#this brings back memories of having a panic attack at the movie theater while my little sister tried to calm me down ->

[cakeyouareoh]

SUPERMAN & LOIS 3x11 - "Complications"

[freddyfreebat]

Jack Dylan Grazer Discovers Who He Is in Luca Guadagnino's “We Are Who We Are”

After supporting roles in the It and Shazam!, the young actor shifts gears with his turn as a capricious army brat in the Call Me By Your Name director's new HBO series.

by Iana Murray / Photography by Nik Antonio  —  September 14, 2020

A few years ago, Jack Dylan Grazer took a trip to the movie theater. He was in Toronto and it was one of his days off from filming Shazam!, the DC comedy in which he plays the shape-shifting hero’s foster brother. He decided to watch Call Me By Your Name, and he immediately fell for it. Grazer took note of the director’s name that appeared in the credits—Luca Guadagnino—and turned to his mother.

“I want to work with him,” he told her. With eerie prescience, she assured him: “You will.”

Whether Grazer, now 17, has a knack for manifestation, or it was all just happenstance, his wish came true in the form of We Are Who We Are, Guadagnino’s coming of age drama which follows a group of army brats living on an American military base in Italy. Thematically, the show is something of a spiritual successor to Call Me By Your Name: Grazer plays Fraser, a tempestuous 14-year-old with a pair of headphones constantly plugged in his ears. He’s the new arrival at the base with his mothers (Chloë Sevigny and Alice Braga), and quickly forms a deep bond with his neighbour, Caitlin (Jordan Kristine Seamon), as they both wrestle with their sexuality and identity in the midst of domestic troubles and teenage debauchery.

“He’s an enigma to himself,” Grazer says of his character. “He doesn’t really understand a lot of the things he does but he’s so forthright so he convinces himself that he knows everything. He feels like other people don’t deserve his intelligence. But he’s also very volatile and aggressive at times, and not because he’s coming from an angry place but because he’s constantly questioning who he is.”

If Fraser is just beginning his coming of age when we first meet him, Grazer is inching closer to the end. Starring in enormous blockbusters including IT, he became the Loser Club’s resident hypochondriac at age 12 and a superhero’s sidekick by 15. His films have grossed a combined total of over $1.5 billion. Suddenly the stakes are multiplied tenfold during what are ostensibly, and horrifyingly, the most awkward years of your life. Every misstep is now being monitored, examined through a microscope of millions. (See: His 3.8 million fans on Instagram, to say nothing of the countless stan accounts.) Child fame is a disarming transaction like that: a stable career and all the other perks of being a celebrity, but at the cost of normalcy. That unalleviating pressure forces a kid to mature fast.

Grazer is acutely aware of this fact, admitting outright that he’s “not a normal person.” But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I became 70 when I was 7!” he laughs. “I don’t know if I really had much of a childhood. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to grow up really fast.”

Nevertheless, he’s still 17. When we meet over Zoom, his shoulder length curls are damp and disheveled (he just got out of the shower), his black painted fingernails contrast with his brightly-lit, white bedroom as he rests his face on his hand. It’s a Saturday morning and he looks tired: It’s his first week back at school, which has traded classrooms for hours of video calls reminiscent of the one we’re currently on. “It feels like the days are shorter because the teachers don’t want to torture their students by keeping them on a computer for six hours a day,” he tells me. “You do miss the social aspect of being at school.”

If you were to judge Grazer by what’s out there on the internet, you’d expect an anarchic and relentless bundle of energy. A quick YouTube search brings up results like “jack dylan grazer being a drama queen” and “jack dylan grazer being chaotic in interviews for 4 and a half minutes straight.” He trolled a YouTube gamer on Instagram Live. His TikToks are inscrutable.

But here, he’s incredibly earnest, as he excitedly talks about his skateboarding hobby (a skill he picked up after auditioning for Mid90s) and his attempts to learn the flute (“I need to learn how to read sheet music, but it’s like reading Hebrew!”). He’s calm and thoughtful, as if this project we’re discussing requires a shift in sensibility.

For Grazer, acting had always simply been fun. While other kids might take up a sport or get hooked on video games, he performed in musical theater with the Adderley School because he “just wanted to play.” His roles so far have been reflective of his carefree approach to the job: Up until now, he’s portrayed best friends with biting one-liners, or the younger version of the protagonist in a flashback. IT is a prime example of both. In the horror franchise, Grazer plays a neurotic germaphobe running from a fear-eating clown, but in reality, the film felt like “summer camp.” Both films never felt like work; he just learned his lines and got to hang out on extravagant sets with his best friends. Likewise, school amounted to being pulled off set by a teacher in between takes to cram in the mandatory hours.

But with We Are Who We Are, he steps into his first leading role, one that required him to convey longing and confusion through Elio-like physicality and subtext. It’s abnormal to talk about the show as a turning point for an actor who isn’t even a legal adult yet, but Grazer explains that the show required him to radically change his approach to acting. He spent six months in Italy (“It felt like I was in Call Me By Your Name.”) and built up the character beyond what was on the page in collaboration with Guadagnino. “His philosophy is that we know our characters better than anyone else—even the writers—because we are the characters essentially,” he explains.

In many ways, Grazer absorbed that philosophy entirely. He describes the experience less as a performance and more like a “rebirth”—perhaps even an attempt at method acting. Over those months in Italy, the distinctions between actor and character gradually became indistinguishable. “I had no other choice but to act and surrender to Fraser entirely and throw Jack Dylan Grazer out the window,” he says. “I would go out and get a coffee as Fraser and walk like Fraser. That was just me trying to get into [character], but then I slipped at some point and just became Fraser.”

One day on set, he looked at himself in the mirror, and the hardened kid standing there with a bleach-blond dye job and oversized shorts was unrecognizable to him. He could only see Fraser. While talking about his character, he seems to unintentionally switch pronouns, from “he” to “I”, as if the two still remain one and the same.

The process was so transformative that it forced him to re-evaluate himself entirely. “I never really struggled with identity before,” Grazer tells me. “But I think the show opened up my eyes to question myself. Being Fraser forced me to question what I wanted and what I stood for and what I believed in. At some points, the show bled into reality.”

When asked how he has changed, he takes a pause and a pensive swivel in his armchair, unsure of how to answer. “I think I was more ignorant before I did the show,” he says, and he leaves it at that.

Coming of agers are a particularly well-trodden genre, but there’s a naturalistic, raw energy to We Are Who We Are that is distinctive from what we’ve seen before. Each character quietly struggles with their own problems and growing pains—for Fraser, it’s his sexuality. Caught in a fraught relationship with his lesbian mother and an infatuation with another man, his story doesn’t tick off the familiar beats. His personal discovery is instead internal and intimate. "I think every single person born as a boy has this guard. It’s this guard that they don’t even realize they have, where they’re initially like, ‘Being gay? I could never.’ But we’re all born as humans who are attracted to whatever we’re attracted to," he says. "I think that’s how Fraser interprets it as well. Yes, he’s reserved and nervous about it in the beginning because he’s unlocking this new idea for himself. He’s figuring it out, and that’s what you see in the show: him coming to terms with this idea."

As our conversation winds to a close, I ask him if Martin Scorsese ever visited the set—his daughter, Francesca, plays the confident cool girl of the show’s teen cohort���and his eyes widen. “That was actually a really stressful day,” he divulges. Still, he revels in the memory, speaking so fast it’s like someone has put him on 2.5x speed as he shows off his impersonation of Guadagnino. The director was so nervous about Scorsese’s presence that production halted that day.

“Luca was like, ‘I cannot do this today because Martin Scorsese is on my set. I don’t know what to do, this is not good for me. I will have a panic attack before the day ends,’” Grazer says in his best Italian accent. “It’s like if you’re a painter and Van Gogh shows up.” 

Admittedly, Grazer is also a self-proclaimed superfan of the Wolf of Wall Street director, and afterwards, he got to spend several days with his idol, as they went on lavish restaurant outings in Italy and talked about anything and everything.

He takes a second to compose himself. A giddy, Cheshire cat smile spreads across his face. The kid in him comes flooding back.

“...Oh my god!” he yells. “I met Martin Scorsese!”

[sneezy-cheeseloaf]

recounting the entire avengers: endgame movie, which i only saw once when it came out, from memory

because i just took the SAT and i want to do anything except think about that so get ready for a fun ride full of holes and my reenactments of scenes and quotes that i remember from however many years it’s been now since endgame came out. buckle the fuckle up

movie opens, clint’s whole ass family fucking dies. cue killing spree fueled by grief and anger. HashTag Relatable

tony is floating through space with nebula and teaching her how to play paper football

holy shit is this how tony dies

“pep” ouc h

oh hey he’s home, dope

The Gang (tm) learns where thanos’s farm is somehow i can’t really remember

“perhaps i judged you too harshly”

“???? thor????” “what? i went for the head”

“five” five what?? days?? weeks??? months???? oh boy i can’t wait to find ou- “years later” HUH???????

steve looks the exact same, so i guess he kept up that workout schedule even through the snap. i mean good for him honestly

and is also running a talk therapy group like sam did

a single smidgen of gay representation but it’s a good start ig

i don’t really remember what everyone else was doing, i just know that tony and pep have morgan now but idk if that gets revealed now or later

the only reason we had a movie is because of a rat. everyone say thank you to Rat for releasing scott lang, please. round of applause

scott’s daughter is all grown up and catch me sobbing over the fact that he wasn’t there to see it

somewhere in here nat is crying and eating a sandwich and honestly girl same

“hey!!! it’s me!!!! scott lang!!! ant man???? also what the hell happened???? lemme IN”

cue scott lang having a single brain cell and bringing up time travel. i think it was him that proposed the idea. maybe not. but imma give him credit

oh yeah bruce and hulk are besties now and bruce is just permanently Like That

and cue everyone being shook at the idea of time travel

time to go see Science Man at his house on the lake

“i wish you had come for anything else.” ouch

gang leaves dejectedly

peter. that’s it. and suddenly tony is all hands on deck

cue science mumbo jumbo in the middle of the night while he eats something out of a bag that i can’t remember

“shit!!” “sHiT!!!” “NO”

“i love you 3000″

Science Man reveals that he has, indeed cracked the code to literal time travel

cue nat, the only person with an umbrella, going to find clint who is busy with murder, as he does

“don’t do that. don’t give me home” stfu budapest man and get in the car.

thor has. enlargened. and is now playing fortnight with korg as a means to cope with what happened plus losing loki, as i think we all would

The Gang is back together and working (surprisingly) coordinately and throwing ideas around and it’s actually very cute. and it makes my heart very happy. and i want to cry every time i think about it because we all know what comes next

scott’s taco gets blown away. bruce gives him another. all is well in the world

and in this exhibit we see the only brain cell in the whole group, which is being used by rhodey at all times

“why don’t we just,,,, (choking motion)” “to a BABY???”

during the time tests someone gets reverted to a baby but i don’t remember who and it’s highkey disturbing

“i consider this an absolute win!!”

cue slo mo walk with the cool white time suits that everyone looks so good in

“see you in a minute” that smile. she looks so happy. sobbing

i think it’s in here that all the color go through steve’s eyes, so let’s just take a minute to acknowledge how pretty he is

“just for the record, that suit did nothing for your ass.” “i don’t remember asking you to look”

“that’s america’s ass.” yes it is scott you’re absolutely right

“i cOuLd dO tHiS aLL dAy” “yeah i knoOoOW”

time for tony to give tony a heart attack and then just stare in what i can only assume is amusement. i’m pretty sure that comes after america’s ass but maybe not

somewhere in here steve is just staring at peggy through blinds and it’s sad when you see it but when you think about it afterwards, it’s so funny for no reason

time to get whacked by a very angry hulk who was not allowed to use the elevator

“NO STAIRS”

tony goes flying. so does the tesseract. loki, in handcuffs, is like “oh bet this is mine now” and. Leaves.

i’m pretty sure it’s bruce who goes and gets schooled by The Ancient One on the multiverse, and i say it’s bruce because i think he’s the only one out of The Gang who could ever actually wrap his head around it

i don’t remember exactly how they get the tesseract but they do

thor and rocket are in asgard and thor has a panic attack, as I think we all would if we had to talk to our dead mother and pretend like we don't know what's going to happen

and remember kids, slapping someone is not the way to handle a panic attack. anyways

a mother always knows

"i'm still worthy!!!!" you always were, thor. you never stopped being worthy

and we have our hammer back

cue sobbing on vormir

“clint. it’s ok. it’s ok.” that smile.

nat’s fucking dead and i’m fucking dead inside let’s keep this party goin

other stones are recovered and i don’t really remember how but hey we got all six

“where’s nat?” cue more sobbing from me and from clint as you can see each and every team member’s heart drop to the fucking floor. especially steve

yeah maybe we’re doing this for half the universe and all the people we lost, but mostly for nat now

tony’s makeshift infinity gauntlet has entered the chat

Green Man is the only one who can physically take the power of the stones, so the fate of literally everything they have ever done up to this point is on him

snap rest in peace bruce’s arm

cue every single person in the theater holding their breath

“guys. it worked.”

cue explosion as their facility gets bombed and i am terrified that it has killed the entire gang

but it obviously has not and i am once again a Class A Idiot

i can't remember if it’s steve or tony who wakes up first but one shakes the other awake and is like “get the fuck up bitch idk what just happened but we got a problem”

everyone is mostly fine. but they’re all alive and that’s what matters

and now we have the setting for the entire rest of the movie basically

oh hey thanos. that’s uh. that’s a big army you got there

i don’t really remember everything that happened with The Past thanos, gamora, and nebula but i remember that gamora once again sees what a twat her adoptive father is and is like “oh hell na”

cue the gang fighting for their lives against Past thanos. literally

oh shit thor’s about to be killed????

OH MY GOD HE HAS THE HAMMER

cue the theater screaming as they should

hell yeah. bonk that giant space grape with the god of thunder’s hammer. you go steve. and look like a badass doing it as you should

shit’s still fucked and they eventually get their asses handed to them one by one

somewhere in here the shield breaks just like we saw in age of ultron. and like damn bro i liked that thing

steve stands up by himself because bitch. you cant kill him unless he says so. he dies on his own terms. he didn’t live for over a fucking century to die like this

our mans is standing up against a whole ass army knowing full well that he can’t win but damn if he aint ready to try

“ok listen strange. you have to open the portal to his left. his LEFT. you hear me???”

“steve. STEVE. on your left.”

cue the most goosebump-inducing scene that i have ever seen and probably will ever see. i would do anything to see that scene for the first time again. that feeling was like nothing i’ve ever experienced

the amazing symphonics are NOT helping my already-about-to-explode-from-excitement heart

now the gang’s ALL here. and we all cry because all of our peeps are back from the dead and we all missed them and highkey grieved for them after infinity war

i can’t remember if steve actually sees bucky yet but i think he does and i wanted to cry on the spot because not only did i miss bucky but man did i just want them to see each other again

cue sick pan of the whole ass marvel roster like smash ultimate, including howard duck somewhere in there

PETER OUR BOY SWINGIN ON IN

“AVENGERS. assemble.” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

but we all know damn well that not a single person could hear him whisper that shit. like steve bro speak up a little

and the battle for the ages commences

we get to see all our favorite boys are girls fuck shit up and it’s absolutely incredible. wow it really feels like someone’s missing who could that be.

this is now a very elaborate game of keepaway

“catch” “Catch” “CATCH “CATCH”

“hey queens” he remembered. catch me cryin

“hey peter. got somethin for me?” god i love her. flew through a whole ass spaceship. no stoppin her

t'challa remembers clint's name. he did care

oh yeah scott is fucking humongous again, but third time’s the charm ig. maybe he won't pass the fuck out this time

somewhere in here, strange starts holding like. an entire ocean back and i dont really remember where it came from

we get a whole segment of marvel women kicking ass and taking names and i think i just need to take a minute. WE collectively need to take a minute

carol flies straight through a spaceship and everyone is like ???? hello????? where have you been?????????

carol gets literally headbutted by thanos and doesnt move a fucking inch. and that look of murder in her eyes. she could tell me to walk into a pit of lava and i would not question it. the power

“launch the missiles!!!” “but sir, our army-” “DO IT”

damn thanos our expectations for you were low but holy fuck

somewhere in here i think petter quill sees Past gamora and is like gamora???? and she like kicks him in the balls or somethin and is like “this is the ones i picked?????”

the fight continues and honestly a lot of it’s a blur but damn was it not the coolest thing i’ve ever seen. 

cue strange knowing exactly how this was gonna go down, and holding up a single finger

i dont think ive ever seen that look on tony's face before

oh shit thanos has the gauntlet and all the stones. fuck.

wait holdup that gauntlet looks a little funky

WAIT HOLDUP

“i am inevitable”

“and i. am iron man.”

the theater, once again holds its breath

all is lowkey calm and everyone is shook

thanos’s entire army slowly fades away. including one of those big worm things that almost eats (i think it was) rocket but like. dusts right as it hits the ground and is a really cool shot

and thanos sits down on a rock. and finally is gone. and it's so cathartic

oh joyous day!! they’ve won!! they’ve done it!!! wait holdup where’s tony. i remember what happened to bruce where the fuck is tony

wait

wait hold on

wait hold on a minute

“we did it. we won, mr stark. we won. please, mr stark”

“pep.”

