#if all of these can happen why cant ice adolescence happen

[werchezdeeno]

FUCK YEAH GREAT PRETENDER SEASON THREE BABY IM GOING FERAL HELL YEAH

BLUE EXORCIST, BLACK BUTLER, AND NOW THIS?! IM GOING CRAZY HOLY SHIT.

ALL I NEED IS ICE ADOLESCENCE AND THEN I WILL ASCEND. I WILL DIE. ILL MANIFEST MY DELUSIONS 24/7 AND IT WILL HAPPEN. TRUST. 🦅🙏

[agent-barnes40]

Frozen 2

Frozen || , I absolutely fucking love that movie. It touches on a lot. This is full of spoilers so, be warned.

Iduna talking about the river of memories in All Is Found, magical lullaby and I’m not ashamed to say that I use it as a lullaby myself.

Elsa getting scared by Kai and just leaves handblocks on the railing.

Elsa hearing Ahtohallan singing, since she’s a spirit.

Kristoff telling Sven that he has to propose to Anna for him, It’s alluded to in Some Things Never Change. Listen to it all the way to the end.

“The winds are restless. Could that be why I’m hearing this call? Is something coming? I’m not sure i want things to change at all. These days are precious, cant let them slip away. I cant freeze this moment but i can still go out and seize this day!”

Elsa getting distracted by Ahtohallan during charades

Anna lulling Elsa to sleep with All Is Found, and Elsa singing along while, “I know what you’re doing.” And falls asleep not even five minutes later.

Into The Unknown, enough said.

The air seemingly getting sucked out of Arendell

The alarm as everyone watched as the fire went out along with the water.

Elsa getting even more alarmed as she tried to evacuate the kingdom when the air suddenly started to push everyone out and the roads started to roll.

The trolls rolling up and telling Elsa, who is in a night gown, that’s there is no future.

Elsa and crew suddenly have outfits.

Going to the mist and Elsa putting her hand in it and it just Yeets them inside.

“Samantha?”

Meeting the Northuldra and Arendellian guards

Olaf retelling the events of F1 as if he’s Deadpool or someone

Elsa and Anna realizing their not only Arendellian but also Northudran. 

Olaf deciding his best spot for protection if from Elsa

Kristoff immediately going to protect the Reindeer  

Anna running into fire for Elsa and it emotionally drains Elsa trying to protect Anna.

HONEYMAREN AND ELSA 

LOST IN THE WOODS all im gonna say about this too.

Olaf singing for Ahtohallan along with elsa and deeming Elsa as “Pitchy” 

Elsa wanting to see her parents last moments (WHICH I TOTALLY DO NOT AGREE ON! BUT I’LL TALK ABOUT THAT LATER!)

Elsa and Anna separating on Elsa’s terms to go after Ahtohallan

Elsa pumping herself up to cross the sea to Ahtohallan

Elsa going after the Water Nokk

Olaf realizing that he’s angry and upset at elsa for separating them

Elsa playfully going through Ahtohallan

Elsa heading to her mother, which is ultimately shown as Ahtohallan

Elsa’s tears at seeing her mother after six years. 

Anna’s heartbreak at Olaf getting Thanos snapped

“The Next Right Thing” is something i need to talk about, so please wait for those at the end of this along with the other ones i need to talk about that this movie brought up.

Anna waking up the Earth Giants to break the dam 

Kristoff immediately telling Anna that his Love isn't fragile

Anna’s little “Kristoff” When she sees him.

Mattias realizing that Anna is Queen when she tells him that Elsa is “Dead” 

Anna curling up to Kristoff after the dam breaks

The water rushing toward Arendelle and Elsa just makes an ice wall

Elsa sending a flurry to Anna as she heads back toward the Enchanted Forest.

ANNA FUCKING CRYING LIKE A NORMAL PERSON ALL SNOTTY AND SHIT

ANNA BECOMING QUEEN OF ARENDELLE

Okay, heres where I talk about multiple parts of the movie, and this is going to get a little personal as i heavily relate to a shit ton of shit that happened in this movie.

Elsa deciding to see their parents last moments is a huge bad idea for her mental state which we could clearly see decline from that scene to the next, disregarding her entire personal safety. Her decision to go into Ahtohallan was so much deeper than All Is Found, Into The Unknown and seeing that ship, it goes down to her childhood, she was treated unfairly for having magical abilities. 

She was angry at the fact that because she was different, new rules had to be made for her, everything had to be made for her. New gloves as she got older, new food seeing as she immediately froze the food she received, new everything. “Normal Rules did not apply” Is what she specifically said in “Show Yourself”

She’s worked so hard after these three years to work on her abilities and grow into them and still have time to be queen as well. She works so hard on being both herself and being queen. If you notice at the beginning of Olaf’s Frozen Adventure, you’ll notice that Elsa is decorating along with the servants and had probably woke up Anna seeing as Kristoff was working with Sven to get the Yule Bell. She worked on immediately going to find Olaf after he went to find a tradition for the royal sisters. 

Elsa has worked so hard for her position, to prove even though her starting two days as Queen she was considered a traitor. Her entire council was preparing to execute her before even considering who she was due to Anna’s trust in Hans. 

Anna immediately knew what was happening to Olaf when he flurried. Olaf was frightened and she immediately went into mom mode for him and held him, that was probably a huge hit in Anna’s mental state. She had also known the implications of Olaf flurrying, Elsa is dead. We knew it, she knew it, it was only a matter of time for Anna since she knew where Elsa was going to go, she was going to Ahtohallan and she drowned. That is all Anna knew.

Anna knew that because she was probably taught at adolescent years on how to be queen along with Elsa, even though they were separated, in case Elsa out right denied the crown and throne or if somehow Elsa died too. Anna knew she was next in line and she went onto her next task after Elsa’s death. Saving Arendelle, Arendelle was second in her line of things to do on the way to the Enchanted forest. 

Elsa was her first, keeping elsa safe. 

Arendelle is always going to be her second. 

Arendelle’s safety will always be in Anna’s mind as thats what she was probably taught as a young child and on. Elsa has always been Anna’s first concern, her first priority, its probably why Anna sleeps in all the time because she worries for Elsa at night. 

Anna has always felt inside Elsa’s shadow because her parents focused on Elsa so much from the incident on all the way to their deaths. Its probably way Anna has a such a fierce want to protect Elsa, she went so far into the outside of Arendelle after Elsa, all the way to the north mountain and almost died for her.

Anna follows after her every moment after that, to keep a close eye on her sister. She’s protective over her, she’s her shield, she never leaves Elsa alone unless its diplomatic needs that has her leaving the room. 

Elsa and Anna has seen so much for being so young, the two Northuldran and Asgardian royalty shouldn't have been seeing as much death and danger as they have.

[hedgewolf-hunters]

Silence is golden

Drake: Hey you guys want to see one of my adventures from last week? Than take a seat and open those ears up cause have i got a story for you.

In the city of Etrinitat on the corner of main and etheral st a two story old-fashioned wooden establishment sits. The sign a top the doors reads, Alpha & Omega, Bar and grill. Inside was a bustling collection of mobians big and small from avians to deep diggers to the deepest underwater divers. A female dark red wolf is behind a bar counter serving older customers liquor drinks and scaring off under age kids. She has two blue stripes under her sea blue eyes and her hair like fur is done in a single massive braid. Shes wearing a sleevless leather jacket with a tank top underneath, dark blue skin tight jeans and spiked boots on her feet.

"Mom im cutting out early today." A maroon colored male wolf with hedgehog quills barely extending from his head says to the female. He has a black stripe going down the only two quills he has and the same matching blue stripes under his glowing amber eyes. The male is in a sleevless parka, black zipper boots, and gloves with a slightly raised bump on the knuckles.

"Yeah and do what my son?" She asks. Turning to him after serving another customer. The boy places down a crystal double tapping it so a hologram of a bounty appears. Its of a raccon with a list of crimes.

"Drake this guy is an sociopath with a hard on for killing hunters and civilians. Not to mention he probably has a following with him." The woman says.

"Mom i know this. Its the reason i took the job in the first place. You know physical attacks either don't connect or do any real damage, not to mention I'm probably one of only two other people in this building who can actually get close to him." Drake says.

"Sky let the boy go. He needs to learn to take care of himself anyway, and he cant do that if you hold him back from jobs or doing them alone." A purple hedgehog says from the door leading to the kitchen. Her eyes are normal amber compared to the boys, her quills done in a ponytail are greying slightly at the tips as they stop just past halfway down the door. She has a single white stripe on top of her head down her middle quill and a black stripe down each of her outer quills. Shes dressed in sports top and short, and hightop shoes with a chef outfit over it all.

"Thank you Aunt Aura. See mom even Auntie thinks i should give at least one solo job a shot. Look if it doesnt turn out to well than i will not ask again to take a solo. But if it does than can you please just let me do my own every now and then?" Drake asks his over protective mother. Sky bites her lip wanting to say no but knowing they both have a point.

"Fine. But if you get into any trouble trigger the flare and your brother will be there to back you up." Sky says locking a braclet around her second sons wrist.

"Will do ma. Alright ill be back in a couple days. He's in the grassland plains. How he hasnt been caught already, besides his psychotic nature, ill be finding out soon enough." Drake says picking up the crystal and running out the door. He kicks into high gear once outside the bar and runs across the city in a minute flat to the west wall gate.

By nightfall Drake has finally escaped the great forest that surrounds his home and the city. He groans stretching.

"Damn i really wish i had dads super speed, but no, it went to Scarlet and Inferna only. Me and Bane gotta push just to keep up and i have to push harder since Bane can clear the forest in minutes thanks to his wings." Drake grumbles to himself as he stretches his sore legs. A orb flies out from his jacket.

"Oh stop complaining. Your compensation for these little differences is me and our shared abilities. After all none of them can use the Astral plane, like i told you to use, to travel nearly instantly." A feminine voice says from the orb.

"I got excited and forgot ok. No need to chew my head off Aster. Besides wheres the adventure in instant travel? If we had we wouldn't had to chase away those pups from the cargo transport and kept supplies running to the city." Drake says to the orb. The feminine voice huffs and returns to his jacket.

"Fine but when this job is done we go home my way. Last thing we need is for you to lose your prey fending off adolescent feral wolves again." Aster says before going silent again. Drake chuckles as he starts running again headed to the city of the plains Primous.

Day break arrives and Drake yawns from his room inside a old fashioned inn. He arrived around midnight in the city and could only find this building to rest in. He stretches getting a few pops in his back from sleeping on the lumpy mattress. He grunts as he gets up off the bed and walks to the sink in the room. He spashes ice cold water in his face and reaches into one of his inner jacket pockets. Seemingly deeper than it looks he pulls out some morning hygiene tools.

Half an hour later Drake heads down to the main floor and walks out waving bye to the shop keep. The town is now bustling with buisness, cars driving by pedestrians walking around and kids heading to schools nearby. Drake smiles as he jumps up onto the roof and takes in a birds eye view of the city. Whistling as the crowded busy streets clog up in the mornng traffic. A few sky scrapers litter the city and a few cathedrals, his targets usual dumping sites. Smirking Drake jumps from the building and lands on the sidewalk, he heads into the deeper parts of town blending in as much as he can.

Three hours later Drake is stopped at the last cathedral in the city.

"The place where it all started. A city inspector came to check on the building and found several dead bodies placed in various forms of worship. The cops caught video footage of the raccoon in question shortly after the bodies were found in other cathedrals. Mobians have been scared of this place ever since and the neighborhood has been evacuated do to that fear." Aster says while Drake stands by the doors.

"And some mobians have come to worship him as a new messiah with the messages he's left with the last seven victims. I wonder why is it than that they cant trace his signal during the 'Prayer' as its been labeled. Someones gotta have a clue to where this loon is." Drake mumbles as he stares at the gothic doorway of the church. He scratches his head as he turns around and bumps into a young female raccoon.

"My bad little lady didnt see you there." Drake says taking a knee to help her up. She shakes her head with a small smile as she takes his hand of help. Drake smells the blood and goes wide eyed for a second before passing out from a needle in his neck. Aster stays silent as Drake passes out.

"See momma I caught the bad man after daddy." The raccoon girl says pulling the needle out and waving at a bush. The female fox that ran the inn Drake slept at walks out.

"Good girl. Now lets get him inside before anyone sees." The fox says grabbing Drake by his feet.

An hour later Drake groans awake strapped to a table with a light glaring down at him. He thinks back to what happened before he fell out. The flash back coming back he sighs and grinds his teeth a little.

"Seems someone is noticing his mistake." Aster says. Drake glares at his jacket quickly and than lays back.

"Cant blame you for that one, i deserved it. Guess the bait was too good for him to pass up." Drake mutters under his breath to Aster. She snorts in reply and Drake feels something hovering over his hands.

