#he gave us a beautiful gift but it must be used sparingly. pulling it out in situations where u actually shouldn't be serious is elder abuse

[scoliosislouisdulac]

I've been going back to look at the notes of the iwtv rpf poll every few hours. truly absurd things happening in there

[mymovingfingerwrites]

courage, dear heart

When we think of Lucy, we think of her golden hair and her cheerful smile, we think of a girl walking through a wardrobe and accepting a new world without question. We think of Queen Lucy, blessed with the power to heal, the only girl on a ship full of boys searching for a hint of whence they came. We think of her at the end of the world, kind and lovely and sorrowful as a mouse rows away, and in the world beyond the end of the world, her eyes lit up with delight. Resolute Lucy, bold Lucy, perched like a bird on the back of a lion.

When we think of Narnia, we think of Lucy. How could we not? Was it not Lucy who opened a wardrobe door and found winter, was it not Lucy who refused to be minimized, was it not Lucy who infused the land with good cheer for years after her coronation, was it not Lucy who first cocked her head and said that the land was speaking to them and they must listen?

We think about Lucy, bright Lucy, glittering Lucy, and we know instinctively that Lucy was always the heroine of her own story. What we don’t consider is that in her darkest moments—for Lucy, like us all, was not always bright, no matter how the legends insisted otherwise—she felt at times captive by the winds of fate stirring her hair. Perhaps we are–though we don’t like to admit it—some of the many people in both worlds who looked at Lucy and resented her for having the audacity (the privilege) to fill the pages of her book with her own words without considering how heavy her pen may be.

(Was it really her book, though? Lucy did not deny she wrote her own narrative. She was Lucy the Valiant; she spoke the language of High Narnia, she heard when Aslan called, she commanded the long-dormant trees into existence once more. Lucy was familiar with the power of words. What she objected to was the idea that her life was her very own, that her canvas was blank except for marks of her own making. Dear Lucy, pulled uncomplainingly into heroics, a simple game of exploration leading to death and betrayal and heartbreak (and majesty, and light, and animals that could talk). No; this was not her book but if she had the (mis)fortune to open it she certainly would inscribe her legacy on it herself).

To our credit, we sense what Lucy had always known: she felt as though her role was inevitable. (In boys, we call that responsibility, or heroism). Perhaps that is what we resented. When you are a young girl with golden hair and blue eyes and the lightest smattering of freckles, when you are the baby of the family and coddled and loved dearly, when you are born with an infinite well of self-possession and three protective older siblings, when you believe in your own worth–stepping into the pages of your story and titling it as your own looks like a foregone conclusion from afar.

(Her sister, Susan, struggled with this for many years. Though she was the pretty one, or at least that was what her mother told her, Susan eyed Lucy’s waterfall of blonde hair with envy. Though she was meant to be gentle, Susan watched how animals flocked to her sister first, how even the most timid of creatures lined up to whisper their secrets into Lucy’s ears. This would take Susan a considerable amount of time to overcome, but let us not blame her too harshly. Being a girl is difficult enough; being the other girl in the story is harder still).

But what we do not see, unless we look very closely, is that nothing felt foregone for Lucy. What looks easy from afar was not from within. Lucy chose herself, over and over; she chose to follow the path Aslan lay out for her, and she chose to do so with good humor and kindness as armour against the inherent cruelty of the world, even the magic one.

Of all her siblings, Peter understood this best, though they never discussed it in so many words. Perhaps that is why Peter always trusted Lucy, or at least apologized to her without resentment when she was proven right. The bookends of the family, they were as temperamentally different as any other pair of siblings. Peter sometimes felt blinded by Lucy's incandescent optimism; Lucy at times was weighed by proximity to Peter's practicality.

But both of them understood duty, more so than Edmund, led so easily astray by pleasure, and Susan, who believed (at times to her credit) that the world owed her the same that she owed it. Neither Lucy nor Peter strayed from their tasks, not even when Lucy picked her cold and lonely way down to the shadow of a godly voice, nor when Peter first felt the undeniable weight of his gleaming sword marred by enemy blood. They chose, and they chose again, even when those choices did not feel like choices but inevitabilities.

For when one understands duty, taking one's place as hero is not self-indulgent. It is not privilege; it is a prerogative, and it is difficult. But where Peter found his duty in protection and caregiving, in oversight and the hard labor of daily majesty, Lucy found hers in vision and clarity and momentum. When Susan hesitated over the unknown and Edmund lay sniffling quietly when he thought nobody could hear, Lucy knew that her relentless confidence was as necessary as Peter's guidance.

(This was a burden, too. Who was positive for Lucy? Her siblings tried to be, of course; they loved each other dearly, more so in the following years. But this sense of need never left Lucy, this fear that if she did not smile that nobody else would ever smile again).

Cheerfulness and friendliness can be their own prisons. When you believe in yourself, others are relieved; they need not take on the responsibility of believing in you too. Lucy never allowed herself to stray (save from moments alone in a large, soft bed, save from a magic book that in its pages contained temptation, save from tears that splashed hotly in the cool Narnia wind) all the more rigidly because everyone expected that she never would.

(It takes strength to choose optimism; it takes willpower to respond to situations with cheerfulness. Lucy was valiant even at seven years old, remember. She knew that raising her head high was an act of defiance, she knew believing in her own experience was brave, she knew that daring to rescue a friend from the clutches of an unknown evil was perhaps foolhardy but nevertheless necessary. She may not wield a sword but do not mistake her empathy for weakness).

Beauty and softness can be their own prisons, too. Youth and innocence and loveliness can make you more—it can mark you as worthy to speak to a god-turned-lion, your friendship as worth the threat of eternal damnation—but it invariably means that more is all you are allowed to be. There were days when Lucy fled back to her castle, her nose red and her eyes stinging, her hair twisted into disarray, and wanted nothing more than to crawl beneath a heap of blankets and throw pillows at the door just to prove that she too could be cruel, she too could be wanting. It is no easier to smile when tasked to in Narnia than it is anywhere else.