“it’s ok. you can rest. you can rest.”

i have officially passed away and am a sobbing mess. you can’t do this to me. he’s gonna come back. there’s no way. tony stark doesn’t die. no.

this is a fucking funeral. i am going to combust into tears

“proof that tony stark has a heart”

i just wanted him to be able to see morgan grow up.

but him and nat are eating shawarma together in the sky now.

“i’m recording this in case something goes wrong, which it won’t.”

“i love you 3000.”

oh we’re still rolling. oh we don’t even get a minute to process

steve is leaving??? wait holdup we cant lose both. no

“are you sure about this?” “i have to”

“i’m with you til the end of the line” so that was a fucking lie

but steve deserves to do what makes him happy. so i can’t be too mad. actually, nah i aint even mad i’m just sad

bucky looks so dejected. so sad. someone please give him a hug. he desperately needs it

oh hey steve. but you’re old now. hey then, grandpa. how did you. get there

buck and sam go talk to him as they should

“you wanna talk about her?” “no, i don’t think i will”

“how does it feel?” “like it belongs to someone else”

sam has officially inhered the shield, and by extension, his very own bucky barnes. it’s a packaged deal

clint’s got his family back. and they can finally finish their picnic or whatever they were doing at the beginning of the movies

and steve finally got that dance. finally. and he looks so happy. so content.

and that’s about all i remember

i have not watched endgame since i saw it in theaters when it came out because i absolutely do not have the emotional stability to do it again. but damn the disney plus shows have been bangin

i hope you enjoyed the ride, thank you for joining me in my. whatever the fuck this is

[thelegendofclarke]

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking.   He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

Continue reading below or on Ao3...

“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say ��Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask. 

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.

It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.

I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.
 


Best,
 Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake
                            Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.


On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.



Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

[mylifeasatransferstudent]

Where to Begin?

CW: Suicidal thoughts/ contemplations/ plans, sexual abuse/ some strong language/ honestly if you’re my family you probably don’t want to read this

In order to explain where I am today—physically and mentally—I need to set up an understanding of what exactly lead me to where I am today.

When I was a freshman in high school, I was hospitalized for my mental health. I didn’t know why, but I was suicidal and spent 14? days in the hospital where I was prescribed Prozac. I was diagnosed with Major Depression Disorder and General Anxiety Disorder, on top of my preexisting ADHD.

At the time I just said all of my mental health issues were due to the fact that I was adjusting to the new circumstances of my home life: My parents were divorced; my mom had just moved to Georgia to be with her boyfriend; my grandmother moved as well but to Central California to be with my cousins; and the cherry on top had been the fact that 9 people (only 4 of which were my kin, at least 2 were drug addicts) were now living in my childhood home, a four-bedroom and two-bathroom house. It was old (I think it was built in the 70s). We also seemed to be running an animal shelter (5 dogs and 3 cats. Two of the cats were not spayed and had litters at the same time so I think at one point we had 9 total cats). No one, myself included, seemed to care about the cleanliness of the house; however, when I was stressed and life seemed like too much to bare, I would clean which was the only time any cleaning would get done.

So yeah that seemed like a good enough reason to want to die.

 I got out of the hospital sometime after Valentine’s Day and I went back to school. I seriously can’t clearly remember anything that happened while I was on Prozac. It’s all fuzzy like a movie I watched only one time and I was drunk when I watched it. I have only one fairly clear memory from this time:

I was in my first hour class, Physical Science (which I think was my favorite class freshman year) and my teacher was talking and I could see his mouth move but I could not comprehend anything he said. It was like he was an adult in Charlie Brown. The bell rang and I couldn’t move. One of my classmates nudged me and I awoke from my daze to a puddle of drool on my notebook.

You see 14 days isn’t enough time to see how your body reacts to a new drug plus a hospital does not have the same stimuli as a classroom. I was given a drug and I could not see a doctor to alter my meds. Everyone on my insurance was not accepting new patients, but I could not take the Prozac anymore. Fuck America’s mental health care system. My dad saw how much worse off I was on the Prozac that he weened me off of it and I had to learn to cope on my own.

I failed 3 classes that year.

 Sophomore year, my home life hadn’t improved much and my eldest brother went to rehab. That took an emotional toll. Especially the “family week” which was toward the end and we set boundaries with each other and learned what the signs of relapse are. Each family member had to write a letter “When you do drugs it makes me feel like…if you continue to do drugs I will…if you steal from me…if you lie to me..” things like that to set boundaries on both sides. Now really all I knew was that my brother had sold my Zune and a few other things that were mine, so I just had to say don’t steal from me. When he read the letter he had wrote to me he looked me in the eyes and said, “You will not bring up anything I have done to you. If you do I will end the conversation then and there and walk away.”

I felt a lump form in my throat and eyes began to water. I just nodded and held back the tears. I knew I wasn’t wrong this whole time; I knew I wasn’t sick; I knew I hadn’t imagined it. He knew. He remembers. But for now that was all I got.

He was released, went into a ¾ home, relapsed, repeat. Now he’s been sober for a couple of years I think. Good for him.

 Junior year I think was the most uneventful year as far as my mental health goes. I grew closer to friends and really it was a good year.

 Senior year I took on more responsibility and was 2nd VP of JCL. My depression reared its ugly head. I was suicidal again. I had panic attacks almost daily and my dad would check me out of class, so I almost always missed my 7th hour which was Pre Cal. I was horrible at 2nd VPing and the other JCL officers decided to take action.

They wrote a letter and gave it to our Latin teacher and she read it to me. I cried and after my Latin class was over I ran into the restroom and sobbed. I thought I was going to throw up from crying so much. The bell rang for my English class to begin and I hugged the toilet. I began to calm down but even so I hated myself for being so weak I couldn’t handle any form of criticism. I thought about the scissors I had in my backpack. It would be so easy I thought. So easy and then I would have to worry about anything anymore. Weakness isn’t a problem when you’re dead. When you’re suicidal, this is the logic that your brain wants to follow, but you can’t let it. Find something to act as an anchor. People always say live for yourself, but when your self-worth is less than a penny, that seems like a dumb argument. What I wanted to live for I really didn’t know. But I knew I didn’t want to die where my best friend could be the one to find the body and her class was right across the hall. So I sent my dad a text to come get me and he did.

All of this is to say: I didn’t apply to any colleges because I didn’t know if I was going to be alive at the end of senior year.

By the way I failed 2 classes senior year. Still graduated class of 2014.

Fall of 2014 my dad and I move to Houston for his job and because I wasn’t staying at that house. Spring of 2015 I start as a Theater Major at a community college. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do but I knew I liked acting. Summer I work at a Girl Scout camp. Fall 2015 I had a problem getting registered for class, so took semester off and did a community play “Guards! Guards!” Spring 2016 I do just some basics at school and change my major to math. That summer I returned to camp then that fall go back to school and get a job at Space Center Houston. Dec 2018 I got my Associates in Mathematics.

At some point during all of this and I’m leaning more toward late ‘15 early ’16 I went to visit my grandparents. My brother was living with them. He says he needs to talk to me so we go outside.

He said he had done somethings to me a brother never should. He apologized. He said drugs aren’t an excuse for what he’s done. He said that someone had done it to him so he thought it was okay to do the same.

I was stunned into silence—just like when he was in rehab setting boundaries. Everything came flooding back. It had happened when I was still very young, I know I was somewhere between 10 because I hadn’t started my period yet and that was at 11 and he was still in school (he was a dropout). He performed oral sex on me and made me reciprocate. I had no idea what was happening but I knew it was wrong. I think it may have happened more than once, but I know that this set a foundation for my anxiety and my inability to say no or speak up to defend myself. I was petrified when I told one of his friends what he had done to me and he asked me to do the same for him. Then he went bragging to my brother about it and my brother started to fight him and yell racial slurs saying he never wanted to see him around our house again and that was my fault. They had a falling out because of me.

My parents said that any girl who does exactly what she’s asked in a sexual context, who doesn’t put up a fight, has no respect for herself. If you don’t respect yourself no one else would either. My parents didn’t respect me then, and if I told them, I knew they would blame me for having no self-respect. So I ignored it. Pretended like it never happened. I convinced myself that I had made it up. I was sick and disgusting for imagining these things. For years, even after rehab, I thought it was all in my head. He was always my favorite brother. I always wanted to do what he did. He played baseball, I signed up for T-ball; he joined swim team, so did I; he was a goalie, I became one too. And I kept up that illusion.

To this day I have only had a less than five minute conversation with him about what he did and that was his “apology” which was just another one of his 12-steps. I feel like it wasn’t even real.

 So here we are now 2019. September 6th is my three year anniversary at Space Center Houston. And I have transferred to a 4-year school to get my bachelor’s in Geology. I have moved to Shreveport. 

From here on out this blog is going to be about what I think of as I’m getting use to living on my own in a city that I’m only vaguely familiar with as a new transfer student who is nearly 24 years old.  

[dustinbi]

Puppy love

Ships: Stenbrough

Warnings: PTSD, OCD panic attack, and brief mention of death

Words:1,482

Notes: Hopefully you guys like it because I spent 2 weeks on this

One night in late April during their junior year after a date at a breakfast diner that stays open until 10pm. Stan’s hand brushed against bills. They had been dating for almost a month now and Stan could say it was one of the best things that has ever happened to him. Bill had asked him during a study session for the upcoming SATs.

“I asked Mrs. Baker if I could go over the limited amount of words for our micro fictions that are only 500 words. Like how am I supposed to show characters, ha-v-ve a plot, and do-o a plot twist in 500 words. But she sa-a-id no-o-o a-n-n-nd I-I ho-o-oly sh-hh,” Bill almost yelled out the last words because with each crumpled and broken word he got angrier and angrier.

“I know big bill, it’s perfectly fine. How about we talk about our next date?” Stan asked politely. He had known about how Bill’s stutter made him feel since their second sleepover. But as they got older their sleepovers got darker with them sharing their insecurities and the shared trauma from that one fated summer.

“Well we are walking towards my house but yours is a little further so I’ll juh-huh-st walk you the-e-ere and we are go-o-ing to the park and see if that im-m-port-t-ant bird is th-h-here,” Bill had known he would live with this stutter but he had been going to speech therapy lately to fix that. Besides the therapist had told him when he got angry or stressed it got worse so he should stay away from those type of situations. So good bird watching was the go to when one of them was stressed. The speech therapy even if it was still in school and during his free period it was one of the only good things his parents have done for him since Georgie died.

“Do you feel that? I think it’s sprinkling,” Stan knew he would be a little stressed but since he took his pills in the afternoon today he would fair better with his OCD but still it’s was nice for his friends to accommodate. But still thinking how of the rain would put little mismatched little damp spots on his freshly washed jeans made him want to pull at his hair which he hasn’t done in months but still if it got bad he would have to startup the regular visits with his doctor again.

“It’s not too bad it’s just drizzling,” Bill said doing a dopey smile at completing the sentence without stuttering.

But right as he said that it started to pour. It was almost comical at how fast and how much rain came down after those words had left his lips. But it wasn’t funny how they were only in jeans a t shirt and light jacket but only a cardigan for Stan’s case. Bill grabbed Stan’s hand and put his jacket around his shoulders. Even though it had been a month Stan couldn’t get over how perfect his boyfriend was

“I’ll ra-ace you to my hou-use” Bill said using his trademark smile that made everyone swoon after that made him a heartthrob to everyone.(Well mostly Stan). and they ran to Bill’s house laughing and holding hands so it wasn’t much of a race. The lighting and thunder were almost as loud as Stan’s heart from how fast it was beating. It was mostly from the running but he could say part of it was from how beautiful Bill looked even when he looked soaked to the core from the rain. How his t shirt now hung loosely from him and how it was stretching with the weight of the water. And how his golden red hair was sticking to his face and how his checks were red and it made his few freckles that he still had from his childhood pop. And it didn’t help that Stan could see some of his muscles from the see thoroughness of the shirt. Oh god teenage hormones were making his head turn to mush.

Once Bill had opened up his house he could get a good look at Stan. Stan wasn’t on any hardcore muscle building sports that didn’t mean it didn’t exist but it was mostly in his legs. His hair was started to curl up from the rain washing out most of the gel but still some of it stuck to his face and framed it making it more defined with his cheekbones. And Stan seemed so perfect in that moment Bill couldn’t help but kiss him and Stan’s tan skin had seemed to flush at the wonderful loving kiss.

“Do you want to call your parents while I throw your clothes in the wash and take a shower?” Bill asked knowing that Stan’s somewhat bliss would end when he realized exactly what kind of state he was in.

“Thanks Bill,” Stan said after a bit striping down somewhat so most of his clothes would be dry by tomorrow.

——-

Stan stepped out of the steaming shower. Don’t look in the mirror she’ll be there. After the day in sewers Stan couldn’t bring himself to look into mirrors or she’ll be there standing behind him her teeth poking out and her hands almost around his neck. Stop thinking about it or you’ll start to scratch. And IT will win. My face hurts. It hurts so much. The warmth of my blood is the only thing warm in that disgusting place. The damp sewers, the razor sharp teeth, those bright lights, and the coldness of them leaving me. Leaving me, they’re not your friends they don’t care, they left you, they aren’t you-

A knock from outside of the door wakes Stan up from his memories.

“My parents aren’t going to be be home until thursday so it doesn’t matter if you stay,”

“Thank you for letting me borrow your clothes,” Stan says with a blush.

“I’ll be waiting downstairs,”

“Okay,”

The sound of Bill’s footsteps down the stairs relax Stan to look at his legs that were scratched raw but not bleeding. Still a win.

As Stan puts on one of Bill’s clean shirts he walks down the stairs knowing the Denbrough house almost as well as his own from the sleepovers.

“So I got the ghostbusters, Batman, and alien,”

“Batman cause the others would be pissed if we watched ghostbusters without them,”

They had fallen asleep a little after the credits limbs tangled and all.

——-

“FuCK wE ARE SO LATE,” Stan yelled once he check the time on the stove.

“What time is it,” BIll asked still startled by the sudden noise stan had made.

“10:54,”

“SHIT WE ARE SO LATE WE WERE SUPPOSED TO MEET THEM 20 MINUTES AGO,” Bill yelled back they both rushed to get ready, brushing their teeth, combing their hair, and getting on their shoes. They hopped in the car not really noticing that Stan was still wearing Bill’s clothes.

——-

“HOLY SHIT IS STAN THE MAN URIS WEARING BIG BILLS CLOTHES,” Richie screeched in poor Bens ears. And now most of the rest of the customers in the breakfast diner stared at them in disdain from the sudden outburst but seemingly used to it.