"Not yet, let the bait settle a little more. But if you feel like im in trouble...feel free to get dirty." Drake says the sensation leaves his wrist as Aster sighs. Drake whistles a tune from his childhood as he waits for the next half an hour till his target appears. A four foot tall raccon with well built frame wearing a priests robe.

"Hello my little sheep. Glad to see your comfy in your protective bindings." The raccoon says.

"Well you left me on this slab with nothing to get comfy with so i made do." Drake replies.

"Heh you are quite the talkative type arent you little sheep." He says.

"No shit Sherlock, I've been stuck up here for half an hour with nothing to do but whistle an old lullaby." Drake says

"Hmm, do you know why you are here little-"

"Call me little sheep one more time and I'm gonna tear a hole through your windpipe." Drake interrupts the raccoon getting tired of that comendering tone that follows the words.

"Fine than hunter, i assume you are here for my head but it seems you're about to lose yours." The raccoon says dropping the fatherly tone to his true thug accent. He walks towards a table with a bloody cloth over it and powerlines leading out from underneath it.

"You assume I'll lose my head here, but let me ask you, do you know why i didn't tear your daughter in half before the needle touched my skin? Or why I didn't drag your wife out of the bushes when they hid behind me?" Drake asks making the raccoon stop in his tracks. Aster uses the moment to slice the straps lightly, enough that they can be broken with even the slightest move. The raccoon turns around glaring at Drake.

"Dude you think I didnt notice the table setting in the back of the inn? Or that i was being followed from cathedral to cathedral? Not to mention your ladies eyes when she heard me say i was a hunter." Drake says. The raccoon looks confused.

"Than why did you allow yourself to be captured?" He asks walking over to Drake puzzled now.

"Honestly i didnt know you would send your own flesh and blood to capture me, that threw me for a loop for a second. But its just how I hunt by myself. I dont go looking for prey i let them come to me." Drake finishes with a grin freeing his hand and grabbing the raccoon by his robe and tossing him over the table with the power tools. Drake quickly curls into a spin dash to free himself and stands up on the floor. Two gunshots in his direction make him turn towards the firing squad of the wife and child. Rubbing the bridge of his nose Drake summons Aster in physical form. A scythe blade with a gap where its connected to the curved staff, a smaller blade growing out the opposite side. Gold trimm visibly and bulbously formimg a drip down pattern down the staff till it reaches the bottom where the gold turns into a spear point.

Drake spins the scythe around in his hand as he walks towards the two females. Bullets bounce off the scythe like rubber as Drake gets closer to them. Once the ammunition is out Drake stops spinning the scythe and grabs a point on the foxes collar bone that sends her to sleep. He back steps the small Raccoon and slams the wood down across her back before striking her several times with his fingers in specific locations to immobolize her and put her to sleep as well.

"Now that the peanut gallery is take care of, where were we?" Drake asks gibing Aster one final spin before resting her against his shoulder. The male Raccoon has stumbled back on the floor.

"You are some sort of Demon, you must be!" He exclaims. Drake snorts as he grips Aster with both hands.

"Hear that Aster, he thinks we're demons." Drake says. A shimmer from the balde makes the Raccoon back up more.

"Ah if only he could hear me, id havea few choice words for him to show him how demon like we are." Aster says to Drake. Drake grins watching as the man scrambles for a knife. He stops a few feet away from the raccoon whos now on his feet with a serrated blood covered machete. Drake leans one foot forward and one foot back, lowering Aster to hover above the floor he holds her with both hands at the ready to swing. The raccoon charges at Drake like a scared child wildy swinging the machete. Drake waits till hes within two feet of them and swings Aster in an upward arc going right through him, than coming back down in the opposite direction. He side steps as the raccoon passes him still swinging scared. Drake finishes by slicing aster through his neck. All three attacks leave no mark on the raccoon whos confused as he felt the blade go through him all three times.

"Im gonna give you two options now psycho. Come quietly and live out your days in a jail cell nice and comfy. Or." Drake says snapping his fingers. The cuts slowly form where the blade touched, not deep like they should be but enough that they are drawing faint amounts of blood.

"I let your cuts form fully to the point of no return." Drake says making a slicing motion with his thumb across his throat. The raccoon gasps in pain feeling the sensation of the two across his body getting deeper agonizingly slowly.

"Please, just stop the pain! Take me in but stop this torture." He begs. Drake raises a brow and steps over to the writhing raccoon.

"You think this is pain? You think i should show you mercy that you never showed to twenty others? No this isnt pain and suffering, this isnt torture yet little sheep." Drake says makimg the raccoon look up at him for a moment. In that moment drake showed him something few others see unless he wants them too.

"Remember you know nothing of suffering, pain, or torture. I'll take you in but you nore your family will remember the other. Of that i will make sure of." Drake says lifting Aster and slamming the spear point down onto his targets head.

Drake: No i didnt kill the guy. Aster can sever bonds and memories with her spear point. I simply took all threes memories of being together from the point of the killings. The wife thought he had left her and the child and thats the way it will stay while the shit rots his life away in prison now. And quick note from the mun that no more stories this week. He'll have more ready next week but this week he will be focusingnon his other project. If you want to Rp with us we can do that or answer questions. But no stories for the next six days.

[howdoyouspellepiphany]

The Prophecy

Summary: Min Yoongi is the first in line for the throne in Infernum. He is the only child of Hades, the current King of Infernum and Min Yoo Jung, the goddess of harvest and spring. A long time ago, a prophecy have fallen upon Infernum and Paradisus which promises the demise of two realms in the hands of a creature that many believes to be a mortal. With Hades gone in search for a solution, Yoongi had to fill in his father’s position as a regent. And for the longest time, everything is going smoothly ignorant to his mother’s feelings.

So, when his mother, the goddess of spring had forced him to spend some time with her on Earth after ignoring her and her feelings for 15 years, he had no choice but to obey her. 

Now, the prince of Infernum is back on Earth and he met a pink haired waiter who looks like heaven and smells like sin. And all of a sudden, he was reminded by the prophecy:

Beautiful as the creature may be, fire doesn’t burn, ice doesn’t freeze, water doesn’t drown and lightning doesn’t destroy.

 Warnings: Implied smut, crude language, ignorant author

Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5

Chapter 1

When Yoongi opens his eyes, he finds himself on some park near an unknown river. He grumbles as he glares at the sun shining up above with white puffy clouds and blue sky. It’s a beautiful day with birds chirping and flowers begins to bud. It was the first day of spring and everything is coming back to life after 3 months of hibernation. He glares at the sun in disdain as his senses slowly return to him. The silver haired man groans and forces himself to sit upright. His brows creases as the wetness at the back of his black shirt slowly makes its presence known. It has gotten wet due to lying on the grass (presumably wet due to melted snow).

Frankly, Yoongi is man who has 10:1 ratio of what he couldn’t stand to what he can. And being wet is one of the things he cant stand.

             “I’m going to kill Namjoon.” He seethes as memories of being pushed into the loophole flashes through his cold, bluish grey eyes. Yoongi had a small dispute with Namjoon before he was so rudely interrupted by his own advisor.

‘You need to settle things with Suran. Things are really looking bad for her and if you don’t help her, she might really get turned against this time.’ Now, how many times have Yoongi heard this? Thrice in a span of 5 years. Suran have always managed to make things alright again when given time. So why is this time any different? ‘Also, you need to visit your mother on time, this year. I can’t handle her wrath last year when you decided to bail at the last moment. How many years has it been since you last saw her? 17? 20?’ His advisor patiently reminded him for the umpteenth time this week. Yoongi was at the end of the thin and fragile rope known as his patience. If he ever hears Namjoon bringing up his mother again for the 132,510th time, he swears in his father’s name that he will end Namjoon himself.

‘You know I can’t help it. I am a regent until my father returns.’ Yoongi said and the blonde man next to him sighs dejectedly. Yoongi knows that the stress of managing a kingdom hasn’t only taken a toll on him but on his advisor as well. He knows that Namjoon means well and is trying to help him make wise decisions but he is a prince to his people first. ‘I am sure Suran can come and pay us a visit here herself and I haven’t been visiting my mother for only 15 years. Don’t exaggerate it, Namjoon and I’m sure it feels like only what? 6 months have passed-‘

‘9 months.’ Namjoon corrected.

‘Right, 9 months have passed and it’s not even that long and my mother will understand. Now, call the members of the council for a meeting. I need to speak with them urgently about your birth home. I hear it’s worse this time round. It had really gotten down to -310 degrees and my demons are freezing over there.’

‘You don’t need to worry about Athara. What you need to worry is about your position on Earth. Suran can’t keep filling in for you. The dhampirs and the ghouls are going berserk and Suran’s army can’t hold up against them any longer. The dispute is very bad, Yoongi. They are going against the pact and they are going to have Suran’s head if you’re not going to do anything.’

‘I am going to do something and I am going to Earth as soon as I’m done with my duties here. You’re not helping by having this conversation with me.’ Yoongi creased his eyebrows as he wonders when did Namjoon learn to talk back to his words while the said blonde demon glares at the prince as he tries to ignore the loud voices inside his head to hit the royal highness square in the face for being so stubborn. But he obviously decides against it for he knows Yoongi isn’t kind enough to let him pass with just half his bones broken.

‘Your duties as a prince will never stop.’ Namjoon tries again. He is truly worried for the things going on in the world above them and he is getting desperate and frustrated that Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered. ‘You need to get up to the surface.’

‘I don’t see why you’re so worried. We have Jungkook up there.’ Yoongi said despite knowing how his little brother enjoys the bloodshed and war. He knows that Jungkook is own version of Ares and the golden boy has never let him down before so he doesn’t understand why this is any different. But before Yoongi could even say more, a loophole appears before his feet and Namjoon flashes him a smirk.

‘Say hello to Queen Yoo Jung for me.’    

The silver-haired adolescent with fair skin rips the green grass off the ground as he tries to control his temper so the grass in his palms down burst into flames. I ought to change my advisor. He thought spitefully. This isn’t a great start for him. For one, he isn’t completely sure where he is, as he just thought of wherever his mother might be with hopes that the loophole will bring him to where she is. But vagueness isn’t what loopholes obey to and he ended up in a park where humans are found lingering around. Great. He rolls his eyes. Yoongi takes in a deep breath despite how uncomfortable the wet shirt feels like clinging onto his skin is and he couldn’t deny that he actually does like the clean air right after winter. After all, he couldn’t deny what his other half is made from.

Yoongi is the first-born child of Hades, the King of Infernum and his mother, Min Yoo Jung, the goddess of spring. He is the only heir and first in line to the throne which he has been taking for a while now that his father had embarked on a journey many moons ago with his brothers Zeus and Poseidon to find their father, Kronos.

The reason behind their impromptu journey is that a prophecy was bestowed upon them like lightning on a beautiful, peaceful night. Cassandra of Troy was visiting Apollo’s Temple one night when the tales of the future flashes against her irises. She described the disaster as a sea of flames engulfing Paradisus – Olympus to be exact and in the middle of it all is a creature who has the features of a mere mortal. The fire was so strong that even Poseidon’s water couldn’t tame it as it burns everything that stand in its way whereas Zeus’s lightning did little to no damage against the mortal. Upon seeing the raging fire, angels have tried bringing the ice from Infernum’s Athara but alas, the ice melt against the raging fire. It was total chaos as bright orange and amber burns in Cassandra’s eyes. And as Paradisus burns to death, Infernum freezes up for there is no Paradisus without Infernum and vice versa. She’s seeing the end of both Paradisus and Infernum and it all ended in the hands of the said creature.

She had summoned Hermes that very night and told him of the final prophecy she saw before killing herself in the temple of a God that she resents with her whole existence. She has decided that she will not take sides and there’s a wicked voice in her head which did not belong to any of the goddesses that taunts Cassandra to let the gods who have done no justice to her and her people die. Hermes had flown back to Paradisus in a haste and barged in the Zeus’s golden chateau in the heart of Paradisus – Olympus as soon as he got there. Once the message was relayed to Zeus, he had called for an emergency meeting one so big that it includes the King of Infernum himself.

Yoongi was still young when he followed his father, Hades to Olympus for weeks with no end. Yoongi didn’t do so well in the friend department but still to make a friend in Olympus who was shunned for not being beautiful. Nevertheless, he still remembers the chaos and the hushed voices of older gods and goddesses who are constantly whispering about the prophecy wherever they go in fear for their lives.

Beautiful as the creature may be, fire doesn’t burn, ice doesn’t freeze, water doesn’t drown and lightning doesn’t destroy.

And everything went to shambles from there.

Massacres and the strong stench of blood lingers in the air for a long period of time due to selfishness and fear. Even so, the gods knew they couldn’t cower in fear and the massive and groundless massacre for long hence, the three most powerful gods went to search for an answer from their father.

