop and having to entertain overly excited drooling dogs as much as Steve loved trying to perform for a bunch of five-year-olds, but, hey. There’s no harm in trying, especially if it makes Steve smile like that.

“It’s a deal.”

[letterboxd]

Ghosted Films: A Director’s Nightmare.

To mark a conversation with Peter Medak about his new documentary The Ghost of Peter Sellers, which details a particularly tumultuous early 1970s film shoot, Dominic Corry looks at how the inherently nightmarish pursuit that is filmmaking has informed other movies.

“Every frame you set up references yourself and your entire life, so bits and pieces indirectly of your life go into every movie.” —Peter Medak

On a certain level, filmmaking is an essentially traumatic experience. The extreme number of moving parts, umpteen tiers of variables—both creative and practical—and the cacophony of egos involved all amount to what in the best-case scenario could generously be considered organized chaos.

And for the most part, it all falls on the director’s shoulders. Although the long-prevailing auteur theory is regularly and healthily challenged these days, our default perception tends to be that whatever happens, good or bad, it’s the director’s fault. Some directors process their filmmaking nightmares by writing a review of the film on Letterboxd. But in the case of journeyman filmmaker Peter Medak (The Changeling, The Krays, Romeo Is Bleeding), he chose to process his filmmaking trauma by… making a film about it.

The Ghost of Peter Sellers revisits the making of the 1974 Peter Sellers-starring pirate comedy Ghost in the Noonday Sun, an infamous folly of a film that has long haunted Medak. It’s also one of those rare films on Letterboxd: at the time of writing it has just two reviews, and only 26 members in a community of two million have noted seeing it. Giving it one and a half stars, EWMasters writes: “Pretty awful. I mean talk about throwing it on the stoop and seeing if the cat’ll lick it up. There is one very good sequence where the crew goes to town on this big plate of fish and vegetables that’s really well done—but otherwise, this is really only worth the time of a Sellers completist”. (Perhaps the main character’s name—Dick Scratcher—should have sounded alarm bells.)

Medak is not the first filmmaker to spin non-fictional gold out of a director’s nightmare (in this case, his own). His movie follows in the footsteps of legendary documentaries such as Fax Bahr and George Hickenlooper’s 1991 film Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse, which revealed the full extent of the already infamous insanity that comprised the making of Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 classic Apocalypse Now, and used extensive footage shot at the time by Coppola’s filmmaker wife Eleanor (filmmaker spouses are handy to have along for the ride, as Nicolas Winding Refn also knows). And there’s Keith Fulton and Louis Pepe’s 2002 work Lost in La Mancha, which detailed Terry Gilliam’s (ironically?) Sisyphean efforts to film an adaptation of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote.

In both instances, the films in question were (eventually) made—and released to some acclaim (one considerably more than the other)—but as The Ghost of Peter Sellers shows, the shooting of Ghost in the Noonday Sun was such an epic boondoggle that the unfinished film sat unreleased for years and was much later released to no acclaim whatsoever.

The uphill battle to make his never-released horror movie Northwestern made indie filmmaker Mark Borshadt an unlikely filmmaking hero thanks to the breakout success of Chris Smith’s 1999 documentary American Movie. Like with Ghost in the Noonday Sun, the efforts to make a film proved more interesting than the film being made.

Jennifer Jason Leigh and Kevin Bacon in ‘The Big Picture’ (1989).

There are several narrative films of note that have successfully captured the specific pandemonium of filmmaking. Richard Rush’s 1980 cult classic The Stunt Man follows a fugitive who stumbles his way into the titular job on a big chaotic Hollywood production (Peter O’Toole plays the Machiavellian director), while Christopher Guest’s under-appreciated 1989 comedy The Big Picture stars Kevin Bacon as a hot young director who is roughed up by the Hollywood machine. It’s a notable and often overlooked antecedent to The Player, and like the Robert Altman classic, is more about ‘the business’ overall than the specifics of filmmaking, although in both cases Hollywood proves itself analogically appropriate.

Playwright, writer and director David Mamet’s own filmmaking experiences obviously inform his 2000 comedy State and Main, in which a Hollywood production takes over and smothers a small town with its singular thinking. It’s not hard to imagine Mamet processing his own filmmaking trauma in State and Main, just as the Coen brothers famously did in Barton Fink, their ode to writer’s block supposedly inspired by the difficulty they had penning the screenplay for Miller’s Crossing.

Charlie Kaufman channeled his own creative struggles into the screenplay for the 2002 masterpiece Adaptation, then built on those themes with his wildly ambitious 2008 directorial debut Synecdoche, New York, whose more maddening aspects arguably capture the irrational nightmare that is filmmaking better than any film directly ‘about’ filmmaking.

With her 2018 documentary Shirkers, writer Sandi Tan gained some measure of closure regarding an indie film she had starred in and written in her home country of Singapore, in 1992. The documentary (which shares its name with the original movie) has her revisiting the footage from the never-released film, which was stolen (!) 25 years previously by its director—and Tan’s filmmaking mentor—George Cardona.

Back to Peter Medak. In The Ghost of Peter Sellers, which premiered at Telluride Film Festival in 2018 and has just had its virtual screening release, we learn that Hungarian-born Medak was a rising directing star in the early 1970s in London, hot off the Oscar-nominated Peter O’Toole film The Ruling Class. Unable to resist an offer to work with Peter Sellers, then comedy’s reigning superstar—mostly thanks to Blake Edwards’ Pink Panther films—Medak set about shooting a treasure-hunting pirate film on the island nation of Cyprus in the Mediterranean.

In addition to the usual production problems associated with shooting on boats, Medak had to contend with the titanically and infamously fickle Sellers, who quickly turned on him and attempted to get him fired. Sellers also antagonized the other actors, then, after failing to get the production shut down, brought in his friend and longtime creative collaborator Spike Milligan to try and salvage the film, but things kept going wrong, leaving Ghost in the Noonday Sun unfinished and Medak with the blame for the production’s troubles.

Director Peter Medak with Peter Sellers (as Dick Scratcher) and Spike Milligan (as Bill Bombay) on the set of ‘Ghost in the Noonday Sun’, finally released in 1984.

Although Medak’s career recovered, he has clearly been carrying around a lot of hurt associated with the experience, and it’s remarkable watching him work through that on screen by revisiting Cyprus, telling the story of the shoot, and talking to some of the people involved. Sellers (who died in 1980) looms large over the film, but it also has interesting content surrounding the great Spike Milligan, who died in 2002.

Why did you decide to revisit this experience with a documentary? Peter Medak: Because it’s been haunting me for all these years. Because it should’ve been a really very successful film and I was blamed for everything going wrong, when in fact it had nothing to do with me. It was due to Peter’s changing mind and state of mind, and all kinds of things had physically gone wrong on the film. It was always easiest to blame the director for everything and my career at the time was very high up after [The] Ruling Class and this should’ve been the icing on the cake and it wasn’t.

It really bothered me for many years afterwards, even though I went on working. I was asked to do it by the producer of the documentary and I originally said “It’s the last thing I want to do”, because it would mean I would have to go back to Cyprus where I shot the original movie and go on the water, and I never want anything to do with water anymore because a lot of the disasters on the film, production-wise, were all connected with shooting at sea, which is totally impossible to do. Then I thought: well, you know, I should just do it and try to explain what happened on the film. And because some of the explanations were funnier scenes than the original film. So that’s why I did it.

Peter Medak fishing for answers in ‘The Ghost of Peter Sellers’.

In the documentary, you talk about needing to free yourself from the experience by making this film. Do you feel like you achieved that? Well, I think I did because I had a wonderful time doing it. A very sad time at the same time because when you go back to places where you shot 45 years before, it creates a very strange kind of illusion inside your mind, your heart and everything of the time. And having been there then and then being there again, it’s a very strange kind of a supernatural feeling in a way. It felt like you have died and your ghost is actually revisiting all these things you know. I called it The Ghost of Peter Sellers because it sounds good and also because the original film was called Ghost in the Noonday Sun, and this ghostly feeling of mine of revisiting that island after all these years, it’s a very, very strange feeling and somehow the film captures that emotionally.

Do you feel like the large distance from the shoot was necessary to be able to revisit it? It’s not that I thought about it every day of my life, but I talked about it to all the people who I worked with in my following career. When I was doing Romeo Is Bleeding with Gary Oldman, my darling Gary said to me one day, “You know, we are crazy, what we should do is make a movie about your movie, but I don’t want to play Peter Sellers, I want to play you, with your Hungarian, broken-English accent.” We had a script written but we never did it. That was a good 25 years ago.

Peter Medak in front of a promotional poster for ‘Zorro, The Gay Blade’, his 1981 film starring George Hamilton and Lauren Hutton.