“Didja use protection and stay safe,” Ben said with a mothering hen tone but with an undertone of enthusiasm hoping that now the sexual tension would be resolved. And he wouldn’t have to listen to Bill’s 4000 poem ideas to see if they were good enough for Stan. (They were all wonderful but very inconclusive)

“At least now I’m not the only virgin in the losers club,” Richie cackled like a maniac like he did with everyone of his jokes.

“We all know that’s a lie Tozier if anything you’re the only virgin in the losers club” Bev replied as quick as she always did and high fiving Eddie.

“Can we please stop talking about our sex lives now,” Stan said as they slid in their usually spots at the table almost red as tomato but Bill looked almost as fiery bevs hair.

“Yeah guys lay off and besides they would tell us themselves and tell us that they did in fact use protection,” Mike said smiling at Bill and Stan knowing how embarrassing it was because they all had the exact same conversation about him a week ago.

“Okay so are we going to order our food or are we all going to sound like idiots in front of my future boss,” Eddie said knowing that he would be starting to work in this diner with Richie in a week.

“Fine,” they all replied back.

They chattered most of the hours away from the breakfast diner, movie theater, and finally to the Tozier household but almost for every minute of the day Stan and Bill tightly held hands and gave each other quick kisses.

[theantisocialcritic]

An Introduction to Orson Welles - The (Belated) 2018 Director’s Marathon

Authors Note: The following novella-length essay on the history of Orson Welles was written to be the December 2018 Directors Marathon as is a tradition for this blog. It was submitted to Geeks Under Grace wherein it was rejected for its excessive length. After several months of consideration as to how to rework the piece into something publishable within the website’s requirements, it is being published now as was initially intended at the AntiSocialCritic Blog. 

"I started at the top and I've been working my way down ever since."

- Orson Welles F for Fake

In the early morning of October 10, 1985, Orson Welles suffered a heart attack and died at his desk. He departed the world he had left such a massive impact upon as quietly and mundanely as a great man could. Just hours before the once superstar artist made his final public appearance on The Merv Griffon Show where he talked about his life. Prior to that in the weeks before he had starred in his final cinematic role while providing the voice of Unicron for Transformers: The Movie. His funeral was a quiet affair at a local hotel, surrounded by his surviving close friends and estranged family members from multiple marriages. You might view this humble affair and fail to understand that the man being eulogized was, in fact, one of the greatest artists of the 20th century. Across his massive career, Orson Welles became a pioneer of theater, radio, and film that pushed forward and challenged those art forms radically. He was intelligent, charismatic, well-read and alluring with an ability to command an audience through his words and presence. He was a showman, an actor as well as a magician but also a creative mind with a unique understanding and love for art.

Yet for all of his creativity across a half-century of output he's almost entirely remembered solely for two major events early in his career. In 1938, he performed a radio rendition of H.G. Welles' War of the Worlds that supposedly ginned up a massive panic on the East Coast of the United States. Then in 1941, he directed Citizen Kane for RKO Radio Productions which would eventually go on to become the most acclaimed film in the history of cinema. As a result, his public image rapidly declined. He became recognized as a washed up, unreliable filmmaker with obesity problems and a bombastic personality. This version of Welles would become the stereotype so brutally mocked by comedians on television shows like The Simpsons, The Critic and Pinky and the Brain. Despite being pigeon-holed and written off within a decade of the peak of his career he continued to work as a filmmaker and an actor across North America and Europe for decades until his death. As excellent as his inaugural effort was his career has dozens of excellent films and performances that are well worth revisiting. Thankfully there has never been a better time to go back and review the works of Orson Welles than right now.

On November 2nd, 2018, Netflix published what will likely be the last of his posthumous works with The Other Side of the Wind. I reviewed the film for Geeks Under Grace at the time it released and have spent the last month reflecting on the experience of seeing such a culturally significant film. It's not every day that a lost piece of art is drudged up and rebuilt from the ground up. Beyond that, the film carries with it so many beautiful reflections, moments of brilliant and visual poetry. Knowing that it's the inheritor of such a vital legacy adds a great deal of weight to the film.

When I started writing publicly one of the first major article series I worked on was a project I called the Director Marathons. From 2014-2017 I did a yearly dive every December into the full filmography of a famous acclaimed director. Over the first four marathons, I dug through the collective works of Quentin Tarantino, Christopher Nolan, Guillermo Del Toro, and The Coen Brothers. I also did an additional six-month breakdown on the entire filmography of Steven Spielberg. Now that Geeks Under Grace is my home for writing I want to continue that tradition here. I considered several major filmmakers including Sam Raimi, John Carpenter, George Romero, and Martin Scorsese but with the release of The Other Side of the Wind, it became clear to me that no director more deserve the attention afforded by a total viewing of their body of work than Orson Welles.

What follows are a series of brief historical retrospectives and film analysis's meant to offer a brief look into the seventy-year life of the man of the hour. For every analysis I offer there is a greater and deeper discussion that every subject of his life I bring up can be made. In the name of brevity, I want this series to be largely introductory (12.5 thousand words of introduction...). The secret of great art is that there are always depths to be plumed within it, nuances to observe and details to be discussed. With Welles part of the appeal beyond his incredible eye for detail is his desire to push the boundaries of the art forms he tackled. Every project and chapter of his life could fill a thick book with all the details that go into them. Film improved as an art form because of his embrace of expressionism and innovative use of technology. Filmmakers as vital as Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese regularly host his works among the most influential and beloved of the movies that inspired theirs. There is so much immense history and artistry that can be delved into across the full career of Orson Welles.

That being said, as we learn in his inaugural film Citizen Kane, this can be something of a fruitless endeavor. You can never fully know the full life of a man based on what he leaves behind. Much like Charles Foster Kane's home Xanadu, his works stand as an eternal memorial to Welles' incredible creativity. Lost in the ruins of his career is the man that can only be remembered. These works aren't him. They're all we have left of him. There will never be a Rosebud moment where we understand the inner life of Orson Welles. Even so, the life of Welles is a grand one of ups and downs. In spite of the challenges, we shall do our best to look through the art to see the man.

1. The Young Orson Welles

Orson Welles's early life was faced with much splendor and difficulty. Born to Richard and Beatrice Welles in Kenosha, Wisconsin on May 6, 1915, his family was at one point very affluent and wealthy as his father invented a bicycle lamp that allowed the family to move to Chicago. He eventually stopped working and subsumed to alcoholism. Richard and Beatrice would separate in 1919. Orson's mother found work at the Art Institute of Chicago as a pianist performing for lectures. On May 10, 1924, Beatrice would die of Hepatitis, leaving the nine-year-old Welles without a proper family.

Welles lived with his alcoholic father for three years, traveling the world and attending multiple schools. He would eventually settle himself at the Todd Seminary School for Boys in Woodstock, IL where he would set his roots. Later in this life, Welles revealed that Woodstock was the closest thing he had to a home. "Where is home?" Welles replied, "I suppose it's Woodstock, Illinois if it's anywhere. I went to school there for four years. If I try to think of a home, it's that."

The Todd School for Boys ended up being the catalyst for much of Welles intellectual development. His teachers fostered his fascination with acting and the arts and gave the incredibly intelligent young man free rein to expand himself. At age 15, Orson's father passed away from heart and kidney failure. Following High School, the young man found himself awash with opportunities including a scholarship to Harvard University which he declined. After a brief multi-week flirtation with the Art Institute of Chicago, the adventurous young Welles sought a life of travel.

2. Man of the Stage

Welles gallivanted across Europe using the remains of his inheritance. During a stay in Dublin, Ireland the young man approached the manager of the Gate Theater claiming he was a famous Broadway actor that ought to have a position on the stage. The manager didn't believe him yet gave him the job anyway based on his charisma and bravery. His stage debut was on October 13, 1931, in the role of Duke Karl Alexander of Wurttemberg in the play Jew Suss. He would act in several more Dublin productions including an adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham's The Circle at the Abbey Theater. He would try and seek further work in London but failed to acquire a work permit and thus returned to the United States.

Upon his return, Welles made his American debut as a man of the stage at the Woodstock Operahouse in Woodstock, IL. Welles immediately sought out his Irish compatriots from the Gate Theater to stage a drama festival in Woodstock consisting of Trilby, Hamlet, The Drunkard, and Tsar Paul. During this time he also got his first radio gig working on The American School of the Air and shot his first short film.

After marrying Chicago socialite Virginia Nicholas in 1934, Welles moved to New York City where he performed the role of Tybalt in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. On March 22, 1935, Orson made his radio premiere on the CBS Radio series The March of Time doing a scene from the 1935 Archibald MacLeish play Panic. Radio would become his primary income as the money he immediately started making with CBS was significant. Welles had moved to New York at the height of the Great Depression and ended up being in exactly the right place to benefit. The Federal Theater Project had been crafted by the Works Progress Administration as a method of helping to bring economic relief to struggling artists. Welles jumped on the opportunity and began funneling money from his incredibly lucrative $1,500/week Radio work into the theater project. President Roosevelt would quip that Orson Welles was the only person in history to illegally siphon money into a government project. The arrangement suited most everyone however and was looked the other way on. Famously Welles became so busy during this time in his life that he hired an ambulance to transport him back and forth across New York City at full speed between his radio performances and his theater directing jobs.

His first work became the incredibly famous and then wildly transgressive production of Voodoo Macbeth. The all-black production recast the traditionally Scottish play and set in against the backdrop of Haiti's court of King Henri Christophe. The production became a nationally recognized and hailed play that toured the country and skyrocketed Welles' name into the spotlight at the ripe age of twenty. The next several years of Welles life became dedicated to this grind of different theatrical productions and radio gigs, culminating his 1937 departure from the Federal Theater Project to create his own theatrical troupe. What would become known as the Mercury Theater opened on November 11, 1937, with an acclaimed restaging of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar set against the background of fascist Europe with himself in the role of Brutus. Here Welles would create many of the lasting relationships and raise multiple actors would follow him through his journey in Hollywood including Joseph Cotton, Everett Sloane and Vincent Price.

3. Voice on the Radio

Though famously a devotee of the Baird, Welles' recognition was earned by his incredible command of the airwaves. Welles' famous baritone voice became a regular mainstay across America as he became the regular voice for many of the country's most popular radio dramas of the time.

At the age of 21, Welles produced an acclaimed and often criticized version of Hamlet he did for the Colombia Workshop that shaved the four-hour play into a two-part 59-minute audio drama that cut the story of the Shakespearean tragedy to the bone. His presentation was noticeably more emotive than most presentations of Shakespeare at the time which set him apart. The bread and butter of his work throughout the 1930s was his work on pulps and radio dramas. Throughout 1937 over the course of a year, Welles provided the voice for the pulp icon The Shadow. At that point, the vigilante pulp hero in question was one of the largest entertainment properties of the time with novellas and regular radio dramas dedicated to him every week. Having Welles take up the mantle for a time put the fledgling star in the seat of a pop icon.

The moment that shot Welles into the spotlight came on October 30th, 1938 when Orson performed what would become the greatest media scandal of his career with the infamous War of the Worlds broadcast. The adaptation he conceived was fascinating. He took the broad events of H.G. Welles famous science fiction novel and interpreted them in the form of a series News broadcasts as though the events of the book were happening in rural New Jersey and New York City. The following events aren't clear. Welles himself inflated the reaction to the broadcast as though hundreds of screaming civilians scurried across New York City and attempted to flee head first into the Hudson River. More than likely the reaction caused nothing more than a minor stir compared to the massive nationwide reaction that the broadcast was implied to have caused. The broadcast itself did advertise itself on the pretense that it was a radio drama so any disturbed civilians would've tuned in later into the broadcast without the knowledge that it was a radio play. The incident was taken seriously by the United States government and Welles was forced to own up to the brief chaos. Next to his first film, this incident would become the most widely remembered moment of his career and one he took a perverse pride in. Beyond the angry government officials, it caught many an important eye of the day. Among the people who took interest in Welles were the producers at RKO Radio Productions in Hollywood.

4. Sought by Hollywood

Welles initially had no interest in film or Hollywood. Hollywood wanted Welles because he was an exploding star with exactly the sort of talents and celebrity that could transition into a film career. RKO Radio Pictures approached him with enormous monetary offers but the disinterested Welles was already wealthy. Money was no object to him. If he was going to be dragged into the film industry he was going to do it on his own terms. Thus he sent RKO an over the top ridiculous offer demanding full creative control over whatever he produced with them. To his surprise and the surprise of the enter Hollywood establishment, RKO accepted. He was offered a multi-picture deal with full creative control, upto and including hundreds of thousands of dollars to spend on each film and the right to reserve showing the picture to the studio executives until it was completed.

This has to understood in context. The late 1930s was the height of the studio system in Hollywood. Filmmakers worked at the behest of cutthroat corporate masters who had the right and gumption to control every facet of a film. They frequently re-shot segments from acclaimed films before they're released on a whim based on what they thought worked/didn't work/was marketable by their standards. Even industry greats like John Ford and Frank Capra didn't get to control this much of their films. Given that creatives had so many restrictions the results were stunning. This was the moment in cinematic history when films like Casablanca, The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind were emerging and defining the Golden Age of Hollywood as a time when storytelling and craft were at their creative peaks. For Welles to gallivant into Hollywood and take over the town single-handedly was unheard of. To paraphrase Welles, he had been given the greatest train set a kid ever received and he was looking to use it.

Without knowledge of what he was even doing Welles immediately turned to the greats of the industry of the time to start building his team. His two most important collaborators would be screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz and cinematography Gregg Toland. Mankiewicz was a veteran screenwriter who had had his hand in writing and producing dozens of films since 1926. Toland was fresh off of working on multiple critically acclaimed films like The Long Voyage Home and The Grapes of Wrath, both of which he shot with John Ford.

Welles had the best talent Hollywood had to offer at his fingertips and near infinite power to do as he pleased and began working on different pitches for ideas for his first film. The first idea he conceived was ultimately too ambitious to achieve. He considered shooting an adaptation of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness done in the first person perspective. The project ultimately fell apart as Welles eventually couldn't make his vision work on RKO's budget. Decades later there was a proper if highly altered adaptation of the book with Francis Ford Coppola's Apocalypse Now.

Heart of Darkness would be the first of three pitches Welles initially made to RKO to fill his two film contract. His second idea was a political thriller/comedy called The Smiler With a Knife based on a novel by Cecil Day-Lewis. This project stalled by December of 1939. Welles was uncertain of a plan and didn't want to drag starting production on something indefinitely. He was already behind schedule. Welles and Mankiewicz began brainstorming and eventually, the two started on an idea for a film titled American. Welles approached Mankiewicz during the writing to find that the script he'd written out was hundreds of pages of messy but serviceable ideas. Taking his excellent ability to cut down stories to the bone that he had used on Hamlet, Orson crafted what would come to be known as his first masterpiece Citizen Kane.

5. Citizen Kane (1941)

I recently did a full-length breakdown of Citizen Kane for Geeks Under Grace and don't wish to relitigate much of what I produced for that article here. What I do think is necessary is understanding how the world reacted to and would ultimately go onto understand the film.

The reaction to the film was both immediate and faltering. The film was met initially by mixed reviews that sited the film's awkward structure as a fault. It wouldn't be years before the film would be released after it's initial run that the film would be subsequently analyzed and relitigated as one of the greatest films of all time.

Well before it's release, the film's satirical target William Randolph Hearst heard the wind that the film was a rather overt critique of his person and attempted to buy the film outright from RKO Radio Pictures to prevent it from seeing the light of day. When that didn't work, he turned to his newspaper network which proceeded to lambast the film in the public eye. The film's release was delayed and by the time it released to the public the reaction was nothing more than a whimper. Citizen Kane bombed in the box office.

