#talking about how different directors approached sex scenes on

[mattnben-bennmatt]

Matt Damon's interview w/ The Advocate (18 January 2000)

[During promotion for The Talented Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon gives an interview to LGBT magazine The Advocate. He discusses his approach to playing Tom Ripley, same-sex relationships, and the scrutiny around his friendship with Ben Affleck. I first came across excerpts from this fascinating interview when browsing the Damon Affleck Slash Archive using the Internet Archive's WayBack Machine, but my gratitude goes to @kampedupkinks-blog for pointing me toward the full issue. Full transcription under the cut.]

Going to the Matt

Gay people, characters, and subjects are nothing new to Oscar winner Matt Damon. Here's his whole unexpected attitude on it all.

By Brendan Lemon

As the title character in the luxurious, homoerotic new movie The Talented Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon is obsessed with trying on a rich friend's clothing, looking for the right well-tailored suit to reflect his evolving view of himself. Ever since the Boston buddy picture Good Will Hunting won him a screen-writing Oscar and established him as a movie star two years ago, the actor has been redefining his own identity too.

Measuring this metamorphosis is a challenge, partly because the 29-year-old actor is still pondering just how to use the public voice that his fame has provided and partly because his celebrity's outward clues can be a little misleading. For example, he may have just bought a gargantuan—7,000 square feet—apartment in downtown Manhattan, but you sense he wants to make it a home rather than a showplace. And he may go out with another movie star (Winona Ryder), but, refreshingly, the two so rarely make the scene that they seem the furthest thing from a young Hollywood power couple.

The performer talked about both his life and gay-related issues raised by his new movie during a conversation one recent afternoon not far from his New York City home, a discussion in which he displayed his Harvard-caliber intelligence (he dropped out of that university to act, not because his grades weren't good), an attractive blend of sensitivity and seriousness, and the kind of genuine politeness that makes you want to meet, and thank, his mother.

While Damon upbringing has made him highly skeptical of celebrity, he is not about to turn the spotlight away from himself. "Matt is not the sort of actor who refuses to talk about his movies because he doesn't want to talk about his life," said Anthony Minghella, the director and screenwriter of The Talented Mr. Ripley. "In fact, one of the things that distinguishes him as both an actor and a person is that he doesn't duck the moment." Case in point: In the new movie's hottest scene, Damon's Tom Ripley looks lustfully at his friend Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law) as he emerges from the bath. "Matt didn't ever try to wink at the audience while we were filming that, to distinguish himself from the character," Minghella said. To which Damon replies: "That would have been ridiculous. Ripley at that point was so bubbling over with desire."

Damon sees the homoeroticism of his latest character as an acting assignment, but his matter-of-fact approach to it has roots in his own life. "I grew up in a community house in Cambridge, Mass.," Damon said, "and a number of people who lived there were gay." Respect for difference wasn't the house's only core value; so was hard work a quality for which Damon is still known. "Matt won't always admit the rigor with which he approaches his roles," Minghella said, mentioning that for Ripley the actor learned to play the piano. "I sort of learned," Damon clarified, "just like I sort of learned to sing." The modesty is misplaced: In the movie the actor's wonderful rendition of "My Funny Valentine," aimed at an oblivious, sax-playing Greenleaf, stands as a clear, lonely lament recognizable to anyone—straight or gay—who's known the pain of unrequited love.

Don't expect Damon, however, to star any time soon in a revival of Babes in Arms, and certainly not with lifelong buddy Ben Affleck. The two remain call-each-other-at-all-hours close and make periodic noises about finishing that next screenplay, but any discussion about their friendship strikes Affleck, according to Damon, as "weak." Their bond, of course, still causes some people to regard them as more than pals. In this interview Damon addresses the subject head-on, while admitting that "the speculation isn't quite as much fun as it used to be."

But Damon, whose habit of answering virtually any question directly is reminiscent of Tom Hanks, with whom he had a memorable battle-jitters scene in Saving Private Ryan, mostly wanted to talk about sexuality because of his participation in The Talented Mr. Ripley. The movie which Minghella adapted from a 1955 novel by Patricia Highsmith (the first in a series), tells the story of the aforementioned Ripley and Greenleaf, two young Americans at play in late-1950s Italy. The secretive, hollowed-out Ripley is a consummate social strive. Unlike the wealthy, golden-haired Greenleaf, Ripley is to the manner—but not to the manor—born. In his quest for class he aspires to absorb everything about his friend: not just his clothing and his possessions but his pampered way of life.

But Greenleaf, involved with another young American, Marge Sherwood, treats Ripley disposably. Amused by Ripley's conversational talents and touched by his love of music, Greenleaf takes him along on high-spirited jaunts up and down the Italian peninsula, a series of sunlit, mostly seaside locations that the film caught sumptuously on location. But when Greenleaf tires of his visitor and attempts to toss him off, Ripley reacts tragically. "Maybe no one who sees the movie will agree with me," Damon said, "but as the one who played the character, I thought, This is so unfair. This person deserved better. He was so close to knowing happiness with another man."

In the hands of Highsmith, a lesbian expatriate who like many American writers—Vidal, Baldwin, Williams—came to Europe partly to escape the stifling sexual orthodoxy of postwar America, Ripley is a figure of great fascination but little empathy. Following him as he assumes Greenleaf's personality and attempts to elude his pursuers after the murder is a riveting yet slightly chilly exercise. "We wanted to make Ripley more human than Highsmith did," Damon said. To that end, Minghella pointed out, the character does not, as in the novel, plan to kill Greenleaf but, rather, lashes out at him when he confesses his love and is rejected. In another adjustment, Minghella transformed Peter Smith-Kingsley, one of the book's minor figures, into a gay man offering Ripley love and acceptance.

By fleshing out the book's homoerotic subtext, Minghella has made the story more resonant for a contemporary audience. He has also opened himself to the charge that he has made a movie about a "gay serial killer." "I think that that is a very reductive characterization," Damon said, "but I would urge people to see the movie and make up their own minds about its sex and psychology." To which one might add: Whether you like the film or not and whether or not you find it upsetting, Ripley stands as a sophisticated essay about an identity in formation—economically, psychologically, sexually.

For the movie's Forsterian world of prim Anglo-Saxons smitten with Italian sensuality, Damon's Ripley and Law's Greenleaf were joined by Gwyneth Paltrow as Sherwood and Cate Blanchett as a new character named Meredith Logue. All of them except Damon play roles in keeping with their images. After all, Damon has built his career playing mostly recognizably good guys. "Is my list of credits that heroic?" the actor asks a little disingenuously. To which one answers: Look at your resumé, Matt. Damon's gallery of Hollywood classic male archetypes includes the soldier (Courage Under Fire, Saving Private Ryan), the cowboy (Geronimo, the upcoming All the Pretty Horses), the athlete (School Ties, the upcoming golf fable The Legend of Bagger Vance), and the lawyer on the side of Southern right (The Rainmaker).

As part of his search for new suits, however, Damon has been willing to try some unexpected material. He is the frisky fallen angel Loki in the controversial movie Dogma, and he and Affleck are producing a TV version of The People's History of the United States, an iconoclast work by the scholar Howard Zinn. But it is as Ripley that Damon has most fully revealed in the unexpected.

Some people think it was brave of you, after just having won an Oscar for Good Will Hunting and becoming Hollywood's newly minted leading man, to play a role as upsetting and vulnerable as Tom Ripley.

I don't think playing Ripley was brave of me. I'm an actor who read a great script and who was extremely lucky to have been asked to do the part.

Ripley, however, is a very sad soul, and you appear to be anything but. What personal experiences did you draw on to convey that part of him?

Like everybody, I'm lonely to some extent. Like everybody, I live in fear of not being loved and not having love returned. And I think everybody has a Dickie Greenleaf in his life: someone who is extraordinarily charismatic but who can go away.

Ripley covets everything about Dickie's identity—his way of life, the issue of class, in both the sense of one's social stratum and of one's taste, is, along with sexuality, perhaps the driving issue of the movie. Did you relate to Ripley's cravings for class?

Only to a certain extent. When I was growing up in Cambridge, Mass., people took a certain amount of pride in not being Harvard people. We always thought we were cooler than they were. In terms of relating to Ripley's outsider quality, I have the standard stories that you probably have—of not being invited to the dance and picked for the team. The challenge of Ripley was making the longing to be chosen consistent in my character, despite the horrible things he's doing. Because if you don't stay in sympathy with Ripley—if you go into the theater thinking he's a "gay serial killer" and not a tormented, sensitive human being—then you may as well stay home. You're only going to have your preconceptions confirmed.

What were the key scenes for you to convey Ripley's sexuality?

The chess scene, where Dickie is naked and in the bathtub and Ripley is clothed and out of it. Also the scene where Ripley says he'd take a bullet for Dickie and the scene in the jazz club where, under the cover of music, I shout to him, "It's one big love affair." That's sort of my coming-out in the movie.

The bathtub scene is homoerotic yet slightly enigmatic. Ripley wants to get in the bath, but when he asks and Dickie says no, Ripley has to damp down his desires. Even though, moments later, when Dickie is toweling off, Ripley looks at his ass with a longing that suggests he's just seen the face of God.

When Ripley first got to Italy, if Dickie had taken off his clothes and said, "OK, strip down," Ripley would have just recoiled. Our idea was that he was a virgin. I say that because he's probably never been naked in front of somebody. Remember the first time you were naked in front of somebody? It's terrifying, but you get over it because, hopefully, you have somebody who says, "You're beautiful." But Ripley's never had that. He hasn't crossed the hurdle of deep self-loathing.

But when, at the movie's end, Peter Smith-Kingsley, a sweet, sensitive musician whom Ripley meets...

The ultimate man!

...asks Ripley to take his clothes off and become intimate, he's still struggling with his physical self-image. He is still deeply ashamed of himself, both because of his demonstrated capacity for violence and because of his inability to be intimate—with anyone, male or female. It is this abiding moral sense that makes him human rather than, to be reductive about it, a serial killer. He takes no pleasure in his transgressions.

Right, which is why the ending is so devastating. Ripley still believes that if he showed his authentic nature, he'd be cast aside.

Which is a version of what everyone fears and what some gay people, sadly, fear their whole lives: that as soon as people see our true, hidden natures they will reject us.

So rather than expose himself further to the man who truly loves him, Ripley "rejects" Peter in the most extreme way possible.

Ripley's relationship with Peter is potentially an adult, homosexual one, whereas the one with Dickie is more adolescent and amicable. The movie reminds us that there is a vulnerability involved in same-sex friendships that is just as acute as those in full-fledged gay love affairs.

Same-sex relationships with anyone when you are young entail extreme vulnerability. The first experience most of us have of devastating personal rejection is not with someone we want to date but with someone we want to befriend.

When you were that tender age, was your desire to be an actor looked down upon by your buddies?

No.

You were extremely lucky in that, you know.

I know. A number of people have come up to me and said that because of their interest in theater they were referred to as "drama fags." That wasn't the case in our school. I was supported by my parents and friends in the desire to be creative.

Who were some of the early gay influences on you?

I grew up in a community house, inhabited by my mother and brother and many other adults and children, and a number of people who lived there were gay. My theater teacher was not gay, but I probably had more gay than straight teachers in high school. So being gay, luckily, was not something that I was "introduced" to at some age. It was more that I was introduced to the prejudice against it. I had the reverse of a typical growing-up in that regard.

Your lifelong friendship with Ben Affleck had been endlessly scrutinized since your success with Good Will Hunting. Given how you grew up, was it odd to be tagged as lovers and have that speculation be viewed by some people as a negative thing?

The gay assumption seemed silly to me, a real waste of attention. But I understand that the idea of something hidden fascinates people.

At first, your friendship with Ben was a good marketing ploy. But now that your careers are established, has that strategy gotten tired?

Absolutely. You reach a point where it's your friendship and no one else's.

But you're smart enough to know that the media isn't likely to leave your relationships alone—whether it's you and Ben or you and Winona Ryder, your current girlfriend. You're also smart enough to know that the public has been burned enough times by the media dissembling about homosexuality to be more skeptical than they used to be about the subject. And thus a few people are going to read this interview and still want—still need—to believe that the couple is not you and Winona but you and Ben.

But that's because sex sells magazines and because people are now conditioned to believe that anyone they see on the cover is having sex with everyone in their lives. Given the shallow nature of the packaging and the salesmanship in our culture, it's no surprise that people are lulled into these assumptions.