So you had considered doing a scripted version of it? Yeah, but I don’t know quite what we would’ve done. I said to Gary at the time: “I never want to go on a boat again”, and so I thought in my mind that the scenes would start each day [with] the characters getting off the pirate ship and they come ashore—that’s where the scenes would begin. I’m sure we would’ve done something quite wonderful, and it would’ve maybe explained the things the [documentary is] trying to explain because I guess that’s what has unconsciously driven me. Because [for the documentary], we didn’t write one word of it, I just completely did it out of instinct. Where I want to shoot, what I want to shoot, and how we should go from here to there. I loved it, so going back on to it was quite easy. It did show me actually what a wonderful medium it is, documentary, because you can do anything with it. It’s a much freer form than scripted movies. Which is rigid. And this is liquid.

Did you have any other documentaries about filmmaking in mind when you went into this? Not really. I knew Terry Gilliam’s Lost in La Mancha, because I love Terry and I love his films and we know each other and knew each other. Terry was very fortunate, because he had so much trouble before on Baron Munchausen, that he decided to have a documentary film crew filming the whole process, so he had the material available, which allowed him to make his film. I said to him after [a screening], “You were lucky because you didn’t make the movie. I had to suffer through 90-something days of shooting with Peter [Sellers].” But of course since then, Terry made the film, and he made something slightly different than what he was originally gonna do.

Peter Medak retraces his steps in ‘The Ghost of Peter Sellers’.

Did any of your subsequent films feel nearly as difficult? Most movies are very difficult to make, and always when you anticipate problems, they never seem to happen. When I did The Changeling, everybody said “George C. Scott is very, very difficult to work with” and he was an absolute angel with me and [it was] the easiest thing to do. It was a wonderful ghost story. I’m very proud of that film. It will live forever. All movies are like your kids, your own children, because you put so much emotion, so much of your soul. That’s what I’m saying to [Ghost in the Noonday Sun executive producer] John Heyman [in The Ghost of Peter Sellers]: the director’s viewpoint is completely different from the producer’s because every frame you set up references yourself and your entire life, so bits and pieces indirectly of your life go into every movie. Because of that it becomes an incredibly personal journey when you put your absolute soul on the line. When it gets criticized or not accepted or whatever, one takes it very personally because the whole thing came from a very personal experience, even though the subject may be nothing to do with you.

Peter Sellers on the set of ‘Ghost in the Noonday Sun’.

Even within the canon of famously difficult performers, Peter Sellers is notorious. How would you describe him to a modern audience? Well he was a genius, there’s no question about it. But he was a manic-depressive person. And it’s a generalization, but most of the great comics are manic-depressive. And he changes his mind all the time. One minute, he loves you, next minute, he hates you. One minute he loves the subject, next minute he doesn’t wanna do it, he wants to get out and all that. So it is very up and down. When you’re running film with a crew of 150 people, and boats on the sea, and weather’s changing and everything, you can’t have that, because you fall behind the schedule and things go wrong.

At one point very early on, all he wanted to do was get off the movie. And then he did everything he [could] to sabotage the film so the film would close down and he wouldn’t have to finish it. But it didn’t just happen on my film, it happened with all his biggest successes, including the Pink Panther movies. Because if you look into Blake Edwards, each one was an absolute nightmare for the director and for the film company, United Artists. And I was gonna include that in the documentary but it had nothing to do with the Ghost in the Noonday Sun so I didn’t. I actually shot some scenes with one of the executives from United Artists at that time who had to deal with the insanity of Peter and also Blake Edwards. I say ‘insanity’; I didn’t want to say it too much in the documentary because I love Peter, even today. And it’s wrong for me to accuse him of those things because it sounds like I’m excusing myself. Peter was crazy. There’s no other way one can describe it. Touched by God. And so was Spike Milligan. But Spike had the love of goodness. Peter had kind of a nasty streak on him when he turned on people.

There’s a moment in the documentary where you suggest that Spike Milligan is more influential than he gets credit for. Do you think he’s under-appreciated? Totally. Totally. Totally. Because his talent was absolutely, monumentally genius. I always say this, but Spike basically created Peter Sellers through [legendary BBC radio programme] The Goon Show. And he also gave him all those various characters and developed those voices for him. It’s all in The Goon Show. The Monty Pythons, they were inspired by The Goon Show and they made it into television. Not story wise, but style wise. That kind of zany, insane humor. Spike was a total genius. Not that Peter wasn’t, but they stood together, completely overwhelmingly wonderfully insane. But Spike was quite something. He was incredibly human, he was incredibly gentle. And incredibly kind. Peter was incredibly combative. And he had that most incredible ego.

But all our lives come from our backgrounds and what our past was and where we come from, and Peter had a very sad upbringing and a very sad life and he was tremendously influenced by his mother. When his mother passed away, he kept on talking to her for ten years. When he came to Cyprus to make the movie, he arrived with big blow-up [photos] of Liza Minnelli—who he’d just broken up with a week before—and his mum. And it sounds terrible when one says it, but psychologically, some of the answers are there. But at the same time, both Peter and Spike, I can’t tell you what a gift it was… I mean the reason I did the film is: who could give up the chance of actually working with Peter Sellers and Spike Milligan? It doesn’t matter what the fucking script is, you know? It was a wonderful thing and I would do it all over again tomorrow.

Related content

Our Showdown on films within films

‘The Ghost of Peter Sellers’ is screening in virtual theaters now. It will be available via video on demand services from June 23. A list of all the films mentioned in this article can be found here. Comments have been edited for clarity and length.

[the-entity-down-the-street]

Memory Eater

Since a few of you have expressed interest in reading my terato stories, I’ve decided to start posting a few. This first one is actually from a workshop I did for class back in the spring of 2019. I wrote it when I was going through a bad mental health period, and BPD was kicking my ass. Mental illness is a frequent theme in my work,and I’ll tag accordingly. I’ll the put the story under the cut. if you aren’t interested in my stories, blacklist the tag “entitywrites”

Hope you guys enjoy!

Dahlia woke up in her closet with one hell of a hangover, a hollow void where last night should’ve been, and a sticky note on her chest. She peeled it off to read.

Call me so I know you’re okay, if you could. Thank you, babe! – Love, Gideon

Her questions were caught between a pounding headache and a desperate need to vomit. Dahlia stumbled out of her closet and dashed to the bathroom.

Once her stomach was emptied, Dahlia wobbled over to the mirror and assessed herself. She was still wearing her nightgown, but the front was stained irreparably by something that looked like wine. Old, faded eyeliner wings clung to the skin around her eyes. Her hair looked less like a neat, curly bob and more like a mishappen stormcloud.

Dahlia rubbed her eyes until colorful blotches danced before them. She tried to organize the evidence she had at hand into a cohesive narrative. She had somehow worked up the nerve to go out partying, in skimpy pajamas no less, and in the process found enough charm to get a number. She couldn’t even remember leaving her apartment.

Then again, memory had always been an issue for her. It was easy for things to get lost and liquify into a gray mush, sometimes five minutes after they happened. Dissociative episodes did the worst damage, of course. She blundered through the days half-aware, divided from herself, plagued by a suicidal itch. Those memories were static at best. It was a stress response to the Borderline Blues. But this was different. This was a black hole where the static should be.

Dahlia dug her fingers into her scalp, as if that would squeeze something out of the void in her head. When that didn’t work, she shambled over to her bed, a little nest of unmade sheets in the corner of the apartment. She considered getting breakfast from the kitchenette, but the mere idea made her stomach want to upend itself again. Dahlia wrapped herself in a blanket and thanked whoever was listening that she didn’t have work today.

A glint of light on the nightstand caught her eye. She lifted her head up. There was a glass rose pink liquid sitting next to her lamp. The amorphous shadow it cast over the wood highlighted the second note beside it. Dahlia propped herself up on her elbows and snatched it.

For the hangover you’re going to have! Home-brewed cure. Drink it in steady gulps, don’t stop until the glass is empty. – Love, Gideon

“We add another layer to this fuckery,” she mumbled. So, this Gideon had been in her apartment, huh? Did he walk her back? Did he stay the night and bail before she woke up? If that was the case, why did he offer his phone number? None of these theories got her any closer to why she fell asleep in the closet.

Dahlia rested her head back on the pillow. The world was spinning around her aching brain, as if she were the center of a cramped, painful universe. Thinking was becoming a rigorous exercise. She tried to backtrack and grasp onto something, anything, from the night before.

Nothing. Empty. Null and void.

Dahlia tried going back further, knotting her brows together in concentration. There barely anything in her memory from the day before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Her memories were suddenly spotted with jagged holes of time. Was it the migraine blotting everything out?

Desperate, and a little panicked, Dahlia picked up the mysterious concoction left for her and began to gulp it down as suggested. It was flavorless, like water, but each gulp came with a pulse of gentle, radiating warmth. It calmed the storm in her stomach and suffocated the agony in her head.

When the drink was completely gone, Dahlia set the glass down and sank into the bed with a heavy sigh. The warmth died out and left clarity in its place. She basked in the bliss of clean, painless sobriety for a few minutes. Wow, when Gideon said a cure, he meant a cure.

Dahlia tried backtracking again, hoping for better results. Sometimes pain made her symptoms worse. Yet, when she shuffled through her head, the holes remained. Even going back to the beginning of last semester, there were missing patches of time.

Shit.

This was bad.