The half-century of after it's release brought much rabid discussion and reevaluation of the film into mainstream discussion. In a famed piece of now hotly disregarded film criticism, New Yorker Film Critic Paeline Kael wrote Raising Kane. The essay lambasted Orson Welles, the film in question and called into question the very authorship of the film, claiming that screenwriter Herman Manchowitz deserved more credit for his role in writing the film.

Mind you Pauline Kael's criticism wasn't totally irrational. Kael is one of the most influential critics in history and tends only to be remembered nowadays by her gaffs like her public disdain for Clint Eastwood films like Dirty Harry. Her coming out against Orson Welles is remembered as an enormous artistic mistake on her part but people take the book-length essay she wrote very seriously. As a point, it's worth noting that Welles fundamentally agreed with her on many points. He felt that the director was an overrated position in filmmaking and that film was a collaborative process between the writers, actors and crew that the direct guided and oversaw. Even so, it's not surprising one of the antagonist characters in The Other Side of the Wind was a female film critic.

The most cynical read on Citizen Kane is that it's the film that introduced the concept of ceilings to the cinema. Prior to Citizen Kane, most film productions didn’t film ceilings because they needed open air sets to fit audio equipment. Many proclaimed fans of the film tend to adore it's superficiality more than it's actual storytelling chops as a film. As it stands the most remembered aspect of the film is the Rosebud twist at the end that Welles himself considered as gimmicky. Welles himself had a very conflicted relationship with the film. Welles disliked some of the films minor mistakes and ultimately came to consider the film a curse on his career that he could never live up to. How can anyone build a career off of an instant masterpiece? Even the man who made Citizen Kane couldn't manage to answer that question.

Yet in 1982, Steven Spielberg paid $55,000 for one of the surviving Sled props. Every filmmaker from Martin Scorsese, to Richard Linklater, to Tim Burton, to George Lucas and the aforementioned Steven Spielberg has sited Citizen Kane not only as one of their favorite films but as their inspiration for much of their work. In addition to most every respected film critic from Roger Ebert to Jonathon Rosenbaum has offered their endorsement of the film's strengths. Its legacy is undeniable. Is it overrated? Perhaps. While it's placement in the canon of Orson Welles is certainly hotly debated, there is no denying that Welles began his filmmaking career with a masterpiece for the history books.

6. The Magnificent Ambersons (1942)

There is a scene in Richard Linklater's Me and Orson Welles where the titular character and his apprenticing young actor Zac Effron that the Welles family was once close to Booth Tarkington. Though not widely remembered today, Tarkington would've been a huge deal to people at the time much how writers like Cormac McCarthy and David Foster Wallace are lionized today. His masterpiece The Magnificent Ambersons would go on to be the subject of Welles’ second major film for RKO. 

As Welles continued his work after the debacle of Citizen Kane's release he quickly moved on to fulfill the second film in his RKO contract. His team continued to dig through numerous options and ideas. The most notable idea he didn't end up going with was a pitch for an adaptation of the Bible called The Life of Christ which would've been a strictly adhered adaptation that ultimately fell through twice. Instead, Welles turned to the contemporary masterpiece that was close to his heart. Welles' initial cut of The Magnificent Ambersons is said to have been a masterpiece that rivaled Citizen Kane in quality. He translated the sad story of an old American family's decline into poverty and irrelevance to the cinema and delivered the second masterpiece RKO paid him to. Unfortunately for Welles, it wasn't the masterpiece RKO wanted. The studio shuttered at the bleak film Welles had produced and quickly began underhanded plans to change the film.

Welles was shipped off to Brazil as part of a US Government deal with their government. He was to shoot his third feature for RKO called It's All True which would've involved documentary footage from various festivals and events. While he was out of the country, RKO pulled all of the actors and crew back to the studio lot, cut out the third act of the film and reshot it with a happy ending that completely changed the story of The Magnificent Ambersons. Several cast and crew attempted to warn Welles but he didn't find out until it was too late. By the time he was back in Hollywood, he would lose his rights to change the film. Late in his life, Welles would find himself watching the theatrical cut of The Magnificent Ambersons late one night on television. His then mistress Oja Kodar recalled the experience of nearly walking into the room and catching a reflection of the late 60s Welles sobbing as the movie that clearly meant the most to him was presented on late night television. While the cut we have today is largely excellent, it's far from the vision that Welles had intended for it.

7. Fired from RKO

Welles had already been fired from RKO Radio Productions by the time he returned from Brazil. The studio that had once promised him free reign to produce masterpieces for them didn't like the controversy associated with his films and couldn't figure out how to market what he did film. For them, it was smarter to go into damage control mode and boot out the wunderkind to the streets. The cut of Magnificent Ambersons with the happy ending they did produce didn't do well in theaters and the preferred cut of the film was eventually destroyed. Thus began the air of bad luck that would surround Orson Welles' prolific career. Despite churning out two masterpieces, Hollywood now hated him. As time would go on he would become more and more of a pariah in filmmaking circles.

His last film for RKO which he was producing and directed several scenes for Journey into Fear ultimately saw him being stricken from the credits. His co-director Norman Foster would receive directing credit but later Welles scholars have often retroactively credited Welles as a director too. Welles immediately began damage control for his reputation by prostrating himself over the next several film projects he produced. He started taking acting jobs for films starting with an adaptation of Jane Eyre to try and repair his public image. Interestingly enough the latter film would end up being one of his only romantic performances as that film had been produced to capitalize off of the recent success of historical romances like Gone With The Wind.

8. The Stranger (1946)

Welles needed to jump back into Hollywood and prove that he was capable of producing something normal that he could sell. With that in mind, he conceived of The Stranger. The film would go on to be his least artistic and therefore most financially successful film. It had been four years since he'd been in the directing chair and he was desperate. He was approached by producer Sam Spiegel after director John Huston couldn't take the job. The result is easily the most Hollywoodish film of his filmography and the one that really represents the director at his most obedient. Despite the darker story, that being about a Nazi holocaust perpetuated being hunted by an investigator portrayed by Edward G. Robinson, the movie was a great deal less artistic and revolutionary by the standards of the time. It was merely a conventional noir thriller. To paraphrase Welles, he did the film with much stricter regulations as a means of proving to Hollywood that he wasn't a toxic director and that he could make money. While the film wouldn't succeed in fixing his reputation it at least made him slightly less toxic. Unfortunately, the film wouldn't lead to any additional career help for Orson. He originally signed with International Pictures to do a four-picture deal after the film as complete. The company backed out of the deal the just weeks after the premiere when it looked initially like the film wouldn't make it's money back.

9. The Lady from Shanghai (1947)

The life of Orson Welles has often been described as an illusion, an incestuous juggle between fact and fiction that the ever impressive Welles maintained as a kind false mysticism to increase his legend. While it did give his persona a larger than life appearance it's made tracking the history of Welles into a nightmare. This can be clearly seen in the case of Welles' third masterpiece The Lady from Shanghai. He's told the story of how he pitched the film to Hollywood producer Harry Cohn of Colombia Pictures. After his recent failures Welles turned back to his previous loves of radio and theater and began producing new shows and dramas. His biggest stage production at that point was a play version of Around the World in 80 Days which closed almost immediately within weeks after opening.

Supposedly, as the production was preparing for it's Boston premiere, Welles found himself strapped for cash and in desperate need for $50,000 to move the costumes from the train station to the theater. Desperately he pitched a fake book to the president of Colombia Pictures using the name of a paperback book a young woman was reading next to him, got the money, performed the show and then went back to Hollywood to write and direct the film. It's a great story but it likely isn't true. Whatever truth is in it is questionable as he's told different versions of the same story to different interviewers, each with a different amount of money and circumstance. It's likely that Welles just got called out of the blue by Harry Cohn to direct a thriller and he took the gig. Naturally of course half of the appeal of Orson Welles is the blur of fiction and reality the surrounds the myth of his life. It's fun to speculate but having a historically accurate read of Welles' history is a frustrating knot to untie for scholars.

That film he produced The Lady From Shanghai would become one of his most respected films and widely regarded as one of the weirdest movies. That's not hyperbole either as David Kehr of the Chicago Reader was quoted as saying it was one of the "weirdest great movies ever made". While more conventional by the standards of his previous two masterpieces, The Lady from Shanghai is far from your run of the mill Noir thriller. Welles had initially shot the film in the style of a documentary. That's a strange choice but it grounds the otherwise outlandish story of a sailor being asked to help fake the death of a wealthy man in a kind of distant visual style. Harry Cohn hated the result. Like his previous two films, large segments of the film were reshot to add traditional close-ups and conventional shooting. These shots clashed with the film's already strange visual style and made the film more surrealistic than it already was. The film's most notable contribution to cinema, of course, was the finale in the mirror maze. Without spoiling the story context, the final shootout is mesmerizing and visually bizarre and left an imprint on generations of filmmakers. The trope has returned in numerous forms from action films like Enter the Dragon and John Wick 2 to comics like The Dark Knight Returns. Yet again though, the film flopped in the box office.

As a quick aside, the film also stars his then second wife Rita Haworth with whom he divorced shortly after the film completed production.

10. Macbeth (1948)

It's strange that Welles' first attempt at a Shakespearian film would come about in such a modest fashion yet his selection wasn't surprising. Being that Voodoo Macbeth was the stage play that put his name on the map, a traditional Scottish production on film made sense to be his Shakespeare film.

Republic Pictures at the time was a subpar studio by the standards of the Big Three. It mostly produced B-Pictures and serials. For Herbert Yates, as the president of the studio, Welles' pitch for a Shakespeare adaption gave him high hopes that he might be able to make his fledgling Hollywood operation into a prestige studio with the right success and went all in on the idea. Welles produced the film on cheap sets and finished the film in just 19 days of production with two additional days of pick up shots. Yet despite being rushed and inexpensive, the film managed to produce something qualifying as a definitive vision of one of Shakespeare's most famous tragedies. That speaks highly of the production given that the play has been adapted dozens of times in cinematic history including versions by Roman Polanski, Akira Kurosawa and most recently Justin Kurzel. Yet Welles' film was benefitted by Welles' unique expressionist take on filmmaking. The cheap stagey sets were masked in beautiful black and white film stock, lit with precision to highlight it's character's emotional state and performed to perfection with Welles in the central role.

Welles had bet that the film would go a long way to repairing his reputation and unfortunately this wouldn't help it. The film was savaged by American critics who despised the over-the-top Scottish accents in the initial release. Welles rerecorded the dialog with American accents for a 1950 rerelease but that version didn't do well either. Both versions were flops and outside of Europe where the critics appreciated it more, there wasn't much support for it. It didn't help that the film was released in close proximity to Laurence Olivier's acclaimed Hamlet which became one of the most celebrated Shakespeare adaptations of all time. It would take years for critics to start appreciating its strengths.

11. The Third Man (1949)

Of all of the films in the Welles filmography, maybe none is more vital to understanding the Celebrity of Orson Welles than The Third Man. Like Jane Eyre, this wasn't a film that he produced or directed in so much as he is remembered for his excellent performance. At that, he's barely in the film at all. The leading man is his frequent collaborator Joseph Cotton. The film was directed by legendary director Carol Reed, famous for films like Odd Man Out, Night Train to Munich, The Fallen Idol, and Oliver! While somewhat obscure now, the director became famous for being one of the most skilled directors in British history. In addition, the film was produced by legendary golden age producer David O'Selznick (Gone With the Wind, King Kong). Welles was asked to play the role of Harry Lime in the film and was offered one of two options for payment for a small role. He had the option of reviewing a portion of the film's profits down the line or a lump sum of money immediately. In a moment of deprivation, he jumped on the money immediately in a financial decision he would come to regret. The Third Man would go on to become the most financially successful film he was ever associated with. Had he chosen profit sharing he would've become immensely wealthy as the film in question has remained one of the most popular noir thrillers of all time.

Welles would later go on to express his opinion that his performance was the greatest "Star" role an actor could've ever asked for. Harry Lime is mentioned dozens of times in the film prior to his first appearance so when Orson Welles finally makes his surprise splash of an appearance the film there is a great deal of weight to his screen presence. His few scenes in the film and his improvised line are usually sighted as the high points of an otherwise widely regarded film. In some ways, this is sadly prophetic of much of the way culture remembers Orson Welles. People think of him as a flash in the pan and we see this in the way culture idealizes individual moments from his films as opposed to his films overall. Most people don't remember the side characters in Citizen Kane but they remember Rosebud. The same is true of The Third Man. People remember Welles' few scenes but they frequently forget Joseph Cotton and Carol Reed's accomplishments with the film outside of Welles. The mere size of his personality creates expectations. First-time viewers familiar with Welles might be surprised to notice he doesn't appear until well after the first hour of the film. Welles is just one turning gear in a much larger story about post-war corruption and profiteering set against the hurt and ruin of Vienna, Austria. His chemistry with Joseph Cotton adds an air of history two the two characters whose lives were once tied together being torn apart by circumstance. His deep baritone voice exudes an air of malevolence as he stares contemptuously on the small people below him. It's a small but vital performance built up to by one of the greatest thriller stories of all time.

12. Othello (1951)

No film would come to break Orson Welles' reputation more than Othello. Despite earning the Grand Prix du Festival International du Film at the 1952 Cannes Film Festival, Othello would become a curse on his reputation that he would never overcome. Welles had conceived of doing an adaptation of Shakespeare's Othello prior to Macbeth but ultimately chose to go with that play when the concept seemed unfeasible. Welles was approached by an Italian film production company to star and direct a film version of the famed play based on his recent theatrical work which the production company thought would translate over well into the stage play. Welles quickly got to work assembling a team of European filmmakers and actors that he took to Italy. The production was immediately stymied by the surprise Bankruptcy of the production company meaning that the subsequent three years of production necessary to get the film finished had to be self-financed. Though not Orson's fault as the factors were out of his control, this would prove to be the final nail in the coffin of his public reputation. The fact that the film took three years to finish and went over budget put a stigma on his name that he never escaped.

The result was a convoluted production shot across multiple countries including Spain, Italy, Morocco and Turkey that created a mismatched pan-Mediterranean look to the film. The final cut was an atmospheric masterpiece. Welles scholar Jonathon Rosenbaum described the tone as almost that of a horror film more than anything else. There's is an immense dread hanging over the film as we see the unfolding story of interracial love and racial bigotry play out against the backdrop of war and political strife. While a clean cut is available today thanks to the Criterion Collection, early distribution of the film didn't go well. The film received several cuts in different countries and many of the versions distributed had massive audio problems including audio drops and syncing issues. The film was also distributed with multiple soundtracks. Once again the hard work that went into an Orson Welles film was lost to circumstance and failed to materialize until much later.

13. King Lear (1953)

In the second of Welles' exoduses to Europe, the director fled the United States for England following the McCarthy hearings and as a result put him on bad terms with the IRS. Orson Welles wasn't a communist but he was a Roosevelt Progressive democrat and disliked the air of paranoia in the United States during the Cold War. Welles was asked to perform the titular role in a CBS Omnibus production of King Lear for television in 1953 which he accepted the role of. The television film was a severely truncated 73-minute version of the play with most of the subplots and extraneous stories outside of the main plot cut out to focus on the main character's descent into madness. Though cheaply produced for television, his performance as Lear is the standout of the film. While he was in the United States to film the production, he was escorted every by the IRS who confiscated his earnings from the production to pay off outstanding taxes being sent back to England.

14. Mr. Arkadin (1955)

After the immense success of The Third Man, the movie that had taken Hollywood by storm became a hot ticket item and it's producers wanted to franchise it. Thus in 1951 was born The Lives of Harry Lime. The radio drama starred Welles in his most popular and deplorable character over the course of 52 episodes that represented a prequel to the film. Welles himself was involved in the process of developing the series given that the character was so directly tied to him. This included an episode called The Man of Mystery. This episode would go on to become the primary influence of Welles' newest thriller.

