#areiphilos

[littlesparklight]

Epithets!

Not exhaustive, of course, I'm not that crazy. But a couple things that might be interesting, maybe! To note first of all is that epithets are partially ruled by metric necessity in the whole line, so they don't always say something in regards to what is used where/when for characters. That doesn't mean, however, they don't say anything, and the use is worthy of a look!

Dios. One of the most "basic" ones is probably "dios" (literally "divine", translated variously and shining, radiant, glorious, illustrious, etc); it gets used a lot, for a lot of characters. However, the distribution still varies;

Achilles: 57 Hektor: 38 Odysseus: 22 Agenor: 7 Agamemnon: 6 Alexander/Paris: 6 (4 times along with "husband of fair-haired Helen") Sarpedon: 5 Diomedes: 4 Helen: (as "divine among women"): 3

I've excluded any use below three times, but know there's quite a few people who does get it one or two times! But the way only three people have it applied the most to them is interesting! (Admittedly I might be off 1-2 occurrences or so for Hektor and Achilles especially, I almost lost my place a couple times in the list.)

Theoeides/Areiphilos. These two are being considered together for of the simple reason that, out of the 12 times this is used of Paris, 6 of them alone are in Book 3. This is complementary to how of the 19 times it's used of Menelaos in the Iliad, 13 of them appear in Book 3. Whatever other considerations, they're definitely being very pointedly used here.

"Theoeides" is one of the words for "god-like" but very specifically "god-looks"; physical appearance such as the gods'. Areiphilos is usually translated as "loved of Ares" but a couple times, undoubtedly depending on translator, it can be translated as "warlike" instead. This is about Achilles in Book 2, and in a couple places a probably formular phrase that reads "the Trojans and the [warlike/dear to Ares] Achaeans" in some manner.

Aside from those few instances it's used in the collective and the once to refer to Achilles, Iliad-wise Menelaos basically "owns" this epithet. Paris isn't the sole individual theoeides is used for, but he's certainly the one it's used the most of. Priam comes next, at 9 times of use. The ones it's used the most for next is Telemachos (6 times) and Theoklymenos (5 times) in the Odyssey. So even taking these two together, they don't quite add up to Paris' total.

Good at the war cry. This is basically "shared" between Menelaos and Diomedes, though Diomedes edges him out slightly; it's used 19 times for him and 16 for Menelaos.

Xanthos. Much like areiphilos and good at the war cry, this is basically Menelaos' epithet alone in the Iliad (used 17 times). In other sources/genres, Helen gets this applied to her as well, though! (Hesiodic corpus and by lyric poets.)

Shining Alexander, husband of beautiful-haired Helen. I have no idea why, but this is, epics-wise anyway, only used of Paris. Nowhere I've found in the Odyssey is it used of Menelaos, and I have no idea if it might be used of him in other sources. If it's not, Paris alone gets this epithet. It's used 6 times in the Iliad, and four of those six it comes with "dios" in front. It's used when Paris arms himself for the duel, then when he speaks out against Antenor, refusing to hand back Helen; it's then used when he kills Nestor's horse as well as when he injures Diomedes and Machaon (but not, despite the beginning pattern here, when he injures Eurypylus). The last one is when Hektor finds him on the battlefield and then proceeds to - with no cause - insult him.

I think the interesting thing here is that, aside from when it's used in the nightly Trojan council in Book 7, which definitely is probably rather pointed given what Paris is saying, this epithet is pretty clearly war-related.

Not in the way that it describes prowess in war, because it obviously doesn't. Rather, that it occurs when Paris is actively (about to) fighting, and specifically accomplishing something martial.

[peyoso]

#i don't know what this is about #but i'm here for every word

@areiphilos you've activated my trap card! (ttrpg series ive been obsessed with since middle school). World of Darkness is a series of ttrpgs where you play as a monster <3

Anyway imma lay out the second au (dw about mummy!dallas): long age Faeries and magic existed freely but as human civilization rose so to did they're disbelief which manifested as banality—the death of whimsy and disbelief in the fantastic—which was a poison to the fae. this forced them to either abandon the world, escaping into the Dreaming, or become Changelings: fae souls reincarnated into mortal bodies.