The unvaryingly sexy packaging is a distraction from ever having to think about the real issues.

Of course.

To go back to you and Ben, would it be so terrible if you were a couple?

The question of whether Ben and I are gay is so awkward in a lot of ways. There is no real right way to answer it without offending somebody. It's offensive to just deny it fiercely, as if there would be anything wrong with it if we were a couple. That would be offensive to the people I grew up with. I don't want to be that person. At the same time, I can't say it's true because it's not. Ben once made light of this type of tabloid speculation by telling an interviewer something like, "I'm sure there are gay people who are in the closet in Hollywood, but also I'm sure that they didn't sleep with Henry's friend." [Laughs]

Yeah, it's interesting how the source for so many tabloid outings always seem to be some Henry guy's pal or some friend of somebody's hairdresser.

That's so true.

One of the strangest things about the media's attempt to disparage your relationship with Ben is that male friendship used to be considered a noble thing. It was not powerful men but powerful women who were divided through the use of the gay rumor. Now same-sex closeness of both genders is targeted.

I guess it's not enough for me to say that I love Ben so much that I'd take a bullet for him.

You also have to say—pardon my bluntness—that you'd take his dick up your ass.

Yeah. It's completely bizarre.

If you were, in fact, in a relationship with another man, would you be in the same position career-wise?

I would like to say that if I were gay, I'd be out. But I think that's not fair because I'm not gay, and I don't know personally what pressure is brought to bear on you if you are. My short answer, without a lot of reflection, is that if you were out, your career would suffer. Would Rock Hudson have had the career he had if he'd been out? No way.

But, of course, we'll never know until someone with your level of leading-man visibility comes out and until Hollywood allows the box office rather than its own internalized prejudices to decide if the public is ready for such a move. With a few test cases, maybe we could move away from this type of discussion. Saying that may be naive, though, given our culture's obsession with celebrities.

And with celebrity bedrooms.

It feels weird to think of the Ripley movie in light of this prurient culture of ours. Because it takes place at a time, the late 50's, when it was taboo for an American guy to confess any kind of affection. That type of unstated longing, of course, is what gives the film so much of its power.

If this were a contemporary movie, the relationships would probably be handled differently. All the people I talked to who are of Ripley's generation—who were young in the '50s—said that you didn't talk that much about your sexuality in any regard. Today, on the other hand, you meet someone, and 15 minutes later he's saying, "You know, my boyfriend and I have this problem with trust." If this were a movie set in 1999, for a tasteful young man like Ripley to admit to a wordly Princeton graduate like Dickie that he has a homosexual side would seem really tame. Especially in our age, when you go home and there, on Jerry Springer, is some guy with two penises.

But in some ways the culture remains alarmingly the same. Highsmith's novel, for example, is infused with homosexual panic. This is part of Ripley's fear of being found out in all aspects of his life—that he's a fake somebody instead of a real nobody. And the fear of thought gay remains a huge fear for some guys still today.

Sure. This makes me think of American Beauty with its theme of the fear of the person next door. Middle America knows that its next-door neighbors could, in fact, be gay. They can't pretend any longer that it's not possible. And that, unfortunately, is very upsetting to some of them. People should recognize that homosexuality just is. Personally, I think it's genetic. That's always been my theory because I have friends who are gay and who really don't want to be and who say they don't have lives that are conducive to it.

What do you mean, "not conducive to it"?

Because being gay makes their lives more difficult professionally.

I'm not going to take the time here to comment on that kind of self-concealment, even though I know from experience how necessary it can seem at a certain time in your life. Are some of these friends actors?

Not just actors. Though it's true that show business is a lot more closed-minded than it may appear. Which is ironic, considering that there are more gay people in the movie industry and in arts in general than in other walks of life.

I think that's a fair and accurate statement. Or at least one that won't frighten the horses.

[Laughs] Right.

Since, in a sense, we've been talking about maintaining appearances, let me raise the matter of appearances regarding the Ripley movie. Specifically clothing. Tom enjoys wearing Dickie's clothes, even though Dickie doesn't always enjoy the fact that Tom is borrowing them. This reflects, of course, how Tom is struggling to assume Dickie's identity in all forms, not just the sexual or psychological ones. The clothing interchange reminded me of one of the real pleasures of being a gay couple: wearing your partner's wardrobe.

But that's not necessarily a gay thing. My group of closest friends and I lived, until recently, in these loose communal situations—in New York, L.A., Boston. And there was a constant raid on somebody's closet. You'd see one of your roommates in a restaurant, and he'd say, "Hey, that's my shirt. You asshole! I just washed that shirt!"

What did the question of clothes mean to you in the making of Ripley?

It relates to body image. Ann Roth, the movie's costume designer, said to Jude Law, "These clothes hang better if you don't wear underwear." So Jude said, "Right, I won't wear underwear." And she looks at me, and I said, "Of course, Tom wears underwear. It would be too exposing of himself not to."

How were clothes key to the formation of your own personal identity?

I remember for my graduation from high school my older brother gave me his leather jacket, which was my favorite thing in the world. He gave it to me in June. I went into my room, put it on, and basically waited for fall. My brother was so cool, and because I was wearing his jacket, I was cool too.

That was a moment not so much of vanity as of validation.

Absolutely.

It's interesting how validation becomes vanity as you grow older. Speaking of which, at what point growing up did you start receiving validation for your looks?

When I got to Harvard. When I got there I thought I was James Dean, wearing my leather jacket. A friend of mine from England, who lived on my dorm floor, and I thought we were very cool. And we weren't afraid to say it to each other.

Some actors consider it a little unmanly to have to obsess so much about their appearance. Do you?

I worry about appearance less than I used to. I look at Brad Pitt. I will never, and could never, look like that. He is just incredible to look at. Period. If I were gay, he would be one of the posters on my wall. Ben and I both have more realistic ideas about what we look like. Not that we're insecure about it. But I know what drop-dead gorgeous looks like, and I know that I'm not it. I also know that I don't want to think, ever, about how I look when I'm in front of the camera. Because then I'm thinking about the wrong thing.

You know, however, that a certain amount of your stock as a movie actor has to do with your appearance.

But if they want handsome, they're not coming after me; they're going to Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise—one of those guys.

I wonder. I can think of a few producers who might think that you would fill the handsome slot just fine.

Well, thank you. Now I feel validated. [Laughs]

You've said that Ripley is a once-in-a-lifetime situation for you. Is that because you wouldn't play a character with Ripley's attributes—repressed rage, class envy, murderousness, homoeroticism, extraordinary sensitivity, aching beauty—ever again?

Anything as original as Ripley I'd love to do again. Unfortunately, people aren't willing to put up the money to make movies like this very often. They were with Anthony Manghella, in part, because he'd just won an Oscar for The English Patient.

Even though you signed on for the movie before Good Will Hunting made you a star, I don't think you should forget the role you and Gwyneth Paltrow played in getting the movie made.

I'm not sure about that. I just hope the movie gets received the way it should. Because, realistically, its box-office chances aren't clear-cut. It needs a strong critical reception to be successful. It's still amazing to me that the studio was so supportive of Anthony's vision. In the wake of The English Patient, he could have directed a lot of movies, but he chose to make this one. He's the one who's brave, not me.

[problematicbyler]

hi 🥰

i would like to know more about the thing about illicit affairs.

like literally anything. how did u come up with the plot? are there any scenes that didn’t appear in the story? id there anything u want to change? even some fun facts!

YAYYYY thank you so much oh my goodness YES here are some Director's Commentary thoughts and rambles about my fic illicit affairs:

it started as just: we desperately need a friends with benefits verse for byler, and this was in 2022 when byler smut would basically get you crucified on main, so i knew a) i needed to make a new account for it and b) i wanted it to be so juicy, so in-character, and so GOOD that it could entice even the closet-smut enjoyers. (considering i'm approaching 40k hits on that story, i think i succeeded in that aspect)

i actually just looked back at my outline, and it's pretty much exactly what y'all ended up reading with very little changes. because i started off thinking of it just in snapshots - how could i convey the arc of their FWB vibes over a handful of sexual encounters that each feel different and unique both sexually and emotionally?

in fact, since i have it, this is the original outline i wrote for the fic! you can see that it pretty much matches up perfectly chapter-by-chapter, except for that number 2 ended up squished in with chapter 1.

if anything, i would have loved to write a little bit more between chapters 1 and 2, when they're first starting their FWB relationship and exploring sexually, before they're fully comfortable with the situation like they are in chapter 2. like, in chapter 2, mike is fully dirty talking and using pet names like baby and darling - i would have loved an in between chapter (or a few) of them experimenting and getting to that level. imagine will melting the first time mike calls him darling. swoon.

chapter 3 is my favorite because it's all about the romance that they can't acknowledge is romance. but it's objectively romantic!!! moonlit lovemaking under the stars! but then, that pesky no-kissing rule, and the pesky miscommunication, where they both think they're messing it up by how in love they are with the other. sigh.

chapter 4 is the bottom mike scene that some folks were surprised about because i tend toward bottom will; this was just because i headcanon them switching, and this fic is so about them exploring sexually that it would feel amiss not to include it and show their relationship that way as well. plus, i'm a sucker for using position switching as an emotional beat to show vulnerability, so it fit perfectly in that way too.

and of course, chapter 5, the beautiful conclusion, where they're in love and they know it, where they can kiss freely - i wanted it to be explosively amazing, but also lighthearted and funny and over the top. so naturally they had to break the d&d table. did i take liberties with the practical applications of spit as lube? yes, absolutely, but i apologize for nothing.

i'm mostly asexual, so to me, the beauty of exploring a FWB-to-lovers arc is exploring the idea that sex alone isn't enough for these characters. they want love, they want tenderness, they want each other. and playing with that was so so so fun.

thank you for the ask!!!!! and to the few others who asked as well, i appreciate each and every one of you.

[whoawardwinchester]

A Winchester Chronicle (c5)

Please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging. It fuels the creativity and lets me know you're enjoying my hard work.

Summary: Y/N returns to the "Supernatural" set, where the director welcomes her back and introduces new health policies to support the cast and crew. Filming for the "Monster Movie" episode showcases the undeniable chemistry between Y/N and Jensen, captivating everyone on set. Despite her recent challenges, Y/N feels a renewed sense of belonging and purpose. The chapter ends with a hopeful outlook, highlighting the strong bond and trust between Y/N and Jensen.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female Reader

Content Warning: (subject to change per chapter as this series is written) rough sex, reference to PCOS and Endo, arguments, tension, angst and physical violence. Smut, fluff. Readers are advised to proceed with caution due to these themes and scenes.

Rating: 18+ for the whole series.

This is a work of fiction. There is no hate for anyone in real life.

If you want to be added to the tag list for this series, just let me know! Also be sure to tell me how I'm doing or request anything related to Jensen/Dean!

Taglist: @nancymcl @perpetualabsurdity @hobby27

Masterlist

Chapter 5: Has reference to Episode 5 'Monster Movie'

You lie in the hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. Pain still radiates from the surgery site, but it's dulled by the medication coursing through your veins. As you stare at the ceiling, your thoughts drift between Dee and your mother. Just as you begin to lose yourself in the haze of it all, a familiar face appears at the door.

Jensen steps into the room, his presence immediately soothing. He approaches with a tentative smile, concern etched in his eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, pulling a chair up beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You try to muster a smile. “Better, I guess. Still a bit out of it. Did you sleep well?.”

He nods, taking your hand in his. “ I guess. I had some issues with my room key. I’ve been worried about you. We all have. Jared said the set’s not the same without us.”

His words bring a lump to your throat. “I miss it too. But... things have been so overwhelming lately.”

Jensen squeezes your hand gently. “I know. And I hate to add to that, but I need you to come back. I mean how is Dean going to survive without Raven? ” He joked.

You look at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. “Jensen, I don’t know if I can go back. Not yet. There’s so much I need to sort out, especially with my mom and everything that happened with Dee.”

He nods, understanding. “I get it. You need to take care of yourself first.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you reflect on his words. The set had always been more than just a job. It was a second home, a family. And yet, the turmoil in your personal life made it hard to see that clearly.

“Jensen,” you begin, your voice trembling, “I need stability. I need to know that things will be different, that Dee won’t be an issue anymore.”

He leans closer, his expression earnest. “I’ve talked with Dee. She will never apologize, but she told me in not so great words that she hopes we enjoy each other.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a small sense of relief. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Jensen smiles, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Of course. Get some rest.”