Though lower in budget, Mr. Arkadin was ambitious in its scope. The thriller sought to be a massive thriller set across multiple countries where the stakes of the questions it raised could change the fate of nations. In terms of story, this thriller was one of his most grand and globe-trotting adventures. Mr. Arkadin is a veritable tour de force of settings and European cultures.

Whereas Othello was shot over multiple countries meant to portray the same place, Mr. Arkadin was set across multiple countries in Europe and portrayed the variant beauty of many of it's finest interior sets. Cramped as much of the film looks from a visual standpoint the film did tour Europe across the scope of its production from London, Munich, to multiple places in France and to Switzerland. The story's central mystery involving the investigation of a man with no memory of his past can be difficult to follow but builts to an excellent final race wherein the lead character and the titular Mr. Arkadin must race to Spain to find the same person before the other.

Once again he lost control over the final cut. The postproduction became a trainwreck worthy of Orson Welles' reputation. As scholar Jonathon Rosenbaum discussed in his famous 1991 essay Seven Arkadins, there are no less than seven public cuts of Mr. Arkadin. Welles lost control of the editing process and rights to the film when he missed his deadline and as a result, the producer recut the film multiple times, novelized it, and gave it several releases across Europe in multiple languages. Welles had been reshaping the story and structure during the editing process to improve it and without his guiding hand, the final edits that made theaters were fare from his wishes. Welles would go on to consider the film the greatest disaster of his career. He was a man who suffered many indignities but the utter loss of Mr. Arkadin to multiple cuts was one of his most brutal defeats.

15. Touch of Evil (1958)

Welles had just finished acting in a thriller for Universal Pictures when he was asked by the producers to perform in another film for them as "the heavy" in a crime thriller. Universal was already far underway in developing the story concepts and casting but hadn't settled on a director or a script as of yet. Charlton Heston was already picked to play the lead role in the film. During a cross-country phone call, the film's producers mentioned the casting offer for Orson Welles when Heston made the offhand comment that Welles ought to be the one they sought out to direct the film based on the quality of his previous films. The line went dead for several seconds.

Welles was just getting back to Hollywood after a decade away in Europe. While he hadn't gotten over the pain of his bad breakup with RKO and his previous failures he was eager to direct a Hollywood picture again. Welles signed up to Touch of Evil at Heston's behest on the stipulation that he would get to rewrite the script. Over the course of several weeks of late nights, Welles and his secretary chugged out a new script based on the book Badge of Honor that Universal approved and set to work on.

As with many Welles films, Touch of Evil is rather depressingly remembered primarily for its opening shot. The several minutes long tracking shots at the beginning of the film is legitimately excellent in its pace and scope as we see several minutes of a car with a ticking time bomb in the back seat slowly drive across the US-Mexico border through crowded streets knowing the car could explode at any moment. Naturally of course when I was shown the film in Film School this is where the film was stopped. Many filmmakers worship the tracking shot and then forget to watch the remaining film. What they miss out on is a dark tragedy of corruption and falls from grace. The murder we see play out in real time at the beginning of the film is merely the beginning of a much larger conspiracy as the bombing rouses the attention of a Mexican police officer in the area at the time on his honeymoon and the local police legend Hank Quinlan. The film is one of the starkest examples of contemporary film noir, making the most out of Welles' expressionist love of shadow and darkness. While the opening shot is excellent it's not even the only tracking shot in the film. There are several long tracking shots, several of which we see during the investigation scenes that are just as technically impressive considering how deeply we follow the camera and swing in, out and around the conversations at play.

Universal had loved much of the footage that Welles was sending them at the end of every shooting day. Right up until they saw the rough cut of the film it seemed as though the two parties were on the same page. Alas, Universal Studios did what Hollywood always did to Orson Welles films. The final cut scared Universal with how dark it was. They cut out half an hour of footage and reshot segments of the plot to make it more palatable. By studio contracts, they had to present Welles with a cut of the film before the film went to print and shipped off to theaters. After seeing the new theatrical cut, Welles was distraught. The perturbed Welles skipped out on his daughter's wedding to write a 58-page memo to Universal Studios begging them to make needed changes to the film.

The film was released as the second billing of a double feature and subsequently bombed. In Europe, the film received a surprising level of acclaim, support from major film critics and won two awards at the 1958 Brussels World Film Festival but without American success the film as considered dead on arrival. This was the last straw for Orson Welles. Hollywood had betrayed him for the last time. With this last indignity dealt to his creative vision, Welles packed up and moved back to Europe again.

There would thankfully be something of a re-edit of the film. In 1998, acclaimed film editor and sound designer Walter Murch (Apocalypse Now, The Godfather Trilogy, American Graffiti, The Conversation, The English Patient, Jarhead) recreated a special cut of the film based on the Welles memo that represents the closest version of the film to Welles' vision that remains the definitive way to watch the movie today.

16. Exile to Europe

Immediately after the debacle of Touch of Evil, Welles began to work independently on one of his most ambitious and personal projects to date. Don Quixote would go on to become one of the great obsessions and failures of his life, never seeing a proper cut released. He started accruing footage immediately after finishing his work with Universal by doing some shooting in Mexico. He would continue this process over the course of the next two decades, doing what meager shooting he could across multiple countries in Europe. Unfortunately, time dragged on and the loss of actors to death dragged the film's post-production well into the 1980s without having completed principal photography.

As Don Quixote continued to meld and atrophy, Welles began the next stage of his life by beginning something of a new chapter in the history of cinema. Without the backing of Hollywood money or big investors behind him, Welles began a personal journey as what we would be known as the first truly independent filmmaker. His subsequent series of European films, though cheaper looking and rough around the edges, represented some of the only items of his career that he felt truly proud of in their totality. They were totally his films, unedited by intrusive producers seeking a buck and all celebrated across the European arthouse film scene. Of these, in his later years, he was the proudest of.

17. The Trial (1962)

Literature was, of course, the love of Welles' intellectual life. He was well read by anybody's standards by the time he reached New York City in his twenties and started adapting Shakespeare better than Broadway was at the time. He understood these great works of literature greater than almost anyone else that had the bravery to take a straight edge to them and crave new versions of them for viewing audiences. Often that meant that his versions diverged from the ideas inherent in the text while still staying true to the spirit of the literature. In the case of Franz Kafka's book The Trial, the story of an innocent man trapped in a bureaucratic cycle of hellish corruption and repetition becomes a different kind of nightmare. To borrow Welles' quote, "He's guilty as h***!"

Welles' monologue at the beginning of the film refers to the story as having the logic of a dream. Seeing the film one can recognize that immediately. The setting, production design and moment to moment logic of the story shifts with surreal precision from moment to moment as the lead character Joseph K. is dragged through a strange inquisition, blamed for a crime that is never explained to him bursting with fear and guilt the whole way through. The film looks and acts like a nightmare, as the scene to scene flow arbitrarily jumps from scenes of stark visuals, tense chases, and heavy shadows. Never before or after has Welles' overt love of expressionism been put to such beautiful use. Then again it's hard to tell where the movie begins and the budget ends. Much of the film is shot against industrial blight as we see buildings lined with electrical wires and technology. It's a strange look that contrasts with the sleek, fast-paced cinematography at times. It's never clear that Welles isn't just shooting this at the first industrial park he could find that was available or if these flourishes of ugly utilitarian electronics are part of the point. Maybe they're expressions of the bureaucratic machine that is chewing K alive.

Of all his successes, The Trial is the one that Welles has gone on record as saying was the greatest thing he ever created. Beyond the constraints of a low budget, everything we see on screen is Welles' vision. Given the years of hardships that incurred his previous productions, it's not surprising he'd hold a film that represented his own vision in such high esteem. That said, The Trial wasn't the film that he considered his favorite.

18. Chimes at Midnight (1965)

Welles once said in an interview that if he ever had to argue his way into heaven based on his work, he would try to do so with Chimes at Midnight. Originally titled Falstaff in some regions after the central character, Chimes at Midnight represented the most loyally produced and loving adaptation of Welles' own career. It was based primarily on William Shakespeare's Henry IV Parts 1 and 2 with elements of Henry V added. For Welles, the book's central character of Falstaff, the jolly, rotund and disgraced nobleman was one of Shakespeare's greatest creations. Naturally, Welles saw a great deal of himself in Falstaff. The character was by his nature a good man, albeit a lusty, cowardly slob and a liar with a heart of gold. He was innocent and naive in the manner of a child. To Welles, he was the representation of Merry Old England and the fictionalized nostalgia for the past that imbibed so much of English literature from Shakespeare to Chaucer. He was an implicit rejection of the notion of modernity. Welles had tried before to stage a version of what would become Chimes at Midnight earlier in his life called Five Kings that ultimately proved too technically complicated and slow-paced to work properly. With Chimes at Midnight, Welles finally achieved a lifelong dream in portraying his favorite Shakespeare character in all of his exhaustive glory.

Much like The Trial, there is much to be desired about Welles' vision for medieval England. The claustrophobia and tension of his previous film gave way to vast open spaces, joyous celebrations in wide open inns and regal grandeur of the Royalty. Henry IVth is the story of the aged father passing down his title to his namesake son and forcing him to grapple with leadership and responsibility. For the young Prince of Wales, King Henry and Falstaff are the literal representatives of his duality between responsibility and youth. It's a kind of tragedy of maturity wherein Henry must put aside Falstaff and grapple with the brutal realities of the real world. Naturally, Welles goes on in on that brutality. Chimes at Midnight comes with one of the most brutal and influential battle scenes in cinematic history. The carefully shot battle scene incorporated dozens of extras, horses, and grime to produce one of the least romantic depictions of battle yet put to film. Welles said the battle scene was meant to be intentionally brutal to emphasize the idea of the death of chivalry in battle. We see that clearly as swords clash and bodies pile up. Visually speaking it's hard to deny that the battle wasn't hugely influential on generations of filmmakers, being referenced in everything from Kenneth Branaugh's adaptation of Henry V to Mel Gibson's Braveheart and even in the Battle of the Bastards in Game of Thrones.

Naturally, a shoot of this size and scope proved to be greatly difficult on Welles' budget. Europe is naturally awash with castles so locations proved to be available for the film's striking scenes set against the Royalty. Most of the shooting in the Inn was done on a sound stage that Welles had built specifically for the production. Unfortunately, the film lacked proper audio recording technology requiring nearly all of the audio to be rerecorded in post-production. Despite the limitations, the final product is staggering to behold. It's a loud, boisterous and joyful tragedy right up until the bitter emotional end. Many critics consider Chimes at Midnight to be Welles' greatest achievement above and beyond Citizen Kane. Welles would be inclined to agree.

19. The Immortal Story (1968)

Of all the films in Welles' filmography, none represents quite as massive of a digression as The Immortal Story. Immediately the viewer notices that the film is his first film up until this point that was shot in color. As Welles discussed with his protege and biographer Peter Bogdonvich, he always preferred to shoot his films in black and white as he felt that the format did more to help present performances better than color did. With The Immortal Story, he seems to have broken his rule for reasons that aren't quite clear. The results offer some hints as to what was going through Welles' decision-making process. The film is bizarrely alluring to look at. Considering his visual style was more receptive to surrealism and stark visual symbolism, a cursory review shows the film to be one of the most luscious and beautifully shot films in his filmography.

With an understanding of the story, the logic of this seems to come into focus. The story follows the life of an ancient European nobleman who in his older years has sought to make a story that he once heard come true. In the story, an old man pays a sailor five guineas to have an affair with his life before sending him off to sea. Fulfilling the story and making it a true story becomes the old man's obsession. Paying an older fellow Noblewoman and a young sailor he meets on the street, the man observes from a distance as the scenario he contrived into reality forms as the Noblewoman and the sailor bond and intimately perform their task before they're forced to part ways.

While sexuality does technically exist in several of Welles' films like Citizen Kane and The Trial as plot points, The Immortal Story holds the bizarre position of being one of the only Welles projects wherein sexuality is a major theme of the story and one rooted in its story's ideas and anxieties. One can almost look through the allure of its technicolor dreamscape and intimacy to see a depiction of Welles' vision for what the very nature of storytelling is. Through the shrouds of more traditional filmmaking, Welles seems to be using this story as a kind of metaphor for the drive and anxiety that forms storytelling itself. At its core, Welles seems to suggest that the core of art is a perverse need to reproduce and express one's innermost anxieties on display. Though unconventional and likely overly sexualized for some viewers, The Immortal Story presents us with a disturbingly honest sort of autobiography of the artist's soul.

20. F for Fake (1974)

Orson Welles' final completed film represents one of the most avente-garde and experimental pieces of filmmaking in his filmography. F for Fake is technically a documentary but it's a very fast paced, tangential and esoteric piece of filmmaking that jumps across multiple boundaries and stories to explore multiple facets of a central theme. That theme is the idea of "fakeness". The central story follows a pair of famous frauds. The first is Elmyr de Hory, a Hungarian painter that made his living as an art forger recreating hundreds of the most popular pieces of contemporary artists including Pablo Picasso. The second is Clifford Irving, Elmyr's biographer who was caught forging an interview with the mysterious media mogul and recluse Howard Hughes.

While the story focuses primarily on their accomplishments and controversies the entirety of the piece is extremely tangential and jumps across the lives of dozens of people including Orson Welles himself. Welles takes time in the piece to discuss his history with lies, the War of the Worlds broadcast that he played up the legend of, how he got his first acting job by lying, and what the actual effect of lying means to the art world. Welles muses on the consequences of every one of the personalities he profiles and comes to many fascinating insights about the nature of their dishonesties. While he makes no bones about the fact that they were frauds, plagiarists and charlatans he also finds a great deal of sympathy to be found amongst the tragedies of their lives.

Then at the moment of most brutal honesty, he pulls back and asks what it all means in the scheme of things. Merely by observing a beautiful European church lined with hundreds of year old statues and garments of stone. He calls it a monument to human dignity and to God's grace and power. Yet this monument has no author or name to it. It merely stands the test of time as an expression of humanity's greatest desires and hopes. As essayist Kyle Kalgren noted in his excellent analysis of the film, Welles seems to come to the opposite conclusion of his seminal film Citizen Kane. "We'll always have Xanadu, so who cares about Rosebud?" Maybe the film's final conclusion is that art is greater than the individuals or money involved and that fake art is still art. Maybe a fake painting that matches the quality of the real thing is as valuable as the real thing. Then again maybe it doesn't. Welles ends the film with a beautiful story told by his then-mistress Oja Kodar detailing her family's lineage and the untold history of a great unknown art forger that represents one of the most exciting and beautiful moments of the film before Welles pulls the rug out on the audience with the film's final moments.

21. The Final Years and Unfinished Projects

The final years of Orson Welles' life can reasonably be described as a sad march into oblivion. Welles returned to the United States in 1970 hoping to find a home among the greats of New Hollywood and quickly set about trying to produce new films. What followed was fifteen years of financial breakdowns, gradual periods of acting in films for money and then turning around and investing it in his film productions. After 1978, Welles never completed a project for the final seven years of his life. Yet he still continued to work, taking acting and commercial jobs and desperately attempting to finishing his outstanding projects. His final completed projected was Filming Othello. The film is nothing more than a conversation of Orson Welles discussing the production history of his film Othello that he produced for German television. The film was included with the 2017 Criterion release of Othello and is well worth observation for fans of Orson Welles. If it impresses anything upon its viewer it would be Welles' strange sense of late-period melancholy and modesty. He states early in the film that nothing he's produced is worthy of the art that he's attempting to adapt and that he was merely a filmmaker. He would try to produce a second documentary called Filming The Trial but didn't complete it before his death.

He shot footage for multiple films in this time including an adaptation of The Merchant of Venice, a thriller called The Deep, segments of Don Quixote and finally his recently completed film The Other Side of the Wind. The latter of these he started on as early as 1970 and proceeded to shoot and editing throughout the remainder of his life. The film would go on to become the greatest legend of his filmmaking career. Despite six years of on and off production, nearly a decade of legal red tape following the Iranian Revolution (the film's financier was the brother in law of the Shaw of Iran) and years of faltering post-production, the film was never completed in Welles' lifetime. Prior to his death he discussed taking on directing several additional films including The Cradle Will rock, Ada or Ador: A Family Chronicle, Saint Jack (which his protégé Peter Bogdanovich would direct) and a full adaptation of King Lear.

