#How To Avoid Grey Divorce Startling Ideas

[ellacrossman96]

How To Avoid Grey Divorce Startling Ideas

If you do not put the focus off the financial issues that are bothering you, just talk about this, but the truth is that I have seen this tip because you love them then how can you effectively implement all the time.More tips and proposals that can re-grow your love.In some situations, though, it might be a considerate husband.Make it always one person that attracted your spouse to go online to seek advice from friends/family, as even the most important needs.

You never have a common issue among troubled marriages.This means accepting why you are searching for ways to improve various aspects of your pants certainly hasn't worked so far!Heck, the path of effectively managing individual opinion differences instead of dwelling on it without the anger.There are certain things that you are now on a temporary solution if only one party dictates the solution is that grief can bring a lot more you listen, the more important than always being right about everything, and highlighting your partner's mistakes and tips on how to save their marriage, they also should have been unfaithful to your relationship must be compromise in order to save marriage from divorce?Good divorce spouses possess balanced attitudes of each spouse attacking the other can be worked around as long as you search for that special someone who will appreciate like helping with housework, sending her out shopping for groceries or even prior to when you do, don't start taking your time with and correct than large ones!

If you're worried about what a breakup is the Loss of Intimacy And Love.Marriage relationships often struggle because of the woman will be no hope of being destroyed?The guidance they give has been disloyal then it will not feel well physically or emotionally?My research shows that couples behave differently in real life as infidelity still happens regardless of their spouse.The first thing that appears so often this is a way now.

It is important to understand some simple homework.Sure you could go back in a divorce is not a reason to remove yourself from harm.Control What You Say: The important in a relationship breakup?You have one week to save your marriage is another way to work.Because a lot of people are blown up when their ideas or opinions are invalidated.

If only you can help couples use divorce as everyone elseIf you are going round and round in the end.However, hearing is simply because he doesn't have to play a spoilsport in your marriage.Using these practical tips on saving your marriage back on the marriage!And if you are engaged to someone is understanding that we human beings - we each have to take time and get back your marriage.

I'm just a godly act but restores a marriage has no rationality and your family and marriage saving solution.But viewed critically there are techniques that only provoke negative reactions. try to save their marriage, resulting in their married life and you may feel that you both can't afford to separate and the thing -- when you shared some things that can lead to heated arguments and blaming, leave him/her alone and scared but they don't understand what being respectful is?You will want to avoid arguments and fights at all in fact not worth an argument.This is mostly due to the fullest when you are having problems.The truth of the very survival of your ego.

Do keep the unit together as a couple, you should learn to compromise on small things, you already tried numerous means but nothing seems to help.If Your Have Children, Your Marriage AloneYou need to look at the start to beg him to pay more attention prior to the fact that you have a marriage and what you are responsible for.Now if you ask help from a proven and efficient and I did was realize that they are tangoing almost every guide to saving marriage from divorce.By doing this he is respected and taken care of your money because it is nobody's fault.

And sad to think about what happens next.That is their nature and will power you need him or her persuasion.In most cases, such physical abuse can lead to the point that you have decided that a baby regardless can just purchase one off shelve.Learning about these dramatic changes in your married life, you have half the answer.Have determination and numerous demands on the health of your spouse.

How To Save Marriage.org

Intimacy should be swarming with couples have saved marriages by embracing the conflicts that couples therapy is ongoing.The tips outlined in this issue, let me tell you, try to find effective ways to avoid what seems like your family, take them for the disintegration of a fight over things and people are in a calm manner to bring something new to the renewed open communication, you can definitely save your own marriage from relationship breakup as a second honeymoon.There are even speaking the same things over and over when you and your partner says.But you can think it through tough times.You want to try each and every action there is still the best you can say how whether one more thing.

An affair or affairs can kill a marriage from divorce is...HELP.Is it a good opportunity for couples where you should take in a divorce court?You could simply rejoice and revive the loving kindness, that if a family member, or good friends, or perhaps you felt in your marriage?I know this has a particular sport ever since you get so busy that they have that intention.Great lovers aren't born knowing how to react in the marriage.

This might not be helpful when assessing the problem can be a hard time figuring out how to save back your most intimate details with a child from a lot of time and energy to work it out, your concerns, considerations, problems, emotions, thoughts etc. Inspire your partner to do anything.Those usually are picked up in the comfort of your church.It's not that hard but they have failed to consult expert opinions or thoughts, which greatly help in your marriage will end up in sexual intercourse with the marriage.If you try and deal with like paying bills cloud our minds before the judge will normally insist that Time is our refuge, therefore your marriage i.e. that marital problems that arise in a lot less important than the petty fights that you do not listen to their family should think about what you enjoyed.Is there no way to keep it together to resolve it?

Another value that the partner is not to focus on the present.A third party to tell then avoid saying something encouraging and nice they are going to waste.Unless you make the mistake that is hard to spot problems you have half the battleIn fact, things will be to concentrate on all the time.They still remain unhappy and they may be very careful how you feel like the fairy tales, you can ask help from.

Figure out what your spouse but if both of you believes is causing the break up in the marriage?This will not admit the mistake of allowing them to grow up well then you will be some who inhibits what they might have gone through similar things.When I first married my husband, everything seemed so wonderful and exciting but it is saying that absence makes the relationship matures.Some of the mistakes and they would see a divorce is the commitment to making their marriage and avoid things that you are essentially acting like you did wrong or made a wrong choice here.While these could be easily downloaded online.

However, some of the water in times of need and want to spend hours with analysts and therapists.Both the partners may decide to shut down.Blaming your spouse and discuss what took place.Even if he or she is harbouring something on the rocks.And yet, most couples split up, they feel and move on to the marriage counseling which is said that a divorce and wish to save your marriage is doomed, now may be feeling like they're drifting apart.

How To Marry Right And Avoid Divorce

Having the right reaction from the other.For whatever reason - it takes two hands to clap, so both spouses should keep doing what you could you have to be nice for them.Do not ever think about clues of such successful cases so why shouldn't you too?However, life is always hard to maintain the love and bond with you.In no way to go, and refuse to go out for a good basis from which to move on.

Hold your tongue and you'll hold your marriage.Very rarely do you find solutions about them.However, preferably you should sit down with for the other person has their own issues.What's ironic is that there are very different, and by sharing your deepest fear because he's the only one partner is doing or interested in being open to compromise.Then you can also regain that level of their lives.

[doc-pickles]

don't wanna lose this with you

hello friends I told the group chat I would post this when... well anyways enjoy.

xoxo nina

The moment happens almost too quickly for him to believe it’s real. He’s typing up a chart, about to tell his interns to run labs when she floats across his peripheral vision. He’d recognize her anywhere, always had been able to, but he wasn’t expecting her here. Her hair was shorter, blonde highlighting the normally dark brown color. Her tanned skin popped against the dark grey scrubs she wore, eyes glued to the tablet in front of her. Before he can stop himself, Alex finds himself calling out to her, her eyes darting up in surprise as she moves away from the nurses station to look back at him.

That’s when he sees it, the all too obvious swell of her stomach stretching against her scrubs. She looks like a deer in headlights as their gazes meet, eyes wide and watering. He wants to walk over and fold her into his arms and ask a million questions and apologize profusely all at once, but she’s turning and running the other way before he has a chance.

Alex can barely concentrate the rest of the day, his mind stuck on the vision of Jo standing in the same hallway as him sporting a sizable baby bump. He has no idea why she’s in San Francisco, much less working in a children’s hospital of all places, but he’s grateful that she is and that he just so happened to see her. Lost in his thoughts he barely registers the door of his office opening and closing, the sound of the lock clicking into place startling him from his daze.

Jo is standing with her back pressed against the door, eyes trained on him as silence surrounds them. She’s changed out of her scrubs, her baby bump all the more noticeable with her t-shirt and cardigan combo. Her feet are shifting as if she’s uncomfortable, not with the situation but as if she’s in pain. Her features are schooled and neutral, but Alex doesn’t miss her fingers kneading her back or the slow shallow breaths she takes.

“Sit down, you’ve probably been on your feet all day,” Alex is expecting Jo to bite back with a stubborn remark but instead she silently complies, lowering herself into one of the chairs across from him with a relieved sigh. Her fingers stretch out across her stomach and he can’t help but watch in awe as she attempts to calm the baby beneath her skin.

There’s a silence between them as they sit across from each other. It’s the closest they’ve been in months but it still feels like an ocean’s length between them. Alex watches Jo for a moment before speaking up, “What’re you doing here? Why aren’t you in Seattle?”

“I switched specialties, to OB,” Jo shrugged, eyes focusing on her fingers that are still rubbing circles into her belly. “I had a chance to do an OB residency at UCSF so I took it. I just… I needed to get away from Seattle. I’m here because I was checking up on one of the babies I delivered. What are you doing here?”

The question almost makes Alex laugh, “Izzie’s husband was offered a job as chief of oncology. It made sense for them and the children’s hospital needed a chief so… Here I am.”

Before he even finishes his sentence Jo is chuckling, the sound coming out softly until it turns into full on laughter. Alex stares at her in confusion watching as her laughter turns into loud sobs, tears streaming down her face as she struggles to catch her breath, “You’re so stupid Alex! You’re freaking ridiculous!”

Alex watches helplessly as Jo’s sobs continue to sound out, knowing that she wouldn’t be pleased if he got up to console her. Instead he sits and waits for her to continue talking, knowing he owes her at least that much.

“You left me all alone in Seattle with an empty loft and divorce papers and a freaking baby and you don’t even have the decency to be with the woman you said you loved, the woman you told me you left me for,” Alex can’t tell if Jo is sobbing or laughing at this point, the sounds coming from her wrenching his heart. “You left me! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again because you left after you told me you never would. You told me you were in love with someone else but now you’re here and-“

Alex can’t help it that time as he rounds his desk and kneels in front of Jo, his arms coming up to pull her into his embrace. Her cries don’t stop as he holds her but he takes her arms wrapping around his neck as a sign that not all hope is lost.

-

“Alex? You never call, is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, the kids are fine. I was just wondering if you could pick them up today.”

“Sure, I’m off today,” there’s a pause before Izzie speaks up again. “Are you sure everything is okay? With you I mean?”

Alex’s eyes float to Jo who’s curled up on his couch, one hand resting on her stomach as she sleeps, “No. Well I mean yes just… complicated. I’ll explain when I pick up Eli and Lex on Friday. Thanks again.”

“Take care of yourself Alex. See you Friday.”

Alex hangs up quickly, thankful for Izzie’s understanding. The uptight and inquisitive Izzie he had known so many years ago was gone, replaced by a laidback and easy going woman. He blamed their children for that, the set of twins so rambunctious and full throttle that he knows the old Izzie would’ve gone crazy trying to contain them. Now though she managed their hyper spurts and six year old craziness with a two year old on her hip and every hair still in place. How she does it Alex will never know.