His words resonate deep within you, offering a glimmer of hope. As you lie back against the pillows, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to the place you love, surrounded by people who genuinely care for you.

As the days pass slowly in the hospital room, Jensen remains a constant presence by your side, his unwavering support a source of comfort. He spends hours talking to you, sharing updates about the cast and how the director is driving him crazy, reminding you of how much you’re missed.

“Enough about the set, for now. Can I ask you something?” Jensen climbs into your hospital bed to hold you close to him. “Of course.” You say, shifting to embrace him, wincing a little. “Careful. You don’t have to move.” He supports you more. “Why did your mom say that your husband wouldn’t have stood up for you?” He asks, dropping his chin to the top of your head. “My husband was great, truly. But he wasn’t one for conflict… unless it was fighting with me.” Your eyes saddened as you said it. You hated putting him down, especially since he couldn’t be there to defend himself, but you could never not be transparent. “He did everything my mom asked of him, even if it meant crossing boundaries in our relationship.” “Why did you stay?” He asked, raising your chin up to look at him. His eyes were studying you now. “I couldn’t go home. I knew it then and I should've known it this time. I had no money of my own, no support, and three kids who depended on me.” You said embarrassed. The weight of your words made your stomach sink. “It was actually a fight we had the night the accident happened.” He was silent, unsure of what to say. All Jensen could do was embrace you with his body as much as he could. “I think he was on his way to take the kids to his parents’ house. He just packed them up after we all went to bed and left…” You added. The memory pushing at your throat distorts your voice. “Why? Over a disagreement?” Jensen asked. “Because my mom put it in his head that I was only homeschooling because I wanted to take them from him, even though we both felt that homeschooling was right for all of them… They struggled with ADHD, just like I did. I was happy to give them more of a chance to learn at their own pace, to embrace their “superpower” instead of shutting it down like my mom did for me.” You said, getting angry again. “‘Shut it down?’” He asked. “She sent me to this boarding school in Europe in the middle of BFE. It looked sketchy in the pamphlets, but I agreed to go just to get away from her. I thought the distance would have helped but it was only worse over there. There were a total of 5 girls, and they abused us all. When I called to come home, my mom obliged, but began telling me how selfish I was. Everything was always my fault, speak when spoken to, don’t go outside, don’t go out with friends… It was so bad, I found myself wishing I was back at that boarding school.” You rambled, sitting up, in pain. “The physical pain was easier to heal from.” “Shhhhh. Let me get a nurse.” Jensen got up, concern dawned on his face. A nurse came in and asked you about your pain, adding, “Sorry I’m late, miss, we are short staffed tonight.” She administered some medicine in your IV and left. The effects hit almost immediately. “Lay back, babe. Forget everything. You’re safe.” Jensen helped you down to your pillow, stroking your hair from your face. The last thing you heard before you fell asleep was, “For as long as I live, You’ll always be safe.”

The next afternoon, Jensen steps out to make a phone call. When he returns, there's a determined look on his face. He sits down beside you, taking your hand. "I talked to the director," he says. " He said that he can accommodate your absence in the face of a medical emergency, funding and filming won’t cease, but you’d have to agree to come back."

“I still don’t know yet. I don’t even have an end date from here.” You said, taking his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

The hospital staff come and go, checking your vitals and ensuring you’re comfortable. Each visit reminds you of the support network you had back on set. The betrayal by Dee, the harsh words from your mother—it all feels like a distant storm, getting to know Jensen and him understanding your background makes you feel like you can move forward. Now it was just about getting out of the hospital and finding the right time to tell Jensen you’d try again even though you weren’t completely sold.

Late one night, as the hospital falls into a hushed silence, your mother arrives. Jensen is asleep in the chair beside your bed, his hand still entwined with yours. Your mother's presence fills the room with an oppressive tension. She approaches your bed, her expression cold and disapproving.

"Y/N," she begins, her voice low and sharp, "You better not be thinking of leaving once you’ve healed. You need to realize what a mistake that would be. If you continue down this path, you can forget about any inheritance. You’ll have nothing."

Her words cut deep, reopening old wounds. You feel a mix of anger and despair, the familiar sting of her disapproval weighing heavily on you. Before you can respond, Jensen stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He takes in the scene, his expression darkening as he overhears your mother's harsh ultimatum.

"Mrs. Y/L/N," Jensen says, his voice firm as he stands from his chair, "I think it’s time for you to leave."

Your mother glares at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "This is a family matter. It’s none of your business."

Jensen stands, placing himself between you and your mother. "Y/N is my family. She doesn’t need this right now."

Tears prick at your eyes as you watch the confrontation unfold. You feel a surge of gratitude for Jensen’s unwavering support. "Jen," you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside, "I’m going back with you. The only mistake was ever thinging I still possibly have a home here. My home was buried 14 months ago…” “No, you do, it’s wherever we are, together. And a happier home; a SAFE home, it will always be.” He places a hand on your thigh, as he looks from you to your mother.

Your mother’s expression falters for a moment before hardening again. "You’re making a mistake," she hisses, but she turns and leaves the room without another word.

As the door closes behind her, you let out a shaky breath. Jensen turns to you, his eyes softening. "You deserve to be happy, but are you absolutely sure about your decision?"

You nod, feeling a sense of relief and determination. "So do you. I… have never been more sure about wanting to be with someone in my life than when I was with my kids. But are YOU sure you want to be with me? With these… problems?" Doubts creeping into your brain about your physical insecurities, as you motion toward your IV. “It’s a lot, Jen. And it’s not going away…”

He smiles, his hand finding yours again. "I don’t know how I’ve lived in my life without you. Every day since I saw you walk into that casting call, I’ve thought about you. You are my happiness.I’ll call set tomorrow with the news."

He kisses your head and lays beside you, both drifting to sleep.

A week later, a doctor came to see you. “Good morning Ms. Y/L/N. I have great news, you get to break out of here today.” He said writing down some last vitals and smiling at you and Jensen. “Oh thank God. If I stayed any longer, you’d be treating me for bed sores and boredom.” You joke, sitting up. The nurse, Doctor, and Jensen all laughed. “I just need to see your incision site and ask you a few questions and then we can get you the discharge papers.” The doctor said, putting on gloves. “Okay. Hey, Jensen, could you go grab some coffee?” You asked sheepishly as you laid back preparing for the doctor to lift your gown. “I’m sorry Miss, the Cafe doesn’t open for another hour.” The nurse said as Jensen nodded at you, silently understanding your request. “I can still step out.” He leaned over to kiss your head before he walked out of the room. Everything looked great and went so smoothly as the doctor checked you over, asked about your pain, and if you had support at home. They got you discharged within the hour. Jensen secured a car and you both made your way to the hotel. The hotel lobby buzzes with quiet activity as you and Jensen step inside, the warmth of the interior contrasting sharply with the cool Seattle night air. You’ve never been in a place as fancy as this. Jensen guides you to the front desk, his hand reassuringly placed at the small of your back. The receptionist greets you both with a practiced smile.

"Welcome back, Mr. Ackles," she says, handing over a room key. "Here is your extra keycard for your lady friend."

Jensen nods, taking the keycard and offering a smile in return. "Thank you.”

You follow him to the elevator, the anticipation between you crackling like static electricity. When the elevator doors close, Jensen turns to you, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and affection. "I’m glad you’re here," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. He pulls you close to him, his lips crashing into yours. You drop your bag and wrap your hand around his neck, and kiss him back.

The elevator dings, interrupting the moment as you reach the third floor. You both chuckle as an old couple clears their throat to replace you on the elevator. Jensen leads the way down the hallway to room 312 taking your hand, sliding the keycard into the lock. The light flashes red. He frowns, tries again, but the result is the same.

"This has been happening a lot here," he says, his tone exasperated yet controlled. He leads you back to the front desk, this time taking the stairs. “Oh no. It’s not working again?” The receptionist asked. Jensen nods. Moments later, she returns with new keycards, but they too fail to unlock the door.

"This is ridiculous," Jensen mutters, running a hand through his hair. You both go back to the lobby where he waves the keycard at the receptionist, “No workie…” He said sarcastically. She calls for the manager. The manager, a middle-aged man with a harried look, follows you and Jensen back to the room. He tries the master key, but it also fails.

"My key no work, the door is no good," the manager says apologetically. "I have maintenance come in morning and, uh, break it down."

Jensen, visibly frustrated, turns to the manager. "So, you're saying the door has to be broken in and you can’t do it until morning?"

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Cool, stand back." Jensen steps forward and, with a swift, powerful kick, forces the door open. He grabs his bags from the room and turns to the manager. "We couldn’t wait until morning. Please get us a new suite with working keys."

You watch in awe, your heart racing. There’s something undeniably attractive about his take-charge attitude. Your face flushes with heat as your body tingles with lust. The manager stammers an apology and scurries off to arrange a new room. Jensen turns to you, a sheepish grin on his face. "What?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "That was... impressive." You tucked your hair behind your ear, shyly. He picks you up on his back and grabs both of bags. “What are you doing?” you whispered in his ear. “I can’t have you tired yet, princess. The day has just begun.” He swaggers away following the manager. 

Within minutes, you’re settled into a new suite, the door securely closed behind you. The room is spacious and elegant, a perfect retreat after the chaos of the hospital and the confrontation with your mother. As soon as you’re alone, the tension that’s been building between you and Jensen snaps. He pulls you into his arms, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. He pauses, looking at you. “I wasn’t thinking. Are you ok? Do you need anything? I should have thought…” He looked concerned and apologetic. “Jensen.” You interrupt him. “I’m fine.” You put a finger to his lips to get him to stop talking. “The only words that should be coming out of your mouth is...” You ran your hand down to his pants, firmly grasping his erection. He groaned, his eyes flashing to your hand and back to your face. “THAT.” You bit your lip in reaction. 

He took no time in removing your clothes and you removing his. There was no gentleness in his demeanor, but you knew that if he went to far, he’d stop immediately. You had no care about your insecurities tonight. All you knew was that you wanted Jensen and you wanted him now. “Jen…” you began, placing your small hands on his shoulders through a break in kissing. “No.” He looked at you sternly. “No words, remember. Show me.” He picked you up and you entwined with fierce kisses again, moaning at the feeling. You leaned back toward the bed, as he still held you, catching yourself on your hands. He lowered you in sync with your movements and you pulled him on top of you. He spread your legs with one swift movement of his and was teasing you with anticipation. You couldn’t wait for him. He wanted you to show him, you were going to show him. You locked your right leg over his left and flipped him over, climbing on top of him. It was no easy feat, but you were determined. He growled at the sight of you on top, immediately caressing your body. He worked his way from your hips to your breasts, sending goosebumps all over. You took his hand and pushed it to your throat, lightly squeezing the sides to set the pressure. He sat up looking at your face, as you slid his cock inside you. A gasp escaped your mouth and you reared your head up at the length of him completely inside you. He brought your face to his by guiding you with his hand still on your neck. He nipped at your lips and then licked the side of your neck down to your breasts that were now fully bouncing as you gave into the pleasure. “Jensen. I’m… about to… BABE!” you screamed, wrapping both hands around his at your neck for stability as you rode out the orgasm. He took it all in. When you finished, he brought you closer to him again, face on his. His strong hand is a little more firm on your neck now. “You shouldn’t have come yet. You’re not done, baby. You’re going to come all night for me.” His voice was a deep octave. You felt tingles in your gut all over again as his green eyes pierced yours. You wriggle under the grasp he has on you, smiling seductively. “So are you.” You whispered, biting your lip. The night becomes a blur of silent words and shared rough intimacies, the outside world fading away as you explore the depths of your connection. The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You lie nestled against Jensen, your heart full and your body pleasantly exhausted. You just opened your eyes glancing at the clock, remembering that you have a flight to catch in just under an hour. “We’re going to miss the flight!!” 

You scramble out of bed, hastily dressing and gathering your things. Jensen moves with equal urgency, his usual calm demeanor momentarily replaced with frantic energy. "We’re cutting it close," he mutters, glancing at his watch.

You race to the airport, the minutes ticking away too quickly. The security lines are mercifully short, but the gate was a hefty run away, and you make it just as the staff begins to close it. You both flash your boarding passes, breathless and relieved, and hurry onto the plane.