Sidhe are fae nobility that escaped to the fae homeland of Arcadia within the Dreaming and closed the gates, but some stayed and became known as Autumn Sidhe. Thats what Ponyboy is <3

Ponyboy (then Chrysippe) was something like a muse in Ancient Greece, inspiring artisans, poets, playwrights, philosophers, etc etc. As banality rose, he was pushed north into the forests of Europe where he met Dallas (then Dalkr). He's a Gangrel, a type of vampire that's more animalistic/feral/wild. They fell in love and as the world got increasingly more hostile to Pony, he used magic to bind their fates together and became a Changeling; dying and being reborn mortal.

So the AU is them throughout Pony's lives getting up to all kinds of trouble <3

Pony reborn > he awakens to his fae nature and remembers > them finding each other and spending the rest of Pony's life together > repeat

[christotokos]

mattdillon -> areiphilos

[theriverpointace]

Πολίτης άρχίφιλος//Polites archiphilos

so i was watching the cut songs video posted by @epicthemusicalstuff and in the first song polites is described as odysseus' best friend.

incidentally i learned the ancient greek word for best friend this week.

(well, technically i learned the ancient greek word "areiphilos," beloved by ares, and my dad, who teaches new testament greek, read the word without his glasses and saw a chi that shouldn't be there, and told me the word was "archiphilos," which he would translate as "best friend." so we could be just making things up really. but still.)

so ig now i have a polites design <3

[motownfiction]

1-5, 23

1. give short descriptions of all your current WIPs.

i have two ongoing series, first of may and ball of confusion. first of may follows one of the seven main characters on may 1 in any year from 1981-1987. we just get to see how that day is going for them and how it fits into a bigger issue in their lives. each character gets six scenes. ball of confusion is looser, less defined, and it's just about lucy meeting with a therapist lol

2. give short descriptions of all the main characters for [WIP].

lucy: what if haley from one tree hill was paris from gilmore girls?

will: what if han solo was nathan from one tree hill?

sadie: what if topanga from boy meets world was winnie cooper from the wonder years?

sam: what if lorelai gilmore was seth cohen from the oc?

daniel: what if steve harrington was jonathan byers? (this is so funny, and i'm completely right)

steph: what if serena van der woodsen was peyton from one tree hill?

charlie: what if luke skywalker was anakin skywalker? (also so funny; also so true)

3. what makes you love writing?

in this project, i love getting to write about mundane moments. basically creating old photographs with words. home movies with no film. i like it. when i was in eleventh grade, my philosophy teacher asked me what kind of moments i wanted to write about. i said, "exciting moments, i think." he suggested writing about the mundane. he was so right.

4. what does it take for you to be proud of something you’ve written?

i don't know if i ever quite am, but i do like it when other people respond positively or say something nice. obviously that doesn't happen a lot because of the culture of this site, but it's nice when it does.

5. what do you think is the most important part of writing?

characters. always characters. i'm not going to care about your plot unless you give me a reason to care about the people in it. it's really that simple!

23. what do you do to engage with your projects which isn’t actually writing? ex: playlists, pinterest boards, etc. how much do they play a role in the development of your work?

lol forgot this one. but yeah, i have playlists. they’re collections of songs that appear in the vignettes, and some that just feel tangentially related to the mood. the master list is here. i also have pinterest boards, mostly to just see how things would look in my mind movie. as i mentioned to you the other day, my pinterest home page is as such that i’m starting to sideways believe that liz gillies, maya hawke, and other people were in a movie together. they were not 😭

[feed-the-roses]

Tagged by @himbo-harrington - thanks, friendo!

Top 5 Stranger Things Characters

(No particular order)

1. Barbara Holland (never forget)

2. Robin Buckley

3. Murray Bauman

4. Eddie Munson

5. Nancy Wheeler

I'll tag... @areiphilos @welcome-to-hellfire and @chrrispine

[ladyculebras]

@areiphilos tagged me to post the last sentence of my current WIP. This is Dexter/Harrison of Dexter, though this section is Harrison focused gen. I cheated because it’s a paragraph, not a sentence:

Harrison buys a pack of cigarettes at a rest stop, just outside of Meadow Springs, Ohio. He hasn’t smoked in a while. He hasn’t wanted to smoke in a while, not since foster care, when it was pretty easy to get—pickpocked it from a passed out drunk foster dad, or shared by older foster siblings. He remembers the way it used to make him feel, cloying and heady, the way it made his nerves all shake out into a single fine line. The smoke burned his lungs and Harrison liked to imagine it infecting him, like a demonic possession, slicing through him and setting in his insides on fire. He found the thought strangely comforting.