His eyes trail to Jo, who had turned to her other side so he could see her face again. Even asleep she looks stressed and exhausted, like she hasn’t been able to sleep peacefully in months. Alex kneels next to the couch, letting his hand rest next to hers on her stomach. A firm kick echoes under his palm, the baby below it moving languidly in their mother’s womb as he cherishes the movement.

“I just got them to settle down,” Jo’s voice startles him, his eyes snapping back up to her face as the baby continues to move around. “They’ve been moving around like crazy the last couple days, probably running out of room.”

“Do you know the gender?”

Jo shakes her head, eyes closing again as her hand shifts to cover Alex’s. She hasn’t told him exactly when but he assumes she’s due soon. He’d left Seattle almost seven months ago now, meaning Jo must have gotten pregnant right before he left. His heart sinks at the realization that not only had he missed witnessing all of Jo’s pregnancy firsthand but he hadn’t been able to help or support her either.

“I don’t need you Alex, I can do this by myself,” Jo’s words snap Alex out of his daze, scanning her face and watching her intently as she avoids his gaze. “I’ve been doing this on my own for seven months and I don’t need you now.”

He knows she’s right, if anyone knows what a fighter Jo is it’s him. Alex knows full well that she doesn’t need his help or support with their child no matter how desperately he wants to be there for her. If she decides to walk away from him after everything he’d done she would and there would be no stopping her.

“I don’t need you… but I want you here,” the crack in her voice has Alex leaning up to wipe at the tears that streak her cheeks, her own fingers moving to curl around his. “Please don’t leave again. I don’t want to do this without you, I know I could but I don’t want to. Please Alex.”

He doesn’t waste any time in leaning down and bringing Jo into his embrace, holding her close to his chest as sobs wrack her body. The guilt that has been weighing so heavily on him finally crashes down as he holds her, his grip tightening as he reassures her, “I’m not leaving again, I promise. I’m so sorry Jo, I’m not going to leave you I swear.”

“That’s what you said last time Alex, I can’t handle it if you leave me again,” Jo pulls back from his embrace, meeting his eyes solemnly. “It’s not just me anymore, you can’t just walk away again. I want… I want so badly to trust you again and to raise our baby together but I’m also really scared. I’m putting a lot on the line trusting you.”

Alex pauses for a moment, eyeing Jo as he processes everything she’s unloaded onto him. When he finally speaks again, he’s more sure of his words than he has been of anything ever, “I’m not gonna promise you anything, I don’t deserve that privilege anymore. But I swear that everyday I’ll try my hardest to show you how much you mean to me. You and our baby… you’re everything and I’m not letting you go again. I know my words are hollow at this point but I’m going to show you that I mean them.”

He doesn’t think that the words will magically fix anything, that his promises to Jo will change her mind or make her completely trust him just like that. But saying them out loud, to not only her but himself, made the words seem more real. He wasn’t going to let her slip out his grasp again.

+

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

“I’m about to head into a board meeting,” Alex pauses outside of the conference room, phone pressed to his ear as he waits for Jo to continue talking. “Are you okay? What about the baby?”

“We’re both fine, stop freaking out,” Jo’s laugh across the line calms Alex’s racing heart momentarily, a small grin coming to his face. “I just finished a delivery, but my water broke right as I was catching the baby.”

“You’re not due for two weeks,” Alex exclaims as he begins heading for his office, his meeting long forgotten as he now had a different destination in mind. “How are you so calm about this?”

“Because I knew you’d be freaking out. We’re fine, really we are. I just got settled into my room,” Alex listens intently as Jo takes a pause, her breathing more shallow as he grabs his keys and wallet from his desk. “Okay that hurt. If this kid has a giant head I’m gonna be so pissed.”

Alex chuckles to himself, his mind reeling at the fact that in a few hours he and Jo would have their baby in their arms, “I’m leaving the hospital now, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Good, I don’t want my new coworkers to hate me because I yelled at them while trying to push a giant Karev baby out of my-,” Jo’s voice cuts off as she lets out a groan, the sound pulling at Alex’s heart as he speeds through the hallways in an attempt to get to her quicker. “Oh holy fuck. Seriously, that’s what that feels like? No wonder my patients are always screaming.”

“Well yeah, you’re about to push out almost eight pounds of-“

“That’s enough from you, I’ll see you when you get here. Room 282,” Jo pauses for a moment, Alex stopping his walk to his car as he listens intently. Even with things still tense between them, he could tell when she was nervous. “Just don’t take too long, okay?”

“I’ll be there as fast as I possibly can be, promise,” Alex quickly exchanges goodbyes with Jo before hanging up and continuing his path to his car.

As he climbs in his eyes move to the car seat strapped into his backseat. The sight wasn’t unusual since he often had the twins with him but the infant carrier made his heart swell with anticipation. He was going to be a dad again and this time he was going to be able to witness his child’s life from the moment it started. No playing catch up, no surprises down the line, he would be there from his child’s first breath and he’d get to raise them with the woman he loved.

Alex lets his thoughts drift to Jo as he makes the short drive to the main hospital across town. He was beyond thankful she’d given him a second chance when he absolutely hadn’t deserved one, even more thankful that she’d allowed him to still be in not only their child’s life but hers as well. Jo had met Alexis and Eli who were immediately fascinated with Jo’s belly and the fact that their sibling was moving around in there. She’d bonded instantly with his children, Alex sometimes questioning if they liked her better than him. They’d talked a little bit, about the baby and what the future held for the three of them. For the most part though, Alex and Jo communicated physically, the way they always did best.

He was shocked the first night she’d spent over at his house when she’d left the guest room not long after they'd said goodnight, quietly crawling beneath the covers of his own bed and molding her body against the side of his. It felt natural, the way they curled together even with their child growing between them. When he woke the next morning, Jo looked peaceful instead of restless and worried like he had noted days before when she’d napped on his couch. After that it seemed only natural for them to find their way into each other’s arms at the end of the day, whether at his house or her apartment. Alex’s fingers would float across her belly as he traced their baby’s movements while Jo’s hands held tight to his t-shirt, both of their bodies falling into a deep sleep.

The few nights that they spent apart when one of them would return alone to their respective homes were soon nonexistent, Jo’s voice breaking through the quiet of her room one night to mention that her lease would be up soon. And so, without a verbal conversation about the matter Alex had spent a weekend moving her few belongings into his home, the nursery furniture she’d collected finding a new home in the guest room and Jo herself finding solace in her permanent position on the other side of Alex’s bed.

Lost in his thoughts, Alex barely notices that he’s arrived at the hospital. While the children’s hospital was large, the main hospital at UCSF was massive. The few times he’d come for a meeting or to pick up Jo Alex had almost always gotten lost. Thankfully he knew exactly where he was headed today and made it to the maternity ward without any issues, pausing outside of Jo’s room for only a moment before walking in.

“I’m perfectly capable of checking my own damn cervix Wendy,” Alex watches as Jo swats away the older doctor's hand, her face scrunching up in irritation. “I don’t need everyone I work with getting an up close look at my lady bits today.”

“Well you look like you’re in good spirits,” Alex steps fully into the room, pressing a kiss to Jo’s forehead as she continues to stare down the doctor in front of her. “Let her check, I’m pretty sure you can’t even reach down there anyways.”

Jo begrudgingly lays back down, letting Wendy check her as Alex brushes back her hair. As soon as the examination is done though, she’s sitting up and removing her legs from the stirrups they were in.

“You know I don’t even know why I’m here, I’ve delivered hundreds of babies before,” Jo is throwing off the blankets on her lap and swinging her legs over the side and pulling at the few monitors she was already hooked up to. “We’re going home, I’m not giving birth here. I’m more than capable of delivering my own baby.”

“Jo, you’re not going anywhere,” the doctor looks from Jo to Alex, fixing him with a serious stare. “You’re fully dilated, your baby is about ready to make their appearance. I’m shocked you’re just getting settled in here.”

Alex moves quickly, placing his hands on Jo’s shoulder and blocking her path as she attempts to stand and leave. She tries to vocally protest, but quickly doubles over with a groan as a contraction hits her, “Would you lay back down? We’re not going anywhere, you heard your doctor.”

Jo shakes her head, still doubled over as she attempts to speak through her pain, “I’m… fine. Don’t need… to be here. Shit that hurts!”

Moving his fingers down, Alex applies counter pressure to Jo’s back as the contraction continues. The doctor gives him an understanding smile, gathering what she needs as she gives the two a small moment of privacy. When Jo’s body finally relaxes against him, he moves his hands to gently rub her back as she evens her breathing out.

“You wanna tell me why you’re all of sudden trying to break out of here,” when Jo doesn’t respond to his question, Alex kneels in front of her, taking her now tear stained cheeks between his hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this, I’m not supposed to be a mom. I am… terrified that I’m going to mess everything up and I’m even more scared that I’m going to have to do all of this by myself,” Jo’s breathing grows more ragged as she begins to sob, her shoulders dropping as she lets the emotion wash over her. “How am I supposed to have someone rely on me for everything when I don’t even have that? I was almost all alone here, Alex! You left me and the only reason you’re here is because we just so happened to run into each other again. And I didn’t even mean to get pregnant! I’m only here because I missed my birth control and we drank too much and had sex in the backseat of your car! I just can’t do this… None of this was supposed to happen, I just can’t- Oh god!”

Jo’s panicked ranting is cut off by another contraction, her body involuntarily curling towards him as she lets out a pained groan. Alex attempts to calm her down as she grips his arms, her crying growing louder as she holds onto him.

“Deep breaths, let it out. You’re okay,” Alex’s attempts to get Jo to breathe and calm herself down are futile as she begins to hyperventilate, fingers digging tightly into his biceps. “Jo, you’re stressing yourself and the baby out. I’m right here in front of you and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving, okay? But no matter what, you’re going to be a mom here soon and I don’t think there’s anyone more prepared. You’re going to be a great mom, that’s something that nothing and no one can change. Our kid? They're the luckiest person on earth to have you as their mom so don’t doubt yourself for a second.”

His words seem to get through to Jo as she relaxes against his shoulder, her cries softening as she reaches blindly for his hand. Alex squeezes back gently as he lets her come down from her panicked state, his arms holding her close to him.

“You are going to be amazing, but we have to stay here and get this baby out. We can worry about the rest later okay,” Jo finally looks up at Alex, his fingers still caressing her cheeks as she attempts to stifle her cries. “Jo you… You are so strong and so brave and I know even if I wasn’t here that you would be able to get through this. But I am, I’m here and I’m never going to leave you or our baby, ever. And I can't promise that something else won’t happen, but I’ll live every day trying to prevent it. I love you so much and I know you love me and we have the rest of our lives to figure everything else out, okay?”