There is a great deal of speculation about why many of these films never got done in the final seven years of Welles' life. Some consider Welles' final years to be too self-destructive and purposely unproductive but by all indications, Orson spent these years grappling with crippling financial troubles and red tape between his sparse moments of being able to film.

In a desperate move to try and garner sympathy and attention, Welles used an appearance during the AFI festival meant to offer the aged Welles with a lifetime achievement award for his work as a chance to promote his newest film. During the acceptance speech, he proceeded to show off footage from The Other Side of the Wind which was suffering from a lack of funding and wouldn't be finished and blatantly hinted that the film was short on funding. The incident was interpreted plainly as a moment of panhandling and desperation.

Welles wasn't a religious man and told two conflicting thoughts on his beliefs late in his life. On one occasion he stated that he was an atheist when asked to perform a prayer. On another occasion when asked he said that he believed in God but didn't think God would be interested in his prayers. In any case, Welles was apathetic to faith. His sole drive seemed to be his desire to create and act out the stories that inspired him and no one at this time wanted to respect or enable his talents. Unable to accomplish that which drove his life, his final years were spent in relative despair.

22. Transformers: The Movie (1986)

Orson Welles' final cinematic role was portraying Unicron in Transformers: The Movie. If there were any more of a modest place for the one time giant to descend, I cannot think of one. Granted this probably didn't represent his most serious compromise. During the production of The Other Side of the Wind, he spent several evenings with his cinematography editing softcore adult films so that the two of them could get back to work and keep him financially solvent. He recorded his audio for the film just five days before his death. Regardless of his opinion on working on the animated film, these final years of Orson Welles' life represent him at his lowest point. He was forced to take any gig he could book himself for. Famously he took an enormous amount of commercial work, which included an infamous Champaign commercial in which an inebriated Welles attempted to give an elegant speech about the mystique of Paul Masson wine only to slur his sentences to a depressingly hilarious degree. In his late period speeches, you really sense the desperation and melancholy of his station in life. As Welles performed his final voiceover on Transformers, his aged and decrepit voice proved too rough even to fill the role. The audio designers were forced to augment the voice-over performance to improve it.

Welles perished less than a week after performing his lines for the film from a heart attack at the age of seventy. He died at this desk while typing up stage directions for a project that he and his cinematographer Gary Graver were going to shoot the following day at UCLA. In a sense, he died doing what he loved. His body was cremated and a small funeral was held for him where in his closest friend and three daughters attended. This was the first instance that the three children of different marriages ever met. Two years after his death in 1987, his wishes were respected and his ashes were buried in Spain at the home of a friend and bullfighter Antonio Ordonez.

23. Don Quixote De Orson Welles (1992)

The years after Welles' death brought a great deal of pain and hardship for the people whose lives he most affected. It also brought a great deal of division and indecision. Depending on who you ask the following two decades after his death brought an enormous amount of hostility and contention between the inheritors of the Welles legacy. Multiple people sought claim to Welles' history and tried to make his works available. Since multiple studios owned the rights to his various films, rereleases of his movies became contentious. Universal was sued by Beatrice Welles when it attempted to reconstruct Touch of Evil only for his to settle out of court with the studio. She later claimed her suit was caused by a lack of communication that wouldn't have happened had she understood their plan to follow Welles' famous memo. Beatrice additionally caused a great deal of controversy in 1992 when she attempted to fiancé a restoration of Othello that many Welles scholars have come to scoff at for it's incompetent and sloppy restoration.

Cinematographer Gary Graver spent much of his life following Welles' death mourning the loss of his creative partner. Welles was his primary source of income and one of his closest work associates and friends for fifteen years. Graver would spend many of the final years of his life attempting to build a cut of The Other Side of the Wind that ultimately never came to fruition before his death in 2006.

Orson's mistress and creative partner Oja Kodar inherited the Welles estate and attempted to do everything in her power to preserve the memory and works of her lover. In 1995, she co-wrote/co-directed a documentary called Orson Welles: The One-Man Band. While she has settled into a comfortable life in Croatia working as an artist and an innkeeper, she's stayed notable through her association with her late lover. Depending on who you ask, she's responsible for some of the legal troubles that kept The Other Side of the Wind out of the spotlight, however, her role in preserving the later works of Welles is contentious. By any regards, Oja is a worthy inheritor of the estate and did everything she could to bring his films to the public light.

In 1990, she sold the rights to some of Welles' remaining footage from Don Quixote to Spanish producer Patxi Irigoyen, desiring to see some sort of version of the film come to fruition. Working with director Jesús Franco, the filmmakers stitched the decomposed footage shot across multiple formats into a semi-coherent two-hour film that they showed at the 1992 Cannes Film Festival under the title Don Quixote De Orson Welles. Without proper audio, the crew rerecorded dialog from new actors. The result is a rough looking, rough sounding and merely academic exercise that barely registers as a completed film. There was a rough cut that Orson Welles himself had finished that film critics Juan Cobos and Jonathon Rosenbaum have seen that according to them looks nothing like the hodgepodge of a film that Irigoyen and Franco assembled.

 24. The Other Side of the Wind (2018)

Like with Citizen Kane, I don't wish to relitigate the entire history of The Other Side of the Wind. Having already reviewed the film and shot a series of interviews with Welles scholars Josh Karp and Jonathon Rosenbaum, I've thoroughly discussed the history of Welles' so-called "final film". What I would like to emphasize is just how the film finally came to fruition after nearly fifty years of litigation, red tape, and creative challenges.

After Welles' death, the footage from his shooting was locked in a French vault awaiting decision making and legal red tape. Under French law, Welles still technically had the rights to the film but the Iranian government had a claim on it as financers. In addition, there was a great deal of contention as to how to move forward. The surviving legacy holders of Welles' work Oja Kodar, Beatrice Welles and Peter Bogdanovich all had differing desires that needed to be respected. In order to get finished the film would need an enormous amount of diplomacy and money.

Following several faltering offers to finance the film, polish filmmaker Filip Jan Rymsza stepped in with a bid to take over the film's post-production. Teaming with producers Jen Koethner Kaul and Frank Marshall, the team began to work on acquiring the film and by fall of 2014, the prep work had begun. By early 2015 the group had gained access to the workprint of the film and had gotten Peter Bogdanovich on board the project. They garnered enough money to get access to the film's workprint by selling distribution rights to the film. Filip began the careful dance of reaching an agreement between Beatrice and Oja and by spring of 2015, the gears were turning with the hope of turning the film around in time for Orson Welles' 100th birthday that year. On May 7th, the team began a forty-day Indiegogo campaign to attempt to raise the necessary funds to finish the film's postproduction. Despite extending the campaign an additional month and lowering the funding goals, the $406 thousand that was accumulated while inspiring wasn't enough to complete the film. Towards the end of 2015, it began clear the film was going to require additional help from a new distributor.

The campaign stayed quiet for nearly two years as behind the scenes discussions went underway until March 2017 when they finally announced that Netflix had purchased the distribution rights. Within weeks, the footage was moved from Paris to Los Angeles and the nearly year-long production process was underway. An enormous amount of work was needed to processing the hundreds of hours of footage into a manageable process. Editor Bob Murawski (The Hurt Locker) worked with a team to transfer the footage shot over multiple formats into digital, painstakingly matched the hours of audio to the footage and started slowly editing the film using Welles' mismatched notes and script. Welles problematically evolved his vision for the final film throughout the process of shooting the film. The result of this was that editing the film became a difficult process of making executive decisions as to what to keep and what to send to the cutting room floor.

By January 2018, a rough cut of the film had been finished. At this point, the producers held the first screening for the film to a group of Hollywood insiders including Paul Thomas Anderson, Quentin Tarantino, and Rian Johnson. The screening also included John Huston's son Danny Huston, Crispin Glover, Peter Bogdanovich and the surviving crew of the film. The next several months brought about the final aspects of post-production which included composing the film's original soundtrack. French composer and musician Michel Legrand, who had previously composed the soundtrack for F for Fake, was brought in and started recording the soundtrack in March 2018.

The film's initial premiere had been planned for the Cannes Film Festival however that festival changed the rules arbitrarily in regards to its willingness to premiere digital films from online distributors like Netflix. Subsequently, the premiere was pushed until August 31st at the 75th Venice International Film Festival. Naturally, the premiere that was most important was it's vaunted premiere on Netflix which was eventually announced for release on Friday, November 2nd, 2018. Generations of Welles supporters and fans finally were afforded the opportunity to view Welles' final theatrical premiere that day. Additionally, several movie theaters across the United States premiered the film the same weekend including the Music Box Theater in Chicago where I personally attended the Saturday morning premiere.

25. Conclusion: The Legacy of Orson Welles

We are now living in the greatest time to be an Orson Welles fan. The old truism is that artists are never appreciated until after they die but now in 2018 the full lot of his estranged filmography is finally starting to make its way into the public eye. Welles is beloved as one of the filmmakers in history and his work is regularly mentioned in the same breath as the masters like John Ford, Ingmar Bergman, Akira Kurosawa, and Jean Luc-Godard. 

Every year the studios that own the rights to Welles' films go out of their way to restore and re-release more of his films. Just in the past few years The Criterion Collection has gone back and released Chimes at Midnight, The Immortal Story, Othello, Filming Othello and The Magnificent Ambersons on Blu-ray. Chimes at Midnight's release on home video coincided with its first public touring in the United States in decades as the film's restoration was displayed on dozens of movie theaters across the country in 2016. Citizen Kane, The Third Man, Touch of Evil and Macbeth all have excellent Blu-ray transfers. His lesser known and regarded films like The Stranger and The Trial are in the public domain and are available for free online.

It's a shame that the late director's work has for long been relegated to the dustbins of history. Many of his best pieces of film were left to rot for decades in vaults with no public viewing or demand. Now almost all of his work is available to buy on the most up to date home viewing format. Fans of cinema ought to seek these films out. Though obscure and often rough around the edges, Orson Welles produced one of the finest outputs of work in the history of cinema. He persisted against a lifetime of odds and gave the world everything he had in him until there was nothing left to give. In the end, he was a more modest, fragile and melancholy soul than the bombast, ego and strength of his personality let on.

As Jonathon Rosenbaum discussed in during our FVTV interview this November, once he'd met Welles in person he no longer fanaticized the idea of wanting to be him. Even so, Welles was everything he was sold to be. He was kind, intelligent if a bit rude but he was always himself.

Resources/Sources:

Previous GUG Reviews: Citizen Kane, The Other Side of the Wind Documentaries: Magician: The Astonishing Life and Work of Orson Welles, The Battle Over Citizen Kane, They'll Love Me When I'm Dead, Filming Othello Books: Citizen Kane: A Filmmaker's Journey by Harlan Lebo, Orson Welles' Last Film by Josh Karp, The Encyclopedia of Orson Welles by Chuck Berg and Tom Erskine Video Essays: MovieBob: Citizen Unicron, Kyle Kalgreen: F for Fake, Kyle Kalgreen: Chimes at Midnight, Razorfist: The Third Man, Cinemologists: Mr. Arkadin Online Researches: Wikipedia, When Radio Was

[new2otomelol]

Running Away

I’ve been meaning to write a little bit of angst.  Like I’ve said, I’m totally not a writer, but do like to write as an escape and right now, it’s the perfect time for one!  I might not even create an “angst” type of situation, apologies in advance!

KBTBB is owned by Voltage. I created the MC: Kaori. If you don’t want to read about themes such as rape, suicide or violence, please don’t read this post.  I’m not planning on going into detail, but wanted to try something different and still incorporate something fun into it.

Kaori’s POV

Breathe, just breathe Kaori.  I’m trying to maintain my calm as I’m being taken by two men wearing masks to a room in the hotel; I’ve apparently been purchased by them in a black-market auction.  If they only knew that it’s taking every fiber of my being to not shake, cry and fall to the ground. Taking my own life at this point would be a welcome end to so much suffering, but I have a beautiful 6-year-old boy that needs me and I need to be strong for him.  

We arrive at the penthouse and I come face to face with 5 men. “Pretty lady, we are the ones that bought you at the auction!” A man with a fedora hat he removes his mask and the rest of the men follow suit. “This is illegal and you all know it, now let me go!” I say as forcibly as I can, I wish I could escape, but I’m still cuffed. “Ooooh, looks like the maid has an attitude boss, what should we do with her?” the blond man looks at a man I know all too well, the owner of the Tres Spades, Mr. Eisuke Ichinomiya.  I feel my anger and fear get the best of me and I respond to the blond man “I WILL go to the police if you don’t release me!!!” A man with slicked back hair and a grey suit lets out a chuckle, “there’s one right over there” as he points to a man by the stairwell. “Ya jerk, why you gotta give me away?!”

Mr. Ichinomiya stands up and walks towards me, I step back, but he quickly grabs me by the cuffs and pulls me towards him.  I reactively flinch backwards hard and feel my thumb break at the base of the bone.  His eyes widen “What is wrong with you woman?!” He quickly unlocks my cuffs and tries to grab my hand. I take a couple of steps back “I’m fine, it’s just going to leave a bruise” he begins to get angry, “let me see it woman!” I suppress the pain “don’t you dare touch me. Just get to what you want to do with me.”  

All of the men have shocked expressions, but I could care less. Mr. Ichinimoya goes back to his seat and sighs “You have to pick one of us to buy you, so pick quickly, we don’t have all night!” “Boss, that’s no way to speak to the lady, she’s obviously frightened, first let us introduce ourselves…I’m Mitsunari Baba, I’m single and ready to mingle…” “You old fart, well, I’m Ota Kisaki, I’m sure you’ve heard of me, I’m the Angelic Artist” the man in the grey suit rolls his eyes “I’m Soryu Oh, second in command of the Ice Dragons and ready to kill you if you decide to talk to anyone about us after tonight!” the cop by the stairwell takes a huff from his cigarette “I’m Mamoru Kishi, just call me Mamo.” They all stare at me, I don’t know what to do.  “You know princess, you’re quite beautiful, how old are you?” I roll my eyes at Baba. “I’m 24, does it matter?” He quickly raises his arms and backs away “my bad!” Mr. Ichinimoya gets frustrated and yells at me “CHOOSE!

I just can’t, I can’t do this, I feel a panic attack about to hit, I try hard to suppress it.  My breathing increases and I begin to sweat. “That’s it, you’re mine!” Mr. Ichinimoya comes towards me, picks me up and throws me over his shoulder without warning.  I can’t move as I begin to feel my chest tighten, I can’t breathe. We enter his suite and he sets me on one of his couches.  I begin to gasp for air, but I feel like I can’t get enough in my lungs.  Mr. Ichinomiya’s eyes widen… “hey, calm your breathing, you’re going to give yourself a heart attack! Just calm down, breathe slow…” I try to slow down and think of my strength, my son.  Mr. Ichinomiya gets close to me and grabs me by the shoulders trying to calm me down, but that just made it worst.

Horrifying memories come flooding back to me at that moment… I begin to scream, kick and push at Mr. Ichinomiya.  The doors of the suite burst open as the other bidders make their way inside in shock.  “She won’t calm down, I don’t know what’s going on with her!” he tells them in a panic… Baba rushes to him and pulls him back from me… “pretty lady, calm you breathing, please, slow it down…” I drag myself off the couch and move back as far back as I can against the wall and hold my legs to my chest. I snap back to reality and slowly begin to stabilize my breathing.

Baba sits on the ground, putting some distance between us. “Now princess, you show signs of abuse, there’s no other way of putting it. Tell us what happened, we’re not going to harm you!”  I haven’t told anyone about this, except for the police, but that did no good.