I tag @hearthouses, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[roipecheur]

@luulapants tagged me to post the last sentence of my current WIP:

“Is someone else in here?” Obi-Wan asked, but when he turned back to the table, Qui-Gon’s seat was empty.

Tag 5: @alistrawrites @sevdrag @feathers-and-cigarettes @areiphilos  whoever else wants to do it 😎

[christotokos]

areiphilos -> christotokos

[motownfiction]

quoting the classics

Carrie curls up beside Sam on the couch and drums her fingernails on his arm. She’s trying to control her goofy grin, but she knows it’s not working. In her defense, the smile on Sam’s face is sillier than just about anything she’s ever seen. She can’t help herself.

She snorts on the inside. That’ll be written on her headstone. Caroline Faye Sullivan, it will read. She couldn’t help herself. She snorts again – this time, out loud, just a little bit. At least it’ll be an intriguing epitaph.

“Let’s see,” she says, still drumming her nails on Sam. “‘Hands are full of a fishin’ rod / and the tackle on our backs …’”

Sam exhales through his teeth. Carrie can’t help but tense up.

“You’re asking all the easy questions,” he says. “‘And It Stoned Me.’ Van Morrison.”

Carrie laughs and gives Sam a playful shove. He laughs and acts offended, almost, but Carrie knows him. She knows his buoyancy. Craves it. She smiles at him and puts her head on his shoulder – another song he knows all the words to. They’re playing a game about quoting the classics. One of them will recite lyrics from a classic song (broadly construed, of course, as Sam doesn’t get into anything unless it’s broadly construed), and the other will try to guess which song it’s from. So far, Sam’s gotten all of his questions right. Carrie would be lying if she said she wasn’t impressed.

“Not everybody would think that question was easy,” she says. “You think just anybody in our age bracket has a copy of Moondance laying around?”

“I think it would be a better place if they did,” Sam says.

“Mmm-hmm. I’d be inclined to agree with you.”

“Oh, well, thank goodness, then.”

They giggle together. Carrie’s not sure who leans into the kiss first, but she wouldn’t mind if it turned out to be her. It’s easy to kiss Sam. Once you get into the habit, it’s like you can’t stop. He’s a good kisser, Carrie thinks. Very … attentive.

“OK,” Sam says. “Give this one a try. ‘In love pool eyes / float feathers after the struggle.’”

Carrie snorts one more time, louder now than before.

“Are you kidding me?” she asks. “Did you really expect me not to recognize the words to ‘Barabajagal?’”

Sam laughs a little harder than Carrie thinks the joke warranted. She’ll take it, anyway.

“I never know what to expect from you,” he says. “For a lot of reasons. Not the least of which is that you know all the words to ‘Barabajagal.’”

“Somebody had to. I mean … we can’t guarantee Donovan Leitch even knew what he was saying.”

Sam laughs again. The world’s greatest sound. Better than any Van Morrison or Donovan Leitch out there. Carrie could testify.

“OK,” Carrie says, leaning on Sam a little harder. “My turn. ‘Two blankets and a bookshelf piece / a picture frame and a couple keys.’”

“Are you kidding me?” Sam asks. “Did you think you could fool me? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize ‘Positively Lost Me?’ Did you think I wouldn’t recognize The Rave-Ups?”

Carrie shrugs, still unable to wipe the smile off her face.

“Charlie wouldn’t have.”

It’s all she can say.

Sam swallows hard and takes a breath for two full seconds – longer than Sam Doyle has ever needed to take a breath before. He wraps one arm around the couch and sighs again.

“Yeah, well,” he says, “Charlie doesn’t recognize much from after he was born. Me, on the other hand … I know that’s the name of the band on the back of Molly Ringwald’s notebook in Sixteen Candles. And if I see somebody write the name of a band on their notebook, I’m gonna check it out. Even if it’s just in a movie.”

Carrie grins. Maybe that’s what’s so great about Sam … the way he seeks out as much as he can about anything that strikes him. He’s an explorer, a learner, a philosopher with a 7-Eleven employee discount.

Then again, maybe it’s his pretty eyes.

“Guess it’s my turn again, then,” Sam says.

He takes a deep breath before he gives his question.