She thought of the note Gideon left and grabbed her phone. She clicked contacts. Sure enough, his name was second in her “frequently contacted” list, right below her therapist. That raised a whole new set of questions, but she could only take one mystery at a time. This was the only clue she had, so she figured there was nothing else to lose.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Dahlia sat up and tapped her fingers against the snowy hill of her kneecap.

“Hello?” a drowsy voice answered.

She cringed. Shit, did she wake him up? “Uh, hi, Gideon?”

“Oh, good morning, Dahlia,” Gideon replied. His voice was instantly perky and pleasant. “Are you feeling okay? I hope my cure did its job.”

“Yeah, yeah, worked like a charm. Thanks for that. I’m, uh, much better now.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. I figured you’d need it after all that wine.” He laughed, and his voice rang like tinkling bells in her ears. It was oddly familiar, and more oddly relaxing. “We’ll have to do that again sometime.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dahlia said agreeably. “So, uh, speaking of, what exactly was that?”

Another chuckle. “Memory a bit lacking, I assume?”

Dahlia tensed. “More like completely lacking.”

“…Completely?”

“Uh, yeah. Completely.”

There was a long pause. Painfully long. The silence stretched like a rubber band primed for snapping. Dahlia nibbled at the corner of her lip.

“D-do you know who I am?” His voice cracked under the weight of its own horrified tone.

She shook her head, despite the pointlessness of the gesture in a phone conversation. “No, I’m sorry. That’s kind of why I called. I need answers and your number was my only lead.”

“I see.” Another pause. Some shuffling, a whoosh of sheets being tossed back. “I don’t think this is a conversation we should have over the phone. Would it be possible for me to come over this evening?”

Dahlia quirked an eyebrow. Curiosity bubbled where the headache had been.

“Dahlia?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What time?”

Another pause. “I can come by around nine. Would that work for you?”

Dahlia shrugged. “Sure. I’m not doing anything.”

“Alright. Nine it is.”

“Do you need me to text you my address?” Dahlia asked, realizing she could’ve just texted him like a normal person instead of calling and waking him up. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“No, I remember where you are. I’ll text before I knock, okay?”

“Um, okay.” Weird, but okay. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

They hung up. Dahlia hunched over and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Where the nausea had been, unease took its place, plopped into her gut like brick, as she wondered what she’d mixed herself up in.

#

Dahlia had latched onto the stress ball her therapist gave her, but the little smiley face printed on it did nothing to reassure her. She had struggled to pick an outfit. She chewed through a whole pack of gum. She fidgeted and paced and fussed over cleaning the apartment up. Was she nervous about meeting this man she couldn’t remember? Was she nervous about what he knew? Did it matter? Either way, Dahlia was a tense bundle of nerves when the clock struck nine. She sat on the couch as she waited for his text.

A minute passed. Nothing.

Five minutes. Nothing.

Ten. Nothing.

Dahlia tapped her foot impatiently. “Where is this guy?”

Just as she asked, her phone buzzed.

Hey. I’m here. About to knock. Please don’t scream.

Well, that was the creepiest thing anyone had ever texted her. She clenched her stress ball so hard that the little smiley face caved in on itself. She dialed 911, the call button poised for pushing at any time. As she was comparing escape routes and rushing for the kitchen knives, the knock came. From her closet door.

“Good evening,” Gideon said. “Sorry for being late. Things took longer than expected. May I come in?”

Words dissolved on Dahlia’s tongue. She tried and failed to scrounge up logic. The way she saw it, there were two possibilities. Either she was hallucinating, and she had another mental illness to worry about, or something supernatural was going on. She had never prayed before, but she prayed it was door number two.

“Y-yeah, come in.”

Gideon stepped into her living room. A gasp wound down Dahlia’s throat as she took in the sight of him. Two curling horns stuck out of the stringy grey hair that fell to his shoulders. The eyes staring at her were painfully large, painfully blue orbs with reptilian slits in their centers. His skin was bluish grey, corpse skin. Even subtle things, like the number of knuckles in his fingers, and the way his skin stretched over the bones in his face, were unsettling and alien. It was almost comical in comparison to his clean plaid button-up and black slacks. A monster in business casual. She thought she could see something glowing in his pants pocket, but that barely registered when looking at everything else.

“Thank you for not screaming,” he said.

Scream? She could barely listen. The static of her own stressed thoughts made it hard to hear. Was this the onset of schizophrenia? Was this why her brain was full of holes? Was that symptom? Her feet began carrying her across the room in search of an answer. She crossed the span of carpet between them until she had him at arm’s length. Her hand reached out, almost of its own free will, and gently poked Gideon’s cheek. Warm, living flesh greeted her. She nearly collapsed with relief.

“Oh. Oh, thank God. I’m not crazy.”

Gideon chuckled weakly. There was a strange warmth in his eyes that made Dahlia’s stomach flip. “No, love, you’re not crazy. Never crazy.”

He reached up to cup his hand over hers, but Dahlia pulled away and stumbled back before he could. With the worries about her tenuous mental health soothed, Dahlia could now focus on the fact that a very real monster was standing in her living room trying to reassure her of her sanity. Amazingly, that wasn’t an easier pill to swallow. Dahlia plopped onto her couch and grasped at the cushions in leu of a stress ball. It was something solid and normal.  

Gideon looked more than a little hurt. He slowly put his arm down and shrank back. “R-right, you don’t remember me. I’m sorry.”

Dahlia put her head in her hands and pulled at the roots of her hair. “What the fuck,” she said, because it was the only thing her brain would let her say. “I- I don’t… what…”

“Overwhelmed?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia nodded. Thoughts were pouring out of her head and leaking onto her tongue. The overflow made it impossible to get a single coherent question out.

Gideon took a hesitant step forward. “Do you have your stress ball?”

Dahlia shook her head violently. She couldn’t even think about her lost stress ball right now. It was one thing too much.

Gideon chewed on his lip. “I know I’m kind of the reason you’re panicking right now, but I want to help. May I sit with you?”

Would that help? Probably not. Then again, nothing was making sense and there was a clog in her brain and the world was suddenly too bright, so she might as well try something. Dahlia gave him a weak, shaky nod to affirm. He was by her side not a moment later.

“Close your eyes for a moment, deep breaths,” Gideon said. His voice was suddenly much softer, but not exactly quiet. It was a gentle, soothing, like windchimes in a breeze. There was something comforting and familiar about it.

Dahlia closed her eyes. The world went mercifully dark. She laid back against the couch and began to take in slow, controlled breaths.

“Focus on something banal. Think about the texture of the couch. Or the carpet between your toes. I can get something from the kitchen if you want something to taste.”

Dahlia shook her head. “No, no. Just need quiet.”

“Quiet. I can do that.”

They sat together in silence as Dahlia let the static and chaos settle. She absorbed herself in the cool, textured leather of her sofa and sank against its plush backing. Her breathing steadied. Her head lolled to the side, and she relaxed.

“Better?” Gideon asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Now, I know this is a shock to you,” Gideon continued. “You have every right to be shocked. But I promise that everything is alright.”

Dahlia furrowed her brow. She was almost giving herself another headache trying to gaze into the holes where her memories should be. “I find that hard to believe.”

A sigh. “Fair enough. Okay, things aren’t alright yet, but they will be soon. That I definitely promise.”

“How can you promise that?”

“With these,” Gideon said. Dahlia heard the distinct scrape of skin on rough fabric, followed by a clacking noise. It sounded like hard candies knocking against each other. A new source of light danced in front of Dahlia’s closed eyes. Curious, she opened them.

“What the fuck.” The light was coming from a large cluster of glowing, electric blue orbs. They were about the size of marbles. “What are those?”

“Your missing memories.”

“…Okay then. Um, why are they in your hand and not, you know, in my head?”

“They were stolen. Thank the Gods you called when you did, otherwise I might not have been able to track them down.”

Dahlia’s eyes widened painfully. “Stolen? How? When? W-why?”

Gideon closed his fist around the memory orbs and held them close to his chest. His expression grew dark. “There are some people that think our worlds should remain separate. Someone stole every memory you had of our world, and of me, during my house party. Right under my fucking nose.” His voice was knife sharp and angry. Dahlia could tell he was directing it at himself just as much as he was the perpetrator. “It was pure luck and timing that allowed me to get them back.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dahlia said. A deep, profound dread crawled up her spine and settled on her shoulders. She imagined a set of spindly fingers reaching into her skull and plucking memories likes grapes from a synaptic vine. The mere thought sickened her to the soul.

“When I saw you’d passed out, I took you home. I thought you just had too much wine. I never suspected…” He lowered his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dahlia.”

Dahlia put a comforting hand on his shoulder, almost instictually. Her horror of him had been surpassed and subdued. “No, don’t be. You got them back. Thank you.”

“Of course. You have a right to your memories,” he said. He glanced up at Dahlia, then back down at the memory orbs. There was a noticeable dark flush to his cheeks. “Besides, these are important to me too.”

Before Dahlia could comment, Gideon held out his hand, offering her the orbs. She cupped her hands and let the little balls trickle into her palms. They felt like gumballs. Dahlia estimated there were a hundred of them, if not more. Her vision was taken up by their collective glow.