Yoongi stares off the distance as he tries to figure out where he was sent to but to no avail. He just couldn’t pinpoint where he is. He tilts his head to the left a little in frustration as he sighs until two older women jog past him. He was sure he had memorized every page of that Geography book Jungkook had made personally and sent him before coming here. It was impossible that he couldn’t recognize any of these buildings from his little brother’s professional photographs.

“Another one wasted? What a disappointment.” One of them nudges the other.

“I wonder what’s to happen to the younger generation for they dye their hair in odd colours then go to parties and get wasted all night.” The other woman scoffs in distaste. Upon hearing them, Yoongi immediately stands up and gave them a smile before looking into their eyes. And almost immediately, he sees the few things that troubles them – being old, financial issues and family feuds.

“Good morning, grandmothers. It truly baffles me how you can badmouth a stranger who is trying to relax when your children are basically living off of your pension money on liquor and grade C coke.” He said with a polite tone. He was feeling less annoyed now that he knows where he is. He even bowed to them before leaving as he hears some insults were thrown his way but he blatantly ignores them. The deep yellow was starting to radiate above their skin says it all – they were embarrassed and Yoongi have already attacked their biggest weakness. Nothing else that may come out of their mouth that is worth his wasted time.

So, for his own crude amusement, Yoongi decides to indulge himself in the scenery before him as he ignores the curses that comes out of the women’s mouths. Although there is no place like home, he is still amazed with how fast Korea is developing over the past few years that he wasn’t able to accompany his mother. Speaking of his mother, he should have known that she would have chosen Korea despite there are 194 other countries in the world. She must have chosen Korea this time to see the cherry blossoms for she was summoned to Paradisus last year by her mother, Demeter for something his grandmother might have wanted. The mother-daughter pair have never let him in any of their discussion for Demeter used to tell him that it was something only the Divines would understand. It used to annoy the living shit out of Yoongi when he was younger hence not seeing his grandmother up till now. But it’s not like Demeter had even remotely tried to talk to him, anyways.

Yoongi buries his hands in the pockets of his black leather jeans as he lets his body guide him to the apartment where he believes his mother resides. Seoul in his eyes is a beautiful city. It has a different feeling from he was in Tokyo, Singapore, London or New York. He likes deceiving Seoul is. While the exterior is clean, scenic and prepossessing, the interior is squalid, grotesque and appalling.  And despite how amusing weaponry smuggling and drug lord wars are in Yoongi’s eyes, he finds himself at home amongst the two-faced everyday civilians he encounters.

As soon as he steps out of the park, he becomes more aware of the putrid air – the smell of sex, hypocrites, jealousy and failure thick in the air. Yoongi is a clairvoyant type of demon whereby he can ‘see’ feelings through colours despite not being able to hypnotize people the way Namjoon easily can with a snap of his fingers. He sees deep red of lust radiating from teenagers and adults alike, deep blue of sorrow and purple of avarice on men and women in suits. It is very rare for him to find other colours on adolescents and elderly alike. But with children, they indulge him in other colours like white which represents innocence, gold that represents intense happiness and pastel pink that are soothing to the eyes due to their pure love.  

As he was zoning out, he found himself outside of his mother’s apartment as he stares at the number on the brown door. He sighs as he punches in the 6-digit password – 814519 as it flashes green, chimes a little and an unlock sound was heard. He pushes the handle downwards and steps in the apartment. To his surprise, his one and only mother was standing in front of the door with a ridiculously huge smile on her features. Yoongi sighs at the sight as she pulls him into a hug. “If you were here, why didn’t you open the door for me?” Yoongi mumbles as he accepts his mother’s warm embrace. His mother, Yoo Jung or more commonly known as Persephone or Jachongbi, is a tan woman with locks that reminds him of the golden rays of the sun during a bright sunny day. Yoongi, on the other hand is ivory skinned. He is, according to his mother a complete copy of Hades. The only thing he physically inherited from his mother is her greyish blue eyes.

“You’re freezing!” Yoo Jung exclaims as she hugs her son tighter. Yoongi rolls his eyes. He’s always freezing. That’s what he and his father is. Despite ruling Infernum which in normal and common belief is supposed to be on fire, it’s actually quite cold but the fire burns hotter than it normally does. When Yoo Jung lets go of her son, she pats his cheeks as her eyes water. “It’s been a while since I last saw you.” She whispers and Yoongi sighs.

“Mom you know I’ve got no choice. Dad is gone-“

“I know, I know. With your father gone, you’re the regent. I know. But cant I miss my own son? You don’t visit me anymore.” Yoo Jung said, frowning.

“But I’m here now.” Yoongi tried and Yoo Jung smiles at her son before ruffling his hair. The said woman begins to ask too many questions at once like ‘have he eaten’ or ‘is he tired from the journey’ and ‘when is Namjoon coming’ all of which is ignored by Yoongi. He just wants to rest now that he’s on Earth but instead of going straight to his shared bedroom with Jungkook and Namjoon, he went towards the old brown piano nearby his mother’s balcony where she has her plants planted in pots. He runs his finger across the wood but never the keys. He has been dying to touch the piano ever since he had no time for it but now that he’s actually touching it, he fears that he’s already forgotten the notes. And so, he turns away from the piano and steps outside.

As a child, Yoongi learns how to create life like his mother does and did his best to learn every single type of flora there is even the ones present in the human world. “You still have these?” Yoongi asks as he touches the soft petals of the tuberose. The flower reminds him of sunsets because it starts with a deep purple from the dark green stem that slowly turns into dark red and pink before it turns into orange and ends with yellow tips.

“The Neoleas? You know your brother can’t sleep well without them.” Yoo Jung said softly as a memory of the past flashes before her eyes. The tragedy didn’t only physically affect Yoo Jung but Yoongi as well. For the sake of keeping the atmosphere light, he forces himself to focus on other things like:

“Is that why we have a smaller version of a peach tree here?” Yoongi asks in amusement. “You spoil him too much.” The heir of Infernum plucks a peach off the small tree and eats it. Of course, the plants that were planted by her hands always turn out scrumptious for she is the goddess of spring and plants befitting to be the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of harvest.

“I spoil all my boys.” Yoo Jung said in defence. “Which reminds me, I made some lamb skewers for both you and Jungkook in the fridge. I’m sure there’s plenty for the both of you and Namjoon so don’t quarrel over it.” Yoongi makes a face. Quarrel? Over lamb skewers? What are we? 7? “I know what you’re thinking, Yoongi. Although I don’t think the three of you resembles children, but your actions always speak louder.”

“What are you talking about?” Yoongi scoffs, offended.

“The last time I made too little, the house was reduced to ashes.”

“Honestly, that was all Jungkook.” Yoongi said in a matter of fact-ly tone.

“Yeah? Then mind justifying yourself why I vividly remember you biting Namjoon’s burnt hand while Jungkook was eating is own tail?” Yoo Jung asks, hands on her hips as she dares her son try to win the debate.

“It was still Jungkook.” Yoongi mumbles petulantly while the goddess of spring can only shake her head and sigh at her son’s behaviour.

“Anyway, there’s some japchae in the fridge for Jungkook’s dear friend. Do remind the boy to take them over for his friend before it turns bad, will you?” Yoo Jung said as she heats up the bulgogi she made earlier in case her son decides to stop by.

The demon prince, now clad in a black leather jacket found himself wandering in the streets of Seoul once again on his red and black Streetfighter. He just wants to discover the city a bit more for it clearly had changed since the last time he came. It’s obvious that it had gotten more modern now. Yoongi makes a stop at the red light and all of a sudden, a bitter but calming aroma of coffee hits his olfactory and he can’t help but reminisce the time he spent with a human girl named Yaksoku. Yaksoku is your everyday girl who has troubles with her skin and hair. She was a crossbreed between a Korean mother and a Japanese father – hence the name, Yaksoku which rhymes with promise in both Korean and Japanese. Her skin isn’t very fair and her looks are mediocre but she managed to captivate his attention with her luscious black hair that reminds him of the night sky at 3 in the morning and her warm brown eyes that resembles the coffee he likes so much.

Yaksoku, the human girl who captured Yoongi’s attention is someone with dreams of opening up a café. She used to take odd jobs (which eventually leads to their fateful encounter) and one day, with Yoongi’s help, she was able to turn her dreams into a reality. Yoongi isn’t a saint, no. He told her that she needs to trade her soul for it and she agreed without hesitations even if it meant sleeping with him. He used to think that she’s foolish to sell her soul for something that he hasn’t even given her but when he saw the determination in her eyes, he isn’t sure if her decision is foolish anymore.  

He doesn’t know why he stayed true to his end of the deal to help her build the café but he did and he built it from scratch. And he unknowingly gained Yaksoku from it as she did not only give him her body and soul but an unbreakable bond built on trust and friendship. It wasn’t as though he loved her and vice versa but they feel at lost when the other isn’t by their side – much like when you miss your best friend after not seeing them after 30 minutes. But being regent is harder than Yoongi have originally thought and the Fallens have begun questioning him of Yaksoku and he ended up leaving after giving her soul back to her.

While he is lost in his thoughts, his body brings him to Yaksoku’s café – the Promise café. He doesn’t want to admit to anyone but seeing her for the first time in a few years made him excited. The white haired prince isn’t even sure if she wants to see him again after all these years after he left but he knows that his best friend isn’t one to leave him. He can proudly say that he knows her all too well.

Yoongi has strains his neck as subtly as he can to steal glances inside the café for a woman’s silhouette with hopes that it’s Yaksoku. He knows that her necklace might already be glowing as an indication of his arrival but he still wants to sacrifice his neck to search for his best friend. When he couldn’t find her, he hastily parks his bike and hops down. As soon as he enters the shop, the air conditioning immediately hits his skin and he welcomes the chill and the lustful eyes that comes with. It is no secret that Min Yoongi is blessed with good looks as females and males alike ogle shamelessly at the demon prince whenever he struts past them as the said demon barely gave them a glance while minding his own business. Yoongi makes his way to corner next to the cactus he had Yaksoku get when she first opens the café as he emits a don’t-bother-me aura when he finally makes eye contact with the humans who are still staring at him. He sees how some avert their eyes as the colour changes from red to yellow – a colour of embarrassment or cowardice.

To Min Yoongi, humans’ feelings are a fickle thing. The colours they emit changes so fast and soothing, pastel colours he often sees in children are rarely ever present on adults as the usual two colours he often sees is the deep, smothering red surrounding men which represents their insatiable lust and the disgusting green that reminds him of a swamp or the slime on Leviathan’s back surrounding the women which shows him their envy and jealousy.  

There is a 10:1 ratio of the things Yoongi hates to the things he likes here on Earth. Amongst the few things that he undoubtedly like is his mother’s cooking, alcohol, drugs, cigars, fruitless deaths, pretty things, lots of filthy sex and coffee. So, when a pink haired waiter coming his way with a scent that goes well with the bitter aroma of coffee in a loose white shirt, Yoongi found himself salivating. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what he’s salivating for anymore – the boy or the coffee. He couldn’t deny that the boy is drop dead gorgeous with a scent that makes him hungry for more. But what catches him off guard is the fact that there is a thin white light radiating above the boy’s skin – something that Yoongi has never encounter on a grown man for it represents innocence.

“May I take your order?” The boy asks, offering Yoongi a menu as to which the prince declined. He already knows what he wants, after all.

You, Yoongi thought cheekily as he smirks to himself. But he wouldn’t do that to his best friend even if the one who catches his eye looks like heaven and smells like sin. “Black coffee. That’ll be all.” Yoongi said as the pink haired boy bows slightly before taking his leave. Yoongi’s blue eyes follows the boy till he disappears behind the door that separates them and the kitchen.

While the white-haired prince waits for his long-awaited reunion with Yaksoku and his hot cup of coffee, his eyes trail to a certain pair of red eyes that have been blown out with lust. Yoongi holds her gaze as she submits to him with just a look before lowering her a head a little. Yoongi immediately knows that the girl sitting across the table is an ally of Asmodeus’s or her species is more commonly known as a succubus whose greatest sin is lust. He takes notice of the two men next to her, with their hands up and below her skirt no doubt giving her the release she probably had begged for. Now, Min Yoongi is no saint and he, too would do anything to sate his needs by any means possible even if he has to fuck them in the middle of the café but he would be damned if he let himself get controlled by a mere human as he watches the little succubus leads her two play things out the café before giving him a small and subtle bow.