“‘May, she will stay / resting in my arms again …’”

Carrie stands abruptly and paces the floor. She looks at Sam like he’s on fire. Maybe because she feels like she is. She thinks about stomping a hole into the ground, but she knows it would never work. Sam looks at her like he doesn’t recognize her, and for a second, she thinks maybe she’s glad.

“Stop it,” she says.

“Stop what?” Sam asks. “You love Simon and Garfunkel. I love Simon and Garfunkel. It’s a pretty song. I wanted you to know that when I think about you, I think about this pretty song.”

“Yeah, and you shouldn’t be thinking about me at all.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that.”

“I still mean it.”

“But why? It’s not like you’re still Charlie’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah, but I’m not … I’m not yours, either.”

Sam makes a face like he’s sorry to hear that. Carrie thinks about following up, thinks about a world where she entered this room in love with one Doyle brother just to spend the rest of her future with the other … but she tells the thoughts to shut up faster than they come into her brain. She exhales quietly and sits back down.

“I guess I know the answer to that one,” she says hoarsely.

Sam sighs and looks out into the middle distance.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess you do.”

[motownfiction]

5 times lucy pretended to be fine + 1 time she didn’t

cw: discussions of body dysmorphia

Lucy remembers how it felt to watch Sadie play with Angie Zahra at recess in the first grade. She had a good reason. Angie was a transplant to the class, started school at St. Catherine’s about a month after the school year had officially begun, and she didn’t have any friends yet. Sadie, gregarious even at six and a half, thought it would be great to show her around. Lucy disagreed. She’d never had a real friend all to herself before, and now, this? Now, she was being made to share? Sadie promised there was plenty of playtime to go around, and maybe Angie could be Lucy’s new friend, too. But Lucy wasn’t buying it. She knows that there’s only ever one winner. Participation is a cushion for your ego, and Lucy has never needed a cushion. Not even when she was six and a half. But after recess on that first day with Angie Zahra, Sadie asked Lucy if she was mad at her. Lucy said no. Inside, she was screaming with jealousy and nerves, but being jealous doesn’t get you anywhere. Showing weakness is the same as digging your own grave. Even when you’re six and a half.

And Lucy remembers how it felt to watch Kim Campbell flirt with Will right in front of her eyes. It was ninth grade, and Lucy was slowly coming to grips with her stupidly large crush on Will (which wasn’t even a crush – she already loved him, and she knew it). At any rate, she could feel her affection growing with every small breath she drew. She felt it get so big that she knew if she wasn’t careful enough, she could trip over it. And when Kim Campbell moves in on Will during the freshman-class retreat, Lucy downs an entire can of Coca-Cola in one go. She grits her teeth through the distress; watches as Will smiles politely and gives Kim the bare minimum of his attention. Sadie puts a hand on Lucy’s shoulder and whispers, “He doesn’t like her,” so Lucy turns around and snaps that she knows. But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know, and she’s not OK with it … but she has to be. In public, she has to be. Nothing more important than putting up a front, especially when you’re upset about some boy. She can hear the way her mother would say, “Not you. Not my feminist daughter,” and she wants to crawl out of her skin and lie on the floor, just viscera. She reaches for a handful of popcorn in the corner of the retreat room and chomps on it like it’s metal. Just trying to forget how Will is probably getting tired of her. How she waited too long to accept that she’s always loved him. Sadie comes around again and asks if she’s OK. Lucy lies. It’s all she can do.

Lucy remembers how it felt to walk back into her house after having sex for the first time. She’d spent the past year thinking about what sex could, would, or should be like. Intellectualizing it (to keep from exploring it, to quell the distraction that wouldn’t stop coming up whenever she just wanted to read Persuasion). She had reasoned with herself that it wouldn’t happen until she was at Harvard or Yale and had finished most of her major requirements (figured she knew herself and wouldn’t be able to wait until she had Ph.D. acceptances in hand), but where there’s a Will. Whenever she thinks about how much she loves Will, she wants to cry. And so, she does. She thinks about how much she loved Will tonight, how much she’ll love him tomorrow and for the rest of their lives if he wants her to. She cries harder, embarrassing herself in front of herself, but somehow, she hardly cares. It’s not that she regrets tonight. It’s that it was heavy. In a good way, sure. The best way, maybe. She still doesn’t know. So, she cries. She cries so long and so hard that her mother rushes up to her room to check on her, to ask her if she’ll be OK. Lucy wipes her tears away and says yes, she’ll be OK. Just catharting. At the time, she even mostly believed herself.