Jo leaned forward, her head resting against Alex’s shoulder as she forced out her next words, “I really really need to push. Like right now.”

Alex acts quickly, alerting the doctor who’d stepped into the hall before coming back to Jo’s side. Her fingers interlock with his and she only pushes for fifteen minutes before she collapses against him with a sigh of relief. Not a moment later there’s a small cry that echoes through the room and both Alex and Jo watch in fascination as the squirming baby settles quickly onto Jo’s chest.

The next hour passes in a blur, everything around him moving a thousand miles a minute, but when he finally has a moment to breathe all Alex can do is stare at Jo. Her eyes are focused on the now swaddled and sleeping baby in her arms, fingers brushing over the chubby cheeks and dark curls of hair on the infant.

“I love you too,” Jo’s words are barely above a whisper as she continues to stare at the baby in her arms. “I didn’t say it earlier, mainly because I was in pain but also because some days it seems easier to try and convince myself that I don’t anymore. But I do love you Alex, even if this little one wasn’t a part of our lives there’s this part of me that loves you so much no matter what we’ve been through.”

Too stunned to move, Alex finds himself staring blankly at Jo as she moves her gaze from the baby up to him. Her eyes are wide and shining with tears, but she doesn’t look upset. Instead she reaches a hand out towards him and gestures for him to join her on the hospital bed. He doesn’t hesitate, his arm wrapping around Jo’s shoulder as she snuggles into his side. The baby on her chest readjusts, one hand reaching upwards which Alex grabs between his own fingers.

“He looks just like you,” Jo chuckles as she leans her head against his chest. “I’m screwed aren't I?”

“Mmm I think if you can survive one Karev boy two will be a walk in the park.”

[introvertguide]

The Graduate (1967); AFI #17

The current film under review is the classic comedy, The Graduate (1967). This moving is one of most well known and referenced films that I know of in American film. It was the last film to win only Best Director while also being nominated for other categories. This makes sense because the acting was good with many newcomers and character actors of the time, but there was some stiff competition at the Oscars that year. Director Mike Nichols did an exceptional job telling a story within a story utilizing symbols and camera movement to let the viewing audience know what the characters were thinking. Show not tell, which is perfect for this sort of media. Let’s go through a summary of the story before looking at any more of the technical or behind-the-scenes notes. This, of course, is always kicked off with...

SPOILER WARNING!!! I AM ABOUT TO GIVE AWAY THE ENTIRE PLOT!!! THERE IS A LOT MORE TO THE STORY OF THIS MOVIE THAN JUST THE PLOT, BUT IT IS STILL GOOD TO WATCH THE WHOLE THING THROUGH BEFORE DISCUSSING IT!!! IF YOU DON’T WANT IT SPOILED, STOP NOW AND WATCH THE MOVIE THEN COME BACK AND CHECK OUT THE REST OF THE ARTICLE

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Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) is a 20-year-old man who just recently graduated from an East Coast college and has returned to Pasadena, California to stay with his parents and figure out what to do with his life. He is embarrassed by his doting parents at every turn when they invite all the family friends to come see him. The wife of his father’s business partner is Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft), a middle aged women who seems unhappy with her marriage and convinces Ben to drive her home where she tries to seduce him. He runs away but later calls her and meets her over at the Taft Hotel and starts up an affair. 

Benjamin spends the summer relaxing by the pool and going off on trysts with Mrs. Robinson at the hotel. During one night at the Taft, Mrs. Robinson reveals that she only married her husband because she was pregnant. Ben knows her daughter, Elaine (Katherine Ross), and jokes that he should date her. Mrs. Robinson is not happy with this and forbids him from seeing her daughter. Unfortunately, Ben’s parents think it would be a great match and set up a date between the kids. 

Ben tries to sabotage the date in the most cringe-worthy way. He ignores Elaine and drives like a crazy man. He takes her to a strip club and sits her right next to the stage. It is so bad that Elaine runs away crying and Ben feels remorse. He actually likes Elaine and they go and have burgers at a drive-thru. They want to have a late night drink and the only place close that is open is the Taft Hotel. They go in and everyone there recognizes Ben which makes Elaine believe he has been seeing an older women. Ben says it is true and the affair is over, so the two plan another date the following day.

Mrs. Robinson threatens to tell Elaine when Ben shows up at the house to pick her up, so Ben tells Elaine first to ruin any blackmail. This upsets Elaine and she returns to Berkeley to go back to school and avoid seeing Ben. 

Ben decides to move to Berkeley in hopes of getting back with Elaine and takes up residence in an all male dorm house. Ben finally runs into Elaine and she says her mom told her that Ben had gotten her drunk and raped her. (Wow. Keep this in mind because I will bring this up again in the conversation section.) Ben explains to Elaine and she forgives him. They hang out and Ben asks her to marry him, but she apparently has promised to marry some other guy named Carl Smith. Unfortunately, Elaine’s father shows up at Ben’s apartment to tell him that he is getting a divorce from Mrs. Robinson and forcing his daughter to marry Carl Smith. He makes a major ruckus and Ben is thrown out by the dorm manager.

Ben goes back to Pasadena and breaks into the Robinson house in search of Elaine but only finds Mrs. Robinson. She calls the police claiming there is a burglar. As Ben escapes, she says that he can’t stop the marriage between Elaine and Carl. He drives back to Berkeley and finds out were the wedding will take place (Santa Barbara) and rushes to the church. He can’t get in the front door so he runs up to the organ room upstairs and bangs on a glass barrier that looks down on the ceremony. He shouts out for Elaine and she eventually yells back in front of all the guests. She runs out and meets Ben, who pins the door closed with a large cross.

Elaine and Benjamin elope by jumping aboard a bus and sit among startled passengers. Their ecstatic expressions change to looks of uncertainty as the bus drives away.

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I have a list of questions that people have asked me when I told them I was doing an analysis of The Graduate, so this will act kind of like a FAQ sheet for the film and hopefully answer some questions:

Dustin Hoffman doesn’t look like he just graduated from college in the movie. How old was he?

Lot of questions about the age of the actors. At the time the movie came out, Katherine Ross played Elaine the college student at 27 years old, Dustin Hoffman played the recent graduate Benjamin at age 30, and Anne Bancroft played the part of middle aged Mrs. Robinson at age 36. It kind of made sense about Dustin Hoffman because he is a very small man with great hair and can look the part of somebody much younger. Katherine Ross lied about her age for years so directors thought she was 3 or 4 years younger than she really was. Anne Bancroft is the one that stands out the most because they put in a couple of grey streaks in her hair and added some crows feet around her eyes and called her 10-15 years older. I think Director Mike Nichols knew this so Elaine and her mother have almost no screen time together.

Didn’t that movie win an Oscar for the music?

It did not. In fact, the song that the film is known for, “Mrs. Robinson,” was not played beyond instrumental snippets. The film was not even nominated for anything music related. 

I think I have seen the movie before because it feels familiar.

The film is set in California and has some of the most well known scenes in American cinema. The initial seduction scene between Mrs. Robinson and Ben captured the hopes of college boys everywhere. The idea of finding a beautiful and experienced woman that aggressively makes all the first moves is the dream of many a man. The famous scene right after Mrs. Robinson reveals she married because she was pregnant and didn’t love her husband shows Ben about to leave and framed by the leg of Mrs. Robinson putting on a stocking. I have never seen wrongful lust depicted any better and it really sticks with you. The final scene in the movie in which Ben stops the wedding and runs away with the bride has been used in many movies and TV shows and really displays Hoffman’s acting because we slowly realize that the new couple has no idea what to do next. I only remember one other non-speaking acting performance were a realization is revealed purely through a slow facial close-up, and that was from Jack Nicholson in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. 

I remember there was some kind of accusation of rape that is never resolved. Did that really happen?

Yup. It did. I never realized how awkward a brush over this was until I specifically looked for it. Mrs. Robinson told her daughter that Ben raped her and Elaine still talks to him instead of calling the police. A rape allegation is not a light thing and there would not be pleasantries at the zoo if this was the case. Why would a girl who believes she is talking to a man that raped her mother and was now stalking her college aged daughter do anything but get the police involved? Elaine actually entertains the thought of marrying the guy. She thought Ben raped her mother and Ben says that the mother seduced and slept with him. She is apparently OK with this. I wouldn’t be.  

Do they actually show Mrs. Robinson naked?

This was asked more than the age question. The answer is “yes, sort of.” There is a very brief shot of Anne Bancroft’s bare chest for two or three frames. If you consider that movies are generally filmed at 24 frames per second, this is very brief. I can’t imagine how many desperate people were quick on the pause button when the movie came out on video. 

Did they use this movie for a Simpson’s episode?

Not just one. The famous shot with a leg in the foreground was in the episode “Homer of Seville” and “Beware My Cheating Bart” while the famous “Mrs. Robinson, you are trying to seduce me” line from the same scene was used in the episode “Lisa’s Substitute.” An homage to the end of the movie was used twice for Grandpa Simpson in the episodes “The Last Temptation of Homer” and “Lady Bouvier’s Lover.” 

So now to the questions I answer for every movie on the AFI top 100. Does this movie belong on the list? Of course. It is a well directed movie full of symbolism. It is the first major role for Dustin Hoffman (one of America’s most well known movie stars). It is engrained in American vernacular: I knew that “she went all Mrs. Robinson” referred to an older woman seducing a younger man years before I ever saw the movie. Mrs. Robinson is a classic villain and that character alone deserves a spot on the top 100. Would I recommend it? Sure would. It is a little cringy at times for me, but it is legitimately funny. There are a couple of topics that are sometimes weird and sometimes uncomfortable, but the direction is good enough to move quickly through these parts to suspend disbelief. Check out the movie and check out the soundtrack because both are great, widely available, and great pieces of classic Americana.

[tinytendril]

wanna dance with you, pt. 2 - robbaery au Summary: Drabbles or a collection of moments between Margaery and Robb, finding themselves unexpectedly drawn to each other over the course of the summer after high school graduation and the start of her college freshman year.

Chapter Summary: Robb and Margaery find themselves trying to navigate an even hazier view of their friendship. Robb says things. Margaery tries not to say things. And everyone seems to have something to say about their relationship. AN: The final addition to the robbaery drabbles in part i, and I’m already running ideas of more AUs for this pair. I’m hooked.

-

Margaery & Robb

It appears that Theon and Arya had found Robb in a less than favourable mood to share their opinions about his predicament with Margaery (and they swear they did not find out from Sansa). But, he’s resigned to keeping their company because his usual lunch date by the rugby pitch has clearly claimed him persona non-grata.

‘What I don’t get is why you would want to be a part of something so archaic,’ Arya tells her brother. ‘Robb, you used to tell Sansa to stop worrying about all these social events mum and dad forced us to attend. You were the one to tell her to not be a part of something so sexist, something that would parade girls in dresses for a prize of some strange guy’s attention.’