Once you’re seated, you exchange a look with Jensen, a shared giggle that speaks volumes about the night you’ve had. The plane takes off, and as it reaches cruising altitude. You catch Jensen looking at you out of the corner of your eye and you tuck your hair behind your ear and you pretend not to have noticed him. “What are you doing to me… woman.” He whispered playfully shifting in his seat. “Whatever do you mean Mr. Ackles?” You joked back. Doing it again, this time looking him in the eyes. He brought you in for a kiss. "Meet me in the bathroom in three minutes." You said through closed teeth, just low enough for only him to hear.

Jensen’s eyes light up with a mix of surprise and excitement. He nods, and you make your way down the aisle, trying to appear casual. A few minutes later, he joins you in the cramped bathroom. “Well, this seemed like a better idea before I saw the condition of this place.” You said glancing around the small bathroom, disappointed. The toilet cover was cracked, toilet paper strewn about, making the whole thing feel dirty. “We should wait.” You added. Jensen looks around, equally as disappointed, and then picks you up. “Well, at least let me help you.” He said lightly scratching down your back as you hang on to him with your legs wrapped around his waist. You no longer cared about the state of the bathroom. “MMM, no. Let’s do this.” You both started kissing frantically without much room to manuever, when a jolt of turbulence makes you both slam against the door. It breaks open and you both fall out, Jensen breaking the fall but causing loud crash none the less. Everyone turned in their seats to see what happened. He helped you up saying loud enough for others to hear, “Oh, I didn’t realize there was someone in there. Excuse me.” He winked at you. You played along. “No worries. Be careful, the seat is cracked.” You added as you headed back to your seat, your face filling with a little twinge of embarrassment. He went back into the bathroom for a few minutes and met you back at his seat, taking your hand in his as he sat down. “Are you ok?” He asked, chuckling. “Yes. My dignity isn’t, but I’m fine.” You giggled, putting your forehead to his. “Are you?” You added. “I’m perfect. Tired, but perfect.” He said leaning his seat back a little. “Get some rest.” You kissed his forehead and put in your headphones, leaning back, as well. The plane touches down, and you both disembark, the exhaustion of your sleepless night tempered by the excitement of returning to the set. Some of the familiar faces of the cast and crew greet you with smiles and hugs once you get there, welcoming you back with genuine warmth.

The director gathers you and Jensen for a brief meeting, his expression serious but kind. "Welcome back, Y/N. We’re glad to have you with us again. We’ve made some changes to ensure everyone’s safety and well-being. Let’s make sure we take care of each other."

“I’m truly sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused. I promise you’ll never have any issue like this happen from me again.” You said, taking the director’s hands in yours. “I’m just glad you’re well. It’s all forgotten now. Are you up for filming a little today?” He said tapping your hands with his. “Let’s do it!” you said, already walking toward the costume trailer.

You step onto the set of "Supernatural," after hair and makeup, the familiar sights and sounds greeting you like old friends. The hustle and bustle of crew members setting up equipment, the quiet murmur of actors reviewing their lines, and the comforting smell of coffee wafting from the craft services table—all of it feels like coming home.

Jensen walks beside you, his presence a steadying force. He catches the eye of the director, who nods in acknowledgment before calling for everyone's attention.

"Alright, everyone, gather around," the director says, his voice carrying a note of authority mingled with warmth. The cast and crew form a loose circle, their expressions curious and attentive. "First, I want to welcome Y/N back. We're thrilled to have you with us again."

A wave of applause and cheers erupts, filling you with a rush of gratitude. You smile, nodding your thanks as the director continues. "We’ve made some updates to our policies to address medical emergencies on set. It’s important that we take care of each other, so we’ll be conducting regular health check-ins and ensuring that emergency contacts and medical information are up to date for everyone."

The crew murmurs their agreement, and you feel a sense of support and solidarity wrapping around you like a warm blanket. This is a family, you realize, one that looks out for each other no matter what. The set is transformed into a black-and-white homage to classic horror films for the Season 4, Episode 5 shoot, "Monster Movie." The atmosphere crackles with energy as you and Jensen prepare for your scene. You adjust your costume, a vintage outfit that makes you feel like you’ve stepped back in time, while Jensen, dressed as Dean, exudes a rugged charm.

The director gives the signal, and the cameras start rolling. Dean has just been drugged and taken to ‘Dracula’s Castle’, bound to a table after changed into a traditional Oktoberfest outfit. Dean: Oh, come on. (He wakes up glancing at his situation. Looks around studying the room with worry on his face as he find a large portrait on the wall of a woman.)

Dracula: (entering the room) She is beautiful, no? Bride number three front he first film. She never got the acclaim that she deserved. (He walked to her portrait, stroking her face on the wall.) Which is why I chose her shape, her form to move among the mortals unnoticed, to listen to the cricket songs of the living. (He looks at Dean)

Dean looks confused as he takes in his words. Dracula: That is when I discovered my bride had been reborn in this century. Dean: (chuckling as Dracula looks at him in a how-dare-you way) I can’t get over what pumpkin-pie-eyed, crazy son of a bitch you really are. (Dracula walks creepily at him, clearly offended.) You’re not Dracula! You get that, right? Or even if you think you are Dracula, what the hell is up with the Mummy?! Dracula: (Closer to Dean as he finished his question, punches Dean in the face.) I AM ALL MONSTERS! (holds a hand up in defiance, glaring at Dean. Dean shakes his head as he takes the punch) Dean: Life ain’t a movie you sorry sack of…. (Dracula punches Dean again.) AAH. Dracula: (glaring at Dean) Life is small, meager, messy. (Walks away) The movies are grand, simple, elegant. I have chosen elegance. (holds out his cape to either side of him) Dean: (looking at him like he’s stupid) You think “elegance” is really the word for what you did to Marissa or Rick Deacon or any of the OTHERS?! Dracula: (wraps his cape like a bat) But of course. It is a Monster Movie, after all. Dean: You do realize what happens at the END of every Monster Movie? Dracula: Ah. But this movie is MINE. (Dean looks worried again) And in it, the monster… WINSSSS.The monster get the girllll. (Walking creepily to switches on the wall) And the hero, he’s… electrocuted. (Laughs evilly) and tonight, Jonathan Harker, you will be my hero. (Reaches for the switch)

Dean: Wait, Wait, Wait, Wait. (Chuckles nervously) (Dracula continues reaching slowly, watching Dean as he grapples with getting free of the table in anticipation of being hurt) (Doorbell rings and Dracula stops just before he was to grab the switch) Dracula: Please, excuse me. (He opens the door and Sam is there dressed as a Pizza Delivery man) Good evening. Sam: Uh… (looking at Dracula concerned) Pizza Delivery (holds up some pies in reference) Dracula: (looking smug) Ah, you’ve brought a repast. Excellent. Continue to be of such service and your life will be spared. Sam: (Pretending to look annoyed, chewing gum) Uh-huh. (walks into the room to set down the pies and keep distracting Dracula) That’ll be $15.50… (He turns so that Dracula can’t see who sneaks into the ‘Castle’ behind him)

Dracula: (looking concerned at the pizza) Tell me.. Sam: Yeah? Dracula: Is there garlic on this pizza? 

Sam: (monotoned and annoyed) I don’t know. Did you order garlic? Dracula: (looks disgusted) No. Sam: Then no. Look mister, I got four other deliveries to make. You wanna just pay me so I can go? Dracula: Of course. Yes. But I have a coupon. Scene cuts to Dean still bound to the table. Dean: (still trying to break out notices that someone is coming back, thinking it’s Dracula)

Raven is holding up a gun, stalking down the staircase into the room, after scanning to see if it’s clear, she lowers her weapon and races to Dean, who looks relieved at the sight of her. Raven: Well, this is kinky. (She winks and starts pulling at his constraints)

Dean: Oh, thank god. Just in the nick of time. That guy was about to Frankenstien me. (realizes what she said) Wait, really? (they stop trying to break him out and look at each other seductively) 

Raven: (continues to break him out. As Dean stands up.) Remind me later to buy you a suit like this, handsome. (she looks him up and down) Dean: SHUT UP. (he points at her as she chuckles and hands him a knife) Raven: (imitating a song as he walks toward the door) Talk dirty to me. Dean is supposed to keep walking and Raven follows him out, but the piece of improv that you just did, set Jensen ablaze. He turned back around and scooped you up so fast, you didn’t know what was happening. His mouth met yours as he backed you both up to the table he was just on, feeling you up in the process. The scene pans over to the doorway where Sam is standing in his Pizza outfit, holding up a gun. Disgust creeps on his face as he sees what’s unfolding. Sam: AHEM. (he clears his throat)

Raven and Dean turn around and stand quietly. Sam: Raven, you were taking too long, let’s go. (he motions towards the door) Dean: Always a cock block, Sammy. (he pushes him a little as he stalks by, Raven following apologetically behind him) Sam: yeah, well it’s certainly not on purpose, Dean. Remind me to drown those visions from my brain, later. (He says as he trails after them, cutting the scene).

The intensity of your combine improv moment was so electric, that it drew everyone’s focus. The crew watched in rapt attention, the connection between you and Jensen so vivid it’s almost tangible. You can see it in their faces, the realization that this is more than just acting—this was chemistry in its purest form.

"Cut!" the director calls, his face splitting into a wide grin. "That was fantastic! This is chemistry, folks!"

The crew erupts in applause, and you share a look with Jensen, a silent acknowledgment of the bond you’ve forged. It’s more than just a professional connection; it’s something deeper, something that resonates with every word and gesture.

As the day winds down and the set begins to clear, you take a moment to help clean up.Jensen comes up beside you, his presence comforting and steady. "You did great today," he says, his eyes full of warmth.

"Thanks," you reply, feeling a swell of gratitude. "I couldn’t have done it without you."

He smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. "So, kinky, huh?" He smirks.

You laugh. “Yeah, about that… Want to go finish what you started?” You pulled him by the shirt closer to you, swaying a little. “What I started? If my memory holds true, you started it on the plane this morning.” He said, thinking and laughing. “I mean, if you don’t want to…” You shrugged, playfully pushing him away. “Just say that.” You turned away from him. He wrapped you in his arms from behind as you squealed a little. “Jensen!” His voice in your ear, warm, and comforting. “I certainly didn’t say THAT.” And he picked you up and walked to his trailer. “But, I don’t know that I’ll last too long tonight.” He chuckled. “Me, either.” You agreed. Both laughing as he shut the door. 

This is your home now, and with Jensen by your side, you’re ready to face whatever comes next.

[astrovian]

Richard Armitage article for the Telegraph on Obsession & Intimacy Co-ordinators

Full transcript under cut

Last month, Mountview Theatre School, in south London, announced it will offer an Intimacy Practice Degree Course, developed by Ita O’Brien who is one of the world’s leading intimacy co-ordinators, having worked on dozens of films and TV shows, including Sex Education and Lady Chatterley’s Lover. To the layperson, this might sound like just another convoluted attempt to apply a scientific approach to something artistic, or worse, an official move towards legitimising something which flies in the face of uninhibited creativity. But to others it’s a necessary step forward in an area of the film, TV and theatre industries that has been left unchecked for too long.

In my career as an actor, I’ve been asked to throw many violent punches (Spooks), shoot an arsenal of automatic weapons (Strike Back), get familiar with a variety of swords and various implements of torture (Robin Hood, The Hobbit, Pilgrimage) and I once even glued a man to a wheelchair and bit his face off while wearing a pair of grotesque dentures (Hannibal). But it was never quite met with the same embarrassment as a sex scene. It seems we’re OK with depictions of violence but get sweaty palms when we are dealing with intimacy.

I can tell you of a director who was nervous about how to film a certain scene requiring intimacy. “I’ll leave the camera running. Just keep going, I won’t cut,” they shouted from behind the monitor in another room, well away from the closed set. Hmm … thanks a lot. That would never work in a fight sequence … “Just get in there and throw some punches, I won’t cut.” To me, there is no difference.

I think shame has a lot to do with it. The raised eyebrows and tightly folded arms that seem to accompany conversations about on-screen eroticism have, to me, always felt a bit reductive, prudish even. What are we so embarrassed about? “Do as the French do,” I have told myself. “It’s the body, its life… pfftt.” (Spoken with the accent and the pouted lips.)

I have played a number of intimate scenes over the years. I’ve worked with actors who are comfortable and those who have retreated somewhere else in their head until the ordeal is over. Anecdotally, I’ve heard about giggles from the sidelines, comments and compliments on body parts. And then there was the assistant director who clapped their hands together and exclaimed, ‘Right, here come the t-ts!’.