And she remembers how it felt to give birth to Elenore. Seventeen and stitched up like a procreative rag doll. The Four Seasons made rag dolls sound almost pretty, and they lied. What a sound. What a sight. She remembers the searing pain everywhere in her body, the ache in her muscles, the tears on her face (the ones she doesn’t remember crying, the ones she’ll deny were ever there). Will kisses her forehead and asks if she’s OK. Lucy nods and reminds him of her high tolerance for pain. It’s not a lie, but this one’s different. This one’s tough. She bites her tongue and waits for it to go away. It takes days.

She remembers a few months later, when she tried on her old favorite pair of jeans again. They were her mother’s in the sixties, before she went and had a baby, too. But today, they don’t quite fit – still feel a little tight around the waist. She wants to punch her reflection in the mirror, but she knows she’d only wind up hitting glass (and hurting herself, which she’s never wanted to do). Shattering the mirror does nothing for your insides. Will hugs her from behind, holds her waist like it’s something that he loves, and tells her he loves her. He asks if she’s OK, and she nods like it’s a sacred duty. Says that it’s July, and jeans aren’t weather-appropriate, anyway. Will kisses her and accepts the answer (because he’s seventeen and stupid, despite being smart). Lucy can’t take her eyes off herself. Frankie Valli lied about that one, too.

But the night Veronica is born. That’s the boiling point. She holds her brand-new beautiful granddaughter in her arms and falls in love with her, just like she fell in love with Elenore when she was stitched-up and seventeen. She looks like Elenore, too … until she opens her eyes, and it’s like looking right at Charlie. The rage is red in her gut. She’s desperate to cut it out, to scream, to beg the clocks to turn themselves back so she could stop this, could stop Charlie from laying a hand on her daughter. But she doesn’t. She just holds her brand-new beautiful granddaughter and falls even more deeply in love with her. Will taps her on the shoulder and asks if she’s OK – whispers it, delicate, like he’s almost too afraid to ask. Lucy thinks about lying. But it’s too much this time. She lets the tears flow, aware that they’re there, and says the one thing she’s always wished she was brave enough to say.

“No.”

[motownfiction]

⭐ instead of a piece let's do: character development in the last year you want to discuss!

it has been ten months since these characters became who they are (and seven months since i made this side blog for them and their stories). a lot has happened in those ten months, namely in terms of character development. so, i mean, i could really go in any direction with this, couldn't i? so i guess i'll talk about the two that are the most obvious to talk about, and that's will and sam.

because even though lucy and sadie have changed in slight ways from the place where they began (whether that's the place they began in 2007 or in 2019), and even though steph technically didn't exist before december 2021, and even though daniel was always a little bit mine ... nothing can top how surprised i am by the things that have happened for sam and will.

let me put it this way: as a writer, i think it's important to align your characters with the principal cast of the wizard of oz. lucy, by default, is dorothy because she's kind of the lead, sadie is glinda because she's the nice one who knows how to take you home, daniel is the cowardly lion because he underestimates himself ... but who are the scarecrow and the tin man? originally, i just assumed sam was the scarecrow, and will was the tin man. i was quite wrong ... wrong enough that i did have to change the tracks on their respective spotify playlists, lol

the thing of it is that neither will nor sam was supposed to be as smart as they are. god, will wasn't even supposed to go to college (and neither was sam, which remains somewhat true, since he stops at his associate's degree). but when i was first trying to figure out what to do with these personalities, if you asked me who was the smarter one, i wouldn't have hesitated to say will. he was just supposed to be a different kind of smart than the kind he is now. because -- and this is insane to me now -- will was supposed to be a petty criminal. and he gets into a few fights and steals a couple of things in junior high and high school, but his motivations are different. he's either trying to impress people (like his sister sarah, whose image he tries to emulate) or defend them. and it doesn't even happen that often. i started to understand more about what he looks like, more about his place as the second of six children (and the only boy), more about his childhood relationship with lucy, even ... and it occurred to me. will isn't (very) street smart. he just wants to be. instead, will is book smart and deeply insecure about it. at first, he's insecure about it because he doesn't think it's cool. later, he's insecure about it because he knows it's cool, and he doesn't think he's smart enough. and that's just not the character arc i expected for him. i didn't expect him to have image problems or to assume he's always "less than" others. and i really didn't expect him to be a gung-ho honors student. but i like him that way. another thing i didn't expect from will is that he cares so much about other people's feelings, and he doesn't even try to hide it. other iterations of the character would have tried to conceal their compassion on account of it "not looking cool," but that's just never been will. from worrying about his appearance, to loving lucy, to throwing himself into fatherhood before he's even done with eleventh grade, will has always put others first with no shame, no reservations. he knows he has a heart. i still think he leads primarily with movement (i.e. rash and impulsive decisions, usually backed up by the impetus to make them all see!), but he knows he has a heart. what he's not always sure he has is a brain. and of course he does, and it's a great one at that. he just has to be sandwiched in between his wife, the genius, and his best friend, the other genius (who we'll get to). either way, will is constantly going through a crisis of intelligence, which (to my utmost surprise) makes him my scarecrow.