Min Yoongi isn’t a patient man which is why he was baffled himself that he was able to wait for Yaksoku to turn up until the shop closes. The pink haired waiter whose name is Jimin (he learned it after his third cup of coffee and a ‘it’s on the house!’ peanut butter and chocolate flavoured cake) told him that it is past the closing time. Yoongi knew it was closing time nearly 2 hours ago but he didn’t want to believe that Yaksoku didn’t want to come see him but when Jimin had say it, he couldn’t deny the feeling of utter betrayal. Did Yaksoku not want to see me? Is that why she didn’t come? Yoongi couldn’t help but have these toxic thoughts as he braves himself to ask about Yaksoku only to find out that she had passed away a little over 2 years and that Jimin is her grandson. The little piece of information shocked Yoongi greatly. While he was busy with his duties, he forgot that a year to him is equivalent to 20 years in the human realm and if he was aware that at least 3 years have passed in his realm, in the human world, a grand 60 years have passed. Yoongi was shocked beyond words, mostly angry that she had died so easily despite only 60 years have passed.

Humans are indeed weak and pitiful. Yoongi thought in distaste before giving Jimin a 50 dollar bill and took off before Jimin could hand him his change. To anyone who knows Yoongi would already know that the prince had sped off to Aphrodite, the most famous brothel in the red district. He was immediately greeted by Ken or more known as Asmodeus as he was given a glass full of his favourite wine, a room and two of the Aphrodite’s favourite Angels. Once Min Yoongi got his hands on them, he didn’t let go of the Angels even for a breath or for a thought as he used their body for his own pleasure.

Whimpers turn to moans and eventually screams of pain and agony was heard from the room. Yoongi paid no heed to their begging and pleas to stop as he chases his own pleasure. Yoongi’s grand, black wings make its appearance as it rips through his skin and his black shirt once he does. It was so large and so beautiful that for a split second, the angels thought he’s a God but when they meet Yoongi’s unforgiving eyes, they knew he was far from it.

Once he was done, he calls out for Ken whom he knows has been outside of the door, hesitating to enter the room while he had his way with the Angels as he takes out a cigar from the drawer and casually lights it up. The prince of Infernum have only gotten his best friend’s death out of his mind but now another person has creeped in his mind.

When Ken steps in the room and carry his Angels out of the chamber, his jaw drops in awe. The headboard has smashed to pieces, the satin of the bed sheets is torn and feathers all over the floor from the pillows. Ken finally snaps out of his trance when he hears his Angels whimper in pain. He looks at them with emotions devoid in his red eyes – a common feature for Asmodeus and his underlings - as he watches his Angels scramble to cover their body with the torn and soiled satin sheets. The prince has broken them, was the only thing that he can think before helping them out.

“You better leave before Jin finds out what you’ve done to his angels.” Ken said after bringing the second Angel out. Yoongi, on the other hand makes no haste move to cover up as he blows a puff of smoke and downs another bottle of liquor.

“Bring me another one of these.” He said, completely ignoring Ken.

“I’m serious, Yoongi. Leave before Jin finds out.” Yoongi pauses for a moment as he looks at Ken. Yoongi hates being bossed around by anyone including his own mother but he couldn’t blame Ken for being anxious. After all, the demon who gains strength by the fulfilment of one’s carnal desires are torn apart between respecting his prince and maintaining a beneficial friendship with the owner of the club, Jin.

Now, Kim Seokjin or more known as Jin is a friend of Yoongi’s and the son of Aphrodite. He, in Yoongi’s eyes has mommy issues thus naming his infamous brothel after his mother, the goddess of beauty and pleasure. And much like Yoongi, Jin only has a few things that he loves and amongst which is the club, his Angels, his friends and Kim Namjoon. Yoongi sighs as he lays on bed. “Fine, don’t give me another bottle. I’m leaving. I’ll pay your Angels twice the amount for their services tonight.” Yoongi groans as he sits up on the bed. He retracts his wings with a groan. It hurts having them out since it pierces through his skin and it hurts even more getting them back in because it’s not comfortable for him. Ken offers to carefully dab Yoongi’s bloodied skin with a warm towel as he offers kisses down Yoongi’s neck and at the skin where his wings popped out. “Kiss me one more time and I will fuck you into this mattress, Asmodeus.” Yoongi threatens with his real name as the other demon chuckles. Although Ken knows Yoongi doesn’t play around when he calls him by his real name, he couldn’t feel threatened. How is he supposed to feel threatened when all he hears is a promise of a good time?

“You said it like it’s a threat.” Ken coos, kissing Yoongi’s lips, silently daring the prince of Infernum as Ken’s red eyes shine a little in the dim light.

“I have time to spare. If it’s a fuck you want, you know I’ll give it to you.” It is no secret that Yoongi and Ken have fucked before. Gender and species have never been an obstacle to Yoongi although he does have a personal favourite and for a long time, he enjoys copulating with a human most.

“Please do. Don’t hold back this time.” Ken has his tongue out and drag it along Yoongi’s collarbone as the prince chuckles deeply. His eyes are devoid of white sclera as he stares Ken down.

“Alright. But you’re doing all the work.” Yoongi said as he gets comfortable on the bed. He continues to smoke on his cigar as he watches Ken takes his own pants off. The demon then got on his knees and kisses Yoongi again before taking his dick in his hands as he strokes it up and down. Ken’s other hand pushes his own black hair back.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Ken whispers as he places his knees in between Yoongi’s thighs.

“You don’t have STDs or anything like that, do you?” Yoongi asks, blowing a puff of smoke into Ken’s face.

“You wound me, Your Highness. You can’t get any of those humanly diseases and so can’t I.” Ken replies, feigning hurt.

“It’s always a good idea to be safe, Ken. Who knows who else have fucked your tight little asshole.” Ken moans wantonly at Yoongi’s words as he feels his prince’s dick thicken in girth as it begins to slowly stand tall.

“Only humans, Your Highness. Clean humans.”

“Very well then. Serve me.” Upon Yoongi’s verbal green light, Ken sinks down to Yoongi’s full length. Yoongi closes his eyes at the surprisingly wet and tight asshole but when he opens his eyes, the one bouncing on his dick no longer takes the form of Ken. If it werent for his voice, he would have believed his eyes.

“I live to do just that.” Ken whispers, knowing full well that he now looks like someone Yoongi has been wanting. Though Ken doesn’t know whom, Yoongi surely does. He would have been damned if he ever forgets his pink hair.

Chapter 2

[s-driesen]

time may change me (but i cant trace time)- chapter 1/6

Six Makes a Change- 2.5k words

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Summary: Sander and Robbe have always had each other, through the best and through the worst of times. Figuring things out makes adolescence difficult for the majority of people, but for Robbe its proving to be one of the hardest thing's he's ever been faced with. And that's an issue when the person you've confided your deepest, darkest secrets in since before you can even remember, is the reason you can't wrap your head around yourself.

Or: the one where Robbe and Sander are best friends since the age of six and seven.

Summer wasn't like it was in the cartoons, Robbe was finally deciding. The TV lied about the adventures that came at the start of summer, the constant fast-paced murmur of fun and discovery. Summer was a lot more about being sweaty and waiting around for actual fun stuff to happen. Like he was in that moment. Six year old Robbe Ijzermans was sat on his house's front step, being bitter and waiting for the world to fall into place. Just like he had been all week. The Summer Holiday's were definitely not what they had been cracked up to be, Robbe had left the house twice to go grocery shopping with his mum and that had been the most interesting thing to happen to him since his last day of school. That short trip and twenty minutes spent in awe down the toy aisle had been the highlight of his summer so far, alongside the ice cream he got on the way back home, but it had melted. So (technically) that didn't count as fun. Coming to terms with the fact that life was just like normal, except that Robbe didn't have to sit listening to Miss Visser talk about phonetics for three hours a day and sunburn was now a thing apparently, was difficult.

Missing school surprised him the most. Because at least within the ranks of a stuffy classroom he had his friends. Right then he had no one. Except maybe the birds that were watching him from the strings of the power-lines, the ones the Robbe could only squint at because of the harsh sun. Even they weren't even very entertaining. All they did was poop and caw.

Robbe blamed his mum for his predicament of course. And he knew his dad wouldn't like him for saying that, but it was ultimately her fault. And no amount of telling off could stop Robbe from thinking that. His dad can't read his thoughts.

The thing was, he didn't understand why he had to play outside whilst his mother made dinner, he wasn't even getting in the way- well maybe he was a little bit, but it's not his fault his toy car only slid well on the kitchen tiles. In Robbe's opinion she was being over-dramatic when she'd huffed and puffed at him, with her hands on her hips and that little annoyed smile pressing at her lips. Before telling him to take his game outside, she'd warned him not to come back until she said so. Protesting wasn't going to change anything- Robbe grasped that as his mum had turned him towards the door, sweetly mumbling how he should 'go say hi to the neighbour's'.

Saying 'hi' to the neighbour's was a stupid idea. They were strangers, and approaching strangers was basically like saying to a kidnapper 'hey come kill me'. Robbe's school had taught him that. He'd argued that to his mum the day the new neighbour's started to move in. 'Go say hi!' was being thrown his way every other minute as he watched box after box being unloaded from a big white truck. She didn't understand his point though, she just thought Robbe was scared of the neighbour's dog. It was a huge dog, in his defence. All slobbery and loud, with it's barks and howls.

With his head in his hands, and his elbows on his knees, still sticky from the sunscreen his mum has lathered on the back of his neck whilst messily ushering him out of the door, Robbe stewed in his boredom, utterly exhausted at the predicament he faced. He had half an hour to kill, and half an hour was too much time to sit and poke at the tarmac with the toe of his sneakers. For all he knew, Robbe could march to Paris in half an hour. It was too long, and to make matters worse he had yet another issue. The best of his toys were in the back garden, behind the shed, and he couldn't pry open the fence wide enough to slip them through. So he truly was stuck, on the front step, cooking in the sun like a turkey for a whole half an hour with not a morsel of entertainment. Life just wasn't easy, this was one of the first times Robbe would realise that fact.

But, a six year old is an incredibly selfish thing. Even Robbe, who got stickers frequently for his kindness and 'sharing skills'. Because, he didn't think for a second that he might not be the only one with time to kill and a mother to be bitter at. No, he was too busy kicking the grit and stressing about how many cartoons he was would miss (he thought about ten thousand, because he was the most dramatic child to ever exist). So not noticing the other boy across the street at first, the one who was also sat on his own doorstep, quietly watching Robbe and building up the courage to march over, was excusable. Robbe was so wrapped up in his own crisis that didn't even notice the sound of little legs crossing over the street, walking quickly, laced with anxiety and a slight shyness. In fact, Robbe was so engrossed in self pity that the neighbour's boy had to cough to get his attention, not even the feeling of his shadow casting over Robbe could pull the other boys eyes upwards.

'Other kids aren't dangerous'  was one of Robbe's two reasons for not screeching at the stranger hovering in front of him. The other was that the boy looked incredibly unsure as to why he was even standing on his neighbour's driveway, like he'd come to do something and forgotten what it was upon arrival. A beat of silence passed between the pair, filled with only the sound of Robbe kicking grit and looking up from his perch with a slightly questioning expression. Awkwardness hadn't been invented in his head yet, but weirdness had, and before the neighbour's son had even spoken Robbe had come to the conclusion that he was indeed a little bit strange. It was summer and this kid was wearing a black hoodie, with cargo shorts, paired with socks and sandals. His hair was similar in colour to Robbe's, maybe a little bit more on the caramel side, but was so windswept that it looked a tiny bit like a hay bale. It took Robbe a moment to figure out if he was older or younger than him, because something about his face just looked aged, even if he couldn't be more than a year older than Robbe himself. Dishevelled was too big of a word to know, but that's what the neighbour's boy was.

''You look sad.'' The boy muttered, shrugging slightly at Robbe, cocking his head to cast a strand of fallen hair from his eyes. Scrunching his nose, Robbe merely huffed in response, squinting through the sun to look up at the other kid.

''I'm not, though.''

''But you look it.'' The neighbour's kid definitely was weird, Robbed decided. It was an easy decision to make, but it wasn't one that stopped his curiosity. The two looked at one another for a long second until the neighbour spoke again, hands deep in his hoodies pocket ''I'm Sander, by the way. My mum told me to say hi to you because I was bored.'' ''I'm Robbe'' Robbe uttered in response, internally denying his sudden sympathy ''My mum told me to go say hi to you because she's making dinner.'' Sander nodded slowly, then pointed at the small space next to Robbe on the front step, shooting his new acquaintance a questioning look. It took Robbe's brain a painfully long second to realise what he was gesturing, and it almost felt rude to say no after that, so he shuffled along the brash concrete, making room for Sander with no word of complaint.

''Is that why you're sad then?'' Sander queried, glancing nonchalantly at Robbe, his chin resting on the palm oh his hand, elbow to knee. Robbe didn't understand what he meant, and Sander caught onto that after what felt like the millionth long pause of their stunted conversation. So, he elaborated, a hint of, what Robbe thought was, sadness lacing his words ''Because you had to say hi to me.''