“How do I…”

“You eat them.”

“What?” Dahlia snapped her head up.

“Eat them. Pop one in your mouth at a time and bite. The memory will come back to you.”

“Do I, like, eat them in chronological order?” Dahlia asked, bemused by the string of words that just came out of her mouth.

“No, no, just eat them as you like. You can’t tell the orbs apart anyways. As long you eat them all, you’ll be fine.”

Dahlia grimaced. “Is this safe?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t make a hobby of eating your own memories, of course, but there’s no harm in taking in information that already belongs to you,” he explained. “But if you ever feel unsafe, I’ll be right here to help.”

Dahlia looked over at him. His hollowed-out face had taken on an inviting, comforting demeanor. There was something very reassuring about the little smile that was playing across his lips.

“Who are you?” she asked. “To me? How do you know what I need to calm down?”

“Take a bite and find out.”

Dahlia turned back to her palm full of orbs. She picked one up from the pile and held it up to her mouth. She snuck a glance at Gideon, who nodded encouragingly. After a heavy, nervous gulp, Dahlia popped the orb into her mouth and maneuvered it between her back molars.

She bit down.

We were sitting next to each other at the counter that separated my kitchenette from the rest of my apartment. “So, where do monsters come from? I mean, aside from closets.”

He tapped his fingers against the counter. “It’s like a pocket dimension. We hide in the nooks and crannies of space-time, only popping out when necessary.”

“Is this necessary?” I teased. I nibbled a cookie from the small plate I’d set out.

“The cookies or your company?”

“Either or.”

He smiled. “Both are absolutely necessary.”  

“Whoa,” Dahlia breathed as the vision faded and settled back into its rightful spot in her head. Remembered happiness spread through her.

“What? What memory was it?”

“I was just talking with you over there.” She pointed to the counter. “You were telling me about where you came from.”

“Ah, yes, that was some time ago. We’d known each other for a few months. I’d just started to trust you,” he explained. His smile brightened. “Go on, have another.”

Dahlia snatched another orb up and bit into it.

#

Our lips met gingerly, hesitantly at first. Amazingly, I made the first move. We’d been passing sidelong glances and lingering hugs like the currency of pining. I needed to cash it in.

While we were watching our usual Friday night movie, I scooched close to him. Closer. Closer. He turned his head away from the screen and towards me. I leaned in. He leaned in.

Ginger, hesitant kisses deepened. His tongue dipped into my mouth. My hands snuck up his back. The movie was forgotten in the haze.

#

“Oh.” The memory nestled into its spot. Dahlia sank back into the couch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so at ease when kissing someone. The slop of saliva and the bumping of teeth didn’t make her self-conscious. It was expected. It was okay. It was natural.  

“What memory was it?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia turned to Gideon like she was seeing him for the first time. In a way, she was. “We were making out while Monsters Inc. played in the background.”

Gideon blushed. “Oh, yes, that night.”

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“Would you be horrified if I said yes?”

Dahlia opened her mouth to answer. She closed it and knotted her eyebrows. Contextually vacant, the memory of their kiss brought a surge of conflicting feelings. The remembered happiness, and a fresh, squirming discomfort. The emotional paradox of sudden closeness with a stranger.  

She held up a finger in a wait sign and popped another orb into her mouth. Then another. And another. As soon as one memory faded, a new one was already waiting between her teeth. Flashes of dancing and love-making and cuddling and comforting found their spots in her head. Dahlia patched more and more holes, sewed memories to memories, feelings to feelings, creating a mostly cohesive quilt of past events. A few times she had to stop and catch her breath from the overload of information. But, eventually, the pile was reduced to a singular orb. Gideon watched with vigilant, silent eyes as Dahlia bit down on it.

#

We were curled up in my closet. Gideon knew I liked to be somewhere small and quiet after a breakdown. I’d been bashing my fists against my skull over something, though I couldn’t remember what. Reasons blurred together. With no emotional skin, I’m hurt by the slightest provocation. But in here it was safe, we were safe, and everything was okay.

“Why do you put up with me?” I asked. “I don’t even want to put up with me.”

“You’re under the assumption that you’re a burden. You’re not.”

I settled into his chest more. “But I’m sick, Gid. I don’t function right.”

“Maybe you need to change your definition of right, then.”

My lip quivered, and I wrapped my arms around him. “…I love you.”

#

Dahlia blinked. She was surprised to find tears on her cheeks. She looked over at Gideon, who was still waiting for her reply.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t be horrified at all.”

A bright, goofy grin spread across his face. “Then yes, I’m your boyfriend.”

She returned the grin with equal amounts of brightness and goofiness. “Good.”

FIN

[trinuviel]

Why is it so significant the parallel between Queen Alysanne and Sansa?

The parallels between Queen Alysanne and Sansa Stark are significant because they may foreshadow Sansa eventually becoming Queen - and if that is so, it also hints what kind of Queen Sansa would be since Alysanne was called Good Queen Alysanne. The possibility of Sansa becoming a good queen is also highlighted in her narrative journey as she learns from her experiences at court.

Queen ship has been a continual theme in Sansa’s narrative arc, evolving in step with how her character develops - and this theme is there for a reason, especially AFTER her betrothal to Joffrey was broken.

In the first book, Sansa’s notion of queenship was a very naive one - the Disney princess dream, so to speak, of pretty dresses, having babies and living happily ever after in a world where everyone is courteous and nice.

That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies. (AGoT, Sansa IV)

Later she sees it as a way to save those she loves and to protect herself:

Joffrey was the king now, she thought. Her gallant prince would never hurt her father, no matter what he might have done. If she went to him and pleaded for mercy, she was certain he’d listen. He had to listen, he loved her, even the queen said so. Joff would need to punish Father, the lords would expect it, but perhaps he could send him back to Winterfell, or exile him to one of the Free Cities across the narrow sea. It would only have to be for a few years. By then she and Joffrey would be married. Once she was queen, she could persuade Joff to bring Father back and grant him a pardon. (AGoT, Sansa IV)

He did not hate her, Sansa realized; neither did he love her. He felt nothing for her at all. She was only a … a thing to him. “No,” she said, rising. She wanted to rage, to hurt him as he’d hurt her, to warn him that when she was queen she would have him exiled if he ever dared strike her again …(AGoT, Sansa IV)

In the second book, she is subjected to Cersei’s toxic “wisdom” about how a Queen should act:

“The night’s first traitors,” the queen said, “but not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning.” As they left, she turned to Sansa. “Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people’s loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I’ll make them love me. (ACoK, Sansa VI)

Here we see Sansa learn how NOT to be a Queen as she inwardly rejects Cersei’s toxic worldview. Not only does Sansa reject Cersei’s attitude, she also steps up and does Cersei’s job of calming the women when Cersei herself abdicates her queenly responsibilities as she leaves Maegor’s Holdfast during the Battle of the Blackwater.

Sansa is set aside as Joffrey’s betrothed at the end of book 2 and one would think that the theme of queenship would come to an end in her arc. However, it still pops up in the story, fx when Tyrion observes that Sansa has the abilities to have been a good Queen:

She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. His cousin Ser Lancel had been brought down by Ser Kevan, the first time he’d left his sickbed since the battle. He looks ghastly. Lancel’s hair had turned white and brittle, and he was thin as a stick. Without his father beside him holding him up, he would surely have collapsed. Yet when Sansa praised his valor and said how good it was to see him getting strong again, both Lancel and Ser Kevan beamed. She would have made Joffrey a good queen and a better wife if he’d had the sense to love her. (ASoS, Tyrion VIII)

The theme of queenship in relation to Sansa is even raised indirectly in the fourth book when she has been taken to the Vale by Petyr Baelish:

"You would not believe half of what is happening in King’s Landing, sweetling. Cersei stumbles from one idiocy to the next, helped along by her council of the deaf, the dim, and the blind. I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now … it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. What little peace and order the five kings left us will not long survive the three queens, I fear.”

“Three queens?” She did not understand.

Nor did Petyr choose to explain.(AFfC, Alayne II)

Baelish never explains his cryptic remark and fans have theorized a lot about who the three queens that Baelish refers to are. Cersei is certainly one of them but few people consider Sansa as a candidate as one of those queens. However, it is important to consider the context for this remark of his. We learn that Baelish’s plans for Sansa include a marriage between her and Harry the Heir as a means to use the Knights of the Vale to retake the North. That would put both Sansa and him in open rebellion to the Iron Throne - and it very likely that he plans to set up Sansa as Queen in the North as a step for him to realize his ambitions of power, which very likely would be him taking the Iron Throne for himself - as in the show.

The show also subtly hints at Sansa as Queen in various ways. Fx in season 3, a very subtle hint that may be foreshadowing is introduced in the very first episode - after Sansa has been set aside - when Ros tells Shae this:

This is a particularly interesting detail because it invokes an age-old tradition of announcing royal births with both a series of gun salutes as well as specially composed bell peals. It is a tradition that is still in use in the United Kingdom where the birth of Prince George in 2013 was celebrated with a special bell peal that lasted 3 hours! (x).  