i think sam's development over the past ten months is even more interesting. in the end, turning will into a good student who openly cares about others is surprising, but you and i both know that the underpinnings of that, the alternate possibilities, were always there in the original sketches. sam's almost completely different from the place where we found him. sam was not supposed to be book smart at all. he wasn't even supposed to care about spelling words correctly. in the first drafts, sam just slapdashes a couple of thoughts together, not really caring what he says, just trying to make it through life on charm and generosity. and that's still true in some ways ... it's just that it's different now. sam still stumbles into thoughts, but these thoughts are informed by an eidetic memory and a genius-level IQ, not to mention a wealth of popular and canonical references at his disposal. originally, sam was just supposed to be a really nice guy. now, sam is a genius who has chosen to back away from traditional academic pursuits. he could be the best if he wanted, but he doesn't want. and i like that so much better. not only is it more fun to write a sam who is absurdly smart, but also, i think it gives him an interesting character arc when you look at him next to his best friend in will. will wants to be smarter, to succeed harder, to be noticed. sam knows he has a lot of gifts that make him noticeable, and he wishes he didn't have to live up to those expectations. he feels burdened by his greatness. and shortly after he begins to accept his greatness, his intelligence, his unique sense of humor and style ... he is struck down by life and a promise he made to charlie when he was eighteen years old. he's a tragic character -- not just because he dies but because he's struck down as he's finding his prime. the conclusion of sam's arc is that all the greatness his family and friends tried to get him to live up to was futile. his greatness was a death sentence from the moment he was born.

another thing i expected from sam was for him to be more outwardly emotional, more expressive, more willing to share what ails him. and that's ... that's not exactly untrue now, but i've written a sam who runs from his emotions more than he lets them out (which, again, separates him from will, who is all-explosion, all the time). sam uses humor and art to distance himself from the way he feels, and he knows it's unhealthy. he knows that's not the way to live. but it's like he can't stop. it's like he's embarrassed by his feelings. i still think he's governed by emotions more than even will (the difference being that sam will always prioritize what feels good and right to him while will prioritizes what feels good and right to the group), but he'd rather not wear those feelings on his sleeve. sam would like to look untouchable, to look strong, to look like he has it together. but he also knows it's a trap, and eventually, it will all cave in and crush him. but he knows he has a heart because it breaks. and he hates that it breaks. he's my tin man. deeply emotional with a hesitance to express it.

i don't really know what i'm saying here or if any of this is new compared to what i've said about them before, but they've gone on the biggest journey from sketch to full-bodied character ... so i thought it was a good idea to talk about them in particular, lmao

[motownfiction]

sam, charlie, steph, will

i got a charlie already, but!

for ✨sam✨

for ✨steph✨

for ✨will✨

[motownfiction]

seance

Sometimes, when she’s alone in her home, Carrie holds an unofficial seance for Sam.

And it’s not a seance like the kind you see on TV and in the movies. No ouija boards, no candles, no tarot cards scattered in front of her. Just the couch and the radio. Like always, Carrie takes a deep breath and turns on the radio to the very first song. Whatever it is, she thinks, will be Sam’s message to her for the day.

She doesn’t tell anybody she does this, especially not Charlie. He’d be in denial about why Carrie still feels all this closeness to Sam, and not just because he’s dead, either. Charlie chooses to forget about their brief breakup before they started college; chooses to forget about Carrie’s little rendezvous with Sam. It’s almost funny. Charlie’s been with two other women since their separation began and ended, and Carrie never tears into him. Never shows a hint of jealousy (as far as she’s concerned). But Carrie sharing a bed with Sam, Charlie’s beloved big brother, was always going to be a bridge too far. Never mind that Charlie cheated on Carrie with Steph Armstrong, Sam’s high school sweetheart and forever love, always love. He could do whatever he wanted to do. It’s Carrie who can’t – who never could.