Robbe turned his head to regard Sander, knitting his brow whilst making an attempt to figure out if he was actually upset at that idea. He wasn't, obviously. There was a mischievous glint behind Sander's grey-green eyes as he took in Robbe's sun burnt scowl - it was smile so bright that Robbe couldn't help but shake his head and beam back.

''No, of course not.''

''So why are you sad then?'' Sander played with the strings of his stupid black hoodie, and Robbe watched him for a moment, all whilst he considered telling the truth or not. He took a second, eyeing the other boy to gauge his reaction, fearing his reaction to such a childish reasoning.

''Rugrats is on and I can't watch it because my mum won't let me back in the house...'' He said it with a hint of embarrassment, fast and all coming out in one breath, feeling suddenly stupid in the presence of Sander, who was probably old enough to not care about cartoons. They stayed quiet for a moment as Sander though over the facts. After another silent beat, Robbe hesitantly glanced over to see the other boy pulling a face, his nose scrunched up with his lips pressed into a tight line- if Robbe hadn't been so unsure of the neighbour's boy he would've laughed. Sander looked dumb.

''That's actually a pretty good reason to be sad...'' He concluded, nodding enthusiastically in agreement with the same look of displeasure stuck to his face, Robbe felt relieved he didn't laugh at him for being such a kid...like his dad did sometimes ''Your mum sounds pretty suck-y for doing that, though.'' Sander started fiddling with his hoodie strings again, still propping his head up with one hand, all whilst craning his gaze in Robbe's direction. The confidence he'd began to exude ever since he'd sat down on the step and started just...talking, was something Robbe had yet to experience. Kids his age never spoke to Robbe like Sander did, they were normally shy and hated speaking to people they didn't know- much like Robbe himself. And that was so intriguing to six-year old Robbe Ijzermans, and wouldn't stop being intriguing for a very long time. So, when Sander said, like it was no big deal: ''My mum actually let's me go back inside our house when she's busy. Sooooo...We could watch Rugrats at my house, maybe?'' Robbe found it pretty hard to say no for a second. He had to stop himself.

Throwing caution to the wind was something he considered for a fleeting second, as Sander suddenly got up, pointing across the street all whilst babbling some form of reassurance. But, Robbe knew better. His school didn't do a 'stranger danger' campaign for nothing, after all.

''I'm not really supposed to go anywhere with strangers...'' Robbe still didn't count kids as a danger, but a wave of uncertainty had unexpectedly hit him at the prospect of following someone as brash and bubbly as Sander into something completely unknown. Sander's blindness to the befriending of newcomers made Robbe want to give him a lecture, even though the other was probably aware of the severe lack of six year old serial killers. Robbe's ridiculous fear was further discredited by the scoff Sander produced, shoving his hands into his short's pockets and teetering backwards on his sandal's heels.

''I'm not a stranger though'' He almost giggled the sentence, staring at Robbe incredulously, his face only faltered slightly when the other boys expression of apprehension went unchanged. Sighing, as if he was over Robbe's unwillingness to disappear with his weird new neighbour, Sander thrust his hand in Robbe's face. Wiggling his short finger's, Sander elaborated as Robbe raised his eyebrows, utterly taken off-guard. ''Shake my hand.''

''Why?'' Robbe saw his dad shake hands with the men from his work all the time, all strict and adult; everything Sander was not. Impatiently, Sander shrugged, still boyishly teetering on the balls of his feet, before he took a second to think about his reasoning. Robbe's eyes hurt from squinting up at him, the sun harsh behind Sander's silhouette.

''Because after you shake hands with someone they're not a stranger anymore'' Robbe knew he had a point.

''Really?'' Sander only nodded confidently, pushing his exchanged hand forward further, nodding at it with that toothy grin.

''Really. Then we're not stranger's, we're friends.'' The idea of being friends with Sander, was one that Robbe took a liking to immediately. He was funny, but weird. And in that moment, weird made Robbe exceedingly curious. So, after rising from his perch on the front step and brushing the grit from the back of his shorts, six-year old Robbe Ijzermans shook Sander's hand. Hard. Hard enough to make them both dissolve into giggles.

''Friends, then?'' Robbe questioned, just to make sure Sander wasn't leading him on. Sander responded by nodding, squeezing Robbe's hand tighter and giving one last arm-arching shake.

''Friends.''

''Lets go...''

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'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

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'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

From Toy Story 2 to Under the Skin, writers pick the cinematic moments that made them cry and explain why. Spoilers ahead

Aunt Lucys trip, Paddington 2

On the face of it, Paddington is a fairly broad kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, and so probably shouldnt make a grown human cry hot, salty tears. But that description ignores the fact that Paddington is a really, really well-made kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, one that completely gets the pathos of its central character, a little lost immigrant searching for something resembling a family. Both films ably tug at the heartstrings, but the second film got me sniffling as early as 15 minutes in when Paddington imagines giving his only living relative, Aunt Lucy, a tour around London, something that in reality is impossible as shes stuck thousands of miles away in darkest Peru. When at the end of the film spoiler alert Aunt Lucy arrives on the Brown familys doorstep and she and Paddington hug, I completely, unapologetically lost it. Lord knows what surprises Paddington 3 has planned for my tear ducts. GM

When She Loved Me, Toy Story 2

Just before writing this, I put When She Loved Me from Toy Story 2 on YouTube once again, just to check. Yep. Just as always, I choke up, in the same abject, lip-wobbling, head-bowed way. It still has that terrible power.

When She Loved Me is the song written by Randy Newman and sung by the devastated toy cowgirl Jessie and in fact performed, beautifully, on the soundtrack by Canadian singer Sarah McLachlan. The song is Jessies way of telling Woody why she has grimly decided to submit to the airless world of the toy museum, because it is better than the inevitable heartbreak and delusion of loving a fickle human child. She reveals her anguish that her owner, Emily, has fallen out of love with her outgrown her, in fact. As Emily entered the world of adolescence, pop music and boys, Jessie was left under the bed and finally dumped.

When I first saw this scene and misled by the size disparity between toy and owner I thought it was a parable for a childs anxiety over being abandoned by the parent. But now that I am a parent I can see the truth which is completely the opposite way around. It is about the parents fear of being abandoned by the child: the terrible fear, actually the terrible certainty, that the kid one day wont want to play with you. They will grow up and want something else. This song is utterly devastating. It is modern cinemas equivalent of the Vesti La Giubba aria from Pagliacci the tragic clown smiling on the outside but crying on the inside. Im afraid to watch it too often. I dont want to break down over and over again. But I also want to preserve its power over me. PB

Ruths death, Fried Green Tomatoes

In many respects, Fried Green Tomatoes is not a movie for the modern age. It is a story about racism in the deep south told largely by way of eliciting our sympathies for wealthy white characters; it is a story about a lesbian relationship that had to slide its lesbian relationship in unnoticed, by presenting it as a very close friendship fulfilled by food fights, poker games and heads leaning meaningfully on shoulders. But I am deeply fond of this 1991 Sunday afternoon classic. Ive seen it more times than is healthy, and so I know exactly what is coming and when, and yet am still unable to resist the inevitable guttural sobbing that comes with the death scene.

There are plenty of teasers for it, too: Buddy on the train tracks, even Mrs Threadgoode talking about the death of her adult son. Nothing, however, can prepare the viewer for Ruth asking Idgie to tell her the old story about the frozen lake thats now somewhere over in Georgia. It doesnt so much pull on heartstrings as play a full symphony on them, and its devastating. As Sipsey puts it, a lady always knows when to leave. RN

The rooftop dance, Eat Pray Love

While I was repelled by the mere existence of the Eat Pray Love book, I found something strangely charming about its big-screen translation. It was a mixture of glossy food porn, glossy travel porn and glossy Julia Roberts emoting porn (she remains one of the best fake criers in Hollywood) all wrapped up in a rather unique tale of a woman trying to unshackle herself from the men in her life. But while that all provided mostly surface-level enjoyment, one scene cut deeper and the extent to which it cuts surprises me still.

As is often with the case with movie tears, these were tied to a real-world experience that had happened not long before I sat down to watch. I was dumped by a long-term boyfriend without much of an explanation and without any sort of warning. I was heartbroken and seeking some form of closure that was kept cruelly out of reach. I didnt understand why it had happened and it was the not knowing that felt harder than the break-up itself.

In the film, Roberts character has left her flighty husband and remains haunted by the heartbreak shes caused. On a rooftop in Delhi, a vision of him appears and they dance to Neil Youngs heart-grabbing Harvest Moon, the song that was supposed to accompany their first wedding dance. She reminds him that she did love him. He tells her he still loves and misses her. They cry and continue to dance. At the end, she tells him that it wont last forever, nothing does. Its a short scene but it hit me like a bus, it still does now. My tears are for the film but theyre also for something deeper: the sting of loving someone who stopped loving me and the ache of an ending I was never allowed in real life. BL

The thunderstorm, Click

Adam Sandler can make me cry harder than hes ever made me laugh, the true test of a clown. Yes, even in the underappreciated comedy Click about a dad who finds a magical remote control in the Beyond section of Bed Bath & Beyond.

Sandlers workaholic architect fast-forwards through the worst parts of his day the dull weeknight frozen dinners with his family, the repetitive arguments, the gross times everyone gets knocked out by the flu in order to get to his next promotion so he can buy his kids whatever they want. His plan doesnt go well, of course. But whats shocking is how gut-rippingly painful it is to see Sandler hit play on his life only to realize hes skipped past everything that matters. His bodys been present, the bills have been paid, but his emotional engagements been staticky a trade-off too many of us can understand.

In the climax, old man Sandler sobs in a thunderstorm as he arrives at his daughters wedding only to learn shed rather her stepdad walk her down the aisle, and his son has grown up to mimic his job-first, family-second example. I rarely cry at unavoidable tragedies where no ones at fault. My weakness is characters regretting choices they cant rewind. Click isnt Ingmar Bergman Sandler gets a happy ending but I barely saw his relief through the rainstorm on my face. AN

The courtroom, Kramer vs Kramer

By all accounts, Robert Bentons film Kramer vs Kramer skews heavily toward Dustin Hoffmans Ted, whose wife Joanna has left him and their six-year-old son Billy. Billy and Ted make french toast together, or argue about eating ice cream before dinner, or visit the nearby jungle gym. Were it not for Meryl Streep and the trenchant, intuitive way she humanizes a woman who, in the 70s, would have otherwise been made to seem mawkish and unstable Kramer vs Kramer might be just a schmaltzy panegyric on fatherhood.

But leave it to our greatest living actor to turn a film on its head with a single scene. You know the one: Joanna, during the custody hearing, is subjected to a string of sexist questions about her failure as a wife and a mother. When asked why shes seeking custody of Billy, she blinks three times, beginning the monologue Streep herself wrote in an effort to redeem her character, who she initially perceived to be an ogre, a princess, an ass.

Billys only seven years old. He needs me, she says, reciting the word need with a whispery uptick as she glances at her ex. Im not saying he doesnt need his father. But I really believe he needs me more. After catching her breath, she becomes more emphatic: I was his mommy for five and a half years. Since I was about Billys age when my parents got divorced, ergo, too young to understand or even care, Ive always been astonished and, by proxy, moved by how compassionately Streep plumbs the depths of Joannas truth. JN

The beach, Under the Skin

Little focuses the mind more effectively on human distress than the arrival of your own kids; scenes in films which I might once have snoozed through now induce boggle-eyed terror OH MY GOD, DONT LEAVE THAT BABY NEAR THAT COFFEE TABLE, IT HASNT GOT A CORNER PROTECTOR! But nothing has topped at least, not yet the scene in Under the Skin where Scarlett Johansson murders a swimmer and drags him off to eat him.

Its not the murder thats so epically upsetting, though its gruesome enough: Johansson, playing an alien visitor permanently on the lookout for human nutrients, simply bangs him over the head with a large stone as he lies prone and exhausted on the beach. Its what goes on in the background that is so awful. A woman goes into the water to try and rescue her drowning dog, and her male partner instinctively rushes in after her, leaving their toddler alone high on the shore. Johanssons chum the only other adult on this lonely Scottish beach goes to help too.

With the speed of falling dominoes, a nice little day out unravels: the mother and father are swept away to who knows where, and the alien takes her chance to acquire their would-be rescuer as a food source. Meanwhile, the suddenly abandoned kid is shrieking in terror as the night closes in. Another, less astute film-maker, might cap the scene with the alien scooping the kid up and adding him to her dinner menu, but what Glazer contrives is absolutely horrifying. Johansson-alien simply ignores it, and leaves it alone. The film moves on, this incident consigned to the past.