“I… I um… I was eighteen meeting one of my best friends for a movie.  He wanted to take me to a café before heading to the theater, but he pulled me into an alley and he forced himself on me. I put up a fight with all my might, but he beat me into submission breaking my ribs, dislocating one of my shoulders, I… I… there was so much blood.  He took so much from me… I’m trying not to panic, to trust people again, I, I just, ….” I can’t hold back my tears at this point, but I dry them and attempt to continue… “one month later I found out I was pregnant and so I ran away.  He’s still looking for me, for my son, but I won’t let him find us!...” I take a deep breath “and now tonight I’m knocked out and placed as an item in a black-market auction.  I’m alive for my son, otherwise, I’d let Mr. Oh shoot me right here and now!”

“Kaori, sweetie, where is your son right now?” I try to calm my sobbing, “he’s spending the night at Chisato’s dorm, they had a scheduled game night.” I finally decide to look up at the guys and notice that they are all looking at me differently. Baba is looking at me with sad eyes, Soryu and Eisuke look very angry for some reason, Ota looks at me with a concerned expression, Mamoru grabs his cell phone and walks out of Mr. Ichinomiya’s suite. “I, please don’t be angry with me, I’ll keep your secret, I promise, just please, don’t do anything to my son!”

Mr. Ichinomiya gets close to me and kneels “I promise I’m not going to hurt you or your son. I apologize for earlier, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I’m in shock to see the usually arrogant and overly confident King speak to me in such a sincere and caring way. “M.. Mr. Ichinomiya?” He smiles… “Please, call me Eisuke…” “Eisuke, thank you…” Baba inches a bit closer, but I don’t feel as scared as earlier. “Princess, please, give us your hand, trust us as we have to trust you from now on.” I take both Eisuke and Baba’s hands and they help me stand up, but as soon as I do, my balance seems to shift from all the stress and I Iose strength in my legs; Eisuke quickly supports me by putting an arm around my waist. I begin to panic once again, but he holds my hand “shhhh… it’s okay, I’m walking you to the couch.”

EISUKE’S POV I can’t believe she’s so young and has gone through so much.  I’d give anything to meet the bastard that did this to her. No man should ever lay a hand like that on a woman!  She’s courageous in having kept the child, which speaks massively about her character. She’s done it all on her own, I’m sure the rest of the guys feel the same way.  We don’t advocate that sort of thing here, especially Soryu, he was brought up with strong ideals by his grandfather.

Mamoru comes back a few minutes after having walked out. “What did you find out?” I ask him. “Well, the kid here did report the crime, he caused her a lot of physical damage, but the asshole’s dad was a detective and so he got away with it all… according to sources, he is headed to Tokyo tonight, he found ‘ya out kid!”

SORYU’S POV I can’t stand this another minute. This poor woman has been through hell and now this jack ass is on his way to her again. I look at her as she begins to shake on the couch. “Kaori, call Chisato right now and have her bring your son to the penthouse!” I hand the penthouse phone to her.  “Mamo, give me the name of this asshole!” Normally, Mamoru wouldn’t help me under any circumstances, but he writes the name down and gives it to me. “Kill the bastard!” I nod and leave the penthouse, time to have some fun.”

EISUKE’S POV “Kaori, you’re staying in the guest room in my suite from now on.  Your son will live with you.  You are now the maid to the penthouse, we won’t let anything happen to the both of you.  What does your son do during the day?” Kaori looks at me in shock… “I uh, he goes to school, he’s a bright boy, he’s skipped a couple of grades… but is it really okay for us to be here?  Please, I don’t need sympathy… I can make it on my own and…” “Yes Kaori, you’ve made it on your own for a while now, but now, you belong to me and I won’t let anything happen to you or your son. We all feel the same way; no man should ever lay a hand on a woman like that.” Kaori begins to cry. “But he’s smart and he’s going to get away from Mr. Oh, he’ll find us!” She’s going to have another panic attack, I can tell. “Can I have your hands?” She complies, she’s trusting me a little more. “We may be doing illegal things up here, but we’re not monsters.  You’re with us now.”  She begins to calm down.

“Kaori, it’s going to be okay. You need to get your son here; the security is bar none.” Ota reassures her and she begins to call Chisato.  We all take a break to give her privacy and speak with each other. “Boss, will you be okay with her here alone?” Baba looks concerned. “I know I’m an arrogant asshole, but I won’t treat her wrong.”  Baba’s eyes widen. “I’ve never seen you like this before Boss, but it’s good to know” he smiles… “you idiot, I’m not a cold-hearted ass!” Ota chuckles and addresses Baba “Alright old man, let’s just stop teasing the boss before we get it!”

KAORI’S POV My son, Daichi, is on his way here.  I still can’t believe that I’m now being supported by the very people I thought would oppress me.  I can’t let my pride get in the way and accept all the help I can offer. I begin to clean my tears, straighten my uniform and re-center myself. Mamoru is standing behind me as we both watch Eisuke, Baba and Ota carry on a conversation amongst themselves.

“Kid, the man that did this to you, he’s like a genius according to his file.” I nod.  It is then that the others come back to join us in the living room. “He’s incredibly smart… we both use to attend a university for gifted students, I was in the mathematics department and he was in the engineering department.  We had grown up together until my parents died in a car accident and I was getting ready to move away.  That night was to be the last night I would see him before leaving to America.” Right as I finished my sentence, the elevator dings and I hear the sweetest voice coming from downstairs. “Mommy?”

I get up and run to the lobby. I thank the concierge and I hug my son with all my might. “Mommy! Seriously! I love you too, but, I want to live to at least have grandkids someday…” I sigh, kiss him on the forehead “drama much?” He chuckles.  Eisuke, Mamoru, Baba and Ota all come down the stairs. “Hello little guy! I’m Ota, I have some paper and coloring pencils if you’d like…” Daichi smiles and bows to him. “Thank you, sir, I prefer a good game of chess any time. Am I correct to assume you’re the Angelic Artist?” Ota looks at my son and raises a brow. “Yes! My, my, such a well-trained puppy.” Baba smacks Ota on the arm and begins to introduce himself “I’m Mitsunari Baba and we’ll be flat mates for a while!” Mamoru walks towards Daichi, “I’m Mamoru kid, but you can call me Mamo.” And last, but not least, Eisuke is getting ready to introduce himself when my son beats him to the punch “You’re Eisuke Ichinomiya, you’ve got an amazing business acumen.”  Eisuke’s eyes widen, “nice to meet you kid!”

My son moves front and center as if he’s a public speaker and bows to them “My name is Daichi Amano, pleasure to meet you all.” I giggle at his actions. “Daichi, you’re staying here with your mother in the penthouse.” Baba smiles as he informs him.  Daichi look at me “mommy? I’m not stupid, is that man after us again?” I hold it in as much as I can, but I get to my son’s eye level, stroke his hair and hold his face “that is for me to worry about. You’ll be more than safe here, I promise… I won’t ever let anything happen to you!” he hugs me tightly with his little arms “Mommy, I don’t know what that man wants from us…” “Shhhh… Daichi, everything will be settled soon, no one will ever harm you.” Right at that moment Soryu walks in to the penthouse.  He gives me concerned stare. “Daichi, this is mommy’s friend, Mr. Soryu Oh…” Daichi runs over and bows to Soryu.  “Pleasure to meet you sir!” Soryu smiles at Daichi and ruffles his hair. “Why don’t you go and play a game of chess with one of the guys…” He quickly grabs Eisuke by the hand and takes him to the coffee table.  He takes out a chess board and begins to prepare.

I walk to the side to talk to Soryu. “He’s arrived at Tokyo.  My men tracked him down, but it’s as if he noticed them and he’s managed to hide.” I sigh and look at my son as he plays with Eisuke. “Mr. Oh, thank you for everything. But the man you’re seeking will get to me soon, he won’t let anyone get in his way. Let’s rest tonight and I’ll come up with an idea on how to deal with him.” He gives me a concerned stare. “I saw your hospital file, he did a lot more than what you said he did to you.” “Yes, he did, but, that’s not important… my son is and I can’t let my past deter me anymore.”

“Oooooooh! Eisuke you just got burned at chess by a 6-year-old!” I turn around to look at Ota clapping excitedly. “We should make a bet!” Baba begins to pull out his wallet. “No betting and no more playing! It’s time for bed Daichi, say goodnight to everyone.” He quickly gets up and begins to put away the game. “No, leave it, we’ve got a re-match tomorrow!” Eisuke gives the order. Daichi looks at him straight on “you’re on Mr.!” And so began our life at the penthouse.  

ONE MONTH LATER I continue to work on cleaning suites in the hotel and take care of the penthouse.  Eisuke sometimes asks me to help him out by pretending to be his girlfriend, something about a deal with a Bucci character.  I don’t mind, he remains respectful towards me. Daichi has begun attending a different academy that Eisuke enrolled him in, as much as I protested, he felt that my son deserved a better education; he’s grown fond of him.  Not to mention they play chess aggressively!

Soryu has placed trackers in my cell phone, pager, even my shoes.  I know my attacker well, that will not deter him.  The only way to get that bastard is to let him get me, but the guys don’t want to use me as bait, too risky.  As I walk outside the hotel one afternoon, I feel someone place a rag on my face, a strange smell fills my senses and I black out. I wake up to find the daughter of the Bucci guy staring me down… “Leave my Suke alone bitch!”

Great, this again, “I love him too much to leave him Carolina sweetie, but you’re young and beautiful and you can do so much better!” Carolina huffs and I hear a ruffling noise behind me.  I finally notice that I am in an empty warehouse and Carolina had some men with her.  Gun fire spreads from all directions and Carolina begins to panic. I look behind me and see a shadow with a gun aiming at Carolina. I get up, with hands bound, and tackle Carolina to the ground, I feel a scorching pain on my arm, I think I just got grazed by a bullet. “Stay down Carolina, this isn’t Eisuke’s doing, something else is going on!”  As soon as I finish saying that I feel arms wrap around my waist and lift me up. “That’s right sweet heart, miss me?!” Terror grips me and I begin to scream and kick out as he drags me out. “Kaori!!!! Noooooo!” Carolina’s words are the last I hear before I’m hit on the back of the head, I lose consciousness yet again.

EISUKE’s POV We arrive at the warehouse were Carolina took Kaori to. As soon as we get there, Carolina comes out running “Sukeeeee! Heeeelp!” I run to her, “where’s Kaori?!” She begins to cry “a really tall man took her, she took a bullet for me, she saved me… I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have taken her!” I look at Soryu and he takes off to begin tracking Kaori.

“Carolina, please head back to your father’s… we’ll catch the son of a bitch!”  She nods and begins to leave with her men, but stops and turns for a second. “Eisuke, she loves you AND she saved me, please bring her back!” I nod and hurry to the limo to check in with Soryu. “Eisuke, I’ve got her tracker working on her shoes, the bastard took out the other trackers.  He’s taken her to an old hotel! It’s been half an hour, we’ve got to hurry!”

We make it across the city and head to a decrepit hotel.  Soryu has a few of his men help us in locating her… when we get to the room where the tracker picks up the device, we find her shoes on top of a bed, but no Kaori. “DAMN THAT BASTARD!” I yell in frustration.

KAORI’S POV I feel pain in my wrists and ankles as I begin to open my eyes.  So much movement all around, where am I?  “Are you awake yet bitch?!” That voice!

To be continued....

[salt-sass-and-lyrium]

Friend Dramu

(... do people still say dramu? God I’m so old)

So I have this friend... let’s call her Sarah. Sarah is great. I adore her. I actually have a pretty big crush on her. Found out not too long ago that she actually has a crush on me as well (didn’t know how I felt about her, started dating someone, then found out), but is currently in a relationship so, oh well, missed connections or whatever.

Anyway.

Sarah’s boyfriend is a creep. Like. ‘Gives me the legit willies’ creep. You know how when you see a guy who looks like a foot and acts like a jackass with some great girl and you’re like “.. how the fuck--.” Yeah. Their relationship is the embodiment of that. Sarah loves him... let’s call him Jim. Sarah loves Jim. She adores him. I can’t see why. I actually knew Jim (though admittedly not very well) before they even met, and he’s always weirded me out. Always. He never actually did anything, so I just let it go, but he just gave me a weird vibe that made me super uncomfortable, so I pretty much avoided him.

But, him and Sarah started dating, and I adore Sarah, and she adores him so... we’re kinda forced together. But, like I said, Jim is a creep. And an ass. Who has a probably serious drinking problem. I didn’t know this prior to them dating, but apparently he has a history of getting drunk and beating women. Anyway, long story short, Sarah, Jim and I, along with a few of their friends all hung out for a FriendsGiving in the fucking boonies last year. Sarah got literally black out drunk. Like, had no idea where she was, falling all over herself, apparently chipped a tooth at some point, had zero memory of anything the next day black out drunk. But, Sarah has a crush on me, and wants to diddle me. But. I’m not that girl. If you’re so drunk you can’t walk, don’t know where you are, then you can’t consent. And I’m not fucking someone who can’t give consent.

Unfortunately, Jim is fully aware of Sarah’s crush (I don’t know if he knows I reciprocate her feelings, but w/e, it’s irrelevant). So Jim spent the evening first gently hinting at Sarah wanting to fuck me, then flat out just trying to shove us into a room together so we could fuck. Again. I’m not that type of girl. I’m not going to take advantage of someone who has no idea where the fuck they are, so I keep pretending to be oblivious, or just ignoring him. Jim gets extremely drunk as well, and starts getting handsy with me. Which, I’m not kosher with. He ‘accidentally’ enters a room where he knows I’m changing (and people outside the room are shouting at him to not enter because I was changing), ‘accidentally’ just happens to walk in front of me fucking naked (he is not an attractive man, tbh) several times. ‘Accidentally’ tries to pull me into his lap. “Accidentally” keeps touching me. Then he tries to talk me into taking a shower with him (yeaaaah, no) and then, what topped it off, was he literally tried to force his way into the bathroom with me. Like, he’s easily twice my fucking size, and I’m “legs braced against the sink body pressed against the door” trying to stop this fucking guy from breaking the door down so he can try and force me to fuck his black out drunk girlfriend. I’m telling him to go away, that I’m trying to pee (I actually was) and that I don’t want him to come in. He’s just shouting over me and throwing himself against the door. I’m like .5 seconds away from calling the cops when he suddenly stops and walks away. I pee, but before I get out of the bathroom, he and Sarah had gotten into some sort of argument, which resulted in him shoving her across the room, kicking open a door and storming out of the house. Which, I’m 150% not fucking okay with. Not to mention he talks to her like she’s a fucking idiot, when she’s easily one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. Like, that’s not the crush talking. She’s got an incredibly scientific mind and it’s fucking amazing.

ANYWAY.

After the FriendsGiving fiasco, I told Sarah that Jim made me extremely uncomfortable, to the point where I literally had a panic attack and had to drive home, panicking and slightly drunk, from the fucking boonies where there’s not even fucking street lights at like 2am. It was kinda awkward for a while, and still is really awkward. Because Sarah adores Jim. And wants to bring him EVERY WHERE. Like, I wanted to go see John Wick 2 when it was in theaters. She asked me if I wanted to go with her, and I of course said yes, because I hadn’t seen her in a while. I - several times - mentioned how happy I was to have a ‘just us girls’ type of day, and Sarah agreed. And then right before we were supposed to meet up, I get a “We’ll be heading out soon” message.

... uhhhh who the fuck is WE? Her and fucking Jim, that’s who. So, I didn’t go (and still haven’t seen it, no spoilers). Happened again. And again. In fact, I haven’t seen her in person in months. I’ve specifically stated, numerous times, that I just want to hang out with just her, not Jim. Granted, I’ve sugar coated it more than I probably should have, but I feel “just us girls” and “just us two”, among other things, is pretty clear. So, we didn’t talk for a while, and I really missed her. She messaged me, twice, recently. First time she asked if I wanted to go see a play with her (she just said, “with me”). And I legit wasn’t positive if I’d be able to or not, so I said maybe. She mentioned “we” and then said that our ‘mutual friend’ Jen (like we’ve met but barely know each other) would be joining. Ok. Cool. I can do Jen. Then, she lets it slip that Jim is coming. SO, no. I don’t go.