Sometimes Lucy resented her role as the youngest, the softest, the angel (or was she meant to be the prophet?). She saw Susan notching an arrow to her bow, watched Peter and Edmund joust in the courtyard, and looked down at her glittering bottle of cordial and longed to smash it against the door and take up war instead of peace.

Father Christmas gave her that vial, after all, a children’s story speaking to a child. Her power was limited, finite. Lucy began to use it sparingly, though she would have liked to heal every small hurt that befell a member of her kingdom. Part of her always felt a frisson of fear at the thought that she may one day no longer have the power to heal. Part of her felt anger that even Father Christmas did not think her capable. None of her siblings had gifts of borrowed power.

(Edmund did not get a gift at all, but he was, surprisingly, placid about this slight. He still remembered the enchanting taste of Turkish delight, even years after it last melted on his tongue. He knew that even now he would betray his family for another taste of that wickedness, and that knowledge made him humble. His gift was that he would never be tempted again, and for that, he would trade all the gold in the world).

Let us talk about what it must have cost Lucy, more than her siblings, to return to a world of mundane happenstance. Let us think about her, forced to be seven years old, forced to plait her hair and be seen and not heard and befriend children scarred from years of war. These playmates did not want to be coaxed into the brilliant world of Lucy’s imagination. They did not want to hear of Aslan, they did not want to pretend to be anything they were not. They had survived days or months or years away from their parents, but not in the warm embrace of a magic land; they had been torn from their families by trains and cars leaving in the dead of night, they had been sent to farms where food stretched thin, to towns that covered their windows with black paint and slept six to a bed, heel to head. Magic to them was their father, home from the war, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes but was nevertheless warm. It was their older siblings, reunited and once again casual monarchs of the family dynamic. It was their mothers chiding them to eat, their friends once again within easy access, the serenity of the night broken only by lorries and not sirens.

Lucy had experienced hardship before, of course. Everything has a balance, after all. When you feel joy deeply, sorrow cuts you to your very core. When you are easily delighted, you understand how ephemeral delight can be. Lucy carried joy with her, of course: the wild exhilaration of Bacchus and his nymphs, how right it felt when her and her siblings rushed out to the parapet to see a brilliant golden sun nestle into the cool embrace of the Narnia forest, the softness of Reepicheep's fur tinged with drops from the sea at the end of the world, how Aslan looked at her and she felt seen. Lucy never shied away from emotion. Lucy was valiant in this too.

But she never forgot the lesson of dear old Tumnus. In Narnia, he was a constant presence in her dining hall. But she never forgot that the cost of her entrance into this glittering world was an innocent creature frozen for daring to take her home for tea. She never forgot that her siblings doubted her, that her youngest brother was led astray by sparkle and glitter. She remembered the silent despair of Caspian searching for his family, Eustace wondering which poor soul he devoured in the guise of a dragon defeating another. To the end of her days, she thought of the quiet dignity and terrible sadness of Lord Rhoop gazing upon the still bodies of his very closest companions, choosing to condemn himself to an endless sleep to be by their side on only the faintest suggestion of hope. Because Lucy was Lucy, she took those feelings into her own and cared for them as she cared for their benefactors.

But in a way, Lucy had not yet experienced loneliness and fear, not like her siblings had, not like these war-torn children. The closest she had gotten were those first few days in the professor’s house where none believed her, or when she walked alone to Aslan in the middle of the night wishing desperately someone would follow. For most of her time in Narnia, however, Lucy was easily, automatically accepted, her majesty unquestioned. In Narnia, she was unique: lovely Lucy, Queen Lucy, friend of centaurs and fauns and nymphs, immortalized in ballads, welcome in badger dens and banquet halls alike. Lucy was Aslan’s favorite, of course–didn’t he speak mostly to her, didn’t he cuddle her in his great and terrible paws? Queen of peace and harbinger of joy.

When she twisted back into an unfamiliar body she expected this world to accept her, too. Yet Lucy was not celebrated in this world; at least not automatically. Susan took one look at her circumstances and tossed her head and vowed to be queen in this life too. Edmund chewed his lip and sighed a little to Lucy but bent his head to his studies, just in case Aslan was wrong and he would be forced to rely on the battles to be won in schoolhouses and universities. Peter raged, in his own way, at the loss of his kingdom, unable to cope with his duty and his purpose and his raison d'être so brutally torn from him.

Lucy tried to talk to the trees, but they ignored her, their bark cool to the touch. She tried to dance in the meadows, but the grass was sharp and covered her legs with rashes. She tried to befriend the dogs at her local shelter but they snapped at her suspiciously. She tried to talk to her peers and hear their stories and stand up for them like she stood up for her subjects but they eyed her with mistrust and laughed at the boundless optimism she tried desperately to embody. This generation of children was not prone to easy positivity, remember. Those in Narnia had been so desperate for help after their long years of winter. Humans, she found, were surprisingly not.

Lucy had never been ignored before. She had never been disliked openly, she had never struggled to make friends. She did not know how to handle girls eyeing her with jealousy or derision, how to process boys that pulled her hair not to flirt but to hurt. Her gentle heart and loving manner had always won her praise and acclaim, but in those brittle years after the war, she was playing a game where she did not know the rules.

She was not able to admit until years later that perhaps this loneliness was good for her. Heroines need strife to grow, even in all the old stories. Lucy could have turned her back on who she was in Narnia; she could have tempered the blaze of her spirit, fell obediently into the ranks of conformity. She could have stemmed the flow of her hope and turned instead to sheer practicality. Was that not what her siblings were doing?

(No, dear Lucy, stubborn to the very end. That was not what they were doing and you should have given them the benefit of the doubt).