I have to confess I was absolutely blindsided by the scene; mostly, I think, because of the its sheer unexpectedness. I think I was gripped by a kind of internal hysteria: shock, hyperventilation, a feeling the back of my head might explode. (I cant say I actually cried though I may have, but in the confusion I cant really remember.) I certainly had to hold on to the seat to stop myself bolting out of the cinema then and there. I am aware theres a some degree of self-indulgence here: the fact that my daughter was about the same age as the kid in the film undoubtedly super-sensitised my reactions. But everyone has their weak spot; this is very much mine. AP

The birth, Cheaper by the Dozen 2

Cheaper by the Dozen 2, if you havent seen it you probably havent, why would you have? is the sequel to the remake of family comedy Cheaper by the Dozen, and Im sure it was made because Steve Martin, the star of the franchise, needed to pay his mortgage. The main gist of the movie is that Martin and his wife, played by Bonnie Hunt, have 12 children who get into various japes. Its asinine. But during a time in my life when I was making a lot of transatlantic flights, Cheaper By the Dozen 2 was always an option on the British Airways seatback televisions, and one day I found, because of the frequency of my flights, I had watched all of the other films.

What choice did I have? At the climactic scene, where the oldest daughter, played by Piper Perabo, gives birth, and then names the baby after her father because he has shown her that there is no way to be a perfect parent, but a million ways to be a really good one, I cried so much the man sitting next to me regarded me with what appeared to be real concern. There may have not been enough cocktail napkins on the whole plane to dry my tears. Was it the recycled air? Was it the two miniature bottles of white wine? Or was it that a joyful childbirth scene can warm the cockles of even the coldest of hearts? JHE

The accidental reunion, Manchester by the Sea

Weve got a real talent for repression back in Massachusetts. Kenneth Lonergans searing Manchester by the Sea plays out a 15-minute drive from my childhood home and, true to life, the characters all struggle to articulate the perfect storms of emotion raging within them.

When Lee (Casey Affleck) has a chance encounter with his ex-wife Randi (Michelle Williams), the shared history between them is literally unspeakable. They sputter out fragments of sentences that act as a shorthand for vast reservoirs of guilt and self-loathing they cant bear to express, and because they know one another so intimately, they can intuit all the meaning they have to. Theyve both shoved a lot deep down inside just so they can look at themselves in the mirror, and when in the presence of the only other person on the planet who understands what theyve been through, some of it has to come out. Randi does most of the talking, inviting Lee to lunch so they can get some closure, and he ends the conversation by walking away. Shes ready to face her past and be fully present in the new life shes built for herself. Lee, a North Shore boy born and bred, feels more comfortable starting a bar fight as his form of therapy. CB

The hotel, Unrelated

Joanna Hoggs first film, Unrelated, has had something of a second life on account of being the debut of Tom Hiddleston, and set during a Tuscan summer, which means swimming pool, which means toplessness, and lots of it. Its nice to imagine the Loki-lovers streaming this masterpiece of English upper-middle-class excruciation. As its ending shows, specificity is no barrier to emotional oomph.

The story sees a woman in her early 40s, Anna (Kathryn Worth), holidaying with old friends and their teenage children. She finds she prefers the company of the kids, especially the charming Oakley (Hiddleston, then 26, playing eight years younger). The holiday implodes. Anna goes to stay at a grim airport hotel. Her friend visits, crossly wanting to know whats behind her behaviour. Anna explains that, quite recently, she thought she was pregnant but no, in fact, it was an early menopause. Shell never be able to have children. She sobs and bends double on the bed. It is shot in one take, from the middle distance, acted with a banal frankness which feels like eavesdropping.

When I saw it a decade back, it floored me: a twist I hadnt foreseen, a pain I could only imagine. A few years ago, I began consciously avoiding the film, fearful a similar fate awaited me. Now I can safely watch it again or, I thought I could, but Hogg is much too superb and mysterious a film-maker for that. It isnt simply the information which is terrible, it is the dreadful catharsis of its expression, coming after so much obfuscation. The stifle has gone; instead there is the most awful sadness. Buttoning up is often the bravest way. CS

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us

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Happy Father’s Day

In the moment that I am typing this, I wonder why I didn’t feel the urge to write something on Mother’s day... I guess things have just changed over the last however many years that I’ve been on my own and apart from my mother. I spent my entire adolescent life with her, and for the last 4-5 years I’ve been on my own. Pretty much. As time has gone by, and moving to D.C., I’ve begun to realize the drastic switch of parenting in my life. My father wasn’t always around when I was younger. He chose to continue living his own life, bachelor style, and see my brother and I every Tuesday & Thursday for years. With alternating weekends. I mean thats what happens when parents get a divorce, and the mother wants-and gets-sole custody of her children. Nevertheless, I cannot say my father every gave up on my brother and I. Since I can clearly remember he has always worked his ass off to get us pretty much anything we wanted & needed. Thinking back, he provided us with half, if not more, of our wardrobe when we were younger. 

As I struggle to find the words to describe what I’m feeling about the relationship difference, I can’t help but think about just how hard my father has worked for our happiness. Yes, I feel he used money and material things to buy our affection and build our relationships. However, I don’t feel like that was his intent. I know my father loves my brother and I very much. Even if he hasn’t used the most words to describe his love, I can honestly feel it. Not to mention, just thinking about and realizing the fact that he moved to the U.S. at 19 years old & has kept his head above water this entire time, not just for himself, but for his children & his family. He never had a clear idea of what he was walking into & what would come of his moving to a brand new country. But he wasn’t scared & he always took responsibility for his actions. Most of the time i should say...

My father has flaws just like any other human in this world does. There are things that he has been effected by in his past and for a long time I let his actions from those issues hang over me and weigh heavy on my heart. But with the realization that it was never intended for him to turn out that way or maybe it was, either way he never meant to hurt his children’s feelings with his actions. Forgiveness is key when it comes to situations like that & realizing the effects it had on my father and passing that down to us was something i decided to end with me. Someone has to break the cycle at some point, and I only hope I can try to achieve more healing between my father and I, and try to influence healing within his relationship with my brother & even more with his own father.

Dealing with this growing up was never fun. I remember days and nights where my father would verbally abuse my brother & I. Leave us to go out and party on weekends where he had custody. I understand now that he was young & wanted to enjoy his life , which is a trait he has never lost even to this day at 51 years of age. Even though it did hurt to constantly see my dad shutting the door and leaving my brother and I with a liter of Sprite and pizza, I cant discount his for all the other times he did spend with us. So he went out at night? He was there for us during the day, taking us to eat awesome dinners, or to hockey games, to the mall, the movies, ice skating, the park, etc. He made sure to make time for us & I truly think he was trying his best to balance us & his personal life. Which is fine, he wasn’t but maybe 27-28 when we were kids.

In contrary to my mother, he gave us A LOT. Don’t get me wrong, my mother did everything she could for us. But I won’t forget how she felt she was always being out done by my father. Now, for what reason, I can’t really answer that. My best guess is the fact that they had two completely different jobs and lifestyles. My dad is an opportunist and a go getter, while my mom was preoccupied and settled. But my father spent way less time with us as children than my mother did as well, so he wasn’t necessarily having to dish as much money as my mother did. But he was always paying for things for my brother and I all the time. And my mother was also receiving child support from him. So like I said before, now thinking about it, I can’t exactly say why my mother struggled unlike my father. Its not like we were going to private schools or anything. My mother just didn’t make the means like my father did. 

I think with dealing with that , my mother tried to cast my father in a bad light for a long time. Which in some way worked for a period of time on me. I resented my father for wanting to go out so much & wanting to date other women. While at the same time, my mother remarried and I had to live with a horrible stepfather for almost 10 years. As I stayed angry at my father for living his life, I was also getting mentally, verbally, and at times physically abused by my stepfather. And I had to witness several fights between my mother and him & also between my father and him sometimes with my mother and other women from my dad as well. And whats crazy, is that for so long I have buried these memories, feelings and thoughts deep down so I wouldn’t have to relive them or rethink them, or even believe them at times. 

I’m not trying to put blame on either one of my parents. But they both said and did some wrong stuff as I was growing up. But I’ve come to the realization, they were growing up themselves. I think that people have this expectation of young parents growing up faster once they have a child. And I can understand that to a certain degree, but the fact is we are always and continuously growing creatures. We have to constantly live off of trial and error and hopefully the load gets easier as we grow & if we have children, as our children grow & can fend for themselves more. Yes, the child is the parent’s responsibility, but the child also has to learn about growth and independence during their growing process just as much, if not more than their parents. The parents should be setting their children up for success and independence. Teaching them about self love, love in the correct forms, kindness, responsibility, honesty, dedication, etc. 

I realize now, that my parents were definitely trying their best to teach me these values and lessons, It just wasn’t set up as pretty or nice as you see in the movies. They still had a lot to learning to do, and divorce wasn’t making parenting any easier for them. But now, as I have grown up, I do see the ways my mother was trying to tell me about self love and honesty, even if she wasn’t putting herself in the best situations, she always made sure to make me feel loved and beautiful and never be afraid to say the right thing. While my father, always working and giving us all he could, showed me the strength of independence and dedication in life. He never stopped working, he never gave up on trying to give us the best life he could, while also enjoying his own. 

So, this post wasn’t exactly what I planned it to be about in the beginning, but I was focused and in the moment while writing. And I truly love the outcome of this because not only do I feel relieved after writing this, but I also have opened my own eyes, mind and heart to things I never really took the time to process and review before. Now I have an even greater appreciation for both of my parents & more comfort within myself as far as any feelings from the past go. This was healing for me. And I’m sure there are many people can relate to this so I wish you all the best if you chose to read to the end. And don’t forget to always show your parents appreciation and love, no matter what. They’re growing human beings just like us.

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Three days with The Dice Man: I never wrote for money or fame’

His 1971 novel was a countercultural sensation, selling 2m copies. But the author has surrounded himself in mystery. Why?

When I read The Dice Man 15 years ago, I wanted to know who had written it, and why. It read more like an act of survival than a novel, but whether it was the authors survival or mine, I wasnt sure. I had stopped drinking alcohol and I was looking, simply, for another drug. The book made me high; it offered multiple universes, all of them safer than vodka.

The Dice Man is seemingly an autobiography, narrated by a bored, clever New York psychiatrist, Luke Rhinehart. He is a nerd run mad. He decides that, in pursuit of ultimate freedom or nihilism he will make decisions using dice. He offers the dice options, and they choose for him. The dice tell him to rape his neighbour, but he fails because she wants him. The dice make him tell his patients what he thinks of them (my favourite dice decision). It was a perfect novel: a fantasy of escape and, for me, a search for an absent and charismatic father.

The book was published in 1971, an era devoted to psychoanalysis (not the mocking of it), and it was not an instant success. But over the course of 45 years, it has become a famous book, with devoted fans. The Dice Man has sold more than 2m copies in multiple languages and is still in print.

Dicing became a minor craze. Richard Branson said The Dice Man had inspired him, although he used the dice for only 24 hours because it was too dangerous to carry on longer. The entrepreneur Jeremy King opened a series of London restaurants due to a dice decision. In 1999, a Loaded magazine writer, who described Rhinehart as the novelist of the century, took heroin after a dice decision, while his girlfriend performed in a strip club. In 2005, comedian Danny Wallace published a memoir, Yes Man, in which he travelled the world saying yes to everything, again loosely inspired by Rhinehart.

As his notoriety grew, journalists came to interview the Dice Man. But Luke Rhinehart does not exist: he is the pseudonym of a man called George Powers Cockcroft, who shielded his real identity from his readers for many years. There was no Dice Man in these interviews, but there was no one else, either. Cockcroft played his part as an avuncular blank who liked dicing and drinking, a sort of Robert Mitchum pastiche; and of Cockcroft, whom I increasingly found more interesting than Rhinehart, there was almost nothing.

Why write a perfect novel, give all the credit to a ghost, then never write its equal again? I have been emailing Cockcroft since 2002, when, in a frenzy of half-hearted self-destruction, I attempted to dice my way through a Conservative party conference in Brighton. It was for an article, and I sought his advice, which was friendly and encouraging. The choices I gave myself were timid would I order a hamburger or a steak? though I do remember pretending to be Jesus Christ in the restaurant of the Grand hotel. The article was not a success, and was never published. The appeal of the dice is: how much power will you give them? I gave them nothing, and they gave nothing in return.

I have tried to interview Cockcroft before. I even met him once, in a hotel bar in London 10 years ago. He looked large and alien amid the pale chintz of Kensington, wearing a stetson that almost reached the chandelier. Last year, around the publication of his most recent novel, Invasion, which is about a friendly and intelligent alien who comes to Earth and is bewildered by our stupidity, we had a telephone interview in which he claimed, at 84, to be multiple selves, describing himself as we. We he and I were on a conference call with his publicist, and I asked him where The Dice Man had come from. You must realise, he told me softly, his voice a little hoarse, I have always conceived of myself as being multiple having, you know, a dozen different selves, if not a thousand different selves, at any given moment. He sounded croaky and crotchety, and I didnt push him. Instead, I asked if I could come and stay with him in upstate New York.