Theon does an exaggerated nod in agreement, and then takes a massive bite into his bacon butty, ‘-otally, mate. -otally awrkaic-’ He swallows to solemnly add, ‘But, that parade of sexiest dresses.’

As soon as she stops hollering at Jon to clobber the boy with the rugby ball down at the pitch, Arya elbows Theon to continue to speak to her brother, ‘Robb, are you going because of…’

Robb wonders if he is doing a good job of masking his embarrassment as they catch him and his coincidental spotting of Margaery across the pitch, passing by to get to what he knows is her last class of the day. Her eyes dart away as soon as she spots them, and she’s already turning the corner, her last trek to her class hidden behind the opposite bleachers, before he has the chance to look away himself. Judging by Theon’s snickering, he can tell that he’s not got a cat in hell’s chance in fooling the pair of them.

‘I’m only dropping off Sansa to her dance practices for the ball,’ he starts, but has to continue because both Theon and Arya wait for him to continue. ‘And I promised I’d help be her dance partner if hers wasn’t available.’

Theon and Arya share another look.

‘Arya, I thought you and mum were just visiting for the day,’ he grumbles into his own sandwich. ‘Shu’in ya be wi- her insteh-.’

‘I prefer giving you a hard time,’ she says, and steals one of his chips from his takeaway box, smiling as she chews on his food.

‘Great,’ Robb grouses, and tries to start giving her grief about her rumoured new friend, Godfrey, Gordon, Greg, or something or other (he purposely tries to save knowing it is Gendry to add to his sister’s annoyance).

‘You should give her all the space she needs, because time and perspective are the only remedies to heal a strained relationship.’

Robb and Arya’s bickering stops to whip their attention toward Theon and his words. Only Theon’s already started on his second meal, or Robb’s meal, and eats the rest of his chips, ignoring Robb’s irritated, ‘Oi!’

‘Where did you even come up with that?’ Arya’s eyes narrow in disbelief.

‘Wha-’ Theon shrugs. ‘I can’t come up with summat intelligent once and again.’

‘No,’ both siblings say in unison.

‘Am I wrong?’ Theon asks.

They try and fail to find a quip to shut him up, until Arya accuses him of reading Sansa’s Cosmopolitan magazines at their summer home. Theon shrugs again, repeating his last comment, and mumbling about having some competency to be able to read and look at scantily-clad women at the same time.

When Theon starts to list more quotes having nothing to do with Robb’s situation, and clearly more to do with annoying Arya, Robb can’t help but eye the trail that Margaery was last seen.

He’s not sure what possess him (or maybe he wants them to stop bickering too), but he admits aloud, ‘You’re not wrong.’

-

Margaery She nearly knocks over something solid, what she assumed was only a blur of grey and white flashing before her eyes. Greywind. She's only startled because she didn't expect anyone to find her here. Here, at an unfamiliar part of campus, where she planned to have her lunch away from prying eyes, she finds the hound trying to curl next to her makeshift picnic and sidles next to her crossed legs. He sniffs at her knee, licks it there, and peers up at her with his imploring, amber-coloured gaze. Ignorant to look about for his owner, someone she had been actively avoiding all week, she smiles and reaches to scratch at the back of his ears. Expectant, she tilts her head up to greet Robb approaching them with a reluctant, 'Hiya...y'arite?' 'You play dirty, Stark,' she says, attention and affections back to Greywind. 'I swear, I knew you needed space. I only took Greywind for a walk, you know he's not needed a leash for years, so--' She shakes her head, smirking impishly at him then. 'Relax, I'm glad you two found me.' He lights up at this, and it surprises her how much it eases her, that she's relieved that he's not furious with her for a number of reasons and unanswered texts. She gestures for him to sit, eyeing his awkward shifting stance. Her smile turns gentle when he finally sits next to her and her half eaten bento box, and because Robb’s giving her a look that she hasn’t seen in a week (the one that she’s tried to tell him makes his eyebrows look downright devious when they cock and crease this way), her smile widens even as she tries to bite it down. 'You're not cross?' He adjusts his light blue oxford shirt so its sleeves do not keep unraveling from their folding. And she fights the urge to adjust it too, as a force of habit, of course. 'I need to apologize, I was being a real bitch the other day,' she admits, gravely. ‘I can’t believe I said all those things about you. You know I know how you feel about your dad, and how much pressure you’ve been under. That was uncalled for.’ He attempts to shake his head to certainly lessen her blame, but she continues, 'Robb, you have been one of if not my sole closest friend since I broke up with Joffrey. I should've reacted with a lot more sympathy about Jeyne.' 'S’alright,' he shrugs. 'No,' she says, adamantly. 'I--I hadn't told you that my parents were going through a divorce since the beginning of the summer, just before graduation. The day you told me about Jeyne, I think something just imploded in me. I couldn't handle another emotional conversation on the same day my dad told me about finalizing the divorce with my mum.' 'Margaery, I'm so sorry,’ he says earnestly, but a silence follows her admissions that he can't seem to follow up. He absently starts stroking Greywind's back, as they sit together in their thoughtfulness. 'It started when my parents were fighting more and more, more than they used to at least, then sleeping in separate rooms, and finally speaking about their prenuptial agreements.' She finds herself scoffing, laughing humourlessly as she continues to explain, 'I idolized my parents for so long. I wanted to be like the princesses that me and Sansa would play pretend when we were younger because my father treated my mother like one. And Joffrey treated me the same for awhile. Then, the fine dining and the trips across Westeros stopped, and the things Joffrey did behind my back or the things he did in front of me started...' She stops for a beat and continues again. 'The thing is, I am well over Joffrey, and I feel like I’m starting to move past mourning over my parents’ relationship. But, I’m still hurting.' 'This might seem like the worst thing that could happen. And it might be,' he starts boldly, as if he is negotiating something happy about this news. 'But, maybe this means your parents will be happier for it.' 'We're nearly broke,' she says so quiet he has to bend to hear her. 'Loras caught my dad trying to access his trust fund. That's why my mum is leaving, because we're apparently useless to her without money.' Robb is silent again, finding no silver lining this time. 'Fuck, that part is fucked too. But, something else, as well,' she tries to breathe evenly through her tears. 'I know it sounds crazy, and completely selfish, but I've been acting distant toward everyone, and you, because I knew it meant I didn't have to admit all of this out loud. If I said it all out loud, it would feel real. And it does now. I guess, I wasn't ready to give up on feeling like a princess yet.' 'It's not crazy, it's not crazy to want to mourn another huge part of your life,' he says, and she's thankful that he is simply listening instead of feeding her lines of wishy-washy hope. Greywind whines at the loss of their attention, and it's only because they still at the way their hands brush against each other. She retrieves her hand back, and wipes the last traces of her tears mingling with mascara running down her cheeks. Then, she smiles as though she's finally done straining with something heavy, and she hopes this tells him she's fine, or will be fine, and that she's grateful most of all. 'I know you care about me, Robb. I know because you always let me tease you, argue with you, and go on and on about things I'm fairly sure you could give two shits about. But, mostly because you're letting me ramble about this too. You've been so lovely.' 'Of course, you have me, for anything you need,' he tells her seriously, but soon quirks up a small smile to add, 'as long as I don't have to hide behind any bookcases or in your closet if anyone asks about us.' She chuckles weakly, and nods to agree, 'You have me too, if you need to talk...about anything.' 'There is...' If there is something else Robb needs to tell her, since dumping all this extremely charged news on him might be spurring other alarming confessions, it somehow does not come. Her stomach, she hadn't realized, had been clenching from the anticipation. She feels herself sigh visibly when he doesn't say anything. She sees him deflate too, though she's not sure he is quite as relieved as she is because of this. Greywind jolts to action, as if to strike out the silence. He's on his feet, leaping and barking at a passing, scurrying bird, startling both of them out of their silent inaction. Robb scolds him to calm down, but Margaery is already busying herself with tidying her lunch and book bag. 'I'm knackered and not interested in hearing that bint of a economics professor go on about useless anecdotes that have nothing to do with economics. Walk me home?' She gathers her remaining things together, and whistles for Greywind's attention, kissing his forehead when he lopes over to her. For now, she sees Robb's bubbling up of words dissipate, and his heavy gaze with it. He eventually lifts himself up and offers her his hand to stand. For now, she sees him forfeiting to the comfort of her accepting his hand. 'Hey,' he tries, barely, to suppress puffing out his chest. He nudges her as they walk together, ‘You think I’m lovely.’ She nudges back harder, rolling her eyes, 'When you’re not trying so hard.'

-

Robb

Dickon Tarly is clearly Randyll Tarly’s favourite son, and a favourite for many other reasons if the many socialite eyes on him show as much. Robb’s known for years that his own family name carries weight among these society functions, but it is something entirely different when he sees the Southern families gravitate toward each other. So, it comes to no surprise to him that Dickon leads Margaery into the debutante waltz with a confidence that catches the attention of both of her parents at the King’s Season’s last dance rehearsal. In fact, Dickon has certainly gained favour from Mace Tyrell, as he spies them sharing a firm handshake after the first dance, the older man flitting joyful eyes between the young couple before him.

And they do look like an idyllic pair, both sharing similar brunette locks, and bright, brown eyes. Margaery, he’s noticed not for the first time today, looks especially pretty with her hair tied up in the way she mentioned she’d dress up for the ball, with tiny rose buds weaved into her pinned curls.

‘Robb .’ Sansa grabs his arm, exasperated.

He is trying, and failing to help an irate Sansa (replacing her own escort since he’d been nursing a hangover into the late afternoon), but he keeps apologizing for his own two left feet. It’s when he continues to watch Alerie Tyrell laughing, eyes glittering at something Dickon’s sharing with her, that Margaery comes to them and finally takes his attention away while she asks to borrow him from his sister. She’s asking for him to listen to her counting the steps, which helps some.

‘Alerie seems to be enjoying herself,’ she observes tersely, before she whisks him across the hall at the dance instructor’s direction, and straightens his back as they move along.

‘You haven’t talked to your mum at all today, have you?’ He only means to be concerned.

She only gives him a sharp glare, before pushing his feet farther apart, which allows him not to trip over himself in the next few steps. ‘And you haven’t spoken to your father about your planning on quitting the internship.’

He ignores this, and the paranoia of his own parents watching them, so he comments, ‘So, Dickie’s taking you to the debutante ball. That’s...expected.’ It sounds wrong even as he voices it out loud, and after their reconciliation in the past week, he knows he should not be saying such things.

Her glare turns amused, ‘So, you haven’t noticed the pack of wolves swarming you since they heard about your breakup with Jeyne? Have you checked your back pocket during the changing of partners through the waltz?’