Thankfully, there is now a cultural shift. Intimacy co-ordinators have been around, believe it or not, since about 2015, advising on all aspects of sexuality, both frivolous and dark. My work on a new show for Netflix, Obsession, was my first opportunity to work with one and I needed to put my past experiences, both good and bad, behind me.

Described as an elegant and bold investigation into an erotic, obsessive affair between my character, William, a celebrated surgeon, and Anna, the fiancée of his own son, Obsession was pitched to me with a sense of trepidation. “It’s going to be a challenge, physically. It’s nudity parity” (that’s industry speak for full kit off for male and female actors). Luckily, we had Adelaide Waldrop: part director, part psychologist, part choreographer. Her approach to the work completely changed my viewpoint. I’d heard other actors talking about the restriction they felt working with intimacy co-ordinators, that they “policed the work rather than released the work”.

I discovered this couldn’t have been further from the truth. With a healthy chunk of rehearsal time, we were able to construct a map of investigation for the physical journey on which Anna (played by Charlie Murphy) and William embark. We studied sculpture, dance, poetry, anything we felt might help provide shape and inspiration for the characters’ physical vocabulary, as they ascend towards their fatal attraction.

It also helped that my screen partner, Charlie, made me laugh so much on set that I nearly cracked a (naked) rib. My goal was to finish each working day, proud of what we had done, knowing that Charlie was going home feeling great about herself and her work.

So let’s hope the stifled sniggering and unhelpful jokes are a thing of the past. We must remember that an actor may not have had any sexual experience or might be playing a character who is not of the same sexuality or gender with which they identify in their real life – but now, in an area of our work where we were once left alone, we have a guiding hand

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Scott admits he barely rehearsed his raunchy sex scenes with Paul Mescal while working with an intimacy coordinator ahead of his latest role in All Of Us Strangers.

The actor has been widely praised for his portrayal of a lonely screenwriter who encounters the spirits of his dead parents in director Andrew Haigh's latest film, an adaptation of Japanese author Taichi Yamada's 1987 novel, Strangers.

But while an explicit sexual encounter with Harry, played by Irish heartthrob Paul Mescal has dominated the commentary surrounding its release, Scott insists they both adopted an organic approach towards its development.

Speaking to Attitude, the actor, 47, also credited the film's intimacy coordinator for mediating any concerns regarding the graphic nature of their sex scene.

'Sex is just communication, isn't it?' he said. 'It's just physical communication rather than verbal communication… We didn't over rehearse it. We knew that those scenes, particularly the early ones, had to have a sort of frisson.

'And we had an intimacy coordinator, which can be very helpful for the simple reason that if you're able to talk to somebody about your fears or what you want to show, what you don't want to show, or what you think it should be and what the narrative of the storyline is, you have that base of safety.

'But chemistry is a really interesting thing. You’re basically just listening to see what the other person is doing physically in the same way you would in a dialogue scene.

'And you can talk about that as much as you like, but until you're actually there, it's not alive in that way, so it's just about listening, but just listening with your body, basically.'

The actor, best known for playing James Moriarty in BBC drama Sherlock and the unnamed 'Hot Priest' in Phoebe Waller-Bridge comedy Fleabag, publicly acknowledged his own sexuality for the first time in 2013.

And Scott admits being an openly gay man in the modern age is a 'wonderful gift' that has helped him establish firm friendships within the queer community.

He said: 'I think it's such a wonderful thing to me. It's an extraordinary gift to my life and just to be able to see the real beauty in being gay is completely wonderful.

'The older I get, just the more I feel so lucky to have been born gay and that pervades my life in the sense of all my friendships. I have so many amazing queer friends in my life now that I just adore.'

He added: 'I feel such a huge sense of camaraderie with other queer people now, and without sounding too hippy about it, I feel like I just want to spread that love and positivity in our community because we've come such a long way and it's important that we are kind and look out for each other, and celebrate how uniquely different and how f**king wonderful that can be.'

'It feels like such an extraordinary privilege to be able to play a character like this. And I wanted to give as much of myself because it was cathartic for me,' he said.

'I never thought that I would be able to watch a film like this, let alone be at the centre of it, so I wanted to be able to take that opportunity to express myself in some way.

'Why pick an imaginary backstory from somewhere else? I wanted to bring as much of myself as I could, because I feel like that's what the audience is going to relate to the most.''

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 7 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 13903

chapter summary: Promotion for the film begins and Chloe comes back to him … again, this time with a request that comes maybe a little too late. Two questions are asked that alter the course of his life forever.

chapter warnings/tags: darker themes, drug-coerced physical aggression (nothing graphic, but a little more intense that in prior chapters), rough sex, casual drug use

a/n: It has to get worse before it gets better . . .

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ScreenGrab

August, 3rd

13:16:29 PICTURE UP, BEGIN B-ROLL:

CUT TO:

Focuses and unfocuses on DIETER BRAVO as he thumbs through his phone. Someone next to him out of frame says something to him and he laughs. The camera pans out to include NATALIE LORRAINE in the shot. They both sit in black director chairs. 

She mutters something else and strokes a strand of hair off his forehead. The movement is gentle, intimate. His look to her verges on adoration. 

He mouths, thank you.

CUT TO BLACK

13:18:01 

CUT TO: INTERVIEW WITH DIETER BRAVO AND NATALIE LORRAINE

INTERVIEWER: So tell me, why did you sign onto this project?

DIETER BRAVO: I’d worked with Heidi Morgan in the past and when she approached me with this, I was really taken by the story and Heidi’s direction. There was a lot to work with and I really felt a solid connection to Ben’s character arc. 

INTERVIEWER: Because of your past with drug abuse?

DB: Sure. You could say that.

NATALIE LORRAINE: You told me you liked the role because you got to play the guitar again. 

DB: When they’d let me. But yeah, that was also a big factor. I got to walk around my trailer, strumming my guitar. Too bad for everyone else it wasn’t soundproof. 

INTERVIEWER: What about you, Natalie?

NATALIE LORRAINE: My past history of drug abuse or my guitar? Oh, you mean the role. Yeah, I wanted a challenge and felt like Taylor’s struggle to balance stardom and her own past was something I could do a lot with. 

DB: You just liked the flowy, sheer dresses. 

NL: You are welcome to borrow mine. They’ll change your life. 

INTERVIEWER: What was it like working with someone you’d never met before in such an intense role? Natalie, you first this time.

NL: Oh, um . . . it was great. Dieter is a great scene partner, one of the best. He made me feel very, um, comfortable. I’ve never had a role like this before and he made the experience truly memorable. I can’t ever thank him enough.

INTERVIEWER: That’s a lot of high praise. 

NL: He deserves it.

INTERVIEWER: And you, Dieter, what was it like working with someone so much younger than you?

DB: Ah, wow, way to cut deep there. But, uh, Natalie is one of a kind. She made me feel . . . really good, about the role. I think my life has been made better by knowing her.

NL: Aw. You sap.

INTERVIEWER: The rumors say that early on in shooting you two didn’t like each other. Is that true?

DB: Rumors are always exaggerated, but, uh, yeah, early on, we had some, um, creative differences.

INTERVIEWER: How did you overcome them? 

NL: Same way anyone else does, I guess. Just . . . talked it out. 

INTERVIEWER: My time is almost up, so I gotta ask, is this real?

DB: What do you mean?

INTERVIEWER: The chemistry between you two is palpable. Are you two secretly hooking up? 

NL: No. Why would you ask that?

DB: I’m married.

NL: He’s married. 

INTERVIEWER: Ah, well, had to try. Thanks for your time. 

Movie Burn

August, 3rd

15:20:45 

INTERVIEWER: Did you have any concerns about backsliding, Dieter, after coming out of rehab so quickly? 

DB: No.

INTERVIEWER: Are you guys secretly dating?

DB/NL: NO.

Chatter Media

August, 3rd

17:17:21

INTERVIEWER: Natalie, what was your workout regimen for this film? 

NL: Adderall and American Spirits. 

INTERVIEWER: Really? You look so hot. 

NL: Thanks. I crushed up the pills into my green enema smoothie every morning. 

INTERVIEWER: Are you sleeping with Dieter?

NL: No. 

INTERVIEWER: Are you sleeping with anyone? Got any secret boyfriends?

NL: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: Oh, really? Can you tell me who?

NL: No. 

JemJem News

August, 4th

08:38:01

INTERVIEWER: Have you ever kissed outside of filming?

DB: No. 

INTERVIEWER: Ever thought about it? 

NL: Could have kissed him when he brought me a water bottle today.

INTERVIEWER: Did you?

NL: No.

Bra$h Talk

August, 4th

10:21:23

CUT TO: 

*Off-screen* INTERVIEWER: So, you don’t know where they are?

CAMERA focuses on Mark Bronson. His hands fidget with a water bottle. He’s looking over the sight-line of the camera.

MARK BRONSON: No. I don’t know. They were here earlier. 

INTERVIEWER: Do you have his number? Or –

*unintelligible*

CUT TO:

MARK BRONSON: I’m calling, but she’s not picking up. 

INTERVIEWER: Shit. 

PRODUCER: Alright. Take five. Sorry, Mr. Bronson. Give us a second.

MB: No problem. I–

CUT OFF. 

He breathes in, the powder tickling the inside of his nose, the back of his brain. Burning, like a fire ant bite. The porcelain of the toilet lid is cold against the tip of his nose, his palm. It always makes him a bit dizzy, that first one. He leans back, against the wall, careful to avoid the silver railing, rubbing his nose, and catches your eyes over the rim of the seat. 

Cold tile, stale air. Fluorescent lighting. This public hotel bathroom is not anything like the cottage in New Orleans. But it’ll have to do. You’re the only warm thing in the room. He stretches out his leg to knock his boot against your thigh. You glance at it briefly before inhaling the coke on the lid. 

“Why do they give you all the good questions, huh?” You glower, voice rough.

“Oh, you mean the ones about my stint in rehab or my arrest?”

“Okay, that’s, like, a third of the time. Most of my questions are about my ass or tits.”

Dieter smirks. “Can you blame them, baby?.” 

“And if one more of those shits ask me if I’m fucking you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I’m taking my Starbucks cup and shoving it up their asses.”

“But you are. A lot and often.” He bends around the toilet and takes your ankle in his hand. He smooths his palm up to the back of your knee, then back down. He never wants to stop touching you. You are so warm. 

“Maybe not enough,” you smirk at him, familiar enough with his every little tell to know that he’s half-hard already. 

The bite in his brain has turned to a simmer, greasy bits crackling in the fire. He tugs on your ankle, pulling you around until you’re in his lap. He settles back against the hotel bathroom wall, smiling, and cups your cheek, rings knocking against your jaw bone. Your arms fold across the back of his shoulders as your nose turns into his.

“You’ll get some good questions, eventually.”

“Yeah, when? How?”

“Just stop being a woman with fantastic tits.”

“Dieter!”

He chuckles and softly bites your jaw. You giggle and squirm, and he lets go, dropping his head back against the tile. He’s quiet. Thinking.

“How did I ever get through these things without you?” He hums, eyes closing and opening slowly. You smell like lilac and cigarettes. 

“You didn’t have to split your coke, for one.” You mutter, playfully, and he pinches your chin. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

The hand at his shoulder crawls up into his hair. 

“I know, Dieter. I know.” 

He tilts your head down as you press his up and that brush of connection, his mouth folding over yours– it sparks something in his chest. You were wrong. He didn’t need the coke if he had you. You make his skin buzz. You spin his brain around and around until he’s dizzy. He feels awake when you’re underneath him. 

Everything seemed like it had been shifted slightly to the left, since coming back. Everything was the same but nothing at all. He worries it is too plainly written across his face. He worries that the media vultures will see it, that Mark or Heidi would see it too. He worries that you will catch him staring and hate what you see in his eyes. 

The longer he is with you, the more real the shared “pocket universe” feels, the one you shared with him. That this is where he was meant to be and everything before New Orleans was someone else’s life. With you, he isn’t exactly Dieter Bravo but he isn’t himself either. Maybe that was partially because being high off and on for two weeks straight tends to cause feelings of disassociation, but it’s more than that. 

The longer he is around you, he knows he’s building his own funeral pyre higher and higher. But the farther he feels from the ashes of his life, the more he wants you. So, Dieter did what Dieter always does: he follows what feels right.

He pulls back, that ache, that need, to bury himself in you already stretching in his gut, but he has to say this. You have to know. 

“Move in with me.” 