***

George Cockcroft, I say for the tape recorder. Yes, he says. Here I am.

We are in a large white house in Canaan. The houses are widely spaced here, on hills around a pond of ice; there are spindly trees on the horizon. The house is warm, comfortable, shabby, with wind chimes on the terrace.

Cockcroft is very tall and lean, his face weather-beaten from years of sailing and working in the garden. It has a kind of luminous joy that is very childlike, unless he is weary. His voice is deep, hoarse and excitable. He is, in some ways, very conventional for a myth: he chops wood, drinks whiskey, eats chocolate biscuits, feeds the fire. When he wants something, he shouts for his wife, Ann. They have been married for 60 years and there is deep love between them. I can feel it all through the house.

Cockcroft at his home in Canaan, New York. Photograph: Reed Young for the Guardian

Slowly, he tells me the facts of his biography. He is warm, courteous and curious; at one point, when I mention I need money to buy a house, he offers, very seriously, to lend it to me. Sometimes he says he cant remember things. Sometimes he says he doesnt know why he does things. Sometimes he repeats that he has multiple selves, and cant access the one who has the answer to my question. (I begin to think he does this when he feels threatened; if it were habitual, wouldnt he they do it all the time?) Then he will give a sorrowful grin and we retreat: he to his study, to write or to answer emails from fans, I to the sofa to read a novel Ann wrote many years ago. Later, we try again.

Cockcroft grew up 30 miles away, in Albany. His grandfather was the chief justice of the supreme court of Vermont; his great-grandfather was the governor of Vermont; so the creator of The Dice Man was born to New England grandees. I ask about his family. My parents were both college graduates, he says, a curious first observation from a novelist who doesnt care about class. His father Donald was an electrical engineer, his mother Elizabeth went to Wellesley College. She was clever and expected cleverness from her two sons.

As a boy, he was shy and compliant, and began to use the dice at 16. He was a procrastinator: So I would make a list of things to do in a day and the dice would choose which one I did first. Then he began to use the dice to force myself to do things I was too shy to do. If the dice chose it, then somehow that made it possible.

He says he didnt have a single original thought in his adolescence. He went to his fathers school, again showing how little originality I had, and studied electrical engineering, like his father. I cant believe how naturally and easily I was conforming to everything, Cockcroft says. His younger brother James, an expert in South American politics, was a rebel; even today, his website describes him as author, lecturer, revolutionary. But I was a total conformist, he says. I was intellectually dead until I was 20.

He also studied psychology and English literature. He worked nights in a psychiatric hospital, and considered being a lawyer. (I long to meet a dice lawyer.) The dice chose Ann for him. He was driving home from the hospital and saw two nurses. He got out his dice. If it was odd, he told himself, he would offer them a lift. One of them was Ann.

She looked like Rita Hayworth, and he fell in love with her immediately, applying to Columbia University to be close to her in Brooklyn. They married in 1956 and had three sons: Corby, Powers and Christopher, who has paranoid schizophrenia and still lives with them. Cockcroft avoided the draft to Korea because he had varicose veins: I hate to think what would have happened if I had gone into the military, he says. (The dice soldier.) Instead, he taught English literature at a series of colleges in America and beyond.

With Ann in 1956, minutes after proposing to her. Photograph: courtesy of George Cockcroft

He says he has no idea why he began writing. He read outsiders, and men who railed against belonging: Tolstoy, Kafka, Hemingway. His first attempt at fiction was about a young boy who is locked up in a psychiatric institution because he thinks he is Jesus Christ. He abandoned it after 80 pages, but one chapter featured a psychiatrist called Dr Luke Rhinehart. He was a minor character, Cockcroft says, but there he was.

The year he began writing The Dice Man, 1965, there was a crisis in the marriage. He and Ann were living in Mexico with James and his family. Ann was pregnant with their youngest son, and developed hepatitis. She was very frightened for herself, for the baby, Cockcroft says. She felt isolated, and felt I was somehow closer to my brother than her. She came back from Mexico very resentful of me, and frightened in a way she had never been before.

He was reading Zen and Sufism, which he describes as attacks on the self. Somehow writing the book and reading these philosophies enabled me to be detached from any bad places I was in, to not be enmeshed in them. He wrote slowly, 50 pages a year for five years. His previous writing had been laboured and self-conscious, but this was different. As soon as I began writing The Dice Man, he says, I felt I had found my natural voice. I didnt think of it that way at the time, but the book is about what makes human beings unhappy and how they can escape.

He admits the writing was psychoanalysis, a way of understanding, and processing, his brief estrangement from Ann. The Dice Man involves some of the things I could do if I could free myself from Ann. But the book went way beyond that. There is, for instance, much adulterous sex.

Lukes wife in the book, Lil, funny, sexy, a good mother, is something like Ann. He admits that the children are based on my own children. But he couldnt go as far as Luke. My dicing has always been very limited, he says. I was wise enough to know that I didnt want to risk my marriage by giving options to things that might ruin the marriage. I never gave an option that would hurt people.

Upstairs, above his and Anns bed, there is a painting of two Georges one good, one bad by Ann. Her paintings fill the house. I wasnt consciously angry, Cockcroft says, of the trouble in their marriage. Sad is closer than angry. I never get very unhappy. Every year that goes by, you realise how unimportant everything is. I dont think Ive asked much of life since I wrote The Dice Man. I was ambitious then. Ive mellowed. Pretty soon Ill be a liquid lying on the ground.

Above the couples bed hangs a painting by Ann of two Georges one good, one bad. Photograph: Reed Young for the Guardian

Is Luke your repressed self, I ask. Because, for all his wit, Luke Rhinehart is a raging man, and George Cockcroft is not. But he wont answer the question. Remember, he says, there is no single you. So that is a question I would not answer. Later, he does go further. Luke is the hard, cold version of George, he says, then adds: What I have come to love about the Luke of the novel is his willingness to be a fool, his willingness to laugh at himself.

He shows me an excerpt from his diary, dated 10 June 1969, written in Mallorca: I must finish the Dice Man novel. I know that if I open the novel and begin to read it, I, and it, will live, and my desire to work on it and complete it will bloom again. I am the Dice Man in a way I am no one else. It is the idea which my life has created. I am not good for a second one. I am not a professional writer. I am without talent in any way. But the theory of the dice man, the ironic spirit of his life, grows as naturally in my rocky soil as do boulders here along the rocky coast of Mallorca.

Cockcroft came across the journal three or four months ago and was startled: he doesnt remember feeling that way. Later, in a restaurant by the frozen lake, I ask if the description of Luke that opens the novel is him: I am a large man, with big butchers hands, great oak thighs, rock-jawed head and massive, thick-lens glasses. Im 6ft 4in and weigh close to 230lbs; I look like Clark Kent.

Id have to look at it again, Cockcroft says. Physically, its not me. I made him a much bigger man. Hes overweight.

Luke is overweight? Ann says. I dont remember that.

Thats how I always picture him, he says.

Ann replies: I always picture him like you.

***

When Cockcroft was a child, there was a calamity. His father developed cancer in his 30s. He decided he wasnt going to put himself and his family through any more pain, he says, and he called up his doctor and said he was going to shoot himself and to come over and handle things, and he shot himself. Its the longest single sentence Cockcroft utters. He was eight or nine at the time. He cant remember exactly. He says his mother greeted him at the door after school and said, Father is dead. His only memory, after that, is, going out to the garage and not crying and wondering if I should cry. He was not close to his mother. She was a Vermont puritan, and not a naturally warm person. Did you ask her what happened to your father? No, he says, and for a moment I can hear the compliant boy. I mean no.

Do you forgive him? I admire him, he says wonderingly, as if the question is ridiculous. But it was a savage act of separation; his father didnt say goodbye.

Cockcroft says he remembers almost nothing of his life before his fathers death. He shows me fragments of an autobiography he has not finished, because he has not solved the problem of writing a narrative by multiple selves.

Was our childhood so traumatic we cant face it? he writes, in the third person. Our brother, Jim, thinks so. Jim is three years younger than we are and he remembers a cruel father that used to whip him with a belt. We dont have a single memory of being beaten with a belt. Jim is unrepressed, remembers a cruel father; we are repressed, remember nothing. Saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. We have no painful memories pre-Dads death-day, nor any happy ones.

***

In 1969, while teaching in Mallorca, Cockcroft found a publisher for The Dice Man called Mike Franklin, and swiftly wrote the second half of the book. Franklin called it a near masterpiece and got a huge advance for the American edition.

It did badly in America, partly, Cockcroft thinks, because of a cover jacket featuring a naked woman lying on a bed. But it did better in Europe, particularly in England, Sweden, Denmark and now Spain, where it was for a time the most requested library book in Spanish universities.

No publisher asked for another novel, so he didnt write one. He fell into indolence; he was busy sailing and raising his children. Another example of my life of ambition, Cockcroft says, sarcastically. All through my 20s, I was fighting ambition. My mother had made me very ambitious to be successful at whatever I did, and I felt that was a sickness. I never wrote for money and I never consciously wrote for fame. The Dice Man was part of a lifelong process to get me to relax and enjoy things as they are, and not aspire to more than I have.

The film rights to The Dice Man were sold, and he wrote screenplays for a film that was never made. He and Ann travelled for years, often on boats; they smoked marijuana. He sank a catamaran in a storm in the Mediterranean, after Ann had prayed for three nights on deck while he apologised, precipitantly, for drowning their children. (They were picked up by a Scottish freighter 40 miles off the coast of Africa.)

The family settled in Canaan after following a Sufi cult to New York state. The Dice Man grew in fame, but Cockcroft didnt. He spent his money, and earned more. He discouraged any questions about his real self, and people rarely asked. They interviewed Luke Rhinehart and that was it, he says now. I wasnt being secretive so much as simply preferring to keep the two identities separate. Rhinehart allowed him to have a private life. Acquaintances in Canaan do not know he is the author of The Dice Man.

Cockcroft with his sons Powers (left) and Chris in 1972. Photograph: courtesy of George Cockcroft

He wrote books only when the mood, or the advance, came: White Wind, Black Rider; Whim; Long Voyage Back; The Book Of Est, a guidebook to a popular 70s cult; The Book Of The Die; and Naked Before The World, a novel alluded to in The Dice Man. Jesus Invades George is a very funny tale of George W Bush being possessed by Jesus Christ. He wrote The Search For The Dice Man, in which Luke ends up in a Japanese monastery, but it is the work of a sleeping writer: Luke barely appears and, when he does, he is a cipher.

In 2012, an email announcing his death was sent to 25 friends, apparently from Ann: It is our pleasure to inform you that Luke Rhinehart is dead. He very much wanted us to tell you this as soon as possible so you wouldnt be annoyed that he wasnt replying to your emails. But people were upset, and he later apologised for his thoughtlessness, blaming Luke. To pretend to die while sneakily lurking here and there in the darkest shadows is the lowest of the low. But we can expect no better from him.

Ask me about Invasion, he says now. He wants another roll; he is enjoying the attention. This latest book is full of his politics, which are the politics of Bernie Sanders; its tone is amused disgust, and it is very funny, if you can handle an alien protagonist who looks like a beachball, and whose beachball friend is called Molire.

I try to find a tactful way to ask him: do you mind that The Dice Man, your first book, is your best book? But my opinion doesnt bother him, because he cant agree. Right now, he says, using the multiple pronoun, we have no idea of the relative merits of our novels. At this moment, Invasion is liked very much by most of us, more than our previous books. Two years ago, we told people our favourite novel was Whim. After I finished writing Jesus Invades George, it was our favourite novel. If Invasion fails to sell, he says, he doesnt think it will bother him for more than a single afternoon.

At the end of my stay, I ask Cockcroft again about his father. He tells me he has nightmares about the garage attached to the house in which he grew up, in which he tried to weep after his fathers death. He has an image, he says hesitantly, too faint to be a memory, of a maid washing blood off the walls in the house, at the top of the stairs. I feel morbid, prodding him. He has already told me more than he has told any journalist, and he doesnt believe in cause and effect. He cannot see a connection between his fathers suicide and the creation of the Dice Man, so I stop.

But a few days later, after I have returned to England, he sends me an email. Last night I had a really remarkable dream, he writes, using the first person. For the first time in months, if not years, I was outside the house where my father committed suicide. I was walking over to our neighbours house, where contractors were arriving to do some sort of work that involved both the neighbours property and ours. I said with great confidence and authority in the direction of the contractors (not seen), I am George Cockcroft, the owner of this property. I think the subject line, in capital letters, is a joke at my expense. It says, Im CURED!