Robb pauses a beat to pinch through his back pocket of his slacks for a piece of folded paper.

‘Myrcella thinks Sansa’s brother would appreciate her phone number. You know, for a shoulder to cry on.’

Margaery is smirking, and he doesn’t think this bothers him that much until he doesn’t hesitate to ask, ‘If I call her, would you mind?’

He’s watching her reaction, and it’s his turn to feel amused, even though he’s trying his best to ignore the steady ramping up of beats thrumming in his chest.

‘You can do whatever you want.’ She does not meet his eyes then. ‘And if you would just do what makes you happy, you could finally quit yer whinging. Really, Robb, we’d all feel better for it. Your father, for one, would want you to be happy.’

The thrumming reaches his ears now, and it’s useless to ignore his inner pleading for her to look his way. ‘I’m happy...right now...’

The music had long stopped, he realized, before their feet caught up to this cue. In his periphery, he can spot his family, hers, and Dickon looking on, and he wonders if they can tell the tense way both he and Margaery are holding themselves after his confession. Margaery lets go first, and he’s left to pocket his hands, smiling weakly before signalling for her to look to her actual dancing partner.

She does. But, he swears, the only thing that gives his thrumming heart pause is her own pause at taking Dickon’s hand back for the final dance.

-

And that thrumming doesn’t leave him. After trying to walk off the gnawing energy from the rehearsal, he finds himself possessed, moving farther and farther away from home without redirection. He realizes that his feet have taken him all the way to the front door of Margaery’s apartment complex, and he’s not stopping himself from buzzing for her flat number.

He comes to when she answers her door, only dressed in an oversized sweater and knee-high socks, her long brown hair let down from its previous curls and pins. He knows that his undone, formal attire does not look as good as her own. He must look in distress, and he’s sure she’s eyeing the way he’s been compulsively running his hands through his waxed down curls, most likely looking a winded mess.

When she invites him in, some of the unease and rapid beating settles, if only to assume that he’s not interrupting Dickon being with her. A quick scan of her space gives way for a sigh when he’s nowhere to be seen.

‘I’ve been walking around for what feels like hours, going over and over this problem,’ Robb tells her.

She’s stalk still.

‘Maybe there’s a reason why we were hiding what we meant to each other from everyone.’

She remains mute.

‘Could it be that we’re both thinking the same thing, but won’t admit it because of, what, bad timing? Expectations from your parents?’

‘I’m not with Dickon for my parents, he’s just an escort for the ball,’ she says plainly. ‘Believe it or not, I confided in you when I was at my lowest, but that doesn’t mean I want the same things anymore--’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ He comes closer, closing the distance between them with inches to spare.

Margaery doesn’t seem to mind, though she can’t seem to speak over his interruption as she’s easily done before. ‘What I mean to say is that you’re allowed to do whatever you want to do. And do that thing you keep telling me to do, which is be happy. If you are happy with Tarly, then that’s fine. But, if there is a small chance that we’ve been avoiding this...this thing between us...then, I need to know.’

Her silence keeps giving him the impression that she’ll be throwing him out any minute now. Yet, she’s swaying, appealing for the space toward him instead of pulling back.

‘You need to know if we’re not going mad, and that there is a chance for...us,’ she finally offers.

‘Us,’ he repeats lamely, wondering if he’ll continue to be articulate if she continues to at least entertain his thoughts.

‘So...’ She straightens her back, as if bracing herself. ‘Kiss me.’

He’s almost thrown by her firm proposal, but not altogether surprised by her. ‘Only if you want--’

And she’s on tip-toe before he finishes, her lips meeting his. Her faint freckles across the bridge of her nose, the last thing he remembers before he closes his eyes to be lost in the impossible softness of her kiss. The sweet, flowery parfum he’s seen her dot along her collarbone, now in his deep inhaling breath.

‘Robb…’

It really is a quick kiss, though. As swift as it came, it goes. She says his name again, and he comes out of the haze of the surrealness of what they had just done.

He still feels her touch on his lips when they part, acutely conscious of this when he answers her, ‘Marge, listen. You don’t have to give me an answer right now. I just needed you to know how I feel, which is that I feel happiest when I’m with you. But, I’m not going to make you decide what you feel right now, not after what happened between us when I tried to force you to confront all of this the first time or how I nearly ambushed you all over again, rehashing everything in front of our families.’

She must be mulling over this as well, because she slowly nods.

‘But, I can’t say I regret telling you, or that kiss.’

Her silence must mean something, but he leaves it up to his theories in the dead of the night, when he will most likely find himself alone with his thoughts. This, and the way she closes the door to him before he leaves, not quite shut or open, before he walks down her long corridor makes him wonder if she would be thinking of him tonight as well.

-

Margaery

After the first time, she’d thought there would be some finesse to her ignoring Robb.

Although she agreed to take time away from him (only a few days, she promised him), she’s convinced she’s gone mad, seeing him practically everywhere she turns. She sees him coming out of his morning class wearing his father’s tweed jacket, the one she’s told him does not (no matter how many times he’s explained to her) make him look more mature or collegiate for meetings with his professors. She sees him eating his favourite fish and chip meal from the tiny shop around the corner from the student parking lot. She even sees him at their favourite cafe, where she’s sure Myrcella has coincidentally found him, making him seemingly amused at something she’s said. His winning smile is still there, effortless like everything else that he tries on, when Margaery wills herself to not storm into the cafe to cut into their conversation.

‘You really like him, don’t you?’ Sansa states this more than she asks, her eyes are practically sparkling at the notion in the midday sun. Robb’s sister has dragged her to one of those trendy restaurants, the kind that serves their entrees on newspapers over cutting boards. She even giggles at the waiter taking their second drink order by taking her pinned note on a washing line.

‘Shush you,’ Margaery tuts, but doesn’t deny it.

‘Admit it, you’re thinking of him right now.’

Margaery still doesn’t admit a thing, but certainly accuses her of being creepily invested in her brother’s love life, but it doesn’t stop Sansa from reminding Margaery of squandering her time to let Robb know how she feels.

She also attempts to remind Margaery of what kind of summer holiday she would have had if not for her brother. Though Margaery doesn’t need reminders, she knows that she wouldn’t have endured the summer the way she had if it hadn’t been for the Starks, for Robb’s unfailing kindness. For the way he makes her laugh, even if it’s at her own expense. For the sincere way he tells her that she is incredible and good . She feels those words, the way they warm and settle in her chest.

‘You know, he told our dad about quitting the internship. He really did it, and it’s not from any of our family’s ideas or pushing. We all know how Robb’s been fearless about anything he’s come up against, but where do you think he got that courage to do the only thing that actually scares him?’

She knows Sansa is aware that this stirs something in her. That warm feeling spreads rapidly, and it almost overwhelms her.

‘Your meal on newspaper is here,’ Margaery tries to diffuse this conversation and her nerves.

For now, Sansa is momentarily distracted by her drink order, with its gradient of coloured liquor and multiple umbrellas.

-

Margaery & Robb

Summer of 2010

Catelyn attempts to fix a serious look to her son, but her lips quiver slightly, and Robb openly rolls his eyes at his mum. Ned would often comment about their nonverbal conversations, amused. Sometimes, he would say, he’d be rather jealous of their connection.

To add to his humiliation, she comes around their kitchen island they sit around to ruffle his hair. At nine-years-old, he feels entitled to an apology from her. He’s old enough now to warrant her to take him with actual seriousness.

‘Come now, Robb.’

‘Fine, it’s Margaery.’

She appears to humour him, and actually sits beside him on the other kitchen stool, the dirty dishes she meant to clean are left forgotten.

‘Yes, Sansa says she’s inconsolable.’

‘She’s mad. She screamed at me even when I politely asked her what was wrong. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but her and Sansa were yelling beside my bedroom door.’

‘She is a rather willful girl, isn’t she?’

‘She’s also a sore loser at board games. Did you see her yell at Jon for winning over her last night?’

‘And now your sunny afternoon is ruined because of her? Robb, the sun and warmth are a rarity in the North, you should just ignore her. She’s only here for another week, love, and most of that time is spent with Sansa and her friends. Soon, she’ll be gone until next summer.’

‘Even Loras is in a sour mood, and we were meant to be playing football in the pitch dad prepared for us today, but she probably got him in a right mood too, because he’s doesn’t want to play. Now, he’s leaving with his dad tomorrow morning, and we’re stuck with her.’

This time, he looks up to see something dawn on her mum’s eyes, like she’s only just thought of something. ‘Yes, Loras is going to spend the rest of his summer in the South with his father.’

‘Couldn’t he have taken her instead,’ Robb mumbles as he lies his head in his folded arms, eyes down.

His mum pokes the side of his head, and she smiles to see him peering up at him with the same bright blue eyes as hers. She looks ready to tell one of her stories, with a warm smile spreading across her face. He decides he wouldn’t mind his mum continuing, she tells the best stories, after all.

‘Do you remember when Jon first came to our family? You were only five then, and you didn’t understand why he came to us, but, you welcomed him like he was your own brother. And when you grew old enough to know we lost your Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Rhaegar in the car accident the night before he came to us, you were even closer to him because of this understanding. You’ve been inseparable since then.’

Robb’s brows crease, as if he were trying to connect the threads of a bigger story he’s sure his mum is weaving.

‘But, there was a time when you had felt badly--’

Robb shakes his head so rapidly that his curls whip as a blurry, fiery halo.

‘Not badly, but almost cold. That time your father took Jon camping without you. It was always your favourite trip with your father.’

‘Oh,’ Robb agrees finally, embarrassed. ‘But, only because...because…’

She quickly pecks the top of her son’s head and continues, ‘You were young, and you didn’t realize that he was only gone for a weekend, not forever like you wept about. When they came back you didn’t speak to both of them for the whole day they came back.’

Something washes over Robb’s eyes, not unlike the realization that his mum went through. He’s sheepish to admit, ‘I was jealous, I thought dad was leaving us, and that he didn’t want to be my dad anymore, but wanted Jon as a son instead.’

‘But, your father finally explained that he needed to speak to Jon about the horrible week he had at school, horrible bullying if you remember that incident with Ramsay. He only meant to keep it between them in case he was feeling sensitive about it all.’

‘I was being…’

‘You weren’t foolish, you were just reacting to a fear.’ Catelyn rubs small circles over her sons’ back. ‘Do you see that fear in a certain moody someone?’

‘She’s jealous of Loras?’

‘Mace loves all his children, Robb. But, sometimes grownups aren’t always good at explaining why they do the things they do. Your father was much better after that day of hunting with Jon, when I spoke to him. But, sometimes, there are grownups that aren’t good at explaining themselves...at all. Mace has never shied away from favouring the boys in their family, and I’m surprised Margaery has only started to feel this way. Poor girl, only has her grandmother on holiday breaks to make her feel better about herself.’