Thus, Sansa’s birth was celebrated as if she were a royal princess, which is a curious detail since the Starks have not been Kings in the North for several centuries.

This is a detail that was invented for the show - and I cannot help but wonder if this apparently innocuous detail might be a piece of cleverly hidden foreshadowing of Sansa’s eventual fate. She may end up becoming Queen, which isn’t a far-fetched idea since queenship is a theme the runs through her narrative arc in the books - even after she’s no longer betrothed to Joffrey. Sansa is, in many respects, a foil to Cersei and it is through Cersei that she learns how NOT to be a Queen! Neither should we forget that in the moment of crisis during the Battle of Blackwater, it was Sansa who stepped up and performed Cersei’s role when the latter abandoned her duties. (x)

Furthermore, in season 7, the show subtly compares and contrasts Cersei, Daenerys and Sansa as rulers - even though Sansa is not a queen. This is done both through the similarities in their costuming but also through a direct comparison of their actions. Cersei’s forces seizes the food of the Reach in order to feed her allies and Daenerys burns all of these very important resources even though she cannot feed her armies. In contrast, we see Sansa collecting the foodstuffs of the North at Winterfell in order to feed both her people but also any refuges that might seek shelter there. However, she also expressly states that if there’s any surplus food (or if they don’t need it), then it is to be returned to the people who delivered it. Thus, we see Cersei stealing food to prop up her own rule, we see Daenerys destroy food even though she needs it - and in contrast we see Sansa securing food through voluntary donations and planning for it to be returned if it turns out that they won’t need it.

So even though Sansa is not technically a Queen (and we actually see her refuse the Crown of the North when it is indirectly offered), she acts like one - and she’s the one who is shown as a better leader that the two rival Queens in the South.

Thank you for the ask and sorry about the late answer.

[johnlockficclub]

Author Discussion

Welcome @silentauroriamthereal!!! We were so happy to read The Bells of King’s College, and even happier to have the lovely SilentAuror answer our questions about her fantastic story. It’s been a great journey, and now it’s time to get the inside scoop on the boys in this story. We’ve had a lot of fun with this one, and thank you all for joining us! We look forward to seeing you all again for the next round!!!

The most important question is, who did YOU envision when writing Greg? @sherlock-nanowrimo

Greg? No one, actually!

How do you get inspiration too a new fic? @tildathings

I don't know, honestly. I never sit down and go, "hmm, I'd like to write a new fic, what should I write?" I just have ideas in my head all the time and generally order them so that I know what I'm going to work on next. I don't typically go hunting for story ideas

I want to know how you write in general. This story to me feels like one of those write as you go stories. Was it? @elwinglyre

I NEVER write as I go. I always have the entire thing planned before I write a single word I always know the beginning, the ending, and at least several major points that come between, at least - overplanning is just as bad as underplanning

What was the purpose of using familiar names for original characters? @wildishmazz

For OCs, it just made sense for the setting? They were going to a conference, so it couldn't possibly be all people that they already knew?

Hiiiii! Here's one for you! What was your purpose for the swans? What did they represent to you when you wrote it? We speculated on it a bit but I’d love to hear what your intentions were. @hpswl-cumbercookie

The swans! I just like swans, haha! Plus, Cambridge is full of them! No specific symbolism there... I'm pretty un-symbolic, generally. Just straight up narrative

So is Cambridge a location that is familiar to you? @bluebellofbakerstreet

Yes, not as familiar as I'd like, but I once spent three weeks in residence at one of the colleges as a guest cantor (I'm a classical singer and conductor)

Was Mycroft really just interested in solving the case, or did he have ulterior motives? @sherlock-nanowrimo

Yes, Mycroft in my writing never has ulterior romantic intentions. He rolls his eyes heartily at the entire notion, though in his heart of hearts he knows that it's probably good for Sherlock. But he would never do anything to help it happen

I loved the tension you built up between John and Sherlock, especially John not realizing that Sherlock had loved him for so long. When you're writing characterization, how exactly do you plan things out? Outline, character sketch? @elwinglyre

It all depends on the specific context. In this case, I was taking them from literally two weeks out from the end of series 4, where things were cautiously okay on the surface, but there was still all this crap lying right beneath it: John still projecting his literal self onto his notion of what and who Mary was and needing to come to see that in a more realistic and healthy (especially in terms of his mental health) way, and having the two of them (him and Sherlock) actually talk for real about their issues over the years and actually fix them. I had also already written one fake-couple-for-a-case trope and wanted this one to specifically be one where it didn't work very well for them My sole purpose in life is to make these two idiots have a full, direct, and honest conversation just ONCE, since Moftiss isn't ever going to let that happen

Is it a deliberate choice for a specifc effect that you write in present tense, or it just sounds better, or.... something else? (I'm more used to long texts being in past tense) @srebrnafh

I used to always write in past tense, but something about this fandom in particular just makes it feel right to use the present! I don't know why, but virtually all of my Sherlock stories are in present, even in my 152K novel!

Do you think Greg could tell there was seething jealousy revolving around him? @sherlock-nanowrimo

No, he's a pretty typically thick straight dude, hahaha

It's difficult to make Sherlock be all sentimental without him going out of character, yet you suceeded very well with that. How do you walk that fine line? Any tips for us common mortals writing fics? @shiplocks-of-love

it definitely has to be approached with caution! Sherlock is FULL of emotion, though - it's all there, right beneath the surface, and the very reason that Mycroft always lectures him about it, because he IS vulnerable. The entire façade of disinterest is a carefully cultivated, yet absolutely untrue one! He cares so much - but he's also absolutely unused to expressing any of it, or whether he should at all, and if so, how. He hates looking bad at anything, which makes it all extra difficult for him and John, being emotionally repressed and all around hung up, doesn't make it any easier!

Do you find it easier to write as John or Sherlock's POV? You do both so brilliantly, so I'm just curious @inevitably-johnlocked

Sherlock, all the way. I love writing John's POV wholeheartedly, but I'm very much Sherlock in my own head/heart!

Jodie, she was a very good character in this fic. She really made us think about how we have become mistrusting against and good people in fic’s. Why are there not so many good people written in fic’s do you think. @tildathings

Jodie WAS also meant to be a red herring! It's not a technique that I've used often - revealing the murderer quite obviously very early on, and then just having the case revolve around them needing to prove it. So Jodie was also just meant to throw in some suspicion, for interest heh

What inspired you to use evensong in this story? I don’t know much about it so I don’t really know its significance. @hpswl-cumbercookie

I'm an Anglican who's worked in Anglican churches for a long time and it's just a really beautiful service! Plus, in the music world, Evensong is a service that non-Christians often attend strictly for the music, so it made sense to me that the Holmes family might have, too? I depicted Sherlock's mother as being the Vegas show-type, but his father being the one who took them to Evensong. Plus the Christmas Eve Lessons & Carols at King's College really is a place for society people to be seen, etc It's a beautiful service that's more music than anything else

Would you ever write Pre S4 or Pre S3 again, in that case? Or do you go with "as each series happens"? @inevitably-johnlocked

No, once a new series has aired, I'm stuck in the phase of post-that series but I don't consider anything written pre-canon to be AU, either - just canon compliant with the then-known canon

I also think of Jodie as a Mary Sue (one that I would like to be like). Is she you? @elwinglyre

No, I would never deliberately write a Mary Sue!

LoL I was legit just about to ask about how you do your case research lol @inevitably-johnlocked

Hmm - that's hard to answer! it depends on the case! sometimes I'll google street view parts of London for hours just until I've found the perfect street to set the murder on  I've also googled "dodgy parts of London" and stuff like that

I was wondering very much over  why Andrea didn’t try to kill the bride or the ex? @tildathings

The bomb could easily been going of somewhere else then at the conference. She wouldn't have killed outside her "territory", though. If they'd ever gone to her hotel, she might well have!