You still. You become immobile, trapped in amber, with your hands still in his hair. You’ve never been meek, never will be, but somehow you’ve shrunk. 

“What did you say?”

His chest surges with affection. This feels right, so it has to be. But he knows you’ll run if you think he’s fucking with you. He wants to cradle you to his chest but he has to wait for the air raid sirens to stop ringing in your ears. 

“You heard me,” he says softly. He ducks his head to lift your gaze and you follow. There’s fear in your eyes. He thumbs the hinge of your jaw. “I want you to move in with me.” 

There’s much more malice in your voice than betrayed by your eyes. You sit back, away from him, on his knees, not his lap. “Move into your house with you? The same one you share with your wife?” 

“No.”

Your mouth twists and panic gets the better of you. You stand up from him and haul yourself across the small bathroom, arms crossed and eyes sharp. “So you want me to be just your dirty secret? In some sleazy apartment up town? A kept fucking woman–,”

“No.” He isn’t going to be patient with you when you’re like this. He overwhelms you in two steps– takes your jaw in his hand and again you stiffen, lips pulled into a snarl like a cornered street cat. He wraps his other hand around your wrist as if to preemptively keep you from scratching him. “Stop talking like that. Just tell me– do you want me?”

Not, do you want to live with me?

Not, do you want a relationship with me?

Not, do you want me to leave my wife for you?

Do you want me?

He doesn’t realize it but the coke is ratcheting up those dark, fringe feelings– his obsession for you, his possessiveness, his near-delirium that he cannot simply have all of you. His hand around your wrist tightens. You try and yank your jaw from his grasp, but he holds on tighter, his fingers digging into your skin. 

“Do you want me?” He hisses. 

You want to snap at him, to yell – does he understand what he’s asking of you – but you’re sleep deprived, coked out, and increasingly raw around him. The unexpected wave of emotion, of unchecked vulnerability, is surprising as it is powerful. Your knees shake. 

Did you want him? 

Did you want to breathe?

Did you want to sleep at night?

Did you want to eat food, to feel nourished and full?

Did you want to be happy?

Your bottom lip trembles. 

“Dieter–,”

“Just say yes.” His grip leaves your wrist and tenses around your waist. His eyelids hover half-closed as he presses you harshly up against the door. It’s the only bare wall that doesn’t have a metal safety bar around the edges. You feel as though you’re being dragged beneath the waves by a hurricane. “Just say you want me. Tell me you don’t want to fuck anyone else—,”

His teeth bite into your neck, as if to suck the words directly from your blood. Your touch is like electricity everywhere on his skin and any semblance of thought is slowly squeezed from his brain as his grip turns rougher and rougher. When his lips find yours, they’re still pulled back into a snarl. 

His deft fingers are tugging your shirt out of your waistband, as your hands slip to his belt, his zipper. One more time, he thinks, one more fuck and then there’ll be some clarity. 

“Say it, Natalie,” he growls and bites your earlobe not at all gently. You gasp and the noise has his cock straining against his pants. His hand rises and slides around your throat. “Say it before I take it from you.” 

“Dieter, I want–,” your voice is high-pitch, yearning, and a bit of him breaks off like an ice pick tearing up glass shards. Snik. Snik. Splinters.

His fingers around your throat tighten. Your flesh gives beneath his touch and you sputter and squirm beneath him.

“Yeah? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He’s not asking nicely, he’s begging. How do I keep you? How do I stop you from leaving me? He’s frantic about it.

Fuck, he took too much coke and now he’s emotional. Bleeding. Vacillating between rational and irrational. Wavering. He wants so much. Too much. It’s the coke and it’s making him want to eat you. 

He yanks you up into his arms, your skirt up around your waist and you gasp, the enormity of what he feels for you pressing down into you. The door shudders as he holds you against it. His warm cock wedges itself against your stomach and your thigh. 

“Baby, please, tell me– I need to know–,” 

He’s worried. God, he’s so worried. He buries his face in your chest. 

You groan, strained and overwhelmed. There might be tears in your eyes. 

“Yes, Dieter, I want you. I want you so fucking badly I can’t breathe right.”

The groan he makes is one of relief and he’s not even inside of you.

“But, please, please, fuck me, Dieter. I need to— you have to–,” 

Fighting with the fabric of your skirt, you pull your underwear to the side. He drags his hips forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. It’s wet and warm and he thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

“You’re gonna stay, right? You’re gonna be with me, after this?” He’s already out of breath, out of his mind. You nod and he thinks he might cry.

“I’ll stay.” You swallow, your eyes closed, head against the wooden door. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

One arm wrapped around your low back, and the other holding the both of you against the door, he slides up, breaching you – “fuck, fuck, fuck–,” “I know, baby, I know–,” all the way to the very end of you in a single, hot stroke. The moan you share is harsh, ragged, pained with the force of it. He feels the sound in his chest, your own pressed up against his. You knock your head back against the door, mouth open, as if awestruck that it could feel this good. 

Your knees hitched around his waist pull him closer. “I gotta– I want– more–,” 

“Baby–,” his nose turns your mouth to him and he open-mouth kisses you, tongue licking the inside of your mouth. His hands hitch you higher, cupping your hips to take even more of him, and he starts fucking you. 

That’s what this is. A good, hard, mean fuck.

The door rattles behind you and thankfully is already locked. His thrusts are deep, fast, hips punching into yours. 

“I wanna look. I wanna watch me fuck you.” He murmurs in your neck. Your eyes are closed, mouth twisted in pleasure, as you scratch his back to hold on. “But I don’t wanna drop you.” 

He wants to brand your chest with his own. 

He shouldn’t be fucking you in a public hotel bathroom, he knows, but New Orleans is gone. The light, and the white bed, and the paint, all gone. You are caught in between universes, in between realms, between what is and what should be. He doesn’t want to be here, in this one, if it means he can’t have you. If he has to go back to whatever his life was before you. This can’t be the end. 

Your moans climb higher and higher, your cunt fluttering around him. He knows he should clap a hand over your mouth, but the sounds you make dig under his skin, claw at his blood. They make him feel so good. So wanted. 

“Dieter, you’re so deep. You’re going to bruise me.” 

“Your little pussy likes it when I’m mean to her–,” he shifts his pelvis, adjusting you against the door, and grinds so hard, the tip of his cock brushes against something that has you mewling. 

He wants the leverage of the floor, to hold himself over you, to watch as he splits you apart. But the airlessness, the proximity to you, to that fucked-out look in your eyes, he can’t part with it. 

He doesn’t know how to make love. It’s been too long since he’s tried, unable to conjure the memories or the feeling to do it. He only knows frantic clawing, hot skin. But he wants to learn, for you. He doesn't know how to verbalize it, but he needs you to know. 

He turns his face from the cup between your neck and shoulder, into your cheek and catches your gaze. You lock eyes and he nearly comes right then and there. 

Maybe you already do, know.

“It’s good, Dieter,” you murmur, eyes glassy and cheeks red, “it’s so good.”  

It’s too much. Your cunt is sucking him in, shuddering around him as he pounds up into you. Your whimpers are rubbing his nerve endings raw. He has to come before he burns up. He bites into your shoulder and you wail. 

He lets go, whining– hot spurts filling your insides and his cock throbs, you moan at the sensation, the warmth, and he’s still coming as your cunt contracts, wavering, and then his hips and thighs are soaked in you. 

He wants to fold you into his ribs but instead, presses warm, wet kisses to your cheek, your flushed neck, and then your nose and forehead. Instead of pulling away, setting you down, he pulls you closer, flush against him. He can feel your thighs trembling around him, every breath ragged and heavy.

He’s shaking too.

“Natalie, I–,”

“We should get back.” You won’t look him in the eyes all of a sudden and that hurts, stings something very soft inside of him. He nods, but gives you one more kiss against the plush of your lips, his hand cradling your head, before he slowly, carefully, extracts himself and pulls his softening cock out of you. 

“That’s always the worst part,” you groan, face twisted. 

He wants you to say, that’s always the worst part– when you leave me. 

“Hurts me too,” he mutters quietly as he slowly lowers you to the ground. You wobble, but your grip on his shoulders holds you up right. He lets go of you long enough to take some paper towels from the dispenser and he offers them to you. 

Your eyes are soft as you wipe yourself clean from his sticky cum. “Thanks.”

You toss away the used paper as he turns back to the last bits of coke on the toilet. He gathers as much of it as he can and rubs it on his gums. You’re watching him through the mirror as he wipes off the rest and rubs his hands on his jeans.

“Oh, sorry, did you want any?”

You shake your head, a smile in your eyes not on your lips. 

“What?”

You reach out to him and as though magnetized, he comes to you, hand sliding around your waist and the other cupping the back of your neck. 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” You say, your fingertips rimming his collar. “What you asked before . . . it’s a lot. But I’ll think about it.” 

He nods, heart pounding in his chest. How is he going to make it through three more days of this with you? How can he keep away from you now?

“Take your time. But, uh, don’t take too long.” 

You nod up at him, bright eyes twinkling, and he bends and kisses you again. It’s brief, subtle, but it makes his ribs expand all the same. 

Your hand goes and unlocks the door. “Gimme one second. Gotta check if the coast is clear.” 

He lets you go, and you stick your head through the small crack between the door and the wall. Satisfied that you weren’t about to be tackled by reporters from The Rolling Stone, you wink at him and disappear around the corner. 

You can’t touch her out there. Only here. In the dark.

He follows you and is hit in the face with a painful, bright light from the sun’s reflection on the marble floor. His eyes watering, he walks forward, towards the shadow, the silhouette he presumes is you. 

The lobby is full of people and sounds. No one seems to have heard a single thing, haven’t got a single clue about what just went on in the very public bathroom. His eyes adjust and there you are, in the center of the hustle. You aren’t moving.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get back to the–,”

“Dieter?” 

It’s not you asking. 

It’s her. 

He’d know that voice anywhere, even if he felt like it belonged to a version of himself he had long since abandoned. 

Guests and hotel employees and camera crews weave around the three of you. 

She wasn’t supposed to come back.

Her hair is as straight as her posture, eyes hidden behind round, thick sunglasses. Her cream, wide-brimmed hat matches her pantsuit, with gold accents. In a word, she is stunning. The ideal movie star wife. 

His heart lurches. He half-expects for it to tear out of his chest and slump along the floor like a dying rat, blood splattering on the nice white marble. 

“Dieter, how are you?” Chloe doesn’t take off her glasses to address him. She hasn’t seen you yet, he supposes.

“I-I’m,” he tries to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth, “I’m fine. Good. What are you doing here?”

It’s more accusatory than he means for it to be, but his heart is still pounding in his chest, an after-effect of fucking you. 

Behind his wife, the revolving door to the hotel glitters in the slanted gold evening light as children play with it, around adults trying to get through. It makes him think of the time his mother took him to the Coney Island pier and put him on the merry-go-round. He was six and nervous because she’d be out of his sight for a minute each time the carousel turned. 

“I’ll be right here waiting,” she said with a smile. “I’ll always come back for you. It’s a promise.” 

Why he is thinking of that memory right now is beyond comprehension so he blinks, trying to claw his way through the mounting agitation. 

His tone makes Chloe stand up straighter.

“We need to talk, Dieter. About our marriage.”

There’s a gurgling sound, something smothered and choked, behind him and her immaculate face turns over his shoulder. 

You’re pale. You’re pale and afraid and he’s ruined you.

“Hello,” Chloe says smoothly. “Do you know Dieter or are you a fan?”

You blink as though she had slapped you. “A fan–?”

“Chloe, this is m-my co-star, Natalie Lorraine. We’re, uh, meant to be at a press junket right now. We got a break . . . and went to get something to eat.”

“Was it good?”

He nearly snaps his neck in half looking back at her. She still hasn’t moved an inch, only her head, her hands clasped neatly across her lap.

“What?”

“Was the food good?” She asks. “You both look a bit ill.” 

“No. Food was terrible. I recommend you avoid it.” As though you had been possessed by the ghost of formality itself, face lit with a brilliant smile, you step forward, hand outstretched. 

Chloe takes it after a moment and you shake. Dieter has to fight the urge to break your hands apart. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Chloe. I think we just missed each other at the party at Scott’s house.” 

She tenses, but not at you. “Yes, well, that was a very busy night, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” 

It’s scary, your face. How serene and calm you are. 

“I love this blouse,” you say, gently tugging on the cream silk. “It’s gorgeous on you.”

Chloe smiles genuinely and Dieter’s heart withers to his stomach. “Thanks. It was a gift from my father.”