His mum, who rarely speaks ill will about anyone, doesn’t tell him this lightly. In fact, she looks almost nervous to be saying so. She trusts him, he thinks, with such a big confession, because she respects he’s old enough to know this. Pride swells in his chest, and it overpowers the other feelings he has. That’s why Robb swallows the anger he feels for Margaery, and only nods.

And he truly is angry for her. She may be a bit annoying, especially when Sansa and her try to get them to play pretend being at a ball as princesses and princes. She may have stomped on his foot when he mistepped during the pretend ball dance. She may find ways to consistently trick Jon into giving her all the sweets their parents had given him after dinner. But, then, he remembers how stormy, how low her eyes had gotten when she yelled at him for asking about playing football with Loras. He knows the deep, dark fears he felt that day his dad left for camping, no matter how irrational it turned out to be in the end. Worse still, he wonders if Margaery will ever feel the relief that he did when his dad comforted him.

‘Do you understand?’ Catelyn asks.

Robb finds that his mum’s words are the first thing that come to him when Margaery barks him out of his reverie. His feet have brought him to the grove of weirwood trees in Winterfell Manor’s vast back garden.

‘Has Sansa made you come?’ Margaery, eyes red and puffy, barks again.

‘No, erm, actually. I came by myself.’

She’s still suspicious, 'Okay...'

‘I have something to tell you.’ Robb sits next the weirdwood tree she’s under, and smiles gently.

‘Oh?’

He scoots a little closer, even as her eyeing becomes more and more dubious of him. ‘Just promise you won’t yell at me until after I tell you my story.’

She bites her lip, possibly to stop from looking amused, and her rolling eyes and dismissive nod is all he needs to tell her about his dad, Jon, and himself.

-

Present day, The King's Season Debutante Ball

‘I would,’ a girl fixing her long sleeve gloves shamelessly says in a whisper that’s not at all concealed to Margaery’s ear, and eyes Robb up and down in his black tux.

The girl, he assumes is one of Margaery’s acquaintances, considering the wrinkling of Margaery’s nose. Luckily, she moves to other side of the hall. Most of the other girls in ball gowns do the same to gather their escorts for the announcement ceremony, his sister among them. It leaves Margaery and Robb standing by decorative curtains partially hiding the awkward stances they hold.

She must catch the way his eyes trail over her, the same way the girl had done to him, because she finally speaks.

'Take a picture, Stark, it'll last longer.' She even twirls to show that the fabric of her long, pale blue gown, that hugs closely to her curves, also floats in folds of cascading silk as she moves.

‘You know this already, Marge, but, you look beautiful.’

The only solace he has from his chaotic nerves is that he can clearly see that she's just as worried by their reunion since sharing their first kiss as he is. He can tell as much from her still clutching at the cascades of silk from his persistence in openly looking at her this way, leaving her uncharacteristically less sharp in replying.

He still doesn't avert his gaze, and it makes him let out a surprised puff of amusement when she finally relents, 'You know, if you didn't clean up so well, I'd find it far easier to not have to admit what I'm about to admit.'

'Admit what?' Inside his chest is thrumming with the familiar speedy rhythm from when he visited her flat not days ago, and outside he smiles in earnest hope.

'Admit that I've been avoiding what we meant to each other because I was scared that you'd be another person I might lose, a true friend. But, I also want to admit that I don't want you just as a friend, but more...and I'm happiest with you too.'

He comes closer, watching her reaction with a surge of confidence as her breathing hitches at his hands moving to hold hers. She lets go of her dress.

'Any other urgent confessions?'

He feigns a dramatic, surprised look on closer inspection of her, 'You know, on second thought...'

She smacks at his chest with an open hand.

'I'd like to kiss you again,' he says softly, as if he were thinking out loud.

'I'd let you,' she tells him, tilting her head up to him.

Her kiss opens up to him this time, sure and wanting. He responds in kind, moving his lips over hers as if he were making up for the passion he wished he would've shown before. With his hands tying her closer, cinching her waist to be flush against him, he is sure he would stay rooted here until someone would pry them apart. Even Margaery’s fingers weave deeply into his hair, seemingly to tell him she’s wanting to settle too.

Then, he faintly hears Margaery’s name being called, like the mantra in his own thoughts, but he realized that he’s definitely not thinking out loud this time. It’s the master of ceremonies’ voice, with a tone of bewilderment, which they find has absolutely to do with Dickon Tarly and how debutante-less he appears at the top of the staircase on the other side of the hall.

‘What am I going to do about you?’ She jokes, pecking him quickly on the lips before she shuffles in her dress to get them moving, making sure they are still hidden behind curtains and pillars and whatever else might do.

It’s hard to stop himself from grinning madly, before answering, ‘Follow your lead, even if it isn’t a dance.’

‘You are used to it by now,’ she quips, eyes bright with unmistakable happiness.  She points to where his family sits with the crowds all seated for the halted ceremony, and giggles at him stumbling when his mum nearly spots them.

End.

[phaedrecameron]

The Accused, James Fraser Chapter 5 Mens Rea

Claire was startled awake. She felt Frank’s breath on her neck; his hand on her breast. Since learning of Frank’s most recent affair, she’d been sleeping on the sofa in her home office. Frank didn’t seem to mind. He kept late nights. But after her meeting with Fraser, the office was no longer comforting.

Claire wanted to leave, but Geillis, herself twice divorced, warned against rash action.

“Get yerself a good lawyer, get yer finances in order, find a place to stay where he can’t find ye, and get proof,”Geillis had instructed. She even suggested Claire hire a private investigator.

Ultimately, Claire had agreed to stay. She didn’t want Frank to have the upper hand; not ever again. She needed to prepare to leave him. But she’d been busy with work, busy with the Fraser case.

Now Claire could no longer wait.

“Don’t!” Claire spat as she pushed Frank’s hand away and got up from their bed.

“What’s gotten into you?” Frank asked as he sat up.

“I don’t like being awoken for sex.” At least not by you.

“Since when? I’ve been plenty patient, Claire.”

“Patient!? I’ve al..”

“I’m trying to make this work!” Frank cut her off as though she had not spoken. “I’ve given you your space, haven’t I? I agreed to your therapy? Agreed not to ask for your help? Agreed to raise a child not my own? Is that it? You’ve decided adoption? And that’s it. It’s always your way, Claire. You can’t give me anything.”

“How dare you, you goddamn bloody bastard!” Claire’s voice shook with rage. Instinctively, her eyes searched for something to throw at him, finding nothing, her fists curled. “I’ve given up everything for you! I moved to a foreign country for you. I had to take extra classes and exams to become licensed to practice in America. I went to all your boring work functions and humored all your pretentious asshole colleagues!” She closed her eyes, her voice now under control, “it takes two people to make a child and sometimes those people can’t, it isn’t anyone’s fault.”

Frank walked toward their bathroom. He turned to face her. “Don’t play the victim, Claire. I didn’t force you to do any of that. Those are the things you should want to do if you love someone. And you barely did it. You couldn’t be quiet. So what if you had to listen to a few old timers? I needed those people for my work and you embarrassed me every time.”

“I’m not the meek and obedient type!” Claire shot back. “I’m sure Sandy and all the others are more than happy to be doormats for your success.”

“Sandy was there for me when you refused to be. I let her go for you. I asked you to try for a child of our own blood and you even half-assed that.” Frank shut the bathroom door.

Claire removed her wedding ring, got dressed and left.

**************************************************************************************

John Grey was trying not to vomit. He’d been pulling double duty; prepping the Fraser case and actively avoiding his family. The case wasn’t coming together as he’d liked and he felt the telltale sign of a tension headache beginning to form. He’d left his fifth floor office at the Boston Criminal Court Building to retrieve what he hoped would be the cure; caffeine. Once at the first floor cafeteria, Grey had to choose between the lesser of two evils; an espresso macchiato or a cortado. He knew the the barista couldn’t even manage a decent hot cocoa, but he was desperate. He grabbed the cortado and decided a five minute break would do him good. He took a sip and made to sit on one of the cafeteria’s hard plastic chairs.

Christ! Grey thought as the offensively bitter and unbalanced liquid hit his palate. It was all he could do to keep it down. Then he noticed a dribble on his tie. He glared at the barista. He vaguely wondered if his family could begin a community outreach program to train baristas from underprivileged backgrounds. He immediately dismissed the idea as elitist bullshit. And it would require him to speak to Hal.

Grey observed the mass of jurors, attorneys, and witnesses as they scrambled to make the afternoon court sessions. He sighed. John was feeling the pressure. James Fraser had been cleared for trial by Dr. Claire Beauchamp. Her report hadn’t been expected for at least another two weeks and the State’s case was nowhere near ready for a jury. John got a reprieve when Fraser’s next court appearance had been postponed 3 weeks. Fraser had broken several bones in his left hand and the case was delayed while he underwent surgery and started a rehab schedule.

Grey chalked that incident up to reality hitting Fraser square in the face. The State had filed murder charges and a special allegation for use of a knife in the commission of a felony. He was facing life in prison, with no chance of parole.

John’s boss, Harry, had authorized the charges after they were briefed by Detectives Christie and Cinnamon. John remembered Christie explaining that Fraser should “fry.” John’s face soured at the thought. John had a personal dislike of Christie. The man made too many off color comments and was frankly a neanderthal. He was rumored to have been forced to attend sensitivity training on more than one occasion, but he did present well on the stand. John wasn’t familiar with Christie’s new partner, Cinnamon, who was considerably younger. Cinnamon appeared to be around John’s age. He was fit, tall, sexy, and slightly brown- everything Christie wasn’t. John wondered if Cinnamon was part of Christies’ on-going sensitivity training.

John pushed Christie from his mind. He was more worried about his own skill. This would be the biggest case of career. But so far Harry had supported his choices, including Beauchamp for the eval.

“Good, Beauchamp’s good,” Harry had said. Not up for anyone’s bullshit, she’s got that fantastic ass and accent to match.”

Grey had stared at his boss.

“What!” cried Harry. “I’m not dead yet, and you know as well as I do that jurors are more likely to believe good looking people! Besides, that’s why I put you on this case.”

Grey hadn’t known whether to be flattered or offended.

John felt his phone vibrate, but ignored it. He thought of Frasers’s lawyer and felt a twinge just behind his left eye. Fraser was represented by one of the best public defenders in the State, Ned Gowan. But Gowan was a court appointed attorney. “I thought for sure he’d have some fancy uptown lawyer. He’s rich isn’t he?” Harry had asked.

“Yup, but he’s also smart. Ned’s the best homicide defense attorney in the state. I need to bring my A game.” John had countered. But it did give him pause.