Can I say a thing about the antidote? I researched poisons a LOT for this story, like how quickly they act, what they taste like, how curable they are, etc, and I chose the poisons in this story very specifically, the only antidote that acts this quickly - aka, fast enough to save Jodie here - is literally the one that comes up in this story, and it's literally not in use in the UK yet. It's been approved for use in the US only, since it was developed there, so that's why the random American doctor showed up. It was the only realistic way to get that antidote into this conference it's called hydroxocobalamin and it's only been around for about three months now I genuinely do my homework for my fics, lol @silentauroriamthereal

The scene where John gets upset that the others are congratulating Sherlock on sex, we talked about it a lot and it was my favorite conversation in the chat. There were some slightly different takes on what exactly it was that John was pissed about.  Being a bottom?  Being a conquest? Gay sex in general? What does this say about his views on sex?  What were your thoughts in writing it? @sherlock-nanowrimo

All of the above! Being thought of as gay is something that I truly believe that John has a problem. John suffers from classic Short Man Syndrome, and being naturally perceived as the bottom is something I feel like he would naturally rebel against when he's not in his best place in terms of being emotionally healthy but especially the thought of having been a conquest, or having "caved" to something that Sherlock wanted and he didn't so much but I also think that John is so fascinating because his range of possibility is so huge. While I would say that it's absolutely in character for him to be a COMPLETE douche (because he absolutely has been!), I would say that it's equally in charater for him to be the soft-eyed, gently-smiling guy that we see after Sherlock's "England would fall" scene

LOL As an author, do YOU get frustrated that they're just not talking? I've always wondered. @inevitably-johnlocked

YES, omg, all the time!! like I said, it's my purpose in life to MAKE THEM TAAAALK but it has to get there realistically and there's just this huge backlog of stuff that needs talking about now, which makes it all the harder

John fascinates me, his relationship with family and friends. What do you think happened to his parents? Have you thought about them before writing anyone of your fic’s? @tildathings

I don't have a single theory. I've written multiple versions of what could have happened, just as I have at least 6 different versions of Harry now

I was reading another fic recently, where the author said in the notes that they had already addressed certain S4 things in other fics and didn't feel like it in this one.  Do you ever feel that way? @sherlock-nanowrimo

Oh, for sure for instance, I've written John discovering Sherlock's whip scars so many times now that I don't always include it in every single story now. Ditto for him discovering that he would have died (snipers) if Sherlock hadn't jumped, that it was blackmail, that Sherlock's silence was protecting his life so I don't always have them have the FULL DISCUSSION OF EVERYTHING in every single story

Did you have headcanons for Sherlock's past memories of the place (Cambridge)? @sherlock-nanowrimo

Not specifically, just family trips, usually during the holidays

Last fic club meeting all of us had ideas for a second fic. From bachelor party sorry forgot what that’s called in English, to marriage with very much fluff. Is fluffy story something you could think of  writing? Oh! And competition between Rock Greg and Greg Lestrade who made the best party! @tildathings

I never deliberately write "fluff" and find the term insulting, honestly that said, I am planning on a sequel to Isosceles, my most recent, where they go to LA to visit Corey (the OC in that story) and that will be on the lighter side, haha "fluff", to me, says "without substance" rather than simply "romantic" or "happy ending"

Can I just ask, as the author, writing that first get together after the ball, where was your mind? I'm not quite sure how to word it. like, Sherlock's and John's actions both make a lot of sense and very much feed off one another, but how did you get to that action specifically?. does that make sense? @hpswl-cumbercookie

My intention there was for them to hook up but without having had the major conversations that needed to happen first, plus John's jealousy rearing its ugly head and causing him (and remember, he was drunk and very much sans filters!) to say something hurtful that Sherlock definitely remembered, and for it to be the opposite of fixing their issues, but exacerbate them even further I did want their natural (and seven years built-up!) chemistry to take over, but for it to have happened out of order

Alrighty friends! Thank you all so much for joining us on this adventure, and obviously a million thanks for @silentauroriamthereal for joining us and speaking with us, as well as for writing this beautiful piece of fiction. From the whole JFC crew I want to say thank you and we will see you soon!

[nerdylittleshit]

Thoughts about Spn 14x02

SPOILERS AHEAD! BEWARE!

A bit later, but man what an episode. I really liked it a lot, more than the season opener, and there is lots to talk about. The plot, just as in 14x01, was kinda there, but not worth getting into, because all in all not much happened. Considering this season contains 3 episodes less than usual, it is interesting to see how much time so far has been spent on setting up the characters instead of moving forward the plot. What made this episode were the character moments, and they had lots of them, and I really liked that instead of Sam and Dean (or Michael) our focus was this time on Cas, Jack and Nick.

One of the things I usually criticize Bucklemming for is their handling of the plot, because a lot of their episodes in the past had been crammed with plot, hardly allowing the characters (and the audience) to breathe. They did the exact opposite this time, taking out the speed, making a character driven episode, and now I wonder if this is where their actual strength is (and hoping we get more episodes like this from them in the future). I know I had in the past expressed my fair share of criticism of Bucklemming, though I try to be objective, but this time I really think both the writing and the acting is what made it such an excellent episode.

But, as always, let’s take a closer look.

Of monsters and men

“That's not a man. That's a monster. That's a monster, and then -- and then Lucifer found me and made me a monster, too.”

If you have read my review for the last episode you know that I wasn’t pleased to see Nick return. Part of that is my personal dislike for Mark Pellegrino. There are a lot of shows that I watch where I know little to nothing about the actors in it, with Supernatural however the actors and their actions are always part of my radar, and I admittedly have a hard time watching an actor/actress that I dislike for very personal reasons. That being said, Mark Pellegrino did a really good job in this episode, and a rather see him as Nick than as Lucifer. I also liked the direction where the Nick storyline is headed, which might be a bit of foretelling of what Dean will go through now that Michael has left (*Thor voice*: Is he though?).

The great question the episode asks is that of monsters and men, if Nick is one or the other, or maybe both. The story goes back to what little we know about Nick – a man who has lost his wife and son in the most horrible way and drowning in grief said yes to Lucifer, to get some sense of justice. It seems though that at first Nick didn’t even remember what happened and why he said yes, until Cas reminded him. Then however he becomes obsessed with the idea of finding out who killed his family. I don’t think we can blame him for wanting to find out the truth, however I think Cas already suspects that something might be wrong with Nick. He still uses Lucifer’s mannerisms, apparently unaware of it. Later he asks what Nick will do when he finds out who did it, perhaps already suspecting Nick might do something horribly, something Lucifer would have done.

And then we had the end scene with Nick’s confrontation with Arty and him murdering Arty, with the same weapon Nick’s family was killed. This is the first clue that Nick might have killed his own family. The others are that there was no evidence (no DNA, no fingerprints, because the murderer never had left), and that Arty said that there was no man. There are two versions here that could be true. In one Nick was innocent and a victim and what he did in the end was due to Lucifer’s influence on him. He was a man who became a monster. In the other version Nick had always been a monster, had killed his own family, and then supressed the memory so much that he believed a man had done it.

Personally I did like this twist. Everyone is convinced that Nick is a victim, Cas even admits that only because of it he can bear to be near Nick. Nick has convinced himself he is a victim, or rather Lucifer did. Lucifer did turn the narrative around, he made the killer into the victim, which would allow himself to become his vessel. Michael as well turns the narrative around, offering a world where the hunted become the hunters. It is, purposely or not, a comment to our current political climate, where offenders claim to be the actual victims, and victims are afraid to tell the truth, because there will be the ones to be blamed. It would fit Lucifer to see a man who had killed his wife and son and say, no look, you are the actual victim here, all why wearing the face of the dead wife.

Days of Future Past

“The past, where you came from, that's important, but it is not as important as the future and where you're going.”

I have a lot of feelings and they all taste like Nougat. Jack is still on his journey to accept his human self, but instead of improving his human skills he tries to find out when his grace will come back, thinking it is the only thing that is useful about him. Cas of course can relate, because Jack’s future is Cas’s past. And he gives some excellent advice.

“But I had something else that was extremely helpful. I had myself. Just the basic me, as, uh as Dean would say, without all the bells and whistles.”

Cas needed to learn to rely on himself, and that is a great lesson, in and outside the show. To find strength in yourself, even at times where you seemingly have lost everything. Both Cas and Jack had learned to associate their value with their powers, fearing that without them they are useless. And even when Cas says he had Sam and Dean, we know it is not entirely true. Cas was for some time completely alone, without his powers, and some very basic understanding of the human world. And yet he survived and it made him stronger, and all in all it did help him to become the person he is today, someone who has learned from his past, but doesn’t let the past define himself.

Last season the focus was all on Jack being Lucifer’s son, and what influence his father might have on him, and what he would do with his powers. Now without powers Jack turns to his human side and gets to know his mother’s family. I am so grateful the show doesn’t forget Kelly, and her sacrifice and how much she means to Jack. It saddens me that her parents will never know what happened to her, will never know who Jack really is, that they can never find real closure. And it is interesting that Jack describes them as the only real family he has left. Does that mean he no longer sees Sam, Dean and Cas as his family?

And then of course we have the conversation between Cas and Jack, concerning Dean and what will happen to him. Jack argues that Michael should be stopped at all costs, even if it costs Dean’s life, because that is what Dean would have wanted, rather than seeing Michael destroying another world. Cas of course argues against it, and it is evident how surprised and hurt he is by Jack’s word. And yet, a couple years ago, Cas was not much different, and would have agreed that one human life doesn’t weigh more than the entire world. Of course Cas has a much deeper emotional investment in Dean than Jack. Jack does care about Dean, but he has witnessed a world that Michael had already destroyed. Again, Cas’s past is Jack’s future. Jack is still at the beginning of the journey Cas has been on for years now.

Man in the Mirror

“Why be the hunted when you can be the hunter?”

The Michael aka Dinkle storyline was the least interesting to me. Then again I am generally not a big fan of the Michael!Dean development. Michael follows his plan from last episode, choosing monsters as the ones worth saving, as they are pure. (What ever happened to Jo after her call to Sam? What did she see, what did she tell Sam?) He experiments on vampires and then turns to werewolves, and in the end it seemed he found out how to make monsters stronger. Plotwise it means that the monsters the Winchesters will face in the near future will become more interesting again, as they can be no longer killed the way they used to before. The big question is however: Where is Michael?