Invasion by Luke Rhinehart is published by Titan at 8.99.

Read more: http://bit.ly/2msMTKK

from Three days with The Dice Man: I never wrote for money or fame’

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'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

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'I completely lost it': the movie scenes that made our writers weep

From Toy Story 2 to Under the Skin, writers pick the cinematic moments that made them cry and explain why. Spoilers ahead

Aunt Lucys trip, Paddington 2

On the face of it, Paddington is a fairly broad kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, and so probably shouldnt make a grown human cry hot, salty tears. But that description ignores the fact that Paddington is a really, really well-made kids film franchise about the hijinks of a CGI bear, one that completely gets the pathos of its central character, a little lost immigrant searching for something resembling a family. Both films ably tug at the heartstrings, but the second film got me sniffling as early as 15 minutes in when Paddington imagines giving his only living relative, Aunt Lucy, a tour around London, something that in reality is impossible as shes stuck thousands of miles away in darkest Peru. When at the end of the film spoiler alert Aunt Lucy arrives on the Brown familys doorstep and she and Paddington hug, I completely, unapologetically lost it. Lord knows what surprises Paddington 3 has planned for my tear ducts. GM

When She Loved Me, Toy Story 2

Just before writing this, I put When She Loved Me from Toy Story 2 on YouTube once again, just to check. Yep. Just as always, I choke up, in the same abject, lip-wobbling, head-bowed way. It still has that terrible power.

When She Loved Me is the song written by Randy Newman and sung by the devastated toy cowgirl Jessie and in fact performed, beautifully, on the soundtrack by Canadian singer Sarah McLachlan. The song is Jessies way of telling Woody why she has grimly decided to submit to the airless world of the toy museum, because it is better than the inevitable heartbreak and delusion of loving a fickle human child. She reveals her anguish that her owner, Emily, has fallen out of love with her outgrown her, in fact. As Emily entered the world of adolescence, pop music and boys, Jessie was left under the bed and finally dumped.

When I first saw this scene and misled by the size disparity between toy and owner I thought it was a parable for a childs anxiety over being abandoned by the parent. But now that I am a parent I can see the truth which is completely the opposite way around. It is about the parents fear of being abandoned by the child: the terrible fear, actually the terrible certainty, that the kid one day wont want to play with you. They will grow up and want something else. This song is utterly devastating. It is modern cinemas equivalent of the Vesti La Giubba aria from Pagliacci the tragic clown smiling on the outside but crying on the inside. Im afraid to watch it too often. I dont want to break down over and over again. But I also want to preserve its power over me. PB

Ruths death, Fried Green Tomatoes

In many respects, Fried Green Tomatoes is not a movie for the modern age. It is a story about racism in the deep south told largely by way of eliciting our sympathies for wealthy white characters; it is a story about a lesbian relationship that had to slide its lesbian relationship in unnoticed, by presenting it as a very close friendship fulfilled by food fights, poker games and heads leaning meaningfully on shoulders. But I am deeply fond of this 1991 Sunday afternoon classic. Ive seen it more times than is healthy, and so I know exactly what is coming and when, and yet am still unable to resist the inevitable guttural sobbing that comes with the death scene.

There are plenty of teasers for it, too: Buddy on the train tracks, even Mrs Threadgoode talking about the death of her adult son. Nothing, however, can prepare the viewer for Ruth asking Idgie to tell her the old story about the frozen lake thats now somewhere over in Georgia. It doesnt so much pull on heartstrings as play a full symphony on them, and its devastating. As Sipsey puts it, a lady always knows when to leave. RN

The rooftop dance, Eat Pray Love

While I was repelled by the mere existence of the Eat Pray Love book, I found something strangely charming about its big-screen translation. It was a mixture of glossy food porn, glossy travel porn and glossy Julia Roberts emoting porn (she remains one of the best fake criers in Hollywood) all wrapped up in a rather unique tale of a woman trying to unshackle herself from the men in her life. But while that all provided mostly surface-level enjoyment, one scene cut deeper and the extent to which it cuts surprises me still.

As is often with the case with movie tears, these were tied to a real-world experience that had happened not long before I sat down to watch. I was dumped by a long-term boyfriend without much of an explanation and without any sort of warning. I was heartbroken and seeking some form of closure that was kept cruelly out of reach. I didnt understand why it had happened and it was the not knowing that felt harder than the break-up itself.

In the film, Roberts character has left her flighty husband and remains haunted by the heartbreak shes caused. On a rooftop in Delhi, a vision of him appears and they dance to Neil Youngs heart-grabbing Harvest Moon, the song that was supposed to accompany their first wedding dance. She reminds him that she did love him. He tells her he still loves and misses her. They cry and continue to dance. At the end, she tells him that it wont last forever, nothing does. Its a short scene but it hit me like a bus, it still does now. My tears are for the film but theyre also for something deeper: the sting of loving someone who stopped loving me and the ache of an ending I was never allowed in real life. BL

The thunderstorm, Click

Adam Sandler can make me cry harder than hes ever made me laugh, the true test of a clown. Yes, even in the underappreciated comedy Click about a dad who finds a magical remote control in the Beyond section of Bed Bath & Beyond.

Sandlers workaholic architect fast-forwards through the worst parts of his day the dull weeknight frozen dinners with his family, the repetitive arguments, the gross times everyone gets knocked out by the flu in order to get to his next promotion so he can buy his kids whatever they want. His plan doesnt go well, of course. But whats shocking is how gut-rippingly painful it is to see Sandler hit play on his life only to realize hes skipped past everything that matters. His bodys been present, the bills have been paid, but his emotional engagements been staticky a trade-off too many of us can understand.

In the climax, old man Sandler sobs in a thunderstorm as he arrives at his daughters wedding only to learn shed rather her stepdad walk her down the aisle, and his son has grown up to mimic his job-first, family-second example. I rarely cry at unavoidable tragedies where no ones at fault. My weakness is characters regretting choices they cant rewind. Click isnt Ingmar Bergman Sandler gets a happy ending but I barely saw his relief through the rainstorm on my face. AN

The courtroom, Kramer vs Kramer

By all accounts, Robert Bentons film Kramer vs Kramer skews heavily toward Dustin Hoffmans Ted, whose wife Joanna has left him and their six-year-old son Billy. Billy and Ted make french toast together, or argue about eating ice cream before dinner, or visit the nearby jungle gym. Were it not for Meryl Streep and the trenchant, intuitive way she humanizes a woman who, in the 70s, would have otherwise been made to seem mawkish and unstable Kramer vs Kramer might be just a schmaltzy panegyric on fatherhood.

But leave it to our greatest living actor to turn a film on its head with a single scene. You know the one: Joanna, during the custody hearing, is subjected to a string of sexist questions about her failure as a wife and a mother. When asked why shes seeking custody of Billy, she blinks three times, beginning the monologue Streep herself wrote in an effort to redeem her character, who she initially perceived to be an ogre, a princess, an ass.

Billys only seven years old. He needs me, she says, reciting the word need with a whispery uptick as she glances at her ex. Im not saying he doesnt need his father. But I really believe he needs me more. After catching her breath, she becomes more emphatic: I was his mommy for five and a half years. Since I was about Billys age when my parents got divorced, ergo, too young to understand or even care, Ive always been astonished and, by proxy, moved by how compassionately Streep plumbs the depths of Joannas truth. JN

The beach, Under the Skin

Little focuses the mind more effectively on human distress than the arrival of your own kids; scenes in films which I might once have snoozed through now induce boggle-eyed terror OH MY GOD, DONT LEAVE THAT BABY NEAR THAT COFFEE TABLE, IT HASNT GOT A CORNER PROTECTOR! But nothing has topped at least, not yet the scene in Under the Skin where Scarlett Johansson murders a swimmer and drags him off to eat him.

Its not the murder thats so epically upsetting, though its gruesome enough: Johansson, playing an alien visitor permanently on the lookout for human nutrients, simply bangs him over the head with a large stone as he lies prone and exhausted on the beach. Its what goes on in the background that is so awful. A woman goes into the water to try and rescue her drowning dog, and her male partner instinctively rushes in after her, leaving their toddler alone high on the shore. Johanssons chum the only other adult on this lonely Scottish beach goes to help too.

With the speed of falling dominoes, a nice little day out unravels: the mother and father are swept away to who knows where, and the alien takes her chance to acquire their would-be rescuer as a food source. Meanwhile, the suddenly abandoned kid is shrieking in terror as the night closes in. Another, less astute film-maker, might cap the scene with the alien scooping the kid up and adding him to her dinner menu, but what Glazer contrives is absolutely horrifying. Johansson-alien simply ignores it, and leaves it alone. The film moves on, this incident consigned to the past.

I have to confess I was absolutely blindsided by the scene; mostly, I think, because of the its sheer unexpectedness. I think I was gripped by a kind of internal hysteria: shock, hyperventilation, a feeling the back of my head might explode. (I cant say I actually cried though I may have, but in the confusion I cant really remember.) I certainly had to hold on to the seat to stop myself bolting out of the cinema then and there. I am aware theres a some degree of self-indulgence here: the fact that my daughter was about the same age as the kid in the film undoubtedly super-sensitised my reactions. But everyone has their weak spot; this is very much mine. AP

The birth, Cheaper by the Dozen 2

Cheaper by the Dozen 2, if you havent seen it you probably havent, why would you have? is the sequel to the remake of family comedy Cheaper by the Dozen, and Im sure it was made because Steve Martin, the star of the franchise, needed to pay his mortgage. The main gist of the movie is that Martin and his wife, played by Bonnie Hunt, have 12 children who get into various japes. Its asinine. But during a time in my life when I was making a lot of transatlantic flights, Cheaper By the Dozen 2 was always an option on the British Airways seatback televisions, and one day I found, because of the frequency of my flights, I had watched all of the other films.

What choice did I have? At the climactic scene, where the oldest daughter, played by Piper Perabo, gives birth, and then names the baby after her father because he has shown her that there is no way to be a perfect parent, but a million ways to be a really good one, I cried so much the man sitting next to me regarded me with what appeared to be real concern. There may have not been enough cocktail napkins on the whole plane to dry my tears. Was it the recycled air? Was it the two miniature bottles of white wine? Or was it that a joyful childbirth scene can warm the cockles of even the coldest of hearts? JHE

The accidental reunion, Manchester by the Sea

Weve got a real talent for repression back in Massachusetts. Kenneth Lonergans searing Manchester by the Sea plays out a 15-minute drive from my childhood home and, true to life, the characters all struggle to articulate the perfect storms of emotion raging within them.

When Lee (Casey Affleck) has a chance encounter with his ex-wife Randi (Michelle Williams), the shared history between them is literally unspeakable. They sputter out fragments of sentences that act as a shorthand for vast reservoirs of guilt and self-loathing they cant bear to express, and because they know one another so intimately, they can intuit all the meaning they have to. Theyve both shoved a lot deep down inside just so they can look at themselves in the mirror, and when in the presence of the only other person on the planet who understands what theyve been through, some of it has to come out. Randi does most of the talking, inviting Lee to lunch so they can get some closure, and he ends the conversation by walking away. Shes ready to face her past and be fully present in the new life shes built for herself. Lee, a North Shore boy born and bred, feels more comfortable starting a bar fight as his form of therapy. CB

The hotel, Unrelated

Joanna Hoggs first film, Unrelated, has had something of a second life on account of being the debut of Tom Hiddleston, and set during a Tuscan summer, which means swimming pool, which means toplessness, and lots of it. Its nice to imagine the Loki-lovers streaming this masterpiece of English upper-middle-class excruciation. As its ending shows, specificity is no barrier to emotional oomph.

The story sees a woman in her early 40s, Anna (Kathryn Worth), holidaying with old friends and their teenage children. She finds she prefers the company of the kids, especially the charming Oakley (Hiddleston, then 26, playing eight years younger). The holiday implodes. Anna goes to stay at a grim airport hotel. Her friend visits, crossly wanting to know whats behind her behaviour. Anna explains that, quite recently, she thought she was pregnant but no, in fact, it was an early menopause. Shell never be able to have children. She sobs and bends double on the bed. It is shot in one take, from the middle distance, acted with a banal frankness which feels like eavesdropping.

When I saw it a decade back, it floored me: a twist I hadnt foreseen, a pain I could only imagine. A few years ago, I began consciously avoiding the film, fearful a similar fate awaited me. Now I can safely watch it again or, I thought I could, but Hogg is much too superb and mysterious a film-maker for that. It isnt simply the information which is terrible, it is the dreadful catharsis of its expression, coming after so much obfuscation. The stifle has gone; instead there is the most awful sadness. Buttoning up is often the bravest way. CS

Read more: http://www.theguardian.com/us