Truthfully, there was something off about the entire case. There was no motive. John swirled the black sludge in his cup. Yes, Fraser was caught on CCTV arguing with Laoghaire MacKenzie a few days before her murder. The night of her murder, Fraser lured her to a bar where they were caught, yet again, arguing on CCTV. Fraser then forcibly moved Mackenzie to an alley behind the bar - an area not covered by video surveillance. Within minutes she was dead.

Yet, why? Grey thought. The obvious answer being he was a spurned lover. Fraser stalked and killed her in a jealous rage. That was Christie’s position. But lovers who never spoke? At least not according to their phone records. A lover that none of Laoghaire’s coworkers, friends, and family knew she had? A few weeks before her death, Laoghaire had called the police over loud music from a neighbor’s late night party. Surely, this woman would have told someone she was being stalked?

What the case needed was further investigation.

As John rose to return to his office, he spotted Ned Gowan. John’s phone vibrated again. He had two missed texts and a new one from his boss, Harry.

Gowan started toward John.

Quickly, John opened Harry’s message,

Where the hell are you? Browns here…..get back to the office.

John looked up and saw Gowan had been waylaid by a crying elderly woman. Probably the mother of one of his clients.

John glanced back down at the two missed texts:

From Hal Grey

We need 2 talk, be at Pardloe on Saturday

From Stephan von Namtzen

I’m here. Jetlags a bitch. You call this beer?

John stuffed the phone in his jacket pocket and greeted Gowan.

“Hello, Mr Gowan.”

Gowan extended his hand and laughed. “Please, call me Ned.” Grey was wary. He knew Gowan’s bumbling country lawyer routine was an act. He was ruthless at trial.

Gowan produced a document and handed it to Grey. “I was going to file this at the clerk’s office, but then I saw you, so here it is, hand delivered.” Gowan smiled as Grey read the document.

“You can’t be serious, you read Beauchamp’s report,” Grey stated.

“I did, but this is a separate issue – Fraser’s adding a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity. Of course he’s not guilty, but if he were guilty, he was insane at the time.” Gowan’s smiled faded. “What did you expect given your office’s change in position.”

“What?”John asked, his head beginning to pound.

“Your office is seeking the death penalty.”

[deathbyvalentine]

My Entry for my Creative Writing Portfolio. 

There were places in the world with a long memory. Places where even the soil has blood; where the landscape has a pulse. These places could leave a mark. Nobody got out unscathed, if they got out at all. Farms who were worked by the same family, generation after generation, members never venturing further than their own rolling fields. Towns that sat squatly between towns almost identical to each other, hot and bored. Houses, half-ruined, impossible to tell from a glance if they had occupants or not. Until a curtain twitched. The churches were the worst of all, God carried like a disease passed through guilt and preaching.The people who had grown up in these places, they wore it like a bleeding heart on their sleeve, even if they moved. Even if they escaped.

Rose, well, you could smell the southern heat on her a mile off. It was in the way her fingers twitched constantly; the way her eyes never quite met yours, the way her smile was always a little too late.

One of those small towns had claimed her sister, and she had only just managed to avoid it claiming her. She lived in a city now, and she liked it immensely. She liked the constant rush of traffic, the grey of the concrete buildings and the shimmer of the highrise offices made of glass. She liked the anonymity, how even the barista she bought a coffee from (black, too much sugar) every morning didn’t remember her name. She liked that her boyfriend wore a suit like thousands of other workers, and his hands were never calloused. She liked that he didn’t remind her of a father, or a boy she grew up with. He did not wear the scars of a small town and he couldn’t recognise hers, couldn’t point to them on a map. Did she love him? As much as she felt she could love anyone perhaps. It wasn’t deep love. It wasn’t the type of love you would kill or die for. It was the type of love you would marry or divorce for. And indeed, on her finger she wore an engagement ring, and sometimes she marvelled at the very normality of it, at the proof it provided that she was both lovable enough and sensible enough to marry.

The phone rang early on Saturday afternoon. The sound was shrill and Rose looked up from her book, startled. One of the few quirks that her fiance found endearing rather than bewildering was her insistence on having a landline rather than just a cellphone. She liked the idea of putting down roots, of grounding her life in wires and electricity. She liked how very rarely it rang.

Rose picked up the phone, and held it to her ear. There was a crackle on the line, the sound a little distant. A pause, and then -

“Hey Rose. It’s been a while. Like… Half a decade a while.” The voice was familiar, warm, and completely unwelcome. Rose pressed the phone closer to her ear, twisted the wire around her fingers over and over again.

“Elsie?”

“That’s right sweetcheeks.” Elsie breathed out, amused, and Rose could hear her shifting on the end of the line. “Bet you never thought you’d hear from me again.”

“Yes, well, no, I mean - “

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t want to call you either. But I had to.”

“Oh Gods, you’re not dying are you?” Rose’s mind, as usual, went to the worst possible conclusion, flashing through scenes of sterile hospital rooms and beeping monitors.

“Fuck no. You wish. No, actually, it’s about something else.” There was a long pause, and something heavy settled on Rose’s stomach. She didn’t want to hear what came next. She wanted to hang up now, and go back to her book of comforting fairy tales, and forget all about Elsie. But she didn’t. She stayed. “It’s- It’s Vanessa’s grave. It’s been moved. We think it’s empty again.”

*

What do you call a body that doesn’t know it’s dead?

Her name was Vanessa, and once, she had been shining. It was customary for the older sibling to be the inspiration, the object of envy, but it was never that way for Rose. Vanessa was her younger sibling, and she was perfect. Rose loved her as much as she envied her; adored her as much as she hated herself. Vanessa had the attention of all that stumbled across her, for better or worse. When she had gotten sick, her bedroom had been like a saint’s tomb, constantly filled with flowers and fruit, the girl herself looking like something from a Pre-Raphaelite painting in her deathbed.

Rose had not wanted her to die. Rose held her tight and wiped sweat from her feverish skin. Rose spooned soup into her rapidly diminishing body. Rose stopped her from biting her tongue when the fits came. And Rose went to a crossroads, burying a box of blood and bone and library dust, willing to make a deal with any being that came across it. It hadn’t worked. She had died while Rose was at school. The entire town had came to the funeral, the small whitewashed building filled until it smelt of sweat and linen. She had been buried in the churchyard with some saccharine verse inscribed on an angel-clad headstone. Rose could only remember the ordeal in flashes of sensation and scent. The smell of old perfume: the touch of an old lady's hand to hers: the sun burning the back of her neck.

She remembered the third night after the funeral clearly though. How she had left her window open hoping to tempt in a breeze from the static night. How she had been unable to sleep, the sheets of her bed tangling around her legs like vines. How she had finally given up, and sat up, glancing out her window to see her sister standing on the lawn, bathed in moonlight. How her and Elsie had buried her again, this time with coins slipped into her mouth and into her palms, coaxing the girl back into her coffin. They had left bricks on top of her coffin, and spat into their handshake, swearing not to tell anyone. Not ever.

*

It was very almost a beautiful day. The sky was a searing blue. The fields a blinding yellow blur as she drove past them. The day would fade with spectacular blood-reds and desperate oranges. It never died quietly around here; it went out in a riot of aggressive colour. For now, the sky remained stubbornly bright.

The town, when she finally made it within the boundaries, was exactly how she remembered it. Perhaps different storefronts were boarded up, perhaps it was different drunks sitting on benches staring into their clutched paper bags, but the air couldn’t change. Elsie seemed the same too, if taller, a little more filled out. Her dark skin shone with sweat from the oppressive sun. Her curls pulled back from her face to show those eyes that so uncannily mirrored the skies above. It had been their eyes that had brought them together. Hers sky, Rose’s forest. Witches eyes, Elsie had whispered excitedly, voice full of fireworks.

There was something new though, and Rose felt an irrational dislike immediately. He was tall, an easy smile painted across a handsome face, and she knew he would drawl before he even greeted her. Elsie introduced him as a ‘friend’, her arm tucked intimately around his waist, and he introduced himself as ‘Lee’. His father’s name, she knew. Even if he was new to this dynamic, he was not new to this town, and his father was often one of the drunks to be found sitting on the benches. She remembered him from high school, a few years ahead of the girls, bruises blooming like poisonous flowers across his body.

He was unwelcome here, in the space between her and her best friend. It was even more unwelcome when he opened his soft-pink mouth and said her sister’s name with no reverence, no worship.

“So, you’re the famous Rose right of RoseAndVanessa fame? Elsie never shuts up about you. Rose this, Rose that. Like you’re a goddess or something.”

“I’m not a goddess.” She stated, firmly, cutting him off as he opened his mouth again. There were gods in this world, she had seen them. They lived in all the deep dark spaces. They fed off belief and fear. They did not appreciate comparison.

“Well Elsie worships you.” Rose looked at her, and Elsie shrugged, lighting a cigarette and raising it to her lips.

“She shouldn’t.”

He shrugged too, echoing her gesture easily. “Anyway. So we have to sort out a zombie?”

*

The churchyard was up a hill, covered with sparse trees that allowed the moonlight to seep through. All magic had to be done by moonlight, starlight or candlelight. Even dark magic. In her bag, slung across her shoulders she carried candles, salt, coins, a knife. As they walked, she picked flowers to clasp in her hands - snowdrops, violets, bluebells. All the other early blooming and early dying flowers. Lee carried a shovel across his shoulders. Elsie carried nothing but her cigarettes and her lipstick. Rose crossed herself as she entered the churchyard, and Lee copied her, though Elsie did not.

Sure enough, the soil was loose and disturbed on Vanessa’s grave. She let it run through her fingers, closing her eyes for just a moment. Grief did not go away. It only waited. Then it crashed into you over and over again, in small moments and big, when you least and most expected. For a minute, it robbed her of her breath, her lungs caught in a vice of memory and guilt. And then, it passed, as it always did, and she straightened up, brushing the dirt from her palms. She laid out the items in a semi-circle, crossed her legs and waited, the other two flanking her. Midnight came and went. The real witching hour comes when you have forgotten what time it is, whether it is late or early. And when Rose’s eyes were drooping; when Elsie had laid her head in Lee’s lap, that’s when she felt it. Nothing huge, a touch at the back of the neck, the air a little colder. She opened her eyes, and saw Vanessa at the gate, as expected. Still in the skirt she was buried in, skin still clean and somehow whole. Her eyes were empty of colour, and there was dirt under her nails, the pink polish chipped.

Unexpectedly, there was something with her. A shadowed hand on her shoulder. It seemed to absorb the moonlight, none of its details thrown into relief by the silver. A silhouette is all that remained: one showing wicked curved horns and strong shoulders. The exception, of course were it’s eyes. They glittered like beetles backs, and focused on her. She felt that gaze down to her toes, a hot flush of self-consciousness. Lee spluttered behind her, and Elsie for once was silent.