In some sort of twist of fate, Lucy did most of her growing in this world, off the pages of the book, trying to decide what was important to her in a world where the rules were more (less) rigid, the values were more (less) prescribed. This was where she became truly valiant, in the mundane manner as well as the majestic. In this world she learned how to listen: quietly and patiently. Here the silent trees aided her, providing a calm and soothing canvas on which a friend could shyly begin to paint her troubles. She learned that being bold and brash could sometimes be selfish instead of brave.

Lucy remembered what it felt like to be seven and ignored. She remembered encountering a fawn risking death for her company, even though she was not yet a decade on this earth. She remembered her own siblings’ gentle condescension. She knew what it felt like to be dismissed. Sometimes you do not want somebody to fight for you. Sometimes you want somebody to help you as you learn how to fight for yourself.

In this world, Lucy learned what it meant to be valiant without pride. She learned how much bravery it takes to be heroine of a story with many other heroines and heroes and warriors and soldiers, that being one of many provides strength. (It reminds her of those old sunny days, playing chess in the courtyard, all her siblings casually, loosely together). In this world, when she lifted her head and smiled warmly, when she woke in the morning and greeted the sun, she did so with optimism she crafted herself, with positivity she forged out of the steel of her spine. She learned you did not have to be in the forefront of a story to blaze in it, that sometimes people did not want love and laughter but truth and honesty and justice. She met her peers’ eyes and they lifted their chins and she made them feel fierce, not protected.

When Lucy thought, years later, of the vial Father Christmas gave her, she realized he was giving her an instrument of her own power. Her ability—her great burden—was that she could not save everyone but she could save many. She had to choose. Lucy was not alone in this; a sword gives one the ability to take a life—but to trade a death for many lives. A bow allows one to even the stakes while remaining aloof, to assign death to others from a great distance. No gift at all forces one to look inside themselves and find the strength that was always there. Magic to heal, like all of these gifts, like all gifts, was meaningless unless one wielded it.

Lucy could have been afraid of indecision; she could have kept her vial locked away or pretended it had run out. She could have used it all within years, saving this generation of her subjects only to damn the next. The choice was hard, sometimes. Sometimes she left the vial behind and had to grasp the hand of a dying soldier and know in her heart that she could have saved him had she only decided to bring it. Sometimes, particularly toward the end, she had it in her pocket but knew she could not use it, that she had to be brave for those ahead as well as those now. These choices were not easy. These choices were her own. Peter, burdened with majesty, had to make choices about who to damn to combat, what was worth fighting for—but he never had to choose who to save. Susan, gentle, had to weigh the many competing demands of the land and decide which to prioritize, strategize how to best achieve her goals, knowing the weight of her kingdom was on her back—but she knew there was always a second choice, always a way to optimize a situation. Edmund, even and fair, had to devise a system of just rule, had to know when to stick to it and when to revise it, even when a friend had to be punished, even when it hurt to be the judge—but he did not have to enforce these laws, only set them.

Warrior, strategist, arbiter, healer: all four Pevensie siblings shouldered their own burdens and supported each other in the heavy task of ruling over many. When three of them returned (when six of them returned) to see their land destroyed, to see a new land created, they remembered those choices and they vowed to uphold them. Lucy had no vial in the kingdom of heaven but that had never been what gave her power. Even in the golden light at the end of the world there were jealousies and anger and injustice and strife. Even in the endless summer of forever there was the chance to be brave.

(Susan, on Earth, mourned her baby sister more than anyone else. Peter had death in the shadows of his eyes since he took a life at thirteen years old and was praised for it. Edmund too seemed to know that he was living on borrowed time. But Lucy, dear Lucy, did not deserve to be struck down so young. Susan had watched her grow into the set of her shoulders and ignite the light in her smile not once but twice. She watched Lucy forge a mortal crown out of sheer determination and optimism and she felt something like awe. She wanted her sister to wear it; she wanted her sister to join her in this brave new world, where women were beginning to display the beauty of their resilience and their wild and clever strength. She wanted to apologize, to admit she too remembered Narnia, that she had not understood the type of strength Lucy drew about her like a warm shawl.

Susan did not know for many years where that fateful train journey took her siblings. She deliberately did not consider Narnia, for why would a land full of kindness and light steal her family senselessly, randomly? (She did not know of their mission, of magic rings, of beasts lurking in the darkness. How could she, when they deliberately did not include her?)

She chose to believe that Lucy and Peter and Edmund were in a land of eternal stillness. Susan remembered those burdens, too, even if the details of Narnia were on some days blurry. It seemed more sad, somehow, to think of her siblings once again wearing their crowns on stone thrones, as if their time on Earth meant nothing.

When she opened her eyes and saw Lucy again, young and royal, she felt at first a deep pang of regret before the relief flooded in).

For Lucy, going to the world after the world of Narnia was not frightening but exhilarating, not limiting but empowering. It did not take long for her to forget what she left behind on her mortal world; they had teased Susan, once, for shutting out remembrances of talking animals and magic dancing along the stone paths. If Lucy remembered that, she might have felt shame, now that the quiet majesty of a row of silent English oaks faded into blurs, that the chatter of her peers became as dim and incomprehensible as squirrels.

But Lucy was never one to look back; she was eager to flip ahead to the new pages in her story, here in a world where the pages had no ending. There were new friends to meet and a kingdom to build and cheers to receive and challenges to fight. Susan would realize this too, one day, joining her siblings in this world beyond the world. Lucy was suited for this, as if she were chosen for this, as if she chose this over everything else she could have chosen.

She wrote her own story, yes, but we should remember that does not mean that all of her words were her own.

[humans4vampires]

Inebriated

Request from my Twilight Squad: “Need. Drunk. Bella.”

Your wish is my command. Cheers! Join Bella in a shot of tequila - if you’re of drinking age, of course. 

Warning: Underage drinking.

Billy chuckled, low and long, and the magic seemed to fade into the glowing embers. Suddenly, it was just a circle of friends again. Jared flicked a small stone at Quil, and everyone laughed when it made him jump. Low conversations murmured around us, teasing and casual. Neither Jacob nor I spoke. He was so still beside me, his breath so deep and even, that I thought he might be close to sleep; I watched the others around me.

The older members of the tribe said their goodbyes and headed toward home. Sue Clearwater left with Billy and Seth, and I wondered why Leah wasn’t going with them. She was still sitting with her eyes closed across from me, the dying fire between us. Embry and Quil walked into the forest and returned with more wood to refuel the flames. Emily and Sam made a quiet exit after Paul. In a matter of a few minutes, only Leah, Jared, Kim, Embry, Quil, Jacob and I were left sitting around the fire.

Embry and Quil exchanged a curious look and Quil took off toward the forest again. Jacob sat up and slapped his palms together in a single clap.

“Good thinking, Quil,” Jacob laughed.

Quil returned with a large paper bag, its contents clinking together; glass bottles?

“Alright,” Quil said, sticking a hand into the bag. “Pick your poison.”

It had been a long time since I’d had a drink, though I’d ever been drunk before. Alcohol had never been very appealing to me, but I had, in the past, participated very sparingly in the cliché underage drinking ritual that Jacob and his friends sometimes engaged in. I’d never seen anyone get out of control; the Quileute boys were big and I thought it would take a lot more than a few bottles to get any of them genuinely drunk. Mostly, they enjoyed the normalcy and comradery. And I could understand why – teen drinking was certainly a much less controversial secret to keep than those they were already keeping. 

Quil pulled each bottle out by its neck and passed them around. Jacob took a large bottle of tequila.

“Bella?” Jacob held out the bottle to me.

I nodded, but my mind was still a thousand years away. I was not thinking of Yaha Uta or the other wolves, or the beautiful Cold Woman – I could picture her only too easily. No, I was thinking of someone outside the magic altogether. I was trying to imagine the face of the unnamed woman who had saved the entire tribe, the third wife.

I wish they’d remembered her name…

Something shook my arm.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Jacob laughed, taking the bottle from me.

I’d only taken a couple of swigs from the bottle’s edge, maybe one… or two? It was revolting and comforting all the same. I shook my head and quivered as the liquid settled in my stomach, making me wrinkle my nose.

Jacob took bigger gulps without wincing before passing the bottle back to me. Jared and Kim were sharing what looked like vodka and Embry and Quil were passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Only Leah had a bottle to herself and she stared peacefully into the flicker of the fire as she sipped slowly. She was lost in thought, too.

I was prepping myself for another sip when Jacob patted my leg. “You sure your bloodsucker is going to be okay with this?” Jacob asked.

I gave him a scolding look and took a bigger mouthful in protest. Once I managed to choke it down, I was able to speak. “I can do whatever I want, Jake.”

Jacob shot back a questioning expression.

“What?” I said sternly.

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he chuckled. “Go on.”

I would have stopped drinking if my stubbornness hadn’t spurred me on. Jacob and I passed the bottle between us as the night drew on. I couldn’t tell, at first, that I had passed my usual threshold. I had never had more than a couple of sips before, usually allowing Jacob to polish off whatever we were sharing. In the months I had spent with him here in La Push, we had only spent time with his friends like this a handful of times. In all that time, I was terrified of the backlash I’d get from Charlie if he ever found out.

But for whatever reason, if it was my stubborn nature or the pressure I was drowning under, I kept bringing the tequila back to my lips. After awhile, it was easier to take. I was wincing a lot less and laughing a lot more. I held out my hand in front of me and watched it lag in the shadow of the fire. Everything felt slower somehow and my tongue felt heavy and sloppy against my teeth. My lips were numb and it felt like everything I wanted to say came out wrong. In that moment, I was burden-free, even if only artificially.

It was more intense when I went to stand. Did I offer to help Embry get more firewood?

“Sit down, Bella,” Jacob laughed, pulling me back down next to him, my legs folding under my weight.

“I can help!” I said, too loudly.

Jacob patted my leg again, “Yeah, yeah. We don’t need you tripping over your own feet. Your bloodsucker wouldn’t let you come back if I returned damaged goods.”

I snorted. “I fall all the time!” My eyes felt heavy. How long had we been here? “Edward,” I corrected Jacob. I had forgotten if there was something else I needed to correct him on.

Jacob pulled me into his lap and rested my head against his chest. I wanted to push back, but my awkward hands were no match for his warm strength. I gave up and relaxed; it felt nice to be close to him like that, I thought.

I jerked my head up and looked at Jacob, but the words I was looking for didn’t come out. Suddenly, my mind was back on the third wife. She was just a woman, with no gifts or powers. She was physically weaker and slower than any of the monsters in the story. But she had been the key, the solution. She’d saved her husband, her young sons, her tribe.

“But what was her name?” I managed to choke out.

Jacob jostled me. “C’mon, Bells,” Jacob said in my ear. “We’re here.”

I blinked, confused because the fire seemed to have disappeared. I glared into the unexpected darkness, trying to make sense of my surroundings. It took me a minute to realize that I was no longer on the cliff. Jacob and I were alone. I was still in his arms, but we weren’t on the ground anymore. I was losing chunks of time.

He opened the car door and helped me into the passenger seat. How did we get here?

“Oh, crap!” I gasped as I realized that I had fallen asleep. “How late is it? Damn, where’s that stupid phone?” I patted my pockets, frantic and coming up empty.

“Easy. It’s not even midnight yet. And I already called him for you.”

I was moving around, but my body was still slow and even clumsier than usual. I held my hands to my eyes. “Oh, crap,” I whined again.

Jacob was in the driver’s seat, taking me to where Edward was presumably waiting.

“You worried about him coming down on you for being irresponsible?” Jacob chuckled. 

I didn’t reply and Jacob laughed to himself.

“Midnight?” I repeated stupidly, still disoriented. The car began to slow and my heartbeat picked up when my eyes made out the shape of the Volvo, thirty yards away in the headlights. I reached for the door handle as soon as we stopped.

“Here,” Jacob said, and he put a small shape into my other hand. The phone.

“You called Edward for me?”

My eyes were adjusted enough to see the bright gleam of Jacob’s smile. “I figured if I played nice, I’d get more time with you.”

“Thanks, Jake,” I said, the words fumbling together.

There was a movement in the dark distance – something pale ghosting against the black trees. Pacing?

“Yeah, he’s not so patient is he?” Jacob said, noticing my distraction. “Let’s get you back to your bloodsucker.”

I pushed open the door and put my foot on the ground; it felt like my ankle had liquefied. Jacob was there then, pulling me up to stand. Both feet were on the ground, but neither felt usable. Jacob carried my slumped body over the pavement toward Edward, my feet dangling like a ragdoll’s. I tried to object.

“Bella?” Edward sounded frantic. “Bella, are you alright?”

Suddenly, the soft heat was replaced with rigid and cold stone. I was cradled in Edward’s arms, his fingers dancing across my face and neck so quickly I could only feel the lingering touch of ice. He had caught me at the boundary line.

“I’m fine,” I said. I was sure I gave an unconvincing performance. The simplest of words were slurring together.

I could feel Edward’s body tense. His jaw was taught. “How much did she have to drink?” Edward’s voice was cold, too.

Jacob didn’t have to reply; Edward must have been getting the recap of the evening in Jacob’s thoughts. Jacob held his hands up in a faux gesture of surrender.

“She’s a big girl,” Jacob said. “I let her make her own decisions.”

"Child,” Edward hissed through clenched teeth, turning toward the Volvo.

“Come back soon, Bells,” Jacob called out, a laugh rumbling through him.

I was struggling to speak. My tongue still weighed a thousand pounds and my lips were still useless decoration. Was I saying something? There was no use arguing with Edward, but for some reason I continued to try. Every movement felt like a waste of energy. My limbs felt loose, too fluid, like I had no control.

And oh, his skin on mine made me lose my train of thought. My lips were so close to his neck, I couldn’t resist. I wrapped one hand around his neck, clutching at the hair there, as I planted my lips on his cold neck. I inhaled deeply, drowning in his delicious scent as I kissed him there.

Jacob was not laughing anymore. Edward let out a smug laugh, as he swiftly opened my door and lifted me in, buckling my seat belt around me. I complained about the distance between us as bright lights flashed on and swept across us. I waved toward Jacob’s headlights, but I didn’t know if he saw the gesture.

I struggled to sit up straight in my seat so that I could reach Edward as he drove. I clawed at the center console to pull myself closer to him. I was hanging over to the driver’s side, trying to kiss his neck again, as my right hand grabbed at his thigh.

His hand was immediately at my wrist, restraining me.

“Bella,” he scolded. “Can you attempt to control yourself?”

I whispered on his neck between sloppy kisses. What did I say?

“I’m operating a vehicle.”

I shrugged and laughed. “I thought you were the world’s greatest driver?”

“Bella,” he said more sternly. I ran my tongue from his collarbone to his ear.

Suddenly, I was pinned back in my seat, his right arm holding me there. His breathing sounded rough, making my heart race faster.

“Honestly, Bella,” he was looking out the windshield.

I didn’t want to argue now. All I could focus on was his strong arm wrapped over me. I bent my elbows to run my fingers along his cool skin. Edward didn’t react. I was having a hard time remembering what had happened moments ago. Did I say something? Did he say something?

Edward was shaking his head. “It will be a miracle if we can get you past Charlie in this condition.”

I looked out the window and we were whirring onto my street. “No!” I whined. “Take me home with you.”

“Bella, Charlie is expecting you.”

I pouted as he pulled in behind my truck. He cut the engine and removed my restraints, giving me a questioning look.

“What are you looking at?” I managed to sputter.

He gave me a serious look. “Bella, I am going to carry you in. Please contain yourself.”

I tried to mimic his expression. “I don’t need that. I can walk.”

I fumbled for the door handle, but he was already at my door and lifting me into his arms.

“Edwar-“ he cut me off.

“Please, Bella. Charlie is waiting up for you.” Edward begged.

A thought crossed my mind then. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

“This isn’t for my benefit, Bella,” he rationalized.

“Then I won’t do it.”

Edward sighed. He couldn’t resist the unknown. “What do you want?”

I smiled brightly in response.

“I’ll play dead right now –“

“Asleep, Bella.”

“Right,” I continued. “I’ll pretend to be asleep, but when you come back tonight, I don’t have to contain myself.”

“Bella,” he complained.

“Take it or leave it,” I said quietly. I tried to weasel my way out of his arms, but he held me firmly.

Another sigh escaped his lips and his feet began moving toward the house. I grinned widely in triumph.

“The deal is off the table if you don’t hold up your end,” he said under his breath.

I closed my eyes and let the tension fall out of my body. I must not have been very convincing; Edward tilted my head so that my face rested on his shoulder, my hair spilling over my face.

Charlie opened the door as Edward walked up the front steps.

Charlie spoke softly. “She still asleep?”

I felt Edward nod. Jacob must have called Charlie, too. Edward marched almost silently up the stairs. I could hear Charlie’s clunky steps behind us. Edward set me in my bed gently. He kissed my forehead lightly, eliciting a small huff from Charlie. Edward stepped back and Charlie haphazardly removed my shoes and tucked my quilt around me. I snuggled in, hoping my performance was convincing as the two silently left my room. They spoke for a moment, their voices too obscured for me to listen in on.

I had to open my eyes; the room felt like it was spinning, rotating in a choppy motion that made me feel queasy. I sat up to steady myself. I heard the front door shut and the engine of the Volvo as it sped away. Charlie’s footsteps pounded back up the stairs and I threw myself back against the bed before he popped his head through my door. He closed my door silently before going down the hall to his room for the night.

I sat up slowly and stumbled out of the bed. I tripped on my shoes and fell back on the bed on my way to the door. I staggered my way to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I brushed my teeth vigorously, trying to wash the taste of tequila from my mouth. I lost my balance trying to take off my jeans, getting them stuck on my thick socks. I tumbled slowly to the tile floor and removed the rest of my clothes as quickly as I could manage before crawling my way into the stream of water. Every movement I made felt deliberate, but careless. I was washing myself in a blur. I spilled the entire bottle of shampoo and the bar of soap continued to pop out of my hands every time I tried to pick it up. I felt a little soapy still when I turned the water off and floundered into a towel. It was the fastest I’d ever been in and out of the bathroom.

I was soaking wet as I tried to tip-toe my way back into my room. I had to lean against the wall the entire four feet I struggled to walk. It was a miracle that I managed to get the door shut without much more chaos. I squinted through the darkness, looking for him. Edward wasn’t back yet.

I ran to my dresser, tripping on the shoes again. I stopped to hurl them into my closet; the loud thud made me wince. I stumbled a bit, still completely off balance. The weight of the water in my heavy hair didn’t help, either. I laughed, clapping a hand over my mouth to stifle it. I doubted Charlie was already asleep, but figured he heard the shower and was giving me my privacy.

I pulled out clothes and put them on quickly, not paying attention to what I grabbed. When I was dressed, I lurched toward the open window, leaning out while I waited for Edward to come back. The night was surprisingly cold, almost wintry. I hadn’t noticed it at all on the windy cliffs. Icy droplets spattered against my face as the rain began to fall.

It was too dark to see much besides the black triangles of the spruces leaning and shaking with the wind. But I strained my eyes anyway, searching for other shapes in the storm. A pale silhouette, moving like a ghost through the black… or maybe the shadowy outline of an enormous wolf… My eyes were too weak, my head too foggy. I was beginning to sway when a sudden movement in the night caught my attention. He was right beside me then, sliding through my open window, his hands colder than the rain.

“Is Jacob out there?” I asked, the words blending together, my tongue still a heavy burden.

Edward pulled me into the circle of his arms. “Yes… somewhere. And Esme’s on her way home.”

“Ah, crap,” I muttered against his chest.

Edward chuckled over my head. “She was concerned about you… you were making quite a bit of noise. She almost came inside to make sure you were alright.”

My face was already warm from the alcohol; had I been sober, I would probably have blushed.

“That’s embarrassing.” I pressed my face into his shirt, making the words unintelligible.

Edward stroked my wet hair and I felt a silent laugh roll through him. His hand swept my hair away to rest on the back of my neck. A shiver rolled through me, reminding me of the deal we had made.

I didn’t bother speaking, but the gasp that passed my lips startled him. I jerked back and lunged at him, my arms locking around his neck as I kissed him, unrestrained.

He kissed me back for a minute before he gently removed me from himself.

“Relax, Bella,” he said, struggling to get the words out. His free hand was balled into a fist.

“You promised,” I grumbled, tugging at his shirt.

“I was hoping you’d forget about that,” he admitted, still holding me off.

I sighed, slapping my hands down at my sides. Whatever I said made him laugh. What did I say?

I stumbled backwards, falling onto my back on the mattress. “You promised,” I repeated.

“I made no such deal,” Edward said, a proud grin on his lips.

“That’s cheating,” I whined too loudly. He was suddenly hovering over me, a cold finger at my lips. Just as quickly, he was gone and my bedroom door was opening.

“What’s going on, Bella?” Charlie said as the hall light illuminated me.

“Sorry, Ch-Dad.” I propped myself up. “I tripped getting into my pajamas.”

I sounded coherent enough. I thought my slurring could pass for grogginess, but Charlie looked at me as though he wasn’t buying it.

“Get to bed, Bells.”

I dragged myself up the bed as Charlie went back to his room. My body felt heavy enough to stay down, but I forced it back up when the room started its inconsistent writhing again. Edward was standing in the dim light from the window, watching me with a curious expression.

“What?” I said, too loud again. I repeated it in an exaggerated whisper to prove that I could control myself.

Edward shook his head. “I was hoping that would sober you up.”

“I’m waiting,” I said, patting the bed beside me. My head slumped to the side, the weight dragging on my neck as I snapped it back in an upright position.

Edward’s expression had changed. A smirk was budding on his lips as he crossed his arms slowly, pulling his t-shirt over his head. My expression made him chuckle softly.

He said something low, velvet. I couldn’t catch it. I was too distracted by my own pulse ringing in my ears. My hands were stretched out in front of me towards him, like a child begging for a toy. He dropped his shirt and walked toward the edge of my bed. I scurried towards him, running my hands up his perfect stomach. I was too weak to pull myself up, so I pulled at him to follow me down. He came to hover over me again, his lips inches from mine. I relished in his cold breath, closing my eyes as he gently kissed my jaw and neck, eventually finding my lips. My back arched my body toward him, my hands balled the sheets into my fists.

The sound I made brought Edward’s hand to my mouth, a soft hush falling from his lips. It didn’t make me quieter. He sighed and kissed me firmly. I was surprised when his hands moved to my hips, sending another wave of noise through me.

“Bella.” Edward whispered against my neck.

Words were spilling out of my mouth, I just wasn’t sure what they were. I must have been too loud. Edward had disappeared again and Charlie was at my door.

“Bella,” he said, swinging the door open. “What are you doing?”

I sat up and threw the quilt over myself. “I’m going to bed!”

The frustration I felt came out in my tone. Charlie said something indecipherable, let out a frustrated huff, and closed the door loudly behind him. As Charlie stomped back to his room, I threw myself back down, throwing my arms out so that I covered the entire width of the small bed. The room continued to sputter and spin, so I forced myself back up. My head swayed, spilling my still wet hair around my face. I caught sight of Edward again; he was sitting at the foot of the bed staring at me with questioning eyes.

I felt like I was forgetting chunks of time – or was he just moving too quickly? We were in the bed now, my head on his bare chest, his arms above his head. I sat up again, searching for water. He was gone and back with a glass before I could reach the nightstand. He dropped three ibuprofen pills in my hand and I struggled to get them in my mouth. I was too eager with the glass and felt some water dribble off my chin and onto my shirt. He said something with a gentle smile and I replied; what did I say?

I rested my head on his chest again once we were back in the bed. The coolness of his skin helped to soothe the spinning. I couldn’t keep my eyes closed though; every time I tried, my body felt like it was pulsing. I kept springing my head back up. We continued like that for awhile.

“Bella, close your eyes,” he pleaded again.

“I think we need to do something,” I said. “I’m not ready to sleep.”

“You’re being too loud,” Edward said quietly, trying to coax me back to the bed.

I was making my way toward the window. “Come on,” I urged. “Let’s go see Alice.”

“Bella,” he said, suddenly blocking my path. “It’s late.”

I laughed loudly; how absurd? “You don’t sleep!”

Edward sighed. “Close your eyes.”

I did and my body slumped involuntarily. Edward caught me, of course, and I was in his arms. I didn’t feel like I was spinning so much anymore. Edward wrapped me in my heavy quilt, leaving only my face exposed. He kept me cradled in his arms as he paced around the room. I was like a restless baby, unwilling to sleep. I felt a cold breeze on my face from the open window. I kept my eyes closed, but I continued talking; I didn’t want him to think he was winning. He would answer me from time to time. And suddenly the light turned on and I struggled to adjust my eyes.

“Edward?”

“She refused to sleep,” Edward replied, sounding amused.

Carlisle laughed, “Yes, Esme told me what happened.”

I jerked my head to take in the room. We were in the Cullens’ living room. Had Edward run with me all the way here? Carlisle was standing closer than I thought. He ran a cool hand over my cheek.

“How are you feeling, Bella?” he asked softly with a wide smile.

“Fine,” I was still too loud.

Emmett and Alice came into the room as Edward put me on my feet and unwrapped me from the quilt. He was still holding me steady, like I was just a child learning to walk.

“Alice!” I yelled. “See, I told you she would be up!”

“Hi, Bella,” Alice eyed my outfit with a disapproving look. “Having a fun night?”

The way I answered her made Emmett laugh. “Nice, Bella.”

Edward turned to Alice, “I couldn’t keep her quiet. How long do we have?”

Alice looked into the future, her eyes glossing over. “Charlie will sleep through the night,” she chuckled. “Now that Bella’s out of the house.”

I didn’t like the implication. “Charlie?” I scoffed. “He’s fine.”

Edward helped me to the couch. I collapsed into the soft white fabric and Alice sat beside me. I reached out and grabbed her hands, a sudden rush of thoughts and questions coming to my mind. Edward left the room and returned with more water for me as I continued to blather.

Edward handed me the glass, guiding it towards my lips.

“Water?” Emmett boomed. “Get this girl some more tequila!”

Emmett, Alice, and I continued talking. It felt as though every thought that entered my mind exited my lips. Edward and Carlisle stood in the kitchen, probably discussing ways to sober me up. But I agreed with Emmett; God, how stressful everything around us was. For once, I felt totally free. I felt like someone else entirely and completely unashamed of my behavior. I could tell that my words weren’t making much sense and I could tell that my movements were even sloppier than usual, but I just simply didn’t care.

The Cullens kept me entertained as Edward continued to bring me water and bread. Emmett put me through a few DUI tests; I couldn’t get past X in attempting the alphabet backwards and walking in a straight line while trying to place a finger on my nose with each step was a complete failure. Edward caught me each time I fell. Alice had to take me to the bathroom constantly, and Edward would be waiting with another glass of water each time we returned. I was completely unaware of the timeline of events. Eventually, I made my way up the stairs to Edward’s room. I pulled CD case after CD case out of the shelves and continued to swap them out before one song on the album could even finish.

“Ah,” Edward said over Everything Counts by Depeche Mode. “Jasper.”

I’d never blacked out before, but I figured that’s what happened. The rest of the night vanished from my mind. When I opened my eyes, the blue light of the morning was spilling into my room. Had we even gone to the Cullens’ or had it all been a dream? I moved thoughtlessly, but a nagging pain in my head stopped me. I groaned loudly, holding my head as if it were about to fall apart. It hit me that, it in fact, had not been a dream. I pushed my face into my pillow.

I heard him chuckle then and I moved slowly, turning my head up to look at him. Edward was resting with his arms tucked behind his head. His golden eyes were curious, his voice was low and gentle. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I never want to drink again.”

He laughed. “That’s too bad.”

That surprised me. “Too bad?”

He put a cold hand to the back of my neck, which helped the nausea. “You’re an open book when you’re inebriated,” he smiled. “It’s surprisingly enjoyable.”

The nausea was back. “What did I say?”

Edward shrugged. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and he laughed again.

I didn’t press the question. I wanted him to leave in the event the nausea took a turn for the worst. He brought me more ibuprofen and a cup of coffee leftover in the pot from Charlie. He moved through the house undetected as Charlie prepared himself for work. Edward kissed me, long enough to get my pulse racing —and my head pounding— and then headed home to change and get his car. I dragged myself out of the bed and tried to get myself ready for school.

Oh, how the pain numbed all the other worries I harbored.

___

Read the other parts of this story here:

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

[aion-rsa]

The 100 Season 7 Episode 16: The Last War

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This THE 100 review contains spoilers

The 100 Season 7 Episode 16

Ultimately, The 100 turned in a series finale that’s better than the back half of its final season, but not by a whole lot. The use of two fan-favorite characters (Lexa and Abby), and a last-minute twist, are responsible for much of the emotionally satisfying material. So much of the rest, including the saber-rattling and Sheidheda skulking around, feel like a waste of precious time, plot missteps from earlier in the season that long overstayed their welcome.

The most successful moments were based in the characters we’ve invested in for so long. Octavia’s jaded takes on war, culminating in her speech. Raven holding it down for absolutely everyone. Murphy and Emori grieving what they thought were one another’s deaths. Miller and Jackson’s reunion and dancing juxtaposed with Emori and Murphy’s dire goodbye was a beautiful way to let us say goodbye to those characters, because even if everybody lives, we’re still saying goodbye.

This episode spends quite a bit of time on the concept of judging Clarke’s actions as a proxy for all of humanity. While that has always come with the territory of the show, it feels like an extremely reductive way of viewing seven seasons with a strong ensemble cast and far more robust storytelling, yet it’s the one the finale imposes upon us. Clarke was right about one thing: getting Raven back in the mix should have been Plan A, not cleanup.

It’s far too easy to judge an entire show based on whether you like the main character, even moreso when that character is a woman or girl. It feels odd for The 100, the same show that quietly gave us so many accomplished women and girls as leaders, to spend so many of its final minutes on this. Even with Raven and Octavia course-correcting, the series finale of the show still comes down to a question of Clarke’s choices, and whether we think they’re justified or not. Surely after all this time, The 100 could have aimed higher than that?

Up until the reveal that Clarke’s friends returned to Earth for her, the episode has almost no emotional heft outside of Emori’s fate. Seeing Indra vanquish Sheidheda for her mother was nice, but long overdue considering we’d watched her fail to pull the trigger so many times before. Raven’s pleading on behalf of humanity had more punch because it was with Abby, but it came so late in the episode and was so brief.. 

One of the more promising opportunities was Clarke’s conversation with her judge. While it’s not actually a long-awaited reunion with Lexa, it’s recognition that Lexa was Clarke’s greatest love, and perhaps her greatest teacher. I appreciate that the higher being pushed Clarke to justify some of her choices, though she mostly let Clarke slide on her intent to murder her own child.

Continuing this season’s theme, there were a few beats we never got to unpack because The 100 preferred to go for surprise (also a problem during season 5, which has more similarities than I’d like to this final season.) Octavia stopping the war was something only she could do, but rather than seeing the faith and growth it took for Blodreina to lay down her arms, the moment was clipped. Clarke killing Cadogan was a badass moment, but shooting him at that point in his test meant we never got to see what it looked like when he had to respond to the higher consciousness, who was in the process of grilling him about giving up love when Clarke takes him down. Similarly, we learned the mystery of what Becca saw, that she was asked to take the test and declined. But there wasn’t time to consider what that actually means.

Did Emori transcend? Her body was dead but her consciousness was alive, and we saw her orb swirl around John’s and transcend. Is she in his mind? Apparently she was in the final scene, but she was hard to spot, even on re-watch. This feels like an odd loose end to leave hanging and not make more explicit, especially after spending so much time this season building up these two possible deaths. Whether she lived or said goodbye in the mindspace, both could have been satisfying, but the in-between space feels accidental or even thoughtless.

In the end, it got me to see all these characters back together on Earth and building again. While they didn’t transcend, it’s their own kind of heaven to be together and to create a life that’s (presumably) free from violence and war. It doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny of course, but when I think of the show from seasons one and two that I fell in love with, it’s the final scenes on the shore that I’ll recall, if I think of the finale at all. 

More likely, I’ll think of Octavia’s time on Sky Ring, Indra’s relationship with her daughters and how she let them teach her as much as she taught them, Gabriel’s humanity and eternal sense of curiosity, and the way Murphy and Emori changed so much, but always back to one another. How much I enjoyed meeting Hope, how Diyoza evolved beyond my wildest imagination, Raven’s strength and how she owned her mistakes, and so much more from so many seasons gone by and characters long gone. And how much this little show that people ignored or made fun of had to say about grief, trauma, colonialism, found family, and what we do to survive. 

May we meet again. 

Other notes…

The high power mind palace place looks like the galaxy version of Rainbow Road but a lot less fun. Carved into the wood are Cadogan and his daughter’s initials, plus “Ben was here,” and JR + JR in a heart, which I assume was Jason Rothenberg’s tribute to his wife Joy. Any idea what these mean, or spot any others? Let us know in the comments.

They still have not explained how Earth even exists right now. Are they back in time? Is this one magic? Are we in a multiverse? Alright, I know, I give up…It just feels relevant since a spinoff is happening on Earth at another time to know if that’s how Earth has suddenly cropped up all fine and dandy again.

Can we just take a moment to appreciate how incredibly long Raven’s to do list was during this episode? Did she time travel? She must be exhausted.

War is bad and stuff, but hell yeah O in her OG Trikru war paint! Linctavia forever.

I just want it on the record that I’m bummed out that Jordan’s plan did not involve spraying algae on all the invisible Disciples.

One thing I do appreciate is that The 100 continued to reckon with the doctrine of jus drein, jus draun and various aspects of Grounder culture until the very end.

The contemporary music for The 100 has always been used sparingly and generally to great effect. Here we got a heavier hand than usual, but I think it still worked. The cover of REM’s “The One I Love” had the sort of intensity needed for the battlefield, though it seems they were using a very literal interpretation of the title. The Vance Joy song Miller/Jackson and Memori dance to felt like a lighter touch, especially when was filtered through some brain waves. Using U2 for the final scenes is the perfect Dad Rock move from Jroth, though “Bad” is somehow both surprising and on the nose. (Were they not allowed to use “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” or “Where the Streets Have No Name”?)

It is low-key hilarious that Murphy is the first person Clarke assumes might not have transcended

Clarke not getting to go to the Promised Land is very Moses of her, which sort of works because Clarke is very Old Testament.

Birth control suddenly being handled feels like a real gift but also a weird thing for the Lexified higher being to mention, since this show has very much ignored birth control for seven whole seasons.

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