Nervously, she walks over to the radio and turns it on. It has been five and a half years since Sam died, and Carrie’s still not sure she knows what she’s doing. She takes a deep, anxious breath and thinks, whatever it is, that’s what you want me to hear. And when she hears what Sam’s ghost has for her in the seance today, she bursts out laughing.

Stand by your man! / And show the world you love him …

Carrie is laughing, laughing, laughing, but she wishes she could cry. If ever Sam was in charge of the airwaves from the afterlife, it’s right now. She can hear exactly what he’s trying to tell her. Stay with Charlie for as long as you can. It was never supposed to be me, anyway. Stay with Charlie. You always wanted to stay with Charlie.

And it’s true. Carrie Sullivan has always wanted to be with Charlie Doyle, to stay with him, because to be miserable with him is better than to be miserable without him. He’s another limb that she needs to get by. For as much as Carrie thinks she could have loved Sam (for as many regrets as she writes in her journal and then dashes out with a dark pen), he was never an extension of her body. Charlie is, for better and for worse. Sam always seemed to know that. Sam always seemed to know everything.

Carrie sighs and stands close to the radio, as though the sound will make her feel like she’s embracing Sam again. There are about five seconds when it really does.

But she knows she has to let go. It was never supposed to be Sam, anyway.

Never at all.

[motownfiction]

haunted places

Will doesn’t usually think of himself as a nostalgic person. He’s the kind of guy who moves forward. Looking back doesn’t do him any good.

And then, every summer, he goes back to Michigan.

And then, every summer, he goes on a tour of haunted places.

He doesn’t mean to do it. He just can’t help it. There’s nothing wrong with returning to the same place as long as you’re a different person than you were the last time you were there. That’s what it’s like to go back home and visit the places he left behind. The same place with different hair, different skin.

Yet, no matter what, still haunted.

He takes Emma for lunch at Lola’s Diner. He tells her it used to be Abby’s, and maybe she remembers that. But she doesn’t remember it like he does. She can’t remember it like he does, and so, she can’t care like he does, either. Emma (like her big sister before her) mostly cares that because Lola is Daniel’s little sister, she’s like family, and she gives them free fries whenever they walk through the door. But she doesn’t know that when Will guides them over to a table in the corner, he’s guiding them to his favorite spot: the spot where Sam introduced him to The Who; where Sadie made Daniel laugh so hard he snorted Coca-Cola through his nose and inspired years’ worth of puns; where Lucy kissed him like a maraschino cherry. Emma doesn’t know that Will feels numb when he sits in this chair. It’s the same chair. It’s the same chair.

He takes her to the dollar theater after lunch. He tells her that the interior hasn’t changed much since he was a kid in the 70s and 80s, down to the payphone and the Pac-Man machine. But she doesn’t know that this is the place where he, Sam, and Daniel saw Star Wars fifteen times in a single summer. She doesn’t know that this is the place where Sam decided to turn his bag of gummy bears into the cast of an imaginary soap opera. And there’s no way she can know just how much Will loses his appetite before the previews even begin.

They drive past Maggie and Mike Doyle’s house on the way back to the Callaghans’. It’s on the way, and they can’t help it. Of course, it’s not Maggie and Mike’s house anymore. It hasn’t been since Sam’s funeral. Everything about it looks different … except the concrete leading up to the porch. As far as Will can see, there’s still something written in the very corner of the cement: Sam, 1974. He’d written it with a stick in the summer after the first grade when Maggie and Mike were getting new pavement, and he was bored of his mind waiting for it to dry. He’s still there. He’s still in the house, long after dying, long after it doesn’t belong to the Doyles anymore.

These are haunted places. And if Will’s learned anything from cable TV, it’s that to stop the haunting, you have to let go of the spirit.

But what if that’s the problem?

What if you don’t want to let go of the spirit? And what if it doesn’t want to let go of you? What if you’re not done being the spirit’s best friend? What if it’s not done with you?

Will’s not sure he ever wants to find out.

[motownfiction]

L1, K8, J19

here, here, and here!