It is possible Michael did leave Dean, and found himself a new vessel (can werewolves become vessels? They are technical still human). But it would involve a lot or trouble and Dean is after all his perfect vessel, so why leave? The other (more popular) theory is that Michael is still inside Dean, dormant for now, and will show himself in time. This way he would have access to all kind of weapons and information at the MoL bunker. If Michael simply left it would seem a bit anti-climatic, especially as he had no reason to do so, so now we have to wait for the other shoe to drop.

Some other things

New Bobby isn’t like our Bobby, and this was most evident when he wanted to kill the young vampire lady. He operates much more black and white, whereas Sam and Dean have for years now operated in grey areas. This will cause some conflict in the future.

Nick accuses Cas to be no different than Lucifer, and yet Cas couldn’t be more different than Lucifer. Lucifer never cared about anyone but himself, whereas Cas cares so much about everyone his heart is bleeding out from it. And with all the horrible things he has done, much of it to heaven and other angels, his biggest regret is still what happened to Jimmy and his family.

That being sad Cas is the worst babysitter. Both Jack and Nick left the bunker, one at a great risk of his own life, the other a great risk to everyone else. Please hire Steve Harrington next time.

 Until next week <3

[dylanobrienisbatman]

Rewatch: Episode 1x08, Day Trip

Some of our best commentary from our rewatch 

Why does Clarke mention never having ‘floated in the water’ in her little monologue? it seems weird. Like not, felt the breeze in her hair, or seen plants, or felt the grass on her feet? Bri got us thinking about this. 

Bellarke was a perfect ship and then Clarke went bonkers and ruined it all. 

We got strangely into the minutia this week. 

Bellamy sitting there staring at Lincoln, the GUILT in his face. god, we love our sad son. 

Why does Miller get that job, telling parents their kids died?

Bri just reminded us to mention how pretty s1 Bellamy is. Very important

Miller getting head butted is so fucking funny. 

Where did they get a camera, for that video chat?? 

Bri said probably the art supply store lol

Always all up in the Jonty feels during s1. 

We’re all so pumped for High Jonty

Shumway is the fucking worst. 

Octavia is such a petulant child, we love it. S1 Octavia gets to be a part of Pettykru. 

Her little “why do you even care, if i ruined your life”... man, siblings. 

Bellamy is such a grumpy boy. He needs to find a book and chill out. 

Elyse said he’s grumpy because there are no books. 

We love our Grumpy Boy™

Bellamy Blake, at it again with the iconic lines

Seeing Monty just makes us sad

EW RAVEN FINN SEX IS THIS EPISODE. 

Raven bby leave him you deserve so much better. 

Finn needs to stop being stressed about Clarke when his peRFECT GIRLFRIEND RAVEN REYES IS RIGHT THERE. 

Octavia asks Lincoln “its good right” when she giving him a drink. Babe.. Honey.. its WATER. he has definitely had it before. 

Elyse reminded us that she was never properly socialised. We will give her a pass. 

The line about Bellamy being a dick always makes me laugh, its so true. I love my dickhead son. 

A Necessary™ shot of Ricky Whittles Abs. 

Octavia taking responsibility for something? are we hallucinating? did WE ingest jobi nuts? 

Octavia being Petty again, but Raven is such an adult. 

Why are Raven and O always best friends in fics? like obviously no shade on any fic writer your stuff is always amazing everyone, but the show never really digs into that friendship, far as we can remember. They actually kind of actively dislike each other for a while.

I said i wanted to Vom about finn, and Elyse told me to drown him with it. So thats gross.

RAVEN GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU DESERVE BETTER. 

Clarke talking about the dirty bunker, such a princess

Bellamy is so grumpy about the blankets? like dude. Chill. 

He DOES chill, almost immediately, upon finding guns. the nerd. He’s like a kid on christmas. that smile is blinding. 

High Jonty is the best Jonty tbh. 

Monty is such a calm stoner. Just wants to hug the Earth. 

The camera angles used in this to show us that they’re all high is so cool. 

this is such an awesome episode all around. 

THE ANTI GROUNDER STICK. 

Octavia definitely only knows slang because her entire socialisation is a bunch of teenage criminals. 

Miller definitely doesn’t have siblings because if he did he would have never ever trusted those nuts Octavia gave him. His lack of suspicion is entirely because he doesn’t have a sister. 

INTENSE keysmashing over the bellarke gun shoulder touch. THROWN BY THE INTIMACY OR SOMETHING RIGHT?!?! 

They banter like an old married couple “we NEED to do this” “No we NEED to do that” lol. 

WHy couldn’t bellamy have a nice happy trip like Monty. poor sad boy. 

The difference in everyone’s trip was really awesome as a narrative choice

How is Clarke not MORE messed up after a year in solitary. 

okay we all love the ‘i can’t change the tide’ line, but i never noticed that when he comes into Finn and Raven’s tent, he starts with “Is the moon in here?” lmfao monty is an angel 

Raven making finn come out because everyone is so high is so funny. 

Clarke is so YOUNG. Like sometimes we all forget how young she was in the first season. Shes literally 17, season 1 doesn’t even go a whole month and in episode 1 she says she doesn’t turn 18 for another month. 

She just misses her dad, its so sad. 

They’re all just kids! Even Bellamy is only like 22/23 which is just about our age. 

Clarke being such a Teenger™ to her halucinated!Dad is so funny 

Okay but actually how old is Lincoln supposed to be? 

I have made Bri reevaluate the entirety of Linctavia. 

“The most beautiful broom, in a broom closet, of brooms” and then the kid just sort of hums at her. What a great Raven line. @the-most-beautiful-broom we miss you <3 

On first watch we were definitely all nervous that Lincoln wouldn’t get away. This is one of Finn’s few good moments. 

Elyse pointed out that Finn is like two separate characters, and Bails (no surprise) mentioned how they talk about that a lot in the @metastation podcast, about how they just sort of attribute random traits to Finn to fit his plot line. Go listen to the podcast, especially for s1. 

Jaha’s line “You want the peace of death” is so intense and well delivered. 

Bell saves Clarke, Clarke saves Bell, they save each other, they forgive each other, god s1 Bellarke is so alsdhfinsakldmjsdkjfh

Bullet to the neck Bell? *Jake Peralta Voice* Smort

Augh the forgiveness scene

Forgiveness... can you imagine. Hamilton references are always necesary. 

Bellamy is SO SAD AUGH. 

He just wants to be the man his mom raised him to be (our thoughts on aurora blake are... not so positive but its still super sad.) 

We all just wanted to cry because Bell is so so sad. 

Can they please ACTUALLY parallel the forgiveness moment in s6, and not this half assed shit they did at the end of s5? because thats not forgiveness. 

God these babies need a nap. 

Monty the Pine Cone Eater

“They’ll kill us” “Or Worse!” Okay, random kid... whats Worse? exactly? 

That synchronised Power Couple Strut™ and dropping of the guns, the epic power couple speech. Iconic.

Bellamy definitely made them practice this before they went in. “No clarke, you gotta say it like this”. He’s a Drama Hoe. We love our Drama Hoe. 

For real though, even with all the problems they have later, the way they actually write the Blake Siblings is so good. They feel like real siblings. There are a lot of shows that write siblings that you can just tell the writer doesn’t have siblings and didn’t ask anyone’s advice. But the Blakes have that dynamic of like “I’ll definitely kill you, but if anyone else says a bad word about you, I’ll kill THEM.” They have this petulant back and forth, but its always sort of underlined with this deep love. The writers know how to write a sibling relationship. Even when it becomes abusive and terrible later, that sort of weird dynamic is still there. Problematic, but the dynamic is well done. 

Finn is so high up on his own pedastal. Bellamy tortured Lincoln to SAVE YOU. How are you gonna shit all over him for it. How are you gonna question him like that. 

Clarke saying she trusts Bellamy is so lakdhjflsjhafkd;sa

Finn is such a fucking tool. 

The whole scene where Bellamy and Clarke talk to Jaha is so amazing

The scene where Diana kills shumway is intense. 

Kills: Bellamy: 1 Diana Sydnee: 1  Attempts:  Dax: 1 

“How many times did we talk about hating Finn” Tally: 6

Countdown till Raven meets Zeke: 6 years 6 months and 15 days, 56 episodes.

Times Bailey mentions the @metastation podcast (because she has a problem):  2

Times Octavia takes actual responsibility: 1 

How many times we called Octavia Sneaky: 5

Times Clarke’s Canon love interest is jealous of her relationship with Bellamy: 1

Countdown to Finn’s Death: 26 days, 13 Episodes  

 @granger--danger @raven-reyes-of-sunshine

[typewriterwitch]

When the Forced Marriage Trope is Given Depth

The forced marriage plot is a venerated tradition in romance novels. So much so that today’s romance writers are twisting plots around like pretzels to try to make this trope plausible—and palatable—for the modern age. Usually, this involves business arrangments and marriages of convenience. The old school romance novels of my adolescence were more about king’s edicts and unbreakable betrothals to the last man on earth the heroine ever wants to marry—but with a sly wink toward lust to undercut her early hate.