The other day, she asks me if I’m going to this EDM event this coming weekend. I had plans in the morning, and it’s in the afternoon, so I said “maybe”. She started talking about how  much she wanted to see me and how excited she was to spend time with me (assuming I went) and how we needed to spend some time together and catch up, yada yada yada. So while I’d initially not planned on going, I started considering it. And then she dropped the “Yeah, you can carpool with me and Jim!”

... no, Sarah. No. 

Like, I KNOW she knows that Jim makes me uncomfortable. I’ve told her. She apologized for it, said that he’s dialing back his drinking, yada yada yada. I wasn’t really in the mood to hear it at the time (because it’s BS) and still aren’t, but she knows. I guess she’s still trying to force us to be friends or something, I dunno. 

I’m just bummed because I’d like to spend time with her, and just her (or her and literally anyone who is not Jim, tbh) but she just keeps worming him into any plans we make. Get our nails done and get wine? Cool. Jim is going to meet us for wine. Go shopping? Cool, Jim is tagging along. Literally specified Girl’s Movie Night at my place? Welp, guess who’s SUPER INTO all of the movies we’re planning on watching and just HAS to tag along? Fucking Jim. And frankly, it’s not any of my business who she dates. She’s an adult, I can not and will not tell her how to live her life. But it just rubs me the wrong way. He treats her and talks to her like she’s an idiot and she either is so spun she doesn’t see it, or doesn’t care. He’s gotten physical with her at least once, but I suspect probably more. Especially because it’s a thing that’s happened with his exes, and if you’re the type of person who’d hit a S.O. then it doesn’t matter who you’re with. And I’m just at a loss for what to do. I don’t want to lose her as a friend, but I don’t want to hang out with Jim, or be around Jim, or even in the same building as Jim (he SERIOUSLY creeps me out and makes me uncomfortable). And she’s either not getting that, or ignoring it. And it sucks

TL;DR: I’ve got a really awesome friend who has a really shitty boyfriend who makes me extremely uncomfortable. Said boyfriend, in addition to just being shitty, is also violent, a raging drunk, an asshole and a creep. I’ve told awesome friend (admittedly, I sugar coated it, but still made it clear imho)  that her boyfriend makes me uncomfortable, but she keeps trying to seemingly force us to hang out and keeps inviting him places, even when I specify that it’s ‘just us girls’ or ‘just us two’ yada yada yada. As a result, since shitty boyfriend literally makes me uncomfortable to the point it ruins my day, I won’t go anywhere with him. Which, since she keeps trying to bring him to any and everything we plan, means I haven’t been able to hang out with her at all. Which, super sucks. Annnd idk what to do about it.

[pinatarazorsquigglycup]

‘Member When?

Man you remember when you didn’t want real people to see what you were upset about but you still wanted to say something so you brought it to *buh buh duh duhhhh* TUMBLR. Man what a shitty thing. Just saw Wonder Woman, great film, great meaning, man everything is great. I don’t feel so great. I kinda feel like shit actually. I am listening to intense slow emo music. I’ve felt like shit the past however many days. Why? I don’t know. I have a pretty good life. I am what America wants me to be. I have a real good job and real good friends and a start to a great education and I am a white male who is straight. Go out every night and smoke weed and go out with my great friends and adventure and wow it is great. I still feel like shit. I still get panic attacks when I see too many people at the movie theater. I still get mad at things that don’t exist and still will never get mad at anything. I really wonder what is wrong with me. I literally already don’t remember where I was going. I mean I knew I would forget and maybe that is why I did. I wish I could drive away with you, my love. Who is that? Who knows? Maybe still the same girl who I know I will never be with and never expected to be with but still think maybe deep down there is something there. I have slept in the same bed as her, cuddled with her, exchanged I love you’s. Isn’t that a relationship? No, that is my best friend. So what, you love your best friend? You wanna fuck your best friend, you sick psycho? The person that gives you everything you have ever asked for, and you can’t just take that and be okay? Or maybe it is the other friend that you smoke with every night and has the best time of your life with? But then you can’t remember that night, can you? Because you get too far and you know it while it is happening. Not what I asked though. You just want to have your way with her too? She who has in the past been into you, must still be right? That is why you hang out every night and she doesn’t go with him. But maybe she just trusts you because you don’t go after her, even though you want to. Although you preach your asexuality. I don’t want sex, not my thing. As if. Even if, what, you’re gonna sit in your back seat and cuddle because you are sad and alone. Because you thought you were dating a Brazillian girl who didn’t even speak English. Man Tinder is great. Sex isn’t dating. Then again it never felt like it was about sex. It seemed like cuddling was enough. Maybe it is hormones. I just do what my brain tells me to do. It is obviously instinct. So you just wanna cuddle this girl you go on adventures with, you just want a “summer fling”. Yea whatever. Oh but that girl from the theater, that deaf one. So pretty and so strong for what she is doing. If only I could be with her. Yea it might end up like your fucking Brazillian girl. How sweet. Now you smoke cigarettes? Good for you! You’re really strong you know!? You are doing really well for yourself! Stay at work extra hours to really get the job done! Good job! And then smoke the rest of the night away to not remember what is happening and why you never quite feel right. But at work, you are distracted by those fake problems. And then you also go out to smoke and get so high it might as well be a dream! Crazy shit. I really wonder. Better! You go home after to watch fake people on the internet! Man, they do have a perfect life! You watch it so you are interacting and causing it to go, so you’re part of that perfect life! Good for you! But they are fake? Nono, you have met those people, they aren’t fake. Those are your friends. But you can’t feel them often. Wow, they are like your real friends! How riveting? Then what? Oh you pass out and go to your dreams. They aren’t real problems either. So where are your real problems? You spend 8-10 hours at work, 8 hours getting high, and the rest sleeping. Where is the real problems? Like your dependency verification sheet? Or your class issue? Wow, those still exist? I am not at school, how could they. Look at my life, I got all I need! Yea until you realize you really aren’t there. Three years of college left. Oh, but you made it through the hardest year! You had a suicidal roommate, nothing can be worse than that! Crazy shit. Things can’t possibly follow you still? They do? Pussy. Well in Wonder Woman, that pussy stopped WWII. Why can’t you do that? BECAUSE you are on Tumblr writing to no one for no reason. You hope Emily will see this and tell you something that will make it okay. If she doesn’t see, you’ll send it. Attention whore. Get over yourself. Message her, ask her if she still uses Tumblr first. See you in a sec, bud. Good job, wow you’re really getting help. Good job. Crazy shit. I mean who are you close to. Bry is the best, you tell her your problems, she tells hers. She lives 45 minutes away and you see her once a month. Brianna is great. We talk about things. She normally talks. You don’t say much. You have a perfect life compared to her, how awful to think you might have problems! You keep it in pretty well. Anyways, you’re high, why not enjoy it? Where does that leave you? Shit, you don’t know? What? Shawn? Jakob? Cara? Carlton? If only you could reach out to them. What about Nathan and Marilyn? Well, you reach to Marilyn but doesn’t really get it. Oh wow, you got Emily to ask for it, how could you say no? Manipulative bastard, bring her into this, she deserves your problems! She only dealt with your shit for how long? Oh, but she was mean to you. Yea if only I had proof or any memory of that. You only say that because you have told yourself that many times that you now believe it. Men are garbage. Only ask for something when they need it. Oh reminded of a Three Days Grace album? Go listen to the whole thing, you’ll feel better. Wow, you still have no clue what this was for. You yelled at yourself. Schizo. Well, you’ll find it. One day. Lonely bastard.

[greetingsfromthebottomofthewell]

PHOBIAS ARE SHAPED LIKE LITTLE GREEN PILLS - PART 3: GERONTOPHOBIA

[source] [triggers]

1 of 2

Gerontophobia - Is the fear of growing old as well as the fear of anyone that is considered elderly. The third pill I took contained this phobia, and I am starting to feel a backlash from the two I have already taken.

You can call me crazy for taking the first two pills if you want, I don’t blame you. I find my actions a bit crazy as well. Hell, my cat has even started to look at me in a different way.

I decided to take the pill around 30 minutes after Max called me. I wanted to be finished with them as soon as possible. It’s odd, I don’t feel like the same person anymore. The only thing that is keeping me remotely sane is my memories. Well, except for one memory that keeps intruding my thoughts.

I always loved being around my grandfather. He lived in Spring Lake, North Carolina and when I was younger, I always felt bummed out that he didn’t live close to us. Though he didn’t have much money, he would always save up every little bit of extra money he had for when I came over for a yearly visit. My visit was only for 3 days during the summer, but most of the good memories I have in my childhood were from those mini vacations. I was 15, when I made my last visit to my grandfather’s house.

It started off normally, we went to the movie theater as soon as I arrived at his house, and he would let me choose the movie. Avatar was the movie I chose and grandpa kept talking through the entire movie. It annoyed me because he was just talking shit about how a man should not fall in love with gigantic blue women. After the movie, we got into his beat-up blue truck and went to the bowling alley. Around ten in the evening, we made our way back to his house. He fell asleep around midnight, and I grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of his cabinet and snuck out to a nearby park. It wasn’t the first time drinking, but it was the first time I ever stole something from my grandfather. I don’t really know why I did it, but honestly, I feel like I wanted to see what I could get away with.

You should have seen the look on my face when a cop shined her flashlight on me and asked me what I was doing. I couldn’t think of a clever lie to get out of it, so I just hung my head in shame and told her I snuck out of my grandfather’s house with a bottle of his whiskey. She got his phone number from me and waited with me until my grandfather came to the park to pick me up. The walk back to his house was the most awkward shit I have ever experienced. I knew my grandfather was pissed, but I also knew he would never be able to trust me again. He didn’t say a word to me when we got back into the house. He just went into his room and I went into the guest room.

While we were eating breakfast the next day, he told me he would have to tell my mother what happened. I tried begging him to let me off the hook just once, but he just looked at me with a straight face and said, “I really thought you were a good kid. You stole from me, and you drank underage. I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I am. I can’t discipline you, but your mother sure as hell can.” I should have just accepted the fact that I did something wrong, but I was just filled with rage. I felt betrayed. As soon as I heard my grandfather pick up the phone, I rushed towards him to try to get the phone out of his hand. Before I could even reach him, he let out a gasp, grabbed his chest, and fell over. I watched him as he fell to the ground, and though I was still mad at him, I immediately called 911. He died on the way to the hospital. It was from a STEMI heart attack, and he barely stood a chance.

I always convinced myself that it was a complete coincidence that my grandfather happened to have a heart attack while I was running up to him, but the last couple of days have made me start to question that.

Anyways, I took the third pill at exactly 10:00. It probably wasn’t the best idea because I still felt the effect of the pill the day before.

10:20 - Why did I take the pill so soon. I should have waited a day before taking another one. The streets still scare me. Hell, even taking a shower still makes me nervous. Fuck it. I have a bottle of vodka with me, I’m going to keep chugging it until I can create some sort of confidence.

11:12 - I did it. I finally managed to run across the street and back into my house. I’m taking a bath now and I feel fairly comfortable, maybe I’m finally getting better at this.

11:28 - Geeze, I really look like I’ve gotten 5 years older. That fucking sucks. The last thing I want is to get older. It just means I’m dying quicker and that makes me really uncomfortable. Why do we have to get older? Why can’t we just fucking stay the same age and live forever? Fuck this. I’m definitely going to start taking care of myself better.

12:51 - I’m freaking the fuck out. Every time I see my reflection or look in a mirror, it looks like I’m getting older. Every goddamn time. I swear to god I am losing my mind. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna fucking die. Please. Let me stay young.

14:12 - I managed to drive to the Walmart in the Madison area of Nashville. It’s only about a 3-minute drive for me, but it really did feel nice getting some fresh air finally. An old lady was struggling with a couple of bags. She asked me if I could help her with putting them in her trunk. Normally, I would help, but no. Fuck that. She is just going to contaminate me. She’s just going to make me older. I already have enough problems.

16:02 - I got back home with a shit ton of groceries. I saw a lot of old people there, and it took a lot of time for me to maneuver around them. I can’t risk touching them. I keep looking down at my hands, and I see a new wrinkle every time. The weird thing is, I keep thinking about the elderly lady, Martha, that lives two houses down. She was always a sweet lady. Whenever I saw her, she would always make it a point to bring me some sort of home-cooked meal. I used to look forward to it, but now, I really hope I never see her again.

17:12 - An ambulance raced past my house and parked in front of Martha’s house. Two paramedics rushed in with a gurney while a younger lady walked out into the street. Even from far away, I could tell that the lady was crying. The paramedics wheeled the gurney with Martha on it into the ambulance and drove away. The lady was still standing in front of the house. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just rushed out of my house and ran up to the lady. She was sitting in the driveway sobbing. I put a hand on her shoulder and asked if she was okay. With tears pouring down her face she looked up at me and said, “I have been taking care of Martha for the past 2 months. She always seemed happy, but I came into her house today and saw her lying face-down on the couch. An empty bottle of her high blood pressure medicine was in her hand. She had a pulse, but she was unconscious.” I tried asking her more questions, but she just shook her head before getting into her car and driving away.

18:48 - I looked in the mirror again and saw that I look to be around 50. My face is starting to look like it belongs to someone else. There is a deep scar that is not on my neck that ends on the right side of my chin. It scares the hell out of me to look at me in the mirror, but after several gulps of vodka, I am feeling a bit better. I keep staring at myself trying to find some sort of clue. For some reason, I started to think of my mother. Well, not really think, more like I had a feeling like something was wrong. I tried to dismiss it, but my mind immediately went to Martha. If I had acted sooner, I could have saved her life. Without another wasted second, I ran to my car and drove the one hour distance to my mother’s house.

21:08 - I’m sitting beside the hospital bed next to my mother. When I got to her house I saw that she was lying in the bathtub with deep cuts running down both her wrists. It made me go into a full-on panic when I touched her, but I ignored my feelings and pulled her out. I called 911 and waited for the paramedics to arrive. I couldn’t help it, my stomach was jumbled into knots and I threw up in the toilet. I felt like touching my mother was the death of me. I looked in the mirror in her restroom and saw that I looked older than my mother. Anyways, back to my mother. She will be fine, I managed to drag her out of the tub just in time. She lost a lot of blood, but it wasn’t deadly.

23:41 - I’m back home now. I couldn’t stand being close to my mother. It’s fucked up, I know, but I can’t help it. I feel nauseous being around her, and it makes me feel like I’m flirting with death. Max called me a couple minutes ago.

Max: ”How do you feel, big man? Saved mommy. You must feel like a goddamn hero. Haaaa. Remember, you’re 1 of 2 today. You still let poor old Martha die. Thank you. You are making my research a bit more interesting, however. Alright. I don’t have time to listen to your bitching, so I’m going to hang up. Halfway there. Don’t die on me!”

8:12 - Shit, when did I fall asleep? My mother called me. She cussed me out and told me I should have let her die. Oh well, that’s just something I’m going to let the therapists deal with. I haven’t checked my reflection today. I don’t think I will. I’ll just wait till I take the next pill. The bottle of vodka is empty. How the fuck did I manage to drive to my mother’s house?

9:48 - I accidentally looked at myself in the mirror. I’m looking young again, but I did notice something odd. Half of my hair is now gray. Looks like I’m going to have to get some hair dye soon.

As always, this is Hayong. I wish I was braver, but maybe I’ll get to that point soon. I’m going to go ahead and upload this before I take the fourth pill. Wish me luck, give me advice if you have any, and share some funny pictures if you want to raise my morale. Send me a pm if you happen to have any inside info on Max.

Again, Max, Fuck you.