“The artist, right? Dieter’s told me so much about you. Told all of us. Can’t get him to shut up about it, really.”

Your eyes graze him with the sharpness of a glinting scalpel before smiling back at Chloe.

Her own is stiff. “That’s what I keep hearing.” 

Why are you still talking to her? Why are you still here?

“Are you going to be in town lo–,”

“Natalie, we need to get back to the press.” He wants to haul you over his shoulder. “We’ve delayed them enough as it is.”  

“Oh, c’mon, Dieter, they can wait a few more minutes. Your wife–,”

“Let’s go—,”

Chloe’s shoulders are taught. Stretched thin. 

“I came here to talk, Dieter. When can we do that?” 

“Yeah, you should make your wife a priority, Dieter.” 

He’s losing his grip on everything. You stand by Chloe as if you were sisters. His gaze leaps to her.

“An hour. Alright? Can you wait an hour? I have to tell them something.”

“Or you can just go now. I’ll tell them an emergency’s come up.” You walk past him and pat him on the chest. He thinks your nails sting him for a second. “Nothing should come between you and the woman you love.”

He wants to take you by the wrists. “Natalie–,”

But you slide around him, waving to Chloe as you go. “Wonderful to meet you.” 

You are swallowed up into the crowd of the lobby. No, no, no, no– 

“Dieter.” She calls him back. “I have to check in, so you can have an hour.”

“Thank you.”

And he’s weaving into the crowd after you.

He’s shaking when he bursts through the adjacent private hotel room, meant for refreshments and make-up touch ups. 

It’s not a panic attack, not yet, but something is mounting in him. It’s clawing up his throat, its talons razor sharp and an inch deep. His throat burns as if he had thrown up – did he? Maybe he did? – but he’s not thinking clearly. None of this feels right. 

He’ll come up with some excuse to tell her why he suddenly vanished, but if he doesn’t wrangle back some control, he feels like he’s moments away from walking straight into traffic. 

He doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to get out.

But half of the cast of his very successful movie is just on the other side of this room, along with cameras and recording phones that would just love to get a glimpse of the Old Dieter. The barely-holding-on Dieter. The fucked up one.

Your compact mirror clatters as it falls from his hand onto the bathroom counter. He flips open the secret compartment in the back and is suddenly overwhelmed by the decisions. It feels like there’s a tornado siren going off in his head.

Are yellows uppers or downers? What did you say about the red ones? No, it’s the one with the T on the back that are uppers. No, wait, it’s – 

He hears the door open behind him, the sharp light from the window catching on the door handle and sparking in the mirror in front of him.

Fuck it. He grabs three of the ones he thinks are right and throws them into the back of his throat and swallows so hard, his teeth grind together. 

“Dieter?” It’s Mark and his gut turns over. “What are you doing–,”

There’s no point in hiding it. He knows Mark saw the open compact of unidentifiable pills. 

So much for that fucking drink among friends.

Dieter unhurriedly shuts the compact and slides it into his pocket. He can’t turn around but instead stills himself for an argument, an accusation, a reaming he really deserves, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Mark is just . . . shocked. 

“I really didn’t think that. . .” His mouth closes, as if words have failed him. “But she was right. Chloe was right. You are using again.” 

It’s not a question or an accusation. It’s just . . . reality. 

He has them all ready. The lies he tells himself – 

I’ve got it under control 

I can stop when I want

This isn’t a relapse

– but for some reason, he can’t say them outloud. Each time he tries, the words stick themselves against his throat. He can see Mark’s expression devolving into anger over his shoulder in the mirror the longer his words remain, unanswered, unchallenged. He would love it for Mark to hit him.

“I don’t get you, man. I don’t.” Mark shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. “Everything was going so fuckin’ well. Why are you throwing it all away now? Why didn’t you come to me? Or Heidi? We could have helped you.”

Dieter shrugs. Something goes dark in Mark’s eyes. 

The sun shifts and the light is now permanently blinding his eyes. He closes them and steps out of the bathroom. He swears he can hear the tune of the carousel, the jingle – something starting to give him a headache. Grunting softly, he presses a thumb to the inner corner of his eye. 

I’ll always come back for you

“Have you told Chloe?” 

Dieter shakes his head, dropping onto the edge of the bed. He thinks there’s a black spot in his vision forming in his right eye. Mark is blurry as he stands over him. 

“Are you going to?” 

He can feel something slide off of him, or into him. Either way, it’s clogging up his airways. “She’ll find out eventually. She always does.”

Mark’s mouth drops open in disgust. “That’s fucked up, man.”

The jingle is clear now. The door handle sparks like it’s on fire.

“And it’s not your fucking problem. I don’t care what you think.”

“Well, shit, Dieter, I used to think a lot of you. I really did. I’d heard all the shit you’ve gone through in the past few years and to see you on that set being the best version of yourself, I was so fucking proud of you, man. But now that I know that you’re this . . . You really fucking had me there for a second.” 

Dieter lowers his thumb from the arch of his eyebrow and meets Mark’s glare. “Now, you know.” 

Mark narrows his eyes. “Yeah, now I know.”

Dieter goes back to the bathroom to wash his hands in the sink. They feel sticky for some reason. He has nothing to hold onto. 

“When’s the next session? I know we running late, but–,”

“Nevermind about that. Canceled for the day,” Mark growls, “I’ve got a question for you. Are you fucking Natalie?”

His knees nearly give out. “What?”

Over his shoulder in the mirror, Mark crosses his arms. “I said, are you fucking Natalie?”

“Why do you–,”

“I don’t know if you’ve fucked her yet, but there is something going on,” Mark says slowly as if he hadn’t said anything, his gaze focus on the floor. “I wanted to act like I didn’t see it, but if you’re using again . . .” 

“Just because I’m high, doesn’t mean I’d cheat on my wife.” 

“If you are, just tell her. Leave her. Don’t let it go public.”

Why doesn’t he just tell Mark? Just confess. Just confess that he can’t stand being married to Chloe anymore. That you are unlike anything he’s ever known, ever felt. Sure, Mark’d be mad but maybe, with time, he’d be happy for the both of you– he knows what it feels like to be in love—

Whoa.

Where did that come from? He can’t actually– 

His knees buckle as his head spins faster and faster and he clutches the counter to stay upright. He grinds his teeth. “There’s nothing to go public about.” 

“Just go home to her, Dieter. You can still fix things–,”

“Stop lecturing me.” 

“Don’t go out tonight. We’ll all understand. I’ll tell Roxie you had other things–,”

“Why does Roxie care?” He leaps at the distraction. “Is there something going on?”

Mark clenches his jaw, but Dieter pounces the chance to see you again so soon, even if Chloe comes along. Of course she is, some part of his brain rages, she’s your wife. 

“Great. Chloe wants to meet everyone anyway.” 

“C’mon, man, don’t do this. Don’t do this to Chloe. Don’t do this to yourself. What happened, Dieter?”  He’s pleading. He’s sincere. His brown eyes are deep with concern and it makes Dieter want to vomit. 

He goes to leave – his hands only shake once – when Mark grabs him by the shoulder. 

He is physically blinded by the color red, just for a minute. 

destroy destroy destroy

He can’t even blame the coke. He wants the violence. The pain. The rips in his skin. 

His knuckles collide with Mark’s jaw and every nerve in his body roars in victory. The force of Dieter’s punch sends Mark reeling, stumbling back, and he staggers into the wall. 

more more more more!

Dieter blinks, the spike in adrenaline making him dizzy. Mark clutches his jaw, already swelling, again more shocked than angry. Dieter squeezes his fists, joints cracking, his right hand throbbing.

“This doesn’t concern you.” he says, quietly, empty of anger. “Leave me alone. Leave Natalie alone.”

He had all but admitted to the affair. He has to tear his feet from the floor, Mark’s jaw now purple, and he storms out the door, to go see his wife. 

    Chloe was always beautiful. Always stunning. She walked into a room and people stared. 

When he met her at that cast party, she was modeling for DKNY. Her boyfriend, at the time, was a photographer and given who her father is, he (like many other past relationships) had hopes that international connections would further his career. But it didn’t and the ex-boyfriend was more mad about the loss of potential fame than the end of the relationship.

Dieter hadn’t been like that. He had been successful and good-looking enough that when she told him who she was, her last name didn’t even register. Of course, it helped that he was tripping on shrooms that one of the PAs had given him, but at the time it didn’t matter to her. He looked at her like she – and she alone – hung the moon.

At least, that’s how she remembered it and, more importantly, that’s what she told him that morning in her apartment before he officially checked into court-mandated rehab. They were only six months into dating then, but when she told him, the way she told him, he felt something change. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be sober because someone else wanted him to be sober. And not just anyone, but this someone. This beautiful, smart, patient, sweet woman valued him, for some unfathomable reason. So, impulsively as always, he got down on one knee and proposed to her in that shitty studio apartment. Maybe it said something about her that she said yes– he didn’t even have a ring– but he gave her his earring and a promise. He’d do it right, when he got out, and she believed him.

And, of course, when he proposed, she didn’t know about all the cheating that had gone on while they were dating. It wasn’t like he actually loved, or even liked, any of the people he slept with, but he had done it because he was high and sex felt really, really good on ecstasy. If she had been there, he would have fucked her instead, but she wasn’t and he didn’t and it was someone else and it was one of them who eventually leaked it to the press. 

It was two days after a three week period of withdrawals that she confronted him. She was nice about it, of course. Always nice. And maybe it was because he was ten pounds lighter, his skin waxy and pale, and he could barely walk, but when he confirmed it all, she had just said, “I know you didn’t mean it.” She did cry, though. She cried and he felt like an even bigger asshole than when he threw up twice on the same nurse. She cried and he begged for forgiveness and all that self-hate and loathing metastasized in him. But, most importantly, he wasn’t alone through all of it this time. 

He took the backhanded compliments, the passive aggressive comments, and let himself be molded into what she wanted because quite frankly, he was sick of trying to figure out what he was supposed to be anyways. 

But the more distance he tried to put between his past and his future, she was there to bring it back. She was both a reminder of what he was and what he could be all at once. 

She sits, perched on the end of his bed, back straight and hands in her lap. Her wide brimmed summer hat is by her hip on his untarnished bed— how the hell is going to explain where his luggage is— and she faces the window, looking out into the late Los Angeles evening. 

She is beautiful. Painfully so. And sometimes he thinks that she likes him a little broken.

He never did get her a real engagement ring.

After seeing Mark, he left the hotel and walked until he could feel himself getting a blister, and then turned around again. It felt like it had been days since he went through that golden, twirling revolving door, but it had only been an hour. One hour exactly. The coke doesn’t have its claws so deep into him anymore. He can breathe easier. The scales have somewhat evened out and he feels somewhat like a normal person again. Thankfully, because this isn’t a conversation he really wants to have.

He doesn’t know where to sit or where to put his hands. He picks the chair by the squat desk in the dark corner and lets her bask in the fading light. He’s not sure if he’s overwhelmed by her beauty, or that she’s here and real and not just this name at the top of his phone to whom he’d fire off unanswered texts. 

He picks at his nails and realizes at some point he put his wedding ring back on. When the fuck did he do that?

“I’m sorry I surprised you like this,” Chloe says, again sparing him the scariest part of simply starting the conversation. She turns away from the window and takes off her glasses. She looks pale. “There is just a lot I want to say and I don’t think . . . I didn’t want to say it over the phone.”

“Me too. I mean. Yeah, we have a lot to talk about. I just don’t know why we couldn’t have done it at the house.” 

“You left me at that party, Dieter.”

“I took an Uber. You had the car. Where did you go? Why didn’t you come home for two–,” 

“Are you not happy to see me?” Her eyes are blazing, daring, serious, and wet. What happened that night, he thought it had ended his marriage. He truly believed that if they stayed married, it would only be in name because she wouldn’t want him after a scene like that. He was so willing to give it all up. So easily. 

Too easily.

Maybe she was right to leave. The first tendril of guilt unfurls in his chest. Of course, she was right. And he was so, so wrong. He always was.  

“Of course I’m glad to see you.” Hesitantly, he gets up and goes to sit next to her on the bed. She pulls her hand off the cover and crosses her arms. Up close, he can see she’s more than pale. Her skin is waxy and there are bags under her eyes. She’s got a green tinge to her cheeks like she’s nauseous. “But we’re in the middle of these press junkets and the movie is in post-production and . . . I just wanted more time to do this right.”