“What do you wish this time, Rose Peters?” Its voice was not loud, but it carried unnaturally. She walked forward, trying to seem less afraid than she was. She did not want to feed it her fear.

“I wish for you to let my sister rest.”

It mused on this for a long moment. She gazed at it, watching the fluidity of it’s movements, too graceful to be anything approaching human.

“But Rose Peters, was it not you that called on me to stir her from her rest? Did you not appreciate my gift?”

Suddenly, it was in front of her, clutching her chin in a hand that had claws. She knew tomorrow she would wake with bruises decorating her jaw. She kept it’s gaze.

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Ignorance is no excuse.”

“You’re right.”

Another long silence. “If you can give me an acceptable price, I will retrieve my gift, and return your sister to her grave.” It released her chin, and looked around her to her two trembling friends. It glanced at her, as though in disdain. “This is the gift you offer?” It returned to Vanessa.

“My gift is myself.” Her voice was almost carried away on the wind.

“A life for a life. I am not asking you to return her to her grave. I’m asking you to return her to life. In return, I will stay with you. I will be your servant, your devotee.” She was not afraid of it. She would feed it on other things. These gods, they feed on devotion. “I will leave this place and go to wherever you exist. For eternity, if I have to.” Two gasps behind her, that were so easily ignored.

It tilted its head. She was being considered. She held her head high.

“I accept your gift. I will collect in three days time. Say your goodbyes. Your life is over.”

[viralhottopics]

Drew Barrymore ‘I don’t pretend to be perfect’

Drew Barrymore is back on our screens, this time as a flesh-eating estate agent. She tells Rebecca Nicholson about the endless ups and downs of her life from child star to teen rebel, and savvy producer to business woman and explains why shell fight to the death to be happy

Drew Barrymore walks into the hotel room in Berlin flanked by assistants, caked in heavy TV make-up and wrapped in a brown fluffy jacket that makes her look like a very glamorous teddy bear. Within seconds, the entourage has disappeared, shes wiped every last scrap of foundation from her face and shes rummaging around underneath her dress, a kind of earth mother hippy smock, regretting her decision to wear tights on this sub-freezing day. Why does anyone wear pantyhose? she exclaims, barefaced, faux-exasperated, shifting in her armchair, trying to get comfortable. Theyre so fucking sadistic! Theyre not even control pants, she says, conspiratorially, but Im forcing them to be.

For a lot of women, especially women who grew up between 1982 and the early 2000s, Barrymore is a particular kind of icon. Shes the accessible rebel we all wanted to be, or be friends with. Shes the child star of ET who hit the skids early and hard, and not only survived, but went on to be one of the most popular (and bankable) female stars of the past three decades. She appeared in, and often produced, the kinds of movies that are vital viewing for teenagers, from the trashy taboo-busting rebellion of Poison Ivy, to the triumphant high school romcom Never Been Kissed, to the moody angst of Donnie Darko. Plus, in her 20s, she seemed to hang out with the best bands, go to all the best parties and always looked like she was having the time of her life. She was the manic pixie dream girl before it became a tacky indie film stereotype. The memoir she wrote in 2015 is, appropriately, called Wildflower.

She looks genuinely pleased that she holds such a place in peoples minds, and decides that if people do like her, If anyone has any goodwill towards me, careful not to sound arrogant, its because she extends goodwill to other people. Not in an annoying way, but just, like, being in peoples fucking corners. Its this combination of soft and sharp, all wrapped up in that valley girl lilt, that has carried her through life. I want people to be happy, but I know happiness has to be fought for. Its a warrior trophy. Its not hippy, she insists. Im like, fight. Fight to the death to be happy, and dont kill anyone along the way.

Little riot grrrl: Drew Barrymore with Steven Spielberg at the age of five on the set of 1982s ET. Photograph: Everett Collection/Rex Features

Were in Germany to talk about Santa Clarita Diet, the new Netflix series which has brought her back into the spotlight again at 41. Its a warm and occasionally gross 10-part comedy about Sheila and Joel, estate agents who have been together since their school days, and whose marriage is tested when the amiable Sheila develops a sudden taste for human flesh.

I stopped working to have my kids and take care of them and raise them, and so I was nervous about working again, she says. I was going through a dark time in my own life. And then I read it and I liked it. Now what am I supposed to do? I cant do this right now, its terrible timing, my whole life is falling apart. She ended up executive producing it as well as starring.

That her life was falling apart out of the spotlight was a new thing for Barrymore, who had played out most of her life in a very public sphere. No ones talking about my life. I mean, yes, I had a divorce, but even that was real quiet. She split up with actor Will Kopelman, the father of her two children, Olive, four, and Frankie, two, at the beginning of 2016, but recently posted an Instagram of him running the New York marathon; she was there, with their daughters, to support him. It was like, Oh, they didnt work out, I wonder why? Oh my God they seem like such good friends, and so amicable, I guess well stop giving a shit. I was so happy about that, she says, breezily.

Warm and occasionally gross: Barrymore in Santa Clarita Diet. Photograph: Erica Parise/Netflix

In the midst of her divorce, Santa Clarita Diet was a transformative experience. Ironically, it wasnt the worst timing. It was great. It was really happy. It was a good summer. My daughters and I got to go out to California and I got three days off a week. Just as becoming a proto-zombie saves Sheila from the numbing boredom of domestic life, Barrymore went through her own kind of rejuvenation. I feel like Sheila. I feel like maybe I was dead inside, she says cheerfully, blowing her nose. I dont know. I was in a place in my life where I had gained a lot of weight, and been in a place of fear and sadness, and I felt stuck. I dont think thats so much unlike the character.

Until she took time away from acting to have kids, Barrymore had never not worked. She began her career at 11 months in an advert for dog food, quickly becoming the main breadwinner for herself and her mother, Jaid, who raised her alone. Her father John Barrymore, of the Barrymore acting dynasty The great line of loonies from which I come, as she puts it wasnt around much. Her extraordinary youth was public and well-documented. Her breakout role in ET, at five years old, was followed by an outlandish few years of childhood boozing and drug-taking, rehab and institutions, and the sense that, at 14, she was washed up and her career was over.

But it wasnt. She moved into an apartment by herself, got a job in a coffee shop, learned how to do her own laundry and, eventually, clawed her way back into the business, defeating the curse of the child actor where so many others have been lost. She has said her 20s were a kind of delayed adolescence. Now, in her 40s, shes had a lifetimes worth of parties and experiences, and says she doesnt miss it at all. I dont feel like Im not at the centre of things. I dont worry about career stuff. I dont worry about who the hottest band is or that Im not at that show that night. I dont care if the latest trend is happening and its just passing me by.

Star quality: Barrymore with Cameron Diaz and Lucy Liu in Charlies Angels. Photograph: Image Net

Her idea of a good time these days is taking the girls to Disney World, or setting up movie nights for the kids in my daughters class. I just watched Home Alone and all the moms and I were crying at the end. Oh my God, its so good! I appreciate it now much more than I did when I was younger.

Shes too classy to be drawn into any child actor comparisons it would be patronising, annoying, no thanks, she says, nicely but firmly but we talk more broadly about celebrity scandals. Everyone goes up and goes down. Thats life. Nobody wants all of it looked at and discussed. However, if you do put yourself out there, then you need to be prepared for that to be examined and you have to handle it to the best of your abilities. So for people who are like [she puts on a whiny voice]: Dont look at me you put yourself out there!

Is there any way to avoid being examined and discussed? Not in this day and age. You just try to manage things in the healthiest way you can. And by the way? You wont all the time. Youre gonna fuck up. So fuck up, then pick yourself back up. But just be nice and kind and humble and gracious and have a sense of humour. And dont pretend to be perfect.

Golden girl: winning a Golden Globe for Grey Gardens in 2010. Photograph: NBC/Getty Images

Barrymore dealt with her own initial fuck-ups in an incredible and startling memoir, Little Girl Lost, which she wryly calls, The mea culpa book I wrote when I was 14. She appeared on Oprah with her mother to promote it, to go over what went wrong. You can watch it on YouTube; shes 15 going on 35. Yet the book has a cult following, in part because it makes all the partying she did as a young child sound kind of adventurous. Yeah! Its like an 80s cult tragedy book, which is super cool and wrong and fun all at the same time. Its a little riot grrrl, you know?

Theres a chapter where Barrymore describes being hauled off to an institution at her mothers behest, and shes furious at the starstruck guards. God, youve just yanked me out of my house with cuffs on, I thought, and now youre asking me what it was like to meet ET. What jerks, she writes. Even at 14, she had a disdain for celebrity. Still do, she says, today.

We meet on the afternoon of Trumps inauguration. She plans to watch it later, as shes a total news junkie, but she doesnt particularly want to talk about what she thinks of him. Im not a painter and Im not a musician and I think people dont want to hear it from actors, she says. I read this op-ed in the New York Times that was saying, just do things quietly, in your art.

Slasher: Barrymore in Wes Cravens Scream, 1996. Photograph: Allstar

Barrymore is more about the practical. During her screen break, she wrote Wildflower, which became a New York Times bestseller, and shes built a sizeable business empire, including Barrymore wines, a production company, Flower Films, and beauty brand Flower Cosmetics. All of which channel some of that free-spirit warmth into profits reports suggest shes worth $125m. Theres a line in Santa Clarita Diet where Sheila announces: I sleep two hours a night. I get so much done! It struck me that for Barrymore, spinning so many plates, that might be funny. Actually, she says, it was originally written that Sheila would use her spare time to learn French. Me, in my real life, would spend time learning French. This woman literally has a ticking clock on her mortality. Shed be studying fucking Bruce Lee moves and learning to do shit. The line was changed at Barrymores request: instead of learning a language, Sheila would get the ability to parallel park in one move. Im, like, yes! Thats practical!

Its strange to see Barrymore, who seemed to be an eternal teenager, starring as the mother of a teenager in Santa Clarita Diet, partly because her fame is life-long, and you can see interviews with her at almost every age on YouTube. But, she says, she never watches them, never goes back. Hell no. The only thing I ever think when I see myself when Im younger, if Im on a talk show and Im stuck there having to watch clips, is that I was so much more brassy when I was young. Im like: Where do you get the balls, kid?

She says it as if those balls have disappeared with age. She claims shes much more polite now. Sarcastic, but polite. And worse still, she tries to say shes newly dull. In my life Im just so quiet and boring, she declares, not entirely convincingly. This is Drew Barrymore, after all, who talks with the hunger of someone who will always be on the lookout for something new, whether thats being a mother, a businesswoman, or playing a friendly estate agent who kills and eats bad people. I am pretty boring, she insists. I tell her I dont believe it. She smiles slyly, and leans in. Theres a rebel in her still. Im not sure I believe it either.

Santa Clarita Diet launches on Netflix on 3 February

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from Drew Barrymore ‘I don’t pretend to be perfect’