The appeal of the forced marriage plot is the belligerent sexual tension for a start. Then it’s the softening. The something there that wasn’t there before. The hero becomes less of an ass. The heroine admits her initial impression was harsh. It’s classic Pride & Prejudiceor Beauty & the Beast. Gold standard stuff. From a practical point of the view, the forced marriage plot is a way for historical romance writers to have their Pride & Prejudice or Beauty & the Beast plot, give a nod toward social norms, and still include sex scenes.

But the forced marriage trope has a crucial difference—in both Pride & Prejudice and Beauty & the Beast examples, the narrative question is, “Will the heroine consent to marry the hero?” Her choice is centered. Elizabeth throwing Darcy’s proposal back in his face is one of the best examples of agency in all of romance (my personal favorite comes from North & South). We want to see the heroine stand up for herself because then it’s crystal clear that, by the end, she’s marrying for love. In the case of the forced marriage trope, the choice has been made for her, so her agency is compromised.

What does that do to the appeal of the trope? It messes it right up, that’s what it does.

For fans of messy romance—romance with stakes and grit and depth—this is can be a very interesting thing. If the author treads carefully. Treading carefully means hitting a few major beats:

Acknowledging the messed up nature of the situation. The hero especially needs to understand how getting a wife against her will is, you know, bad. Even if he starts out conceited or oblivious, it’s crucial that he learns to value consent above all else.

Giving the heroine a free and clear means of escape. Readers seem to swoon over the whole, ‘You’re too good for me! But I’m a selfish bastard so I’ll never let you go’ angle. In this trope, the alpha possessiveness vibe is more uncomfortable than usual. Tone it way down. Even Disney gets it right: When the Beast asks Belle if she can be happy with him in the 2017 version, she responds, “Can anyone be happy if they aren’t free?” The only answer is no and the Beast promptly lets her go.

Making the character change crystal clear. The reason the heroine decides to stay with the hero is make-or-break for this trope. Quivering thighs aren’t enough. Genuine, authentic change in the hero’s actions and the heroine’s understanding is a must. This cannot be lip service. It has to feel authentic and earned.

Why are these three beats so crucial? Because the very last thing we need is forced marriage itself romanticized as an institution. Forced marriage is and has been a source of pervasive evil in the lives of women. Google ‘forced marriage’ without the ‘romance’ at the end and you get a lifeline number to stop human trafficking. This trope emerged from a dark and dangerous place, as a lot of storytelling tropes do. No number of happy fictional endings will change that.

Most premises for this trope I’ve seen skirt the trope’s heart of darkness, ignoring the uncomfortable implications in favor of a few thrills. Which begs the question—does the popularity of the trope mean its readers are regressing or resisting progress? Are readers thinking that choice is too hard and wouldn’t it be nicer if someone chose a husband for them and it all worked out in the happily-ever-after? Maybe. Romance is escapism, after all. This trope and the soulmates trope are like the benevolent dictator theories of romance novels. Easy and unrealistic are what some readers are looking for when they pick up a romance novel.

As a champion for romance with stakes and grit and depth, that’s so not me. I want a happy ending, I do. But I also what to use the forced marriage trope to, like, explore my anxieties about the long line of forced marriages from which I’m likely descended. That’s why I need the heroine to continuously stand up for herself and the hero to completely understand her situation by the end. Those three beats I laid out above allow that arc to happen. They’re a formula for catharsis and that’s damn good drama. But the right to choose one’s life partner is a cornerstone of feminism for a damn good reason. For me, the story isn’t satisfying unless it actively tackles that issue.

One of the best examples of the forced marriage trope given depth comes from a movie almost no one saw called Child 44. Tom Hardy and Noomi Rapace star as Leo and Raisa Demidov a married couple in 1950s Russia. Leo is a WWII hero turned Captain in the Ministry of State Security. The plot focuses on Leo searching for a serial killer who targets young boys. His investigation is complicated because he’s going against the will of the government. Leo’s colleagues actively want to silence any evidence that their society—a paradise—could produce a murderer. But, as the reviews on Rotten Tomatoes will tell you, the thriller aspect is a bit of a letdown. The real meaty storyline is the evolving relationship between Leo and Raisa.

The first scene to introduce Leo and Raisa as a couple is a phenomenal piece of character work. Leo is telling the story of how he fell in love and married Raisa at a dinner party. The story is a common one: love at first sight. Leo saw Raisa, waxed poetic, and asked for her name. When he tracks her down again, she admits that she gave him a false one. The two tell the story in tandem, but the audience is clued into the fact that Raisa is telling her parts dutifully. It’s Leo who finds this story romantic as he confesses his devotion to his wife. The women of the group are touched. Raisa is cool and contained. She remains cool and contained when the couple has sex in their apartment. It’s a classic framing of marital discord. Leo is kissing her neck, clearly overcome by passion. And Raisa is turned away from him, frowning into middle-distance. In a few short scenes, the audience comes to understand that Raisa does not share her husband’s blind obedience to the Soviet Union. We wonder if she might be a spy or a traitor in some way. When Leo comes home after a hard day where a subordinate murdered a mother and father in front of their two young children, he seeks comfort from Raisa. She accepts that she should do this for him, but she does not actively comfort him.

The turn comes when Leo is handed a folder and told to investigate his own wife for treason. He knows that no matter what he finds over the course of his investigation there will be no mercy. The implication alone is damning. Leo follows Raisa, seeing her lose a fellow school teacher to soldiers. She seems too close to her principal, but nothing implicates her except that he loses her in the crowd. Leo talks to his adopted father, who cautions him that it’s better to give up his wife than to go down with her. Raisa shows up for dinner then and announces where she’d gone—to the doctor. She’s pregnant. Leo tears apart their apartment but finds nothing damning. Neither do his colleagues. The scene where Leo confronts Raisa about the investigation is heartbreaking. You can see on her face that she expects to be given up. You can see on his face how much this is tearing him up inside. In the end, he submits her innocence knowing that he is dooming them both. Sure enough, they are dragged from their beds. The character work here is that Raisa lets her husband hold her, she screams for him in terror. She clings to him when she thinks they will be killed.

But they are spared somewhat. They are able to leave Moscow with their lives and sent to a village in the middle of nowhere. Gone are the luxuries that her husband’s career afforded them. In exchange for her life, he has to give up everything. Raisa is cooler than ever. It’s fascinating. She tells him that it was all a test of loyalty—he should have denounced because “that’s what wives are for.” His show of love hardens rather than softens her toward him. But she does not betray him, even when his most evil coworker offers for her to return to Moscow as his mistress. She tries to leave him, but Leo stops her and brings her back home. He forbids her from leaving again.

It’s then that we learn that Raisa resents him for how much he loves her because, as we find out, she never had a say in it. That charming story he likes to tell? She remembers it very differently. She “cried for one week” when he proposed and then accepted out fear for what would happen to her if she declined a man of his stature. She was forced into this marriage, and now she’s bound to him even tighter because of his sacrifice. Hearing this breaks Leo’s heart into a million pieces. Honestly, the angst of this scene is everything I want in this trope. Her confession rocks Leo’s world. He has tears in his eyes because he’s realizing how much of a monster he has been in the eyes of the woman he loves but has never known. We also find out that Raisa lied about being pregnant to save her own life. She’s a survivor. She’s a complex thinker and feeler. It’s heartwrenching, deep stuff, people. Sign me the fuck up twice.

That’s the first of the major beats. Acknowledging the messed up nature of the situation.

Then the murder investigation starts in earnest. Leo has to go to Moscow and he’s afraid if he leaves Raisa he won’t be able to protect her. She doesn’t want to go anywhere with him. He tells her that if she comes to Moscow with him, she can stay there. He won’t make her return, and she never has to see him again.

There’s beat number two. Giving the heroine a free and clear means of escape.

But in Moscow, things change for Raisa. She is drawn into the investigation and sees how honorable it is. She comes to realize that the man she assumed to be the honest Russian sticking up for his countrywomen against the brutal government was an ideologue all along. The monsters of her world are becoming much less black and white. By the time we get to the moment when Raisa chooses to come back with Leo, we understand why she’s making that choice.

And then boy are we ever rewarded. We get to see Raisa stand up for her husband, soothe and comfort him. We see her protect him from would-be murdererstwice and Leo turn around and do the same thing for her. She is an equal partner in his investigation and his life. The events of the movie bring them together in a way that their sham marriage never could—and it’s a messy, complicated, harrowing thing to watch. In the end, this is a true romance because the couple gets a happy ending. So happy. I won’t spoil the last bit, but there is definitely a romance novel-worthy moment when Leo turns those puppy dog eyes on Raisa to ask her if she thinks he is a monster. And of course she no longer thinks that. Her understanding of him has changed. And his actions have changed—no longer does he presume her love and ignore her true feelings. No longer does he go along with the state mindlessly and play up the war hero bit. He’s a better man and she loves him for it. That’s a transformational love story.

Final beat nailed. Making the character change crystal clear.

Again, not going to say Child 44 is a perfect movie. But the love story? Is a perfect example of a thoughtful use of the forced marriage trope. More romance novels could stand to use it as a template.