“Do what right?”

There’s a tremble of fear in her voice. He makes sure to keep his even.

“To . . . to say . . .” he watches her eyes for some sort of guidance, “to just . . . get back to us.” 

He slides his hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away. But there are tears, pouring down her face. She sniffs. 

“That’s what you want, right? You want us to be together.” 

She nods, furiously, quickly, sighing in relief. “Yes, Dieter, yes. I need us to be together. I can’t do this alone.” 

She pulls him to her and lets out a cry that churns his stomach like black, arctic waves. 

“Oh, Dieter, they’ve released some trailers and you’re so good. So good. I’m so proud of you,” she murmurs wetly into his neck. He feels her tears on the skin above his pulse-point. 

There’s a part of him that wants to curl up into her lap, put his head on her thighs, and let her imagine all the ways he’s succeeded. All the good work he’s done. But he’s fidgeting.

The bump from earlier is still feeding his anxiety to an unbearable level. He bites his tongue and rubs his hand over her shoulder, determined to keep her from looking too closely at him. 

“There’s a lot we have to talk about, Dieter, but do you want to do this with me? What do you want?”

All his life he felt like he had never been whole. As if he was just made up of tatters, just loose bits of thread that popped and unraveled over time. He’s been unraveling his whole life, but this time, with this decision, he might actually tear apart. He still loves his wife, he’s sure of it. He needs the reminder that she offers, that she embodies. Look at what you could have– 

If only he was a fundamentally different person. If only he could be something other than himself. 

It’s a coin flip, right? Only a matter of time . . . before we both fucking lose it

He’s in danger of being overwhelmed by memories.

He told himself he left because that was what she wanted. He hadn’t come to terms with the impossible idea that he wanted to leave in the first place. That he, ridiculously, would ever want to leave her.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into his lap.

“I want you to tell me what to do,” he whispers to her shoulder. “I’m not a good person without you.” 

She swallows, leans away, and wipes her eyes, runs her hands over his wrists, then the back of his hand. She freezes as she finally notices his bloody knuckles. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” he says quickly as her dainty thumb hovers over the blood, the split skin. And he wasn’t lying. He can barely feel it. He feels disconnected from his own body, like someone else is driving and he’s been locked in the trunk.

“What happened, baby?” She asks, her mouth full of tears. She sounds tired.

“Nothing. Just hit it.” It is so obvious he had been fighting, he feels bad he couldn’t find a better lie. 

But Chloe sighs sympathetically and swallows. She was always so good at picking and choosing what she decided to believe. 

“We’ll bandage it.”

“You always know how to take care of me,” he murmurs as she massages his palm. 

“You’ve come so far, Dieter. You’re an entirely different person,” she says, smiling at the blood on his hand if it isn’t there. “I’ve always known you have a big heart. One I hope you can share.”

Her big eyes damp and, horrifyingly, filled with love, she puts a hand against the back of his neck. He feels feverish, too warm, but she seems to find comfort in it.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What if we had a baby, Dieter?” She smiles gently, coyly, easily. She’s thought about this. “You and me. I think it’s time. You’re ready to be a father.” 

It’s quiet. 

He is made up of nothing but tears. He’s spent years trying to stitch himself back together with everything and anything he could get his hands on. But he is still ripped. Still torn. Still unmade. 

He gave away pieces of himself to anyone who asked because he didn’t want them anymore. But giving this tattered, broken thing to a child? To someone who didn’t ask for it?

Can’t I just be fucked up on my own?

Cheers to being fucked up on our own.

“Chloe . . . Chloe, I . . . I have to ask you something.”

She sits up more in his arms and brushes the hair out of his eyes with a stroke of her fingers, her nose pink and cheeks wet. “What is it, baby?”

Why?

Why did you agree to marry me?

Why do you still love me?

What would it take to make you stop?

“Are you happy? Happy with me?” His entire existence no longer hinges on her answer, and he cannot fathom a world where she says yes. He shakes his head, on the verge of something, as he thumbs her cheek, begging for honesty. “Why are you still here?”

For a second, a single moment in time, for the only time, with his hands on her waist, he thinks he sees the real Chloe for the first time. Not the model, or the daughter of an artist. Not the wife of a movie star, or the helpless girlfriend of an addict. He sees her, a woman with her own reality, her own version of the world and history. He sees her in stark vulnerability, an uncomplicated answer, because he’s asking questions she never considered herself. 

Fresh tears spill out of her eyes as she squeezes his wrist. “Because I love you. And you love me. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?” 

“That’s all?”

She laughs gently, the sound wet and thick. 

“What else is there?” 

She kisses his cheek and her lips are wet with tears. “You don’t have to answer now, about having a baby. Just think about it, please?”

He nods. 

He knows his answer. Well, not cognitively. It’s not there, in his head. But it is there in the pain in his lungs, in the dryness of his mouth, in the erratic heartbeat in his neck. It will be a long time before he can take apart those sensations to understand and identify panic for what it is. But it’s there. It’s there in the sensations that the world is coming apart. 

If this is what she wants, he can’t give it. He just can’t. 

They've been together for almost three years and they still don’t know each other at all. 

The hotel room is hazy, cloudy, weed smoke curling up in the corners. There’s music coming from somewhere, but he can’t really figure out where. Half of these people are strangers, shadows against the walls, and they move in and out of rooms like ghosts. Every moment in time seems longer than the next. He can feel himself crawling out of his own skin. 

It’s near midnight and Mark still hasn’t shown up.

But the downers from the compact mirror worked. Everything exists in limp obscurity. 

Chloe clings to him like she’s stuck a knife in him and if she pulls it out, he’ll bleed to death. A second doesn’t go by where she’s not touching him. This body is unfamiliar, he thinks as he handles her hips, her low back, as she introduces herself to everyone. 

First, there’s Nick and Cooper. They are stoned out of their minds, eyes glassy and red-faced, and react the way all men react when meeting Chloe. Their mouths drop as they take her hand in greeting. Cooper’s gaze slides over her shoulder to Dieter – this is your fucking wife, dude?

It makes him angry, rubs him the wrong way, but not out of jealousy. His mouth twitches as he shrugs. 

“I’ve been listening to your albums for days now! After Dieter told me you play live music.” Chloe says with her hand on Nick’s shoulder. “The Sixers are officially my new favorite band.”

“Oh, uh, wow– that’s–,”

“Do you want anything?” Dieter snaps, stepping back. Chloe’s hand slides off the kid’s shoulder. “I’m going to . . . get some water— what do you want?”

Chloe smiles and he knows he needs to unclench. He feels like the entire stretch of his shoulders is filling up the whole room. 

“Actually,” she says, turning back to the boys, “I’d kind of like something a little . . . green . . .”

Nick is instantly fumbling with his pocket as Chloe laughs. “Totally. Got a few extras right here.” 

He nearly spills his beer, before Cooper takes it from him. Nick finally manages to pull out a blunt and green lighter. Her eyes flicker up to Dieter as Nick lights the end.

“You don’t mind, right, baby?” 

“Not at all.” 

She inhales and goes to ask Cooper something inane, so Dieter flops into the couch behind her. This is going to be a long fucking night.

The blunt between her long fingers is about halfway gone, the room smelling like burnt cheese, and has become so cloudy someone has to turn on a fan, when the door opens to Samuel, Roxie, and Marie, all carrying boxes of alcohol. The crowd, the shadows on the walls, swarms. Cooper does the polite thing and asks if he can get Chloe or Dieter a drink, which Dieter declines and Chloe happily accepts. She curls up onto the couch next to him, sighing happily. 

���God, didn’t you miss this? These parties? The things we used to get up to.” She murmurs into his ear, her tiny hand clutching at his bicep and the other at his forearm. She smells like weed and an incomprehensibly expensive perfume that he can’t begin to describe. 

“Yeah. But, when did you want to lea–,”

The crowd, congregated around the new arrivals and their new drinks, has to shift when the door opens a second time. 

His nails dig into the arm of the couch, stiffening from his head to his toes. 

It’s you. You’ve changed out of your outfit for the interviews– he could venture a guess as to why– but replaced it with a long, black cotton dress, thin straps. You can’t possibly be wearing a bra. You’re barefoot, a beer bottle in your hand, someone at your heels–

“Natalie! You made it!”

You’re surrounded by the Sixers, by the shadows of people, of faces he doesn’t know, or ever remember.

Except for one. 

“Everyone, meet my friend Oliver! He’s visiting, from England. Very posh.” 

That pale face emerges above the crowd and someone wolf-whistles. He smirks. “Settle down, settle down. I’m actually very annoying, but you’ll love me anyway because I have enough ecstasy for you all to see the face of God.”

The crowd cheers.

He can’t move. Can’t turn his head away. 

Beside him, Chloe’s face scrunches up and lifts her head. “Oliver? Don’t you know an Oliver?”

“Honey, hush.” 

He can’t take his eyes off you as Oliver spins you into the center of the room, Marie and Roxie chattering about something as they slide onto the floor. 

This. It’s this moment where he actually might lose his sanity. Either that or tackle Oliver to the ground and pummel his face in until he’s more blood smears than human. 

“Thank you, darling girl. You always know how to make a man feel so welcome.” 

You giggle and collapse into an armchair across the room from the couch. You’re high. Again. Still. Always. 

“Now, you precious thing,” Oliver crouches down and taps your knee. Dieter’s hand twitches. “Where did you say your friend has gotten off to? Because I don’t think he’d like it very much if . . .”

He trails off, catching the intense look in your eye. You’ve made eye contact with Dieter across the room, eyes wide, nipping at a hangnail on your thumb with your teeth and the neck of the beer bottle dangling in your fingers over the edge of the armchair.

You look genuinely scared. Dieter’s nostrils flare. 

Good. 

Oliver stands up, oblivious and smiling through blindly white teeth. “Dieter, old boy, she said you’d be here. How’ve you–,”

His gaze falls to Chloe at his shoulder, instant recognition in his eyes. He glances back to you. Chloe, far too stoned for her own good, jerks and sits up. She gives a hazy, bleary-eyed smile to Oliver. 

“Oh my God, Oliver, it is you. I know you. You’re Dieter’s friend. Who knows the Queen of England. How is she?”

Perhaps for the first and only time in his life, Oliver is speechless. His thin-lipped mouth opens and closes, clearly not sure where to land his eyes. But then something comes over him and that mask of charming smugness returns. He bows slightly to her. 

“You are correct, ma’am. Lovely to see you. And, remind me, your name is . . .”

“Chloe,” she says, sitting up and stretching, her eyelids only half open. She offers her hand and he hesitantly takes it. “I’m Dieter’s wife.”

“Oh, are you now?” 

Oliver glances over at you and Dieter wants to throttle him. His eyes flash with malice as he turns back to Chloe and kisses her knuckles. “Well, isn’t that just a laugh? Can I get you anything? Any of you anything?” 

He’s going to combust right here if he doesn’t get a moment to talk to you. 

“Actually, let me get it. Natalie, help me carry drinks.” 

You scowl. “No, I’m fine, right here–,”

“Now.” This time he will haul you over his shoulder if you don’t listen.

Oliver, for whatever unclear reason, steps in. “I’ll stay here with Ms. Chloe, if that’s easier.”

He oozes– slides– into the cushion on Chloe’s other side as Dieter extracts himself from her arms. He balances her back and she opens one eye at Oliver. 

“You smell like peppermint,” she giggles. 

“Aren’t you frightfully perceptive? Now, tell me, has someone had too much to smoke or to drink?”

Dieter doesn’t hear her answer. He’s snatched you up by the arm– you actually, physically snarl at him– and yanks you through the crowd into the bathroom. 

Two no-names are making out in the dark. He flips on the light without preamble.

“Out.” 

They break apart, mouths sloppy and wet, and scatter like rats in a sewer. He tosses you inside and slams the door shut behind him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap at each other at the same time, glaring, scowling, breathing sharply. Everything that should be said is buried and egos flare, replacing sanity. It’s the kind of argument, an argument so loud and violent, it reeks of bitterness and shame and desperation and that fine, fine line between seething hatred and that thing that scares him more than he can possibly conceptualize. All of this is easier to say than admit it. All of this is mean and nasty and meant to cut deep. 

He couldn’t bear to hear it now, even if you did admit to anything. 

Did you wait a full hour before calling him or was it the second I was out of earshot?

Had a good time with your wife you abandoned? Everything all good now? 

This is a private party for the cast and crew. He shouldn