#hing was filmed on the very same week i saw her in town. like what the fuck..... its so weird

[kitnapz]

so recently

ive been into youtube vloggers but ive realized that they need to be a very specific type of vlogger for me to gaf about them.... so they need to be asian women (or at the very least like. a woman of color) BUT they can't be korean. because that shit hits TOO CLOSE TO HOME... i was just watching this korean girl vlogger and i swear to god she just went into the exact daiso that i live near and went to LAST WEEK. and shes staying at a hotel that ive literally been at and they were in the streets that i walk nearly every day.... like that is too close to home i cant watch it

[hshouse]

I sent the Harry Eroda thing to my friend that works at the Business Insider and her co-worker wrote about it

Mysterious travel ads for a fictional island are popping up on social media. Harry Styles stans think they know what it's all about.

Starting in late November, hundreds of social media users have spotted targeted ads and promotional content for a tourism agency for the isle of Eroda.

The ads appear pretty standard, but there's no such place, island, or location in existence.

Fans of singer Harry Styles began connecting the dots between Eroda's tourism website and the ads. They think it's an Easter egg marketing campaign for his upcoming album "Fine Line."

The evidence is pretty solid. Here's the breakdown of all the clues.

Within the past week, hundreds of social media users began questioning ads that had appeared on their social media feeds that encouraged them to travel to the island of Eroda.

The only strange thing about them? Eroda doesn't actually exist.

Reverse-image searches from some of the promotional photos of landscapes and coastal towns from the "Visit Eroda" website and social media pages show that they were actually taken in Norway. A sponsored Facebook post from Eroda's page shows a photo of a restaurant in Chagford, a town in England.

So what does it all mean? Why would some unnamed source pay to market a fake location?

Well, Harry Styles fans have an answer. They were among the people who got the targeted ads — likely on purpose — and quickly matched up the locations pictured and references in the ads and on the website to the singer, his recent activities, and his upcoming album, "Fine Line." A Styles fan and Twitter user going by the handle @finelinelora put a theory together

Here's a summary of the best clues connecting Eroda and Styles

The Eroda Twitter account launched in October, the same time Styles began promoting "Fine Line" and released the album's first single, "Lights Up."

One of the photos listed on the "Attractions" page of the website appears to be a cropped image of a location where Styles was spotted filming a mystery project, believed to be a music video, in Scotland.

"Eroda" spelled backward is "adore." One of the tracks on "Fine Line" is called "Adore You." There's also a spot on the website that says "We adore you."

Also on the "Attractions" page is a snippet that includes streets named "Cherry Street" and "Golden Way." Two other tracks on the album are "Cherry" and "Golden."

The website says the island's youth wear bold hairstyles, and a photo taken of Styles and an actress on set in Scotland shows the woman with a very bold hairstyle.

Comments and reviews of the island popped up on its Facebook page from private accounts that reveal very few details about the people who own them. One person wrote that they'd be returning to Eroda on December 13, which is the day Styles' album drops.

A promotional video for the album was uploaded to YouTube on November 23, and the voiceover sounds similar to the voice of a woman who recently joined Styles' band.

When Styles' fans used Facebook's targeted ad features to see why it was recommended to them, some saw that the Eroda page is specifically targeting people who have also visited Styles' website.

Those are just the most obvious clues. There are a lot more in the thread and beyond that seem to reference different aspects of the Styles fandom and Styles' life.

Everything that has to do with the Eroda campaign surfaced on the internet less than a month ago. The Twitter account joined the platform in October and its first tweet was on November 20. Its first Instagram post was November 13. The website says it's copyright as of 2004, but two separate domain age tools say it was created within the past month.

If Eroda is — and it almost certainly is — a marketing campaign for "Fine Line," it's a phenomenal ad technique that hinges on the collective curiosity of the internet and the obsessive speculation of fandoms.

On Reddit alone, there's an "r/Eroda" subreddit with more than 1,700 sleuthers trying to put all the puzzle pieces together.

People love to solve puzzles, and the marketing campaign is very well-done, with what would be a satisfying twist ending in "Fine Line." The added appeal of the mystery will probably draw more listeners to Styles' work, too, just in time for the album's December 13 release date.

Representatives for Harry Styles didn't immediately respond to Insider's request for comment.

[distinguishednachotale]

The DJ

Previous Chapter

Chapter Three

The white of the hotel room felt brighter as the rising sun hit the walls, drawing the grey curtains cross the sliding balcony door so he could open his eyes without glare blinding him Richard felt instant relief. The days had been long, the nights longer filming the same scene over and over for different angles and accuracy. Shedding his clothes Richard threw them into the bathroom hamper then stepped into the running warm shower. 6am, only just finished filming for the night shoot and sleep was calling, no screaming his name. The natural chemistry between you and Richard showed on the screen, the Director lapped it up. As the days passed he saw you coming back to life on set, but the caution was still evident. Even while you were filming scenes where Richard was not needed, he watched you film purely so he could catch glimpses of the carefree woman you once were reemerging.

 There was no after shooting drinks, no public meetings with anyone. But often Richard would hear a light knock at his door and you would come in. The conversation flowed, it didn’t stop, awkward silence never interrupted. The two of you discussed your mutual home country of Scotland, both of you missing the quiet of the country towns. A small trip was planned once filming was over between the two of you, a cabin in the Highlands where no one could find you two. You confided in him about what had happened while filming two years before; someone had told Nate about you having a drink with a co-star, two beating’s followed. One for him, at the hands of a masked assailant who was never caught and one for you at the hand of Nate. It explained why you never caught up with anyone in public.

 Stepping out of the shower Richard slid on a pair of boxer shorts and lay down on his bed, uncaring about getting under the soft covers sleep quickly took over. You ran down the hall, your heart racing and breath catching in your throat. Sliding on the carpet you nearly missed room 204 where Richard slept. Frantically you knocked on the door, muttering his name through choked sobs.

 The door opened to a sleepy face that woke suddenly as he saw your tear stained face, “He knows Richard, he knows. Please don’t let him find me.” You cry, holding your phone out to him with a shaking hand. Taking your phone Richard stood aside, ushering you in while gazing down the wall to see if anyone was watching your interaction. You too had changed into sleepwear, a pair of black cotton shorts covered the very top of your legs with a baggy white shirt and crew socks covered your small feet. Pacing around the room you couldn’t help but panic and fear everything coming your way, you could feel his anger, his burning hot rage sitting on a plane heading to Croatia where you were filming.

 Richard scrolled through the text message exchange, it was short on her end but vocal and colorful on his. Anger, threats and degrading messages were fired her way rapidly. The time stamps showing him they were send one after the other after the other, with no time for a response. “Ev…”

 “I don’t know how he knows, but he always finds out. He always does.”

 “Hey,” Putting the phone down he stopped your pacing, taking a cigarette out of your hand he cast it to the side. “Love, I’m not going to leave your side. Not for a second.” Gazing up at his eyes you took a brave step forward and pressed your lips against Richards, the kiss quickly became frantic and rushed; opening his eyes Richard realized this was wrong. Every bone in his body felt like he would be taking advantage of you in your state if it were to go any further. Pulling away he muttered, “Ev, I can’t I’m sorry…”

 “I’m sorry, I thought…” Spinning around you picked your phone up off the counter top, leaving the room quickly. Walking down the hallway, wiping the hot tears off your face you ignored the desperate Scottish voice calling your name. Finding your room you let yourself in, locking the door behind you and sliding down the door. You felt embarrassed, it felt like Richard had felt that spark you had; but you had misread it. You fool.

 Taking your clothes off, you threw them onto your bed then found a pair of blue denim jeans and a sweater to wear instead. Your body had healed over the previous three weeks, the bruises were gone, makeup took half the time as it had previously. You could move freely and, you thought, spend time with Richard safely. Your phone brought you out of your thoughts, sighing you were in half a mind to ignore it however upon seeing Indie’s name you answered.

 “Hi Ev, sorry to call you…” Indie’s flight was due to leave in a couple of hours, she was flying ahead of the rest of the cast to the next location. She had been packing up her makeup from the trailer, and had come across your purse at the makeup station. Cursing yourself you knew it meant instead of a quiet tea as planned it meant you had to catch a cab across town.

 That is how you found yourself walking up the pathway to the familiar trailer.

”Indie, you here?” Your voice echoed. “Indie, I-”

 “You’re really fucking thick you know that.” Your heart froze, his voice was spiteful and angry. Turning around slowly you saw Nate standing there, dark jeans and a long sleeve shirt folded at his elbows covered his lightly tattooed arms while you could see a combination of anger, amusement and fatigue cover his face. His black hair was messy, unkept and pushed back slightly and you could see a few beads of sweat were pooling at his hair line. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

 “Nate, please.” As he stepped forward you felt yourself instinctively step back.

 “Those non disclosure agreements, do you think they protect you? You fool. Do you know who tells met your every move? Them. The “artists”, as those bitches call themselves. So desperate to work with celebrities they’ll sign any fucking thing I tell them to.” He spits in your face with each word, a hand wraps around your throat menacingly pressing a small teasing amount of pressure against your windpipe before releasing. “They are the ones who tell me, Everly. Them. Every single time he brings you a coffee, every time he checks on you, every time you go to him after filming they tell me.” Stepping away Nate turned to close and lock the trailer door, making sure all the windows were shut he left you to ponder his words. All the friendships you thought you had made over the years with the makeup and hair stylists were false, they were the ones telling Nate your every move for all these years. Dozen of them, you wagered, had told him in exchanged for recommendations on other film sets.

 The first blow to your cheek was a surprise, you were so focused on your thoughts you hadn’t seen Nate return. His knuckles connected firmly with your cheek bone, the skin ripped slightly and you felt warm blood drip down. You hit the floor, looking at the maroon carpet you groaned softly. A scream escaped you lips as a boot connected with your stomach, flipping you onto your back curling up to protect your aching abdomen. The underside of his boot stumped on your hands, a crack and scream melted together as you felt the bones on two of your fingers break from the pressure.

 “I’m sorry Everly, but you should have known how this would go.” He rained down hard on you, straddling your stomach he pushed your fighting hands down, he never flinched as you scratched and clawed at him, instead he took his own swings. Connecting every time with your face he his harder and harder until you went limp, one hand kept pulling your head up by your brown matted with blood hair. Pulling a fraction harder he pulled a clump of hair from you, throwing the hair to the side he admired his work. His fists were red, your blood staining them.

 “You fucking idiot.” Richard cursed himself, sitting on the end of he bed with his head resting in his hands. Fatigue had long left his body, replaced with a wide awake feeling he knew wasn’t going to go away while he felt so guilty. No part of him regret not taking advantage of you, he had dreamed of making love to you for weeks. But not like this, in his dreams you were happy and vibrant. Not sad, and afraid.

 Instinctively as soon as your name flashed up on the screen, Richard answered with a quick, “Ev I’m so sorry, I-” You screams filled his ears, standing from the bed Richard tried calling your name, but all he could do was listen as your screams stopped. The unmistakable sound of the beating had Richard hang up, instead pulling clothes and shoes on desperately, and running down the flights of stairs to the foyer. Dialing your number repeatedly there was never an answer.

 “Ma’am, please help,” Richard pushed his way to the front of the line at the reception desk. A middle aged woman was shocked by his rude behaviour, but she recognised him as on of their high value customers. “Everly McCarthy, she caught a cab, yes?”

 “Yes, about an hour ago.”

 “Where to?”

 “Sir, I cannot answer-”

 “This is fucking urgent, please.”

 “Let me check.” The minutes it took for her to return felt like a lifetime, taking his phone out he attempted again to call you. There was no dial tone, straight to voicemail with your sweet voice filling his ears.

 “Sir, she mentioned going to ‘the set’. I don’t have an address.” Turning around a younger man spoke with a strong accent. The drive in the cab felt like it took hours, all Richard could do was think about your screams and fear the end result. You had both thought Nate was still flying to Croatia, the thought of him already being there hadn’t crossed your minds. Preparing himself, Richard got the number for the local emergency services ready. The taxi driver was surprised by the large amount of cash thrown his way, and the speed in which Richard ran from the taxi.

 The path to the trailers felt ten times longer than normal, they all looked alike bar the one with a door flung open and broken ff the hinges. Nothing but pure anger could have caused that amount of damage. Inside items were thrown around, the makeup stations upturned with glass shattered around the floor. Labored breathing drew Richards attention, he saw you face down attempting to drag yourself up the hallway with one arm while the other was held to your chest. Your face was cast down, not enough energy to lift it, your phone had been thrown toward the dressing room and you were desperate to get to it.

 “Everly!” Rushing to your side Richard pressed dial, “Ambulance please.” Helping you turn he was shocked by what he saw, your face was bloodied and swollen, you were hardly staying awake. Through one hardly open eye you could see Richard desperately speaking to someone, your ears were both ringing with no sound getting through to you. Stay awake, Everly, stay awake You screamed to yourself, shock and adrenalin were the only things masking the pain that would otherwise have you screaming if you had the capability to open your broken jaw to do so. Every ounce of energy had been used trying to fight back and trying to get to your phone, nothing was left in the tank to fight the heavy feeling taking over your body.

****

Two more chapters! This is only a short series but I’ll likely continue to write with the same OFC with Richard in other stories.

[burrito-of-confusion]

The Gap in the Backseat: Part 1

Title: The Gap in the Backseat

Word Count: about 3,000

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female OC

Summary: Dean Winchester did what he could to keep the pervading darkness of leading a hunter’s life at bay, but when the one constant in his life he never realized he had in the first place decides that they can no longer handle the realities of their own situation, the pillars of his defenses begin to crumble.

Warnings: alcohol, swearing, mentions of violence and sex, and... angst.

Disclaimer: no, I do not own Supernatural nor any of the characters. I am simply a measly fangirl with too much free time and a lot of thoughts. Woot, woot.

--

Hunting was hard, exhausting and utterly lonely. Sure, Sam was there for companionship, but sometimes a man needed more than brotherly love to keep him going. Dean needed the friction of skin on skin, hot mouths and hotter touches, and the ability to forget when all he could think about was the pleasure of it all. Quick fucks in bar bathrooms and seedy motels after one too many beers became the new normal. However, though he tried to ignore it, the luster of nameless sex began to wear off over the years and was replaced by the deep seated self hatred he felt each time he finished. He wanted an easy connection that random women in even randomer towns never allowed, but still with none of the harsh trappings of commitment or feelings getting in the way.

He thought that he had found the solution after, in the heat of the moment, he and Natalie had slept with each other. They had been hunting together for several years at this point, and the intensity of one too many close calls with death broke down barriers that would normally be there until he had her pinned against the motel door and she was pulling his shirt over her head all while Sam was off buying burgers.

It became a ritual of sorts. That is, if rituals normally resulted in passions of the flesh every time emotions were too high or losses were had. Dean thought it was the perfect way to blow off steam. He wasn’t left with a deep seated feeling of nausea and an overwhelming urge to shower each time they parted ways with matching smirks plastered on their faces. Nonetheless, there may have been a flicker of something else in the back of his mind, but he quickly disregarded those thoughts. He didn’t have time to feel things, much less delve into those emotions. Friends with benefits it was.

--

Natalie lay sleeping in bed, her skin glowing in the aftermath of sex and a full night of rest as sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the motel room to dance across her face. Her eyelashes cast long shadows across her cheeks, and she looked so peaceful tangled in the white sheets with none of the horrors of life’s realities clouding her face.

Dean almost wanted to stay here forever; simply watching the rise and fall of her chest under the sheets as she remained in the dreamworld of oblivion. But that was a fantasy he could never let reach fruition. With a sigh he was rolling away from the sight of fanned out hair and bright cheeks to pull himself out of bed.

Throwing his clothes on quietly, he strode over to slip through the door and escape to the diner he had been wanting to visit ever since he saw their prices advertised on the window. Well, that and the overwhelmingly attractive waitresses he had seen through said window. He may have found an alternative to only ever screwing strangers, but he was still the same Dean Winchester as always. The same Dean that drowned himself in booze and women and pie so that he didn’t have to think anymore. The same Dean that was so close to escaping to tall stacks of pancakes and black coffee so bitter it made even him grimace when Natalie’s voice shattered the silence.

“G’morning,” she said, voice muffled with the lingering haze of sleep.

Plastering a smile on his face, he turned and replied, “morning, sleeping beauty. You were out like a light.”

“Still heard you moving around, didn’t I?” She easily retorted. Her arms flexed as she bundled the sheets around her, and he almost objected as the fabric obstructed all of her he wanted to see.

“Guess so.”

“You going out for breakfast?” Questioned Natalie around a long yawn that made her nose scrunch in a way that was definitely not adorable. He really needed to go punch a wall or something to regain his sense of self after this.

“Yeah. I’m thinking the diner next to the antique shop.”

“The haunted antique shop?”

“Uh, formerly haunted, now perfectly normal yet still kinda creepy, thank you very much,” Dean reminded her with a wink.

“Why don’t we try that one… Roberta’s?” She trailed off, lost in thought. “Or was it, like, Rosie’s or somethin’? Whatever. At least it’s an actually nice place, not just a crappy diner.”

“That one had a ton of old ladies in it. I mean, sure, I go for cougars sometimes, but this town is ripe for the picking with the mid-twenties and desperate category, so I’m all in for cheap diner eating if there are hot chicks involved. Even if it is in screaming distance from a freak show.”

He was beginning to feel uncomfortable simply standing in the doorway, but now she was scrunching her eyebrows, so things were about to get a whole lot worse. “Oh, I didn’t realize that beautiful women meant a good meal, so pardon me,” she snapped.

Ignoring the angry tone of her voice, he chuckled out low and deep, “well, if you play your cards right…”

Natalie sighed, interrupting him, “yep, this isn’t going to work.”

“What?” He asked, smirk dropping from his face in confusion.

“I thought I… I thought I would be able to handle it, y’know?”

He did not know. Wait, did he know? What was he supposed to know?

“Guess not. Classic,” she continued to ramble nonsensically.

“You’re gonna have to catch me up here, Nat. The hell are you talking about?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she answered darkly. “So, yes, when we started this, it was under the guise that it would be purely for the sex and none of the mushy-gushy feelings stuff we both so hate, but here’s the thing: it was already too late for me. I’ve had feelings for you for years, Dean. Years. I—I’m basically a lovesick puppy at this point.”

His eyes widened at her words, and something wrapped itself around his heart so tightly he almost thought he was dying. She loved him?

“And I’m so sorry that I took advantage of you with this whole fuck-buddy thing, because you thought it was no feelings, and whatever, but—but, honestly, I thought they would go away. Well, I hoped against hope that they would go away because I know now that you will never care for me more than as a friend. Really, though, that’s okay. I want to be your friend, Dean, I really do. But I can’t be your benefits, too. My feelings won’t go away unless we stop.”

“I—I don’t know what to say,” he uttered quietly, feeling almost breathless in the oppressive weight that hung around him.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just need for you to understand and, um, respect my decision,” she mumbled. Tears dripped down her face and clung to her cheeks as she looked down at the pillow she was clutching tightly to her chest.

“Will anything, uh… change?”

She looked up, and the hold around his heart tightened as he took in sad eyes shining with a glossy film above crescent moon bags that bruised her skin from exhaustion.

“Well, it’ll sure as hell be awkward.” Even her laugh was tired, and she only managed to let out a few lifeless chuckles before stopping to speak again, “and there really will be no more of this. I don’t think I would be able to handle it.”

“What do you… what should I do?” He asked. Something burned behind his eyes.

“Either you love me back, or you leave. Your choice,” she said, looking so deep into his eyes he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Her cheeks shone in the early morning light with the memory of tears.

Silence.

“I really am so sorry, Dean. But you need to make a decision: stay, or go.”

Unbearable, heartbreaking silence.

And then, the squeak of the door on its hinges as he left without another word.

--

Dean soon found that his method of coping was to either give himself liver failure or a deadly STD in order to achieve the sweet release of death he so craved ever since his life had become a never ending cycle of tense awkwardness. Although Natalie could have gotten an Oscar for acting normally and completely unaffected while she was around him, each and every moment he was in a room with her, it felt as if his brain was going to shortfire because his thoughts were pinging around his head like loose ping pong balls. Every shared glance and fleeting touch only sent him into more of a frenzy as he attempted to bury himself in the decadence of living.

Whereas before he was only going out to bars and returning to the motel at 3 in the morning drunk off his ass with some random chick on his arm maybe once every couple weeks, now it became an almost daily spectacle. He tried and failed to convince himself that he was only making up for lost time, but the true reason he kept on going was to see the flicker of pain light in Natalie’s eyes each time he found a new conquest or boasted of another late night. If she could completely turn his world around with but a few simple words, then why couldn’t he get payback?

(Even he knew how shitty and terrible his behavior truly was. Even he could see the cruelty of his actions. Even he knew how different the circumstances were for him to break her heart knowingly, and her to admit her feelings. He just couldn’t seem to stop.)

It was on one such late night, after a long evening of three salt and burns gone wrong, that he yet again found himself in a sleazy bar. Sam and Natalie accompanied him, although there was reluctance plastered to both of their faces as Dean threw back shot after shot. His vigor for drowning himself in booze was renewed each time he saw the pained expression on her face accompanied by a cut lip and steadily blossoming black eye. Tonight, he wasn’t just drinking for the pain of feeling too much all at once. No, this time he was drinking for all the mistakes he had made that resulted in Natalie being thrown around like a ragdoll by an angry spirit.

Alcohol poisoning seemed like the best punishment for his wrongdoings tonight.

“Dean, I think you need to slow down,” Sam sighed.

“No can do, Sammy. I’m on a mission to get as drunk as I possibly can.”

Natalie let out a scoff and retorted harshly, “that’s healthy.”

“I hear the judgement, and I’m just gonna go ahead and ignore it,” he grunted and shoved his way out of the booth, empty glass in hand. He had to get away from Sam’s judgemental stare and Natalie’s mournful gaze.

At the bar, he slammed the glass onto the table harder than he had meant to, and loosed a long groan as he flagged down the bartender. A few more shots, and he would be golden. Or perhaps the busty brunette two stools down making eyes at him was distraction enough?

With one last swig of his newly refilled drink, he was sauntering over to her side with cheesy pickup lines and a crooked smile in tow. The voice in the back of his head whispering that this was all wrong was firmly shut up after she tugged him out of the bar and shoved him down onto a floral comforter so that he forgot how to do much but make the occasional grunt.

However, nearly three hours later, he was bolting from the floral bedding and beige walls before brunette Barbie’s head even had time to hit the pillow. He was spewing his guts across the sidewalk before the door leading outside of her apartment building was even fully open. He was feeling the regret of each decision he ever made before he even saw the disappointed expression on Sam’s face.

What the hell was I thinking? Why do I keep doing this to myself—to her?

The instant he entered the motel room, he stumbled upon Natalie tangled in her bed covers, hair fanned out around her head in a way so similar to when he had watched the sun dance through the air as he woke up beside her one last time.

Why do I keep doing this to her?

He shuffled over to the bathroom, already nursing a headache and feeling the need to shower the past night off of himself. The pungent smell of alcohol and the stale memory of sex permeated his clothes and the air around him. Practically ripping them off, he dropped them onto the floor without care as soon as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He hopped into the shower to wonderful water pressure that almost made him forget all of his wrongdoings. If only he could stay here forever without constant dread and guilt weighing on his consciousness. However, water didn’t last forever, and neither did forgetting.

By the time he was out of the bathroom, Natalie was awake and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, hair pulled back messily as she puttered around the small motel room aimlessly.

“Oh, hey, Natalie. How ya feeling? You look better.”

Her eye had faded from the dark purple of yesterday to a dull blue, and her cut lip looked recently cleaned. He still felt a deep pang of regret when he caught sight of the pain inflicted upon her because of his screw ups, but they would heal like other scars were unable to.

Why do I keep doing this to her?

“Not great,” she retorted sharply.

His heart stopped. “Oh. What’s—”

She interrupted him suddenly, “Dean, I’ve been trying to hold it together. I really have been. I just don’t think I can continue like this anymore. I don’t know if you sleeping your way through every town we visit is your attempt to send some kind of message to me, but I’m gettin’ something loud and clear. I understand that you don’t want me.”

His head filled with a white noise that prevented him from forming a coherent thought.

“My heart breaks every time I see you flirt with some random chick, or come back late after a night out at the bar… but, I think you know that already. I just can’t handle it anymore, though. So, I need out. Out of this toxic bullshit situation that hurts everyone involved, and out of the life, too. I’m tired, Dean. Tired of travelling and hunting and hurting all the time.”

His stomach dropped, and he had to force words past the knot forming in his throat, “what do you mean?”

“I mean”—she took a deep, shuddering breath—“I’m quitting the life. And, don’t worry, it’s not only because of you. Don’t be so full of yourself. Hunting was getting tough for me, anyways. Not just in the normal tough way, but the kind that makes you think bad thoughts when you’re alone and a longing for a darkness that only comes at the end. So… I’m retiring.”

The white noise thrummed against his skull and he resisted the urge to pull his hair out. She was retiring?

“I think I’ll stay in this area. Maybe move a town over. I don’t know quite yet what I’m gonna do, but… well, once I know, you guys will be the first to find out. And, if you ever are passing by, I’d love to see you guys. I’ll still help with cases and shit like that, so if you and Sam ever need backup close by, I’m definitely your gal. For now at least, that’s all, though. I really need some time for myself. To figure out who I am, without all the needing to save the world and near death experience crap,” she finished, words jumbled and breathing hard as if she had been trying to get this all over with. She probably had.

“I—” His voice cracked. He didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Her eyes were sad when she looked up at him, and her voice barely a whisper when she spoke, “but you did.”

--

“You’ll call if you need anything, right?” Sam asked for the seventh time in the last five minutes. The concern was evident in his voice as it practically dripped off of his every word.

Natalie simply laughed in that snorting way Dean never wanted to forget, and responded with a cocked eyebrow, “of course, you big moose. And call me, too. I still am the ancient dialect master, not to brag, so if you’re in need of any translating, hit me up. I’d be happy to help.”

“Of course we’ll call. As soon as you get a place, and we’re available, we’ll try to visit as well.”

“Yeah, you’d better. We still have to finish the second season of ‘Black Mirror,’” she replied, eyes narrowing threateningly. “Don’t you dare watch any without me.”

Sam pasted on an expression of faux indignation and began to retaliate, “I would—”

“Okay, c’mon, Sammy. We gotta get going,” Dean interrupted gruffly.

Both of their expressions quickly sobered.

“Okay. Yeah,” Sam murmured. “Bye. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Natalie agreed. “Don’t die, as hard as that is for you boys.”

They hugged, and when they parted, Dean could have sworn he saw Sam whisper something in Natalie’s ear that brought a certain sheen to her eyes. Before he could look any deeper, however, she was turning to him, and his heart was stopping yet again in his chest.

“Bye, Dean. See you around.”

His heart only started beating when she was but a blurry figure in the rearview mirror of the Impala.

[fuckyeahjamieandclaire]

Outlander returned to Amazon Prime this week, and the third season of the cult time-travel saga has already been earning raves from the critics. In the words of the Telegraph’s reviewer, it’s “Braveheart meets Doctor Who with sprinklings of Mills and Boon… and with some of the best action this side of a Hollywood blockbuster.”

Like the novels by Diana Gabaldon on which it is based, the show has earned a devoted fanbase. More unexpectedly, its blend of bodice-ripping romance, historical intrigue and nuanced feminism has also inspired a raft of academic writing (including a tome called Scots, Sassenachs, and Spankings: Feminism and Gender Roles in Outlander).

It has made a star of 37-year-old Irish actress Caitriona Balfe, who plays Claire Fraser, a Second World War nurse magically transported to 18th century Scotland, where she falls for a hunky highlander called Jamie (Sam Heughan) in the midst of the Jacobite uprisings.

The pair are tormented by a murderous redcoat, Captain Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall (Tobias Menzies), who is, disconcertingly, the spitting image of Claire’s well-meaning husband Frank (and turns out to be his ancestor). The second season spanned more than 20 years in Claire’s life.

Balfe’s moving performance as both the young, time-stranded Claire, and her older self, back in the 20th century and struggling to maintain a loveless marriage, earned her a Scottish Bafta and a Best Actress nod at the Golden Globes. We spoke in July, while she was in California enjoying a break from the Scottish weather.

Where are you at the moment?

I’m currently in LA, getting a nice vitamin D infusion. I live between Glasgow and London, but we were just over here for Comic Con.

People say the fans at Comic Con can be quite intense. Did you find that to be the case?

It’s the absolutely great thing about it. Coming from our part of the world, we don’t get to see that up close as much. There’s such a passion around the fanbase. To see the investment that people have in the show and the characters is really exciting - it’s very infectious. And playing Claire, one of the best things about meeting the fans is that they really identify with her. They want to come up and share their stories with me, which has been very humbling. She went through a lot of things last season, and in a way they feel like Claire represents or mirrors their own journey. They tell me all about their relationships, and about their kids, and things like that. It’s been really sweet.

In series two, we leapt ahead to 1968 and, saw a new period of Claire’s life. Where do we find her in series three?

It pretty much starts from the end of the first episode of season two.  Claire has come back to town, she’s pregnant, she tells Frank basically where she’s been for the last three years, and they make a decision to move to Boston, so we pick up in Boston in the Forties. We spend the next few episodes getting glimpses of the 20-year period that Claire spends in Boston, before we join the story again where we left off at the end of season two.

What’s the strangest thing that happened to you on set this season?

There was a day when I got to work with a snake! Animals are always an unexpected, but these snakes weren’t exactly trained very well. I had a snake basically slither its entire body across my neck, but it wasn’t always willing to play ball.  It would try and find - this is going to sound terrible, but it would try and find dark little crevices in my costume to go and hide itself. That was quite… interesting. It’s not like I’m usually that afraid of them. I’m terrified of cockroaches, for some reason, but with this snake there was a certain amount of thinking,“I’m OK with this, I’m OK with this, wait - where is it going!? I’m am not OK with this any more!”

The time-hopping in the second season reminded viewers that it’s also a sci-fi show, not just a period drama. Do you find those labels useful?

People find it hard to peg our show down, but that’s a good thing. We surprise people - we defy expectations. To be honest, the sci-fi element of our show was always a very small component. Obviously, a lot of the story hinges on that premise, but really it’s more of a period drama than it is anything else. The creators decided very early on not to do some strange vortex scene where she’s passing through time, or anything like that. They wanted to tell a story about the love that a couple share.

Outlander always seems to be compared to Game of Thrones. Is it a fair comparison?

I think our shows are very, very different, but obviously we live in the same sort of space in "TV land".  Game of Thrones really opened the door for a lot of shows that have a fantasy element or sci-fi element to become mainstream, and to move off of the specifically sci-fi-driven networks. For that reason, it’s great, and Game of Thrones is a fantastic show, and it’s been such a worldwide success that any sort of comparison to that I take as a compliment.

The producers have said this was the most ambitious season there’s been so far. You’ve moved the whole production from Scotland to South Africa, and were shooting onboard ships part of the time. Was it more challenging than usual?

Our show always takes a long time to make, but after you’ve done a winter in Scotland, when someone tells you you’re going to go to Cape Town for four months that’s pretty good news to hear!  We film a lot outside in all the elements, and just physically that's very demanding. But the real challenge I’ve experienced this season is telling that story of a woman’s life is spanning over 20 years.

How did you dealt with that challenge, playing Claire as she ages across the decades?

We spent a long time talking about, well, how can a couple live together for 20 years in a really compromised marriage? Two people that have, respect for each other, obviously, and something of a platonic love, but the intimacy and the passion isn’t there.

One of the things we really wanted to figure out was how to build a three-dimensional relationship when we’re only really showing little vignettes of it, without making it black-and-white. There had to be grey areas, because there will be good times and bad times in every marriage.

The dynamic between them can be uncomfortable to watch;  whenever Claire looks at her husband Frank, she and the audience are also seeing Black Jack.

Exactly. That’s one of the great things about the way that Diana [Gabaldon] has decided to tell that story, and the way the writers decided to cast Toby [Menzies] for both. Having that triangle constantly there - it’s such an interesting reminder of why she can’t put her past to the side, and just fully embrace this good marriage.

One issue that’s caused a lot of debate recently is sexual violence on television. It’s particularly graphic in Outlander: we saw Black Jack torture and rape Jamie in the first season, then Claire was raped by the King of France in season two. Did you worry that some viewers have found it all a bit excessive?

It’s funny, because obviously a lot of shows have been part of that conversation over the last couple of years, and ours has definitely been right there in the middle of it. It’s something that has featured in Diana’s books, which is why it’s made its way into our show. We decided early on to look at it in the context of how, unfortunately, sexual violence is very often used as a weapon, especially in that time.

You want to make sure you’re treating it with respect, but also that you’re showing the brutality and the pain that the character’s experiencing. I think our writers did an excellent job with the Black Jack and Jamie scenes at the end of season one. They’re not easy scenes to watch, by any means, but I do think that to understand the depth of the pain that he went through, then you need to really understand what it is that Black Jack has done to him. It’s always a tricky subject, but I hope that we approach it as sensitively as we can.

[ofsinnersandsaints]

Ghost Watch: S3, E4

AO3 / Completed 

Modern AU / Bellarke / The Delinquents

"Hey guys, it’s me, Bellamy Blake, and tonight on Ghost Watch we’re going to be investigate a house owned by Clarke Griffin. Her roommates, Monty Green and Jasper Jordan, called us in to investigate their home.

Welcome to Ark, Virginia. Welcome to Ghost Watch."

“I’m going to murder you both and then this house will really be haunted.”

Clarke stormed across the living of the plantation house she shared with Monty and Jasper until she was nearly nose to nose with them and couldn’t decide if she was angry or furious. “I can't believe you did this behind my back.”

Monty and Jasper glanced at each other. To Clarke’s frustration neither of them showed an ounce of remorse. Worse, they didn’t seem particularly afraid of her either but Jasper did hold up his hands in surrender. “In our defense, we didn’t think they’d really pick us.”

“We’re only minimally haunted after all,” Monty pointed out.

“We are not haunted,” Clarke hissed. “This is an old house and you two are crazy.”

“So you’re saying your paintings moved on their own?” Jasper challenged.

“I’m saying I probably moved them and forgot,” Clarke argued for what she imagined was the hundredth time. Even to her own ears, though, her tone lacked conviction. A month ago she’d gone down to her studio and found her father’s portrait on the easel when she would have bet her life it had been on the floor night before, waiting to be framed.

The only thing she could think to explain the reason for its move was she’d gotten up in the middle of the night and moved it before going back to bed, but just thinking about it made her itchy between her shoulder blades.

“What about the doors?” Jasper challenged, “You’re not seriously trying to say they’re opening by themselves.”

“You mean the very old doors which probably need new hinges?” Clarke countered.

“Old hinges stick,” Monty reminded her. “Not make things easier to open.”

“So my moved paintings and doors opening was enough to get the crew of Ghost Watch to come to this backwoods college town to investigate our supposedly haunted house?”

“Technically, your haunted house," said Jasper. “Which is why you’re the one who was supposed to sign the contracts which allow them to film.”

"Wait, supposed to sign?" Clarke spluttered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Monty and Jasper exchanged looks. "We may have forged your signature on the contracts and sent them to the producer. They'll be here next week."

“For fuck’s sake, Jasper.” Clarke ran a hand through her hair, “I’m really am going to kill you both.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that can happen?” Monty argued. “They come, they hang out in our house for a night while we stay at a cushy hotel and then they leave again.”

Clarke felt her resolution to refuse weaken. She could use a night in a hotel. For the past week she’d been drowning herself in her thesis work and couldn’t remember what it felt like to not have tension in her neck and shoulders. Dreams of a big Jacuzzi tub and room service danced prettily in her head.

“I am not getting on camera saying I believe in ghosts,” she asserted, though she couldn't muster up any heat. Oh God, was she really agreeing to this?

“Awesome!" Jasper high fived Monty. "I’m going to call Maya and tell her we’re a go.”

Monty stayed as Jasper ran off to his bedroom upstairs. It didn’t escape Clarke’s notice that while Jasper was still on the stairs there was the sound of footsteps on the floor above her.

“You know something weird is going on here," Monty told her.

“You guys have watched way too many episodes of Ghost Watch. It’s just the house settling. It is an old house, Monty.”

“So maybe it'll turn out to be nothing. But if it helps, the people on the show are all super hot.”

Clarke sighed and couldn’t help but respond to Monty’s grin. “It helps a little.”

##############################

When Clarke finally accepted the show was coming, she binge watched the first two seasons and was reluctantly impressed by the way the crew conducted themselves.

In order to prevent contamination the watchers, as they called themselves, knew next to nothing about the houses and buildings they were going to investigate. Instead, the tech expert, a woman by the name of Raven Reyes, and her partner Wick (whom Clarke suspected was more than just her partner on set) interviewed the residents or owners of the supposedly haunted buildings.

The three people who went into the houses to make contact with the spirits, brother and sister Bellamy and Octavia Blake and the inscrutable Nathan Miller, knew nothing which meant anything they sensed, heard, or saw would come from their own observations and not from suggestions given by the crazies.

Witnesses, Clarke corrected herself, watching the crew pile out of a black van with the show's logo on the sides and she had to admit Monty was right: they were hot.

Jasper all but hopped from one foot to the other on the last step of the porch in anticipation, while Monty stood calm next to him in the outfit he’d picked after choosing and discarding four others.

The guy she considered to be in charge stepped to the front of the group. Both Monty and Jasper eagerly shook his hand, and there was more than a little hero worship in Jasper’s eyes.

Oh boy, was Clarke definitely regretting this.

“Hi, I’m Bellamy Blake," said the newcomer. "Which one of you is Clarke?”

“I am,” Clarke answered from her spot.

He looked up at her with dark eyes though from this distance she couldn’t see their color but she could definitely feel the spark of something shivering down her spine.

She was kicking the guys out the first chance she had. Jesus, she didn’t have time for this.

“I’m Clarke Griffin.” she said as she held out her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled as he shook it and there was something about the curve of it which immediately made her want to punch him in the face.

Maybe it was the arrogance, or the fact she immediately wanted to make out with him.

It was 50/50.

Letting go of his hand as if was suddenly a hot rock she took a quick step back. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Blake.”

“Bellamy,” he corrected. “Thanks for letting us come into your home.”

“A metaphorical gun was put to my head by my roommates,” she clarified, looking around Bellamy’s shoulder (who needed shoulders that wide anyway?) to glare at Monty and Jasper. To her annoyance, they didn't even notice, since they were meeting the other members of the crew.

“Ah.” There was a world’s worth of condescension in the single syllable and skewed the ratio 90/10 in favor of punching him. “You’re a skeptic.”

“Yes. But I love my roommates and there were rumors of a hotel room.”

He grinned, quick and bright. Okay, maybe it was more like 80/20.  You could want to punch someone's face and still want to make out with them, right?

“Yes, you guys get to hang out in a swanky hotel while we wander around your house all night.”

“I’ll make sure to hide my lingerie.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and rolled back on his heels, smile still firmly in place. “We don’t touch lingerie unless invited first.”

“Shame, you must not get to touch a lot of lingerie then.”

He barked out a laugh as his sister, a willowy brunette with long brown hair and a ready smile, came up to greet them. “I’m Octavia. You’ve got an amazing house.”

“Thanks, I got it-“

“No spoilers,” Bellamy interrupted. “Did your roommates not tell you the rules?”

“They did.” She hadn’t needed them to after her binge-watch, but she wasn’t about to admit to to her roommates she’d spent 36 plus hours watching a show about haunted houses when she’d adamantly refused to admit they existed so she certainly wasn’t about to admit it to this guy either. “But I didn’t think how I came into possession of the house would be that important.”

“You never know what might be relevant later,” Octavia explained gently as if to make up for her brother’s rudeness. “But I can’t wait to hear the story later. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the group while my brother figures out where he put his manners.”

“O-“

“Nope,” she interrupted. “You were being an ass. I could tell from the yard."  Taking Clarke’s arm to lead her away, she added, "Other than my brother, everyone else is super nice except for Nathan, who is stoic.”

Clarke smiled, endeared by the younger woman’s friendliness and allowed herself to be pulled away and introduced to the rest of the crew.

A tall blonde man stood with his arm slung over a pretty, smirking Hispanic girl while a dark skinned man stood close to Monty. She recognized the early signs of infatuation in her friend’s eyes. When she met Jasper’s grin she realized he’d noticed the same thing.

“Guys, this is Clarke," Octavia announced. “Bellamy was being mean.”

“I wasn’t being mean,” Bellamy argued from behind them.

“You were thinking about it,” Octavia shot back without looking over her shoulder and Clarke stifled a laugh at how efficiently she’d shut her brother down. “So, this is Raven and Wick, they’re the techs and they’re going to be ones interviewing you. This is Nathan, he’s our camera man in the house during the investigation, you’ve met my brother Bellamy who likes to pretend he’s in charge, and I’m Octavia.”

As she shook hands with the others, Clarke was surprised to find they were all about her age. Here she was stressing over school and these people were traveling around the world making a TV or television show.

She was beginning to wonder about her life choices.

“While Raven and Wick interview you, we’ll be wandering around the property getting b-roll, doing our own little observations and what not,” Octavia explained. “When you’re done you’ll give us a tour of your place so we don’t get lost in the middle of the night. Does that work okay for you?”

Clarke nodded, not really certain her agreement was necessary. Octavia was beautiful but mildly terrifying, like a steamroller painted pink.

“Great. We’ll catch up with you in a bit.” Octavia turned and grabbed her brother’s arm and dragged him away from the group. “Come on, bro, you can check her out later.”

After they’d taken a few steps away, Jasper sighed, “She’s hot.”

“So is her brother,” Monty added with a small smile.

Yep. She was really, really going to regret this.

##############################

Twenty minutes later, after Jasper’s interview had finished, Clarke was being rigged with a mic. She’d observed the process from a safe distance so she’d know what to expect when it was her turn and watching the two members of the show's tech team work together was oddly calming, almost like watching a dance.  

Raven seemed to be the one in charge and while she and Wick relentlessly teased each other she seemed to respect her counterpart. What Clarke hadn’t known from the show, because she was almost always sitting, was Raven walked with a limp.

Wick more than compensated for her lack of mobility, though, predicting her needs with almost clairvoyant accuracy so she didn’t have to move more than necessary. Not until he’d gone off to get drinks did Clarke get a chance to ask the question which had been burning in her mind since she’d seen them in person for the first time.

“You and Wick. Are you guys are a thing?”

Raven cast her a glance of calculated suspicion. “Why? You thinking of hitting on him?”

“No, but I did binge watch your guys’ first two seasons-which stays between us, by the way-and he followed you around with ‘Property of Raven Reyes’ on his forehead the first season and by the second season you two had zero personal space in the tech center.”

Raven’s guarded look dropped away as she smiled. “He bought me some really fancy tech so I decided give him a bone.”

“Right, the heart eyes are just for the tech.”

This time Raven winked as she fixed Clarke’s microphone to the collar of her shirt. “Totally for the tech. Okay, you’re all set. Wick will be here in a sec to do the interview, he’s better at that kind of stuff than I am. Then you’ll give Bellamy and Octavia the tour of the house. Monty and Jasper will jump in at necessary intervals and then you guys will be free to go.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Raven shrugged like it didn’t really matter. “I don’t either.”

“What? But you work on a show which is solely about talking to ghosts.”

“I like the challenge of trying to prove or disprove something which is inherently impossible to prove. And I like the crew, they’re family.”

“Family’s important,” Clarke agreed solemnly but there was a catch in her voice which caught Raven’s attention and she received the look she always got when people realized she’d lost someone: a little bit of compassion mixed with a lot of pity.

“I get to travel all over the world with my hot boyfriend, too,” Raven added brightly.

“There’s that,” Clarke agreed with a smile, grateful Raven had dropped the subject and gave them both an out.

“You guys ready for me?”

Raven stepped back and smiled at Wick as he walked towards him, his disposition so leisurely and relaxed it calmed Clarke just to watch him come towards them.

“Yep, she’s all yours. Let me turn on the cams.” Opening two bottles of soda, she handed one to Wick. They both took long drinks before Raven settled in behind a trio of monitors and Wick walked up to stand on his mark. Setting the soda at his feet, he gave Clarke a friendly smile.

“This is just going to be a conversation. Only thing I need you to do is try to remember when I ask you a question to repeat the question back to me in your answer. So if I ask, what is your name?”

“I say, my name is Clarke Griffin.”

He shot her a grin, more sunshine than heat, and Clarke decided she liked him. “You’re at the head of the class. Most of the questions I’m going to ask you are going to be about the house, how you came to own it, what you know about the history, and lastly what kind of things are happening around the house to make you believe it’s haunted.”

“She doesn’t think it’s haunted,” Raven put in.

Wick frowned. Immediately, Clarke immediately felt as if she had disappointed him.

“I just don’t think it makes sense-“ she began.

“Scientifically?” he finished for her. “It does though.”

“Oh god, here he goes,” Raven muttered.

Wick continued as if she hadn’t anything. “Matter can’t be created or destroyed, only changed. So if a person dies who he, or she, is can’t be changed.” The pace in his voice picked up and she could physically see him getting excited about a potential debate. “They can only be changed, so what happens to your soul when you die? You just, poof!, disappear into nothingness? Doesn’t make sense.”

“But you can’t prove a soul is energy,” Clarke argued. “You’d have to do that first in order to prove it lasts after death.”

“Why? When has science ever waited its turn in line?”

Clarke opened her mouth to argue but closed it again. Okay, he kind of had a point. Sometimes science discovered the truth before it understood the how or the why.

“You’ve argued this a lot, haven’t you?” she said instead.

“Almost daily. I should really learn to stay off the message boards. Reyes, give the guys a heads up we’re interviewing and to keep the sound down.”

Raven pulled out her phone and sent what Clarke assumed was a group text before sliding it back in her pocket. “All set.”

“All right," Wick rubbed his hands together. "Let’s do this.”

##############################

Bellamy’s first instinct when meeting the owner of the supposedly haunted house was she was hot. Not in a Raven sort of way, or in the way his ex-girlfriend Roma was hot. More like being in the shade when it’s cold and chilly but suddenly the world shifts and the shade moves and the sunlight is falling on cool skin so the warmth just starts spreading and there are goosebumps everywhere the sunlight touches.

After five minutes into the tour of the house, it became clear she wasn’t just a skeptic, she was a realist, too. That made no sense, because after touring the attic, the second floor and most of the first, she showed them a small office set off the from the kitchen which housed art.

Actual art. The kind of stuff which hung in galleries and frames and were sold at Sotheby’s for outrageous amounts of money. She admitted it was her room, her art, and he’d never been so confused by a person in his life.

He stepped closer to his sister and kept his voice low as Clarke moved a painting while muttering to herself, ‘this isn’t where this belongs.’

“O, why don’t you take a minute to call your boyfriend?”

Octavia laughed, knowing him too well not to notice the flicker of interest and curiosity in his eyes.

“That wasn’t even a little bit subtle but I’m not going to argue,” she said. Stepping out of the room, she shut the door behind her, leaving him alone with Clarke.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t realize you were an artist,” Bellamy began.

She gave him a self-conscious smile, “Yeah. I’m going to school for it.”

“Why?”

She narrowed her eyes and he realized how it must have sounded. Quickly, he went on. “I meant, why go to school for art when it seems like you already know what you’re doing. This stuff is amazing.”

He stopped at an oil painting of a girl curled up in an easy chair, her hair in a braid, reading a book. Above her the story took life in a myriad of images, showing that same girl with the same braid holding a sword and dressed in armor while dragons and castles and landscapes seemed to vie for space.

“I could maybe draw that dragon if you gave me something to trace,” he joked.

“I inherited the drawing talent from my dad. The art, he said I came up with myself.”

“Consider me well and truly impressed. I don’t suppose I could buy this from you.”

“You want it?”

He shifted his weight, feeling awkward at her surprise. “Yeah? It reminds me of when O was little and I used to read to her, or make up stories before she went to bed. She’d hear something like Percy Jackson and then decide she was the daughter of a goddess and spend the next two weeks trying to shoot a bow and arrow.”

“Artemis,” she acknowledged with a smile. “I’m more of an Athena girl myself.”

“Hades,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Appropriate,” she smirked but when he only tilted his head, confused, she shrugged. “You’re here to investigate ghosts. It’s not a far step from Hades.”

Bellamy laughed, “Believe it or not, I never actually made that connection before.”

She smiled as she shook her head. “You can buy it if you want but it’s not like it’s going to be worth anything someday.”

Bellamy studied the painting for a moment before turning to her with what he hoped was a deadpan expression. “Maybe after you die.”

Clarke laughed. “Then I’ll haunt this place and you can come over and tell me how much my art is worth.”

“Sounds fair.” He grinned at her. When he caught himself leaning into kiss the spring sunlight erupting from her smile he immediately stopped himself.

Bad idea. Worst idea.

She blinked as if she realized what he’d been about to do but instead of moving away or glaring at him there was the smallest of smiles on her face. For some reason he thought of that old Peter Pan movie and he suddenly understood the plot behind the secret kiss at the corner of Wendy’s mouth.

Well, if she didn’t think it was a bad idea then he was going to go for it. Just as he started to lean in again, someone outside made a large accompanied by what he recognized was Raven's cursing and the moment was gone.

He took a step back and reached for the door but when he turned the knob it didn’t open.

Clarke came up behind him, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. The door is locked.”

“No it’s not,” Clarke argued. “This door doesn’t even have a lock on it.”

She swatted his hand away and he couldn’t help but be amused at how she’d gone from soft sunlight to hard steel in just a few seconds, as if she’d suddenly remembered she didn’t want him there. His grin only widened when she tried the knob and while it moved the door wouldn’t unlatch.

“Not again.”

“Again? This has happened before?”

She glanced up at him through her lashes, not because she was flirting but because he was a good five inches taller than her. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to taint your perspective with anecdotal evidence?”

“I’m kind of the boss, so if I say it’s okay to tell me, it’s okay to tell me.”

“I’m not encouraging you,” she evaded.

“I should tell you, not telling me something just encourages me more.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Surprisingly, you’re not the first who has said that to me.”

“Not really that surprising.”

“Tell me when this happened before. No judgement.”

She stared at him for a solid five seconds and he thought she was going to refuse again. Instead she propped her shoulder against the door and crossed her arms. “I was dating this guy. He knocked at the door to pick me up for a date and the front door wouldn’t open. Jasper, Monty, and I all tried to open it, we locked it, unlocked it, we tried everything but we couldn’t open it.”

“What did you do?”

“Eventually it opened, but it took a few minutes. I think the door was warped.”

“Mhm.”

“You think it was a ghost trying to keep me from going on a date?”

“Would there have been a reason to keep you from the date?” Clarke bit her lip and looked away, immediately piquing his interest. “What?”

She sighed and he suspected from the sound she’d had to tell the story more than once. “I found out the next day he hadn’t really broken up with his girlfriend like he said he had.”

“He was cheating on you?”

“I think he was cheating on her,” Clarke shrugged. “He thought he’d broken up with her, she didn't agree.”

Some guy who was too lazy to break up with his girlfriend before moving on to someone new and when he came to pick her up the door wouldn’t open? “Someone’s looking out for you.”

“You think some spirit is hovering in my house protecting me from douchebags?”

“Haunting, not hovering.”

“You’re insane.”

“Because I believe in ghosts?”

“I don’t get you, you’re a smart man.”

“Thank you?”

“I Googled you,” she explained. “You were going for your Ph.D when you got sidetracked by all of this.”

He could tell by the dismissive wave of her hand what exactly she thought of ‘all this’ but he wasn’t about to tell her the why and how he got into this line of work, so he evaded.

“Sidetracked by a career which keeps me excited and allows me to not only work with my sister and my friends but also provides all of us with financial stability? Yeah, you’re right. I’ve made terrible life choices.”

“There is no proof ghosts exist.”

“There was no proof Alexander the Great could conquer the world, that didn’t stop him from trying to prove that he could, did it?”

“Alexander didn’t succeed.”

“He accomplished more than his father had. That’s a kind of success, don’t you think? So maybe I don’t prove empirically there are ghosts. If I find more proof than those who came before me, that’s a kind of success. I can live with that.”

##############################

It didn’t matter how nice the building, or the fact she was never really alone, Octavia couldn’t help the feeling of being on edge and just a little bit terrified when they turned off all the lights and started wandering around a strange place looking for ghosts.

She loved it.

She loved the old sounds of a house settling in, of doors creaking open but more than anything she loved the out of place sounds, soft moans and breathy whispers in the shadows, the sense of a presence just out of reach.

They didn’t always get results when they investigated a house. There were bound to be more than a few places which were just old, after all. She’d had a feeling about this place, though, from the moment she’d seen it.

Even though she knew next to nothing about the house you could tell simply by looking at it there was too much history for there to be nothing. Octavia likened it to a Civil War widow with stories of battles and blood and death in her living room, not knowing if her husband was somewhere living through the same. This place had stories to tell and a strong enough backbone to survive the hard times.

She also imagined if this house could talk, it would probably curse. Like a lot.

Some houses just had a wicked tongue that way.

The first hour passed by quickly and relatively quietly. They’d walked through the house to get their bearings in the dark and then had separated. Bellamy had gone towards the kitchen while she and Nathan had attempted an EVP session in the parlor-this place had a parlor, how cool was that? It was during that session she heard the sound upstairs. Immediately, she dragged Nathan, who was filming, along with her to investigate.

As she walked up the steps, comforted by the presence of Nathan right behind her, she kept her eyes fixed on the darkness ahead of her, watching for any change in the density of the shadows or light where it shouldn’t be.

She didn’t mind working with her brother but he always took the lead, and Wick was easily excitable whenever he was allowed to work a building. Raven, despite her adamant insistence she did not believe in ghosts refused to walk into a house while they were investigating.

Nathan, on the other hand, was a steady and solid presence. If she jumped, he stayed calm. Because he was almost never affected by the spirits they investigated, it usually meant if he said something happened to him it wasn’t a figment of his imagination, it was real.

So when he jumped and yelled, he immediately had Octavia’s attention. Spinning around she reached out to grab his arm. “What? Are you okay?”

“It felt like someone just touched my side,” he bit out. “Shit, man, that was weird.”

Octavia reached her hand towards the space where Nathan had been standing moments ago. “It’s cold here. Do you have temp?”

He shifted the handheld before holding it out to her, “Take the camera.”

She took it from him carefully, holding it over Nathan’s shoulder so the screen on the handheld thermometer was visible through her lens.

And she could see, clear as day, when he moved the thermometer the temp dropped.

“It’s ten degrees cooler there,” she said aloud, amazed. “Did it feel like they grabbed you, or…?”

“No, it was like someone brushing up against you in a crowded room.”

“Here, take the recorder.”

Nathan reluctantly took the recorder she’d been holding in her hand and he held it out to the open room. “Now you ask questions, Nathan.”

“This is your job,” he muttered.

“The spirit touched you,” she pointed out, her breath quickening at the prospect of making contact. “You should do the talking.”

And for the next five minutes Nathan very awkwardly asked questions he’d heard Octavia and Bellamy use in the past and even though she had nothing scientific to back it up she would bet her next paycheck they’d gotten something on the audio.

“We’re not getting anything,” Nathan complained.

“We might finding something later, you know that.” But she traded with him, handing over the camera as she took back the recorder. At the same time Bellamy’s voice came through the walkie-talkie, the volume down low enough it wouldn’t startle them in the quiet of the house. “Hey guys?”

Octavia unhooked the device from her belt, “Hey, person.”

“Where are you?”

“Doing an EVP session in the second floor hallway.”

“Okay, I’m coming up to meet you.”

Octavia didn’t bother responding. Instead, she hooked the walkie back on her hip, then rewound the recorder to about where Nathan yelled about being touched and then started playing the tape.

There was mostly just Nathan’s voice, asking questions, followed by silence but after he asked “Can you show yourself” she thought she heard…something.

Bellamy appeared over Nathan’s shoulder, a camera in his hand but pointed to the floor. There was a static camera at the end of the hall capturing their images and Nathan had his camera so she figured he didn’t see any point in filming.

“Did you get anything?”

“I think so,” she stepped towards him, automatically moving so Nathan could easily get the two of them in a shot.

“Nathan’s ass got grabbed by a ghost.”

“Nothing grabbed my ass," Nathan protested. "It felt like someone brushed up against me.”

Octavia couldn’t help but grin at Nathan’s aggrieved correction. “There was a temp difference,” she added. “It’s all on film, but I had Nathan do an EVP and I think he got something. Listen.”

She played back the question and she watched as Bellamy’s brows furrowed in concentration, his head tilted slightly to catch the sound coming from the speaker.

“What is that? It’s not a word.”

“It sounds like a scoff,” Nathan piped up, but he didn’t sound happy about it.

“A scoff?” Octavia asked the same time as Bellamy.

“Yeah you know, like when you ask someone a question and they just scoff because the question is stupid? You should know, Bellamy, you do it all the time.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes but with that presumably in mind he rewound the tape and listened to the sound again.

“It definitely sounds intentional," he agreed. "I mean, there’s nothing in this hallway which could make that noise.”

In sync from years working together, both Bellamy and Nathan directed their cameras to opposite ends of the hallway as if to verify there wasn’t anything which could create a kind of scoffing noise.

There was nothing except a few paintings hanging on the walls, all of them still.

“Let’s do EVPs in the bedrooms,” Bellamy finally suggested. “See if we can’t get our friend to have a conversation with us.”

He turned to the closest bedroom as Nathan opened the door to the one next to him. Octavia made her way to the one across the hall from Bellamy and instinctively scanned the room she found herself in, finding the static cam they’d placed there earlier.

“Okay,” she greeted the room. “We’re going to see if Nathan’s new friend wants to talk. Bellamy’s got the spirit box, so I’m going to use the magnetic recorder we used earlier to capture the sound in the hallway.”

It was definitely a guy’s room. There were comic books everywhere and a desk wedged in the corner covered in notebooks and pens and a single empty square patch of wood indicating where a laptop once rested.

Jasper’s room, she remembered from the tour. He’d apologized for the mess and explained he was a writer and had gotten nose deep in writing and research so he’d forgotten to clean up till the last minute.

Sitting on the hastily made bed, she set the recorder on the comforter. She didn’t believe she was going to get any responses in here, though. While the hallway had felt occupied when she and Nathan had been there this room felt distinctly empty.

After ten minutes of talking, of asking questions, demanding proof of existence, she heard one of the doors open and Bellamy’s voice boom from the hallway.

“Fuck! Guys! You have to listen to this. I got a name.”

Octavia scrambled off the bed, leaving the recorder behind, and ran to meet her brother.

##############################

The reveal was one of Bellamy’s favorite parts of the show aside from the actual investigation. It was amazing to see the eyes of his clients go wide at a particularly clear EVP or unexplained image in infrared. Proof they weren’t crazy, proof their experiences were valid.

Even more, when those images and sounds they found corresponded with past experiences from eyewitnesses. Since he and the other watchers knew nothing about those instances, there was no chance of believing before seeing.

And if he could convince a skeptic there was more to the world than they’d thought the day before, all the better.

So when he sat with Octavia across from Monty, Jasper, and Clarke he did so with the pleasure of knowing he had a piece of evidence which the princess couldn’t dispute or ignore. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

But, because this was a show after all, they had to work their way up to it, so he showed them the clip from when Nathan and Octavia caught the sound of the footsteps above them. Clarke immediately shifted away as her roommates gaped.

“That’s totally happened to us before,” Jasper announced, leaning towards the screen.

Monty nodded, “It happens quite a bit actually, in different parts of the house.”

“It’s an old house,” Clarke pointed out, but she was looking at the screen as if she didn’t quite trust it.

“True,” Bellamy acknowledged and got more than a little pleasure at her look of surprise at being agreed with. “But in the entire night we never caught that sound again with any of the static cameras throughout the house. If it was just the building settling it would have likely happened more than once.”

Octavia leaned forward so Bellamy pulled back, allowing her to take over with the ease of having known and worked with her for his entire life. “After we heard the footsteps Nathan and I went upstairs to investigate and this happened.

“I apologize in advance for Nathan’s language.” She grinned and Bellamy was struck, not for the first time, at what a natural she was in front of the camera. Her awareness of how things would look once they were edited together and shown on television was unmatched. He knew, if he ever wanted to step back from the show and go back to school she’d be ready and capable of taking over for him.

Bellamy reached out and pushed play on the laptop. The video Nathan took of Octavia on the second floor began playing. When Nathan shouted all three of the civilians jumped.

Octavia and Bellamy grinned at each other as he paused the video.

“Has that happened to anyone before?” Bellamy asked.

“I sometimes feel like someone is walking past me, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually been touched,” Monty admitted. “Is your camera guy okay?”

Bellamy smiled at the note of concern in the man’s voice. “He was a little shaken up but he’ll be fine. Right afterwards, Nathan performed an EVP session and we got this.”

Pulling up the audio file he played the sound his friend had managed to capture.

“Do you guys hear that?” he asked when the audio stopped.

“Sounds like Clarke when she scoffs at us,” Jasper grinned at his friend who, ironically, scoffed in response.

“That’s what we thought it sounded like too,” Bellamy agreed. “We couldn’t find any other source for the sound. We can’t say for sure it was paranormal but it was definitely out of the ordinary.”

“After this Bellamy joined us and suggested we each take a room and conduct another EVP session to see if we could get another response," Octavia put in. "Nathan and I were the in guys’ rooms and after about ten minutes we heard Bellamy yell from Clarke’s room.”

This time Bellamy leaned forward, excitement and anticipation buzzing under his skin. “Do any of you know a man by the name of Jake?”

There was a female gasp and as Bellamy swung his gaze towards Clarke he saw Jasper and Monty's identical slack-jawed looks. Before he could say anything else, Clarke got up and all but ran out of the room.

Her roommates shared a knowing look before Monty shifted forward, his voice lowering when he spoke. “Jake was her father.”

Bellamy’s entire universe pinpointed on that single word, was, and suddenly everything he’d heard made sense.

“He died,” he realized lamely and realized when he’d first met Clarke she had been explaining about how she’d gotten the house and he could just imagine she’d been about to say I got it when my father died.

“Three years ago. She's had a rough time,” Jasper added.

Pushing away from the table, Bellamy took off his mic and set it on the chair before picking up his laptop and following the path Clarke had taken. Following his instincts, he headed to the little office she’d made into a studio at the back of the house. There she was, standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at a painting resting on her easel of a man and a little girl playing on a beach.

He didn’t have to ask who the painting depicted.

“Clarke?”

“You didn’t look him up did you? That’s not how you knew his name.”

Her voice was shaky but her spine was ramrod straight and there was something about that he respected.

“We try to know as little as possible about the people who live in the houses we investigate to prevent contamination,” he reminded her.

“Jake was my father,” she finally admitted as she turned around to face him. There were tears making their way down her cheeks and his heart broke for her. “He died in a car accident. He had a brain bleed and my mom…she decided to take him off life support. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Saying I’m sorry isn’t enough, but I am.” He touched her shoulder and led her to the worn out love seat she’d pushed against the wall and together they sat, their knees touching. “I’d like to play this for the show, but if you don’t want to be involved, I understand. We can edit out your portions and finish the reveal with Monty and Jasper. It will be as if you were never here.”

But he’d remember her. He couldn’t erase that as easily as frames on a film reel.

“But before you make your decision I want to answer a question you asked me yesterday. You asked me why I got into this. I didn't want to mention it then, but… You didn’t get to say goodbye to your dad before he died. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my mom before she died, either.”

There was a flash of surprise and empathy in her eyes.

“She was working at a convenience store when it was robbed,” he explained. “I got out of school and there was a cop waiting to tell me my mother was dead. Two months later I was beginning to think I couldn’t raise Octavia on my own and go to school and I was a mess. I was up late one night, about to give up when I heard someone say ‘I love you.’ I thought it was Octavia, so I got up to check on her but she was sound asleep. There was no one else there, and I didn’t think it had come from another apartment because it felt as if someone had whispered it in my ear.

“I told Nathan about it and he brought over a magnetic recorder because he’d Googled hauntings and the internet told him those worked best. I told him he was crazy, but we sat in the living room and when we played it back we heard--well, here, listen for yourself.”

Bellamy reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Flipping through his audio files to the oldest one, he took a deep breath and pressed play.

Over the tinny speakers both he and Clarke could hear himself and Nathan talking about his mother, about the problems he’d been having and when they paused in the conversation a whispery voice cracked through.

“Proud.”

Clarke glanced up at him, the immediate shock evident in her eyes. “What was that?”

He couldn’t say it, couldn’t vocalize the words in the back of his throat, written on his heart because if she called him crazy, if she denied it, the pain would be excruciating. “You’re the skeptic, you tell me.”

“Play it again.”

Bellamy obliged, rewinding a few seconds before pushing play so Clarke could hear the female voice again.

“That’s impossible.”

“Maybe, but you heard it with your own ears. What else could it be?”

Clarke took the phone from him and played the EVP again. There was something soft and sad about her face now instead of defiance and skepticism. “Your mom said she was proud of you.”

It was the awe in her voice which brought the tears to his eyes. “That’s what I believe.”

“Okay,” she finally sighed. “Play it. I want to hear what you heard in my bedroom.”

Bellamy cleared his throat before he picked up his laptop and opened it, pulling up the video file they would have played in the reveal in the dining room.

She put a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

He stopped before pushing play on the video from the static cam and met her eyes, wondering if she’d changed her mind.

He wouldn’t blame her if she had.

“You need this, don’t you? For your show?”

“I told you-“

“But this is what you do, isn’t it? Reaction and revelations, people realizing they might not have been right about the black and white of death. I’ve watched your show,” she added as if it was a confession.

“Yes, that’s what the reveal is about.”

“Then tape this. I may change my mind about having you air it, but I want you to have the option.”

He didn’t have a video camera with him and all the equipment had been packed up hours ago so he pulled up the laptop’s camera, angled it so the lighting was decent and since he could see Clarke’s mic clipped to her collar he knew they would have sound.

Then she reached over, took his hand and nodded. “Play it.”

When he pushed the play button his past self’s voice carried out from the speakers and almost immediately Clarke gripped his hand tighter as video-him introduced himself to whomever might be in the room.

He’d been by himself while Octavia and Nathan had done their own sessions in the other rooms, the camera placed on the nightstand while he sat on the edge of the bed, and he’d just been doing the usual conversation starters he’d done for every other session.

At the time there had been no indication he was going to the strongest, clearest response he’d ever gotten in his career.

“If there is anyone here with me, I just want to let you know if you want to speak with me the best way to do that is to speak through this little box. I know it’s loud but I should be able to hear you.”

Bellamy watched himself turn on the spirit box and Clarke shifted closer to him as if his presence could somehow soften the blow of what she was about to hear.

“Like I said, my name is Bellamy. Can you tell me your name?”

There was a lengthy pause and Bellamy remembered nearly giving up on hearing a response when a crackle through the white noise caught his attention and as clear as anything he’d ever heard was a man’s voice.

“Jake.”

“Oh, my God.”

There was desperate, anguished hope on her face as she covered her mouth with her free hand as if to stifle any other words which might slip out.

“I can stop.”

She shook her head as on the screen he looked surprised at the response he’d gotten. “Jake? Jake, what are you doing here? Why are you here in this house?”

Again, there had been silence but Bellamy hadn’t been willing to give up, not after receiving such a strong response so he kept asking questions until he got the one which he was now pretty was going to break Clarke’s heart or put it back together.

There was no way to know.

“Is there something I can do for you? Is there something you’d like for me to do?”

There was another pause but almost as if she knew something important was about to happen Clarke’s grip on his hand tightened and the hand covering her mouth shifted to shield her heart.

“Ache Care of her.”

“What? What did he say?”

Bellamy pulled up the audio file which he could slow down and replay easier than the video and in this version you could hear the end of a word which had been cut off before the man’s voice finished, “Ache Care of her.”

“Care of her,” Clarke repeated, sounding both awed and confused.

“I think, and the others agree with me, he was trying to say ‘take care of her’ but you only hear the last two letters of that first word but the rest of it comes through pretty clearly. He wants you taken care of.”

“I can take care of myself,” and she sounded so insulted he had to hold back a smile.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to,” he reminded her, his thumb making slow circles on the back of her hand. “Asking for help, accepting help, doesn’t make you any less strong.”

She nodded but he didn’t think she really agreed with him. “Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she assured him, eyes falling back to the screen. “Can I have this? Can I have a copy, I mean?”

“Of course, I’ll have Wick send it to you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“I’ll forgive you if you say on camera I was right and you were wrong.”

Clarke laughed and even though it was watery she smiled through it, “I’m not sure I’m willing to go that far. But I will say thank you.”

She took a deep breath and met his eyes and almost immediately the air was sucked from his lungs at the intensity of those blue eyes. “Thank you, Bellamy.”

“You’re welcome.”

He reached up and brushed away a tear, the moment incredibly intimate with her hand in his, their bodies leaning towards each other and suddenly he remembered they were being recorded by his computer and his closest friends would be watching this moment and it was too private, tootheirs, to be shared so he pulled back and squeezed her hand once before letting go.

“I’ll have Octavia and Nathan finish the reveal. They can show this video to your roommates and let you take a moment to regroup. Then if you’re okay doing the exit interview, we’ll do that afterwards.”

She watched him pick up the laptop and stand up and something about the space between them made him feel a little empty. “Exit interview, that’s talking about the reveal, right?”

“Yeah. But only if you want.”

She thought about it, and he could almost see her weighing the pros and cons, one of which was probably admitting in some small way she’d been wrong about the paranormal. “I want.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in about an hour,” but when he tried to open the door it wouldn’t budge. He tried again but just like last time even though the knob moved, it wouldn’t unlatch.

“The door’s locked.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clarke stood up and reached around him to try the door but it wouldn’t open for her either and then he heard her make a small sound behind him, a quiet gasp of realization.

“What?”

“What did you say after my dad gave his name?” she asked as he turned to face her, so close their clothes brushed against each other. “You asked him if there was anything he’d like you to do and he responded-”

“Take care of her,” he realized and suddenly the door unlatched and the window opened behind them and there was such a sense of peace in the room Bellamy could feel it in every atom of his body.

It felt as if the wind had come in and swept away all the grief, all the sadness, all the lingering gray and when he looked down at Clarke there was a look of peace on her face he hadn’t seen since he’d met her.

Had that only been yesterday?

Wind swirled in the room and around them, dancing through her hair and sending the paper sketches on her desk moving around the room.

“Do you feel that?”

She reached up to the grab the lapels of his jacket, pulling him towards her. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

When he kissed her, it was like finding a piece of himself he hadn’t known was missing. It was like tasting spring, and new beginnings.

When he pulled back her lips were parted, her cheeks were flushed, and he could feel his heart beating madly against his ribs.

“Did you feel that?” he asked with a grin, his nose brushing against hers.

“Yeah,” she smiled, her fingers tangled in his hair. “Yeah, I did.”

[gilmoremovies]

The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Date Watched: 17th October 2016

Referenced in: 1x10, 1x13, 2x07, 2x17, 2x19, 3x04, 3x05, 3x08, 3x17, 3x21, 4x01, 4x04, 4x08, 4x19, 4x20, 5x04, 5x22, 6x01, 6x03, 6x10, 6x11 and Fall (this is referenced 5 billion times so forgive me if I miss one and let me know if I have!)

Rating:  ★★★★★

SPOILER-ISH

I’m the last of 4 kids so if my older siblings didn’t like a film, I didn’t watch it. This film is an example of that so at the age of 21 I watched Wizard of Oz for the first time. It’s obviously a very popular film so it’s not like I didn’t know the story or the songs but I still thoroughly enjoyed it. The whole witch melting by accident was a bit shit though but other than that Judy you talented thing and her little comrades too #squadgoals. Also Toto is the same dog as Bright Eyes and I loved him even more than I did before.

(Other GG Movies I’ve watched so far)

(Full references under the cut)

1x10, Forgiveness and Stuff (2000) Lorelai says that she needs the Scarecrow to help her when she and Luke are lost in the hospital. LUKE: Ok, we’re supposed to follow the blue line, around the corner and then we should be - LORELAI: Where’s the scarecrow when you need him? LUKE: Ok, we have to ask someone else. LORELAI: No! No! We just have to pick one. LUKE: Ah, well can’t just wander around here aimlessly.    

1x13, Concert Interruptus (2001) Lorelai says, “I’m the good witch of the …” and is cut off. LORELAI: Think fast [throws them a t-shirt each] T-shirts for all the girls because I’m the good witch of the - hey, aren’t you missing a couple of kids?

2x07, Like Mother, Like Daughter (2001) Rory mentions a famous line from the film when asking to sit with the Puffs. FRANCIE: Hey. RORY: There’s a bad draft over there where I usually sit. It’s kind of like a big downward gust. It’s not exactly ‘Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore’, but it’s still pretty darn uncomfortable, especially when you’re just gotten your hair to behave. So can I sit here? FRANCIE: Uhh, yeah.

2x17, Dead Uncles and Vegetables (2002) Kirk mentions his dog named Toto when talking about disliking Louie. KIRK: He kicked my dog when I was a kid. SY: He hit on my wife repeatedly. KIRK: Toto was always different after that. SY: My wife was much affected as well. KIRK: I’d toss her something to fetch and she’d start to run after it and halfway there she’d forget what she was doing. SY: She never enjoyed her soap operas the same after that. KIRK: She’d just lie down and go to sleep. LUKE: This is an exaggeration. BERT: We’re not exaggerating. We threw a big party when he left town! SY: I made love to my life that night like I never have. KIRK: My Toto barked a happy bark, then quietly stopped breathing. She was old.  

2x19, Teach Me Tonight (2002) Lorelai suggests it as a Movie in the Square Night contender.

3x04, One’s Got Class and the Other One Dyes (2002) Lane mentions a song the scarecrow sings from this movie after bleaching her hair.  LANE: It’s weird. RORY: Like straw. LANE: I feel like I should be singing ‘If I Only Had a Brain.’

3x05, Eight O'Clock at the Oasis (2002) Lorelai mentions the name of Dwight’s old house. RORY: ‘First of all, thank you for this very kind favor you’re doing me. I still can’t believe that any one person would be so kind to someone they just met.’ LORELAI: Yeah, apparently Dwight’s last home was Oz, and not as in ‘The Wizard Of.’

3x08, Let the Games Begin (2002) Lorelai and Rory quote the “lions and tigers and bears” chant when walking into Yale. RORY: Wow. LORELAI: Lions and tigers and bears… RORY: Oh my. RICHARD: It’s impressive, isn’t it?

3x17, A Tale of Poes and Fire (2003) Michel mentions the Good Witch when looking for spare rooms to house the guests after the fire. MICHEL: Everything is booked. LORELAI: You checked the Cheshire Cat, the Maiden’s Teacup, the Cookie House, the Sugarbear Inn? MICHEL: Every place that sounds like Glinda the Good Witch threw up, yes – all booked.

3x21, Here Comes the Son (2003) Sasha describes the scene between Dorothy and the gatekeeper at the Emerald City. JESS: I just wanna see Jimmy, okay? SASHA: Hey, did you ever see The Wizard of Oz? JESS: Yes. SASHA: Remember when they go to the Emerald City and they ring the bell and the guy with the beard stuck his head out and they said that they wanted to see the wizard, and he said no, and they said, 'She’s got the ruby slippers’, and he said 'Well, that’s a horse of a different color. Come on in.’ JESS: Yes. SASHA: Well, I’m the guy with the beard and I’m saying the no unless you can come up with the ruby slippers. JESS: I’m his son. SASHA: His son? JESS: Yes, his son. SASHA: Well, that’s a horse of a different color. Come on in.

4x01, Ballrooms and Biscotti (2003) Rory pretends she’s had a dream and quotes Dorothy’s “you were there, and you, and you” line. RORY: [to her clothes] I had a dream about you in Copenhagen. You were there, and you, and you, and you.

4x04, Chicken or Beef? (2003) Rory’s response to Lorelai laying a path of Post-It notes through the house references the film. LORELAI: We’re good as long as we stay on the path. RORY: So I should follow the yellow stick road? LORELAI: We’ll be here all week, try the veal. Stop.

4x08, Die, Jerk (2003) Paris says that the idea of Rory making somebody angry is as absurd as Dorothy pissing off the Tin Man. TANNA: What about you? RORY: Me? JANET: Made anyone mad lately? PARIS: Oh, please, that would be like Dorothy pissing off the Tin Man. It’s impossible.

4x19,  Afterboom (2004) Rory references the lions and tigers and bears oh my! line. RORY: What are you doing here? LORELAI: Inn stuff. I had to pick up hinges and doorknobs and faucets. RORY: Oh, my.

4x20, Luke Can See Her Face (2004) Lorelai makes a reference to watching Toto from The Wizard of Oz. LUKE: No, Roy, I know what I’m talking about. I’m looking for stalks of wheat, not processed wheat, stalks. That’s putting it another way. I need bare-ass stalks. [to customer] Sorry. [to Roy] I know you can’t eat it like that. I just need it for decoration. No, I’m not going poofy on you, damn it! [to another customer] Sorry. [to Roy] I just need to know whether you have it or not. No? Okay, whatever. Thanks. [hangs up] Is there no wheat left in this country? What happened to Kansas? Isn’t Kansas lousy with wheat? LORELAI: I do recall Toto running through fields of it. Coffee to go, please.

5x04, Tippecanoe and Taylor, Too (2004) Lorelai compares Taylor to the Tin Man, calling him heartless. LORELAI: Come on, Taylor. This is ridiculous. TAYLOR: This issue is not open for debate. LORELAI: This is a nice man who is growing some very nice tomatoes, and you just need to oil your knees and go see the wizard and get a heart and drop this!

5x22, A House Is Not a Home (2005) Zach refers to himself and the other band members as various characters from the film when asked if he’ll come on tour. LANE: Zach? ZACH: Well, geez, Dorothy, if Tinman and Lion are going to go, I guess I have to go too. [He pulls himself up like the Scarecrow.]

6x01, New and Improved Lorelai (2005) Paris jokes about the Lollipop Guild while talking about Doyle’s family all being unusually short. PARIS: I’m meeting more of Doyle’s family tonight. I’ve been meeting people for months. (she goes through Rory’s clothes) He’s got like five hundred cousins, and you know what? He’s the tallest one in the family. RORY: Really? PARIS: Yup. Family get-together is like a Lollipop guild convention. I have to stop myself from asking how it’s going at the chocolate factory.

6x03, The UnGraduate (2005) Michel hums the Wicked Witch of the West’s musical theme while talking about Paris. MICHEL: (runs in the kitchen) She’s back! She’s coming back! SOOKIE: No! LORELAI: Why?! MICHEL: I don’t know why. Maybe she left her phone or her spell book. All I know is she’s heading back toward the Inn, and I’m not going out until she leaves.  

MICHEL: Very well. I’ll leave the….wait. Do you feel that? LORELAI: Feel what? MICHEL: An icy chill as if something sinister is approaching. SOOKIE: What? MICHEL: (hums the witch’s theme from “The Wizard Of Oz”) Ta-ta-ra-ta-ra-ra-Taraaaaaa LORELAI: Gee, Michel, is Paris here?

6x10, He’s Slippin’ 'Em Bread… Dig? (2005) Lorelai says she uses the Wash & Brush Up Co. from Wizard of Oz to stay pretty. CHRIS [looking at Lorelai]: I don’t know how you do it, I mean, you always look… LORELAI: Yeah, well, I get the girls from the Wash & Brush Up company from the Wizard of Oz working for me now. CHRIS [chuckles]: Good deal.

6x11, The Perfect Dress (2006) Paris says she hasn’t slept through the night since the first time she saw Wizard of Oz. PARIS: Now, Doyle sleeps very deeply, so don’t worry about the hours. I, as you know, haven’t slept through the night since the first time I saw “The Wizard Of Oz”, thank you Mum, so I tend to do my crafts in the middle of the night, but the walls are very thick. You won’t hear a thing. Oh, now, the hot water in the bathroom…

A Year in the Life: Fall (2016) Several references to this film when Rory says goodbye to The Life and Death Brigade ROBERT: I said he was from New Zealand FINN: Only a man with no heart would say that to me /…/ RORY: Oh Robert don’t cry, your eye will swell up terribly. Here, take your steak. ROBERT: Now I know I have a heart, because it’s breaking. RORY: Goodbye, Colin. I'm going to miss the way that you get drunk and randomly buy things you don't need, like clubs and cars COLIN: And bed and breakfasts? Oh, yeah. RORY: Oh, Colin. RORY: [to finn] You know I think I’ll miss you most of all.  COLIN: Hey, we heard that!  ROBERT: yeh. Thanks a lot!  FINN: Stay photogenic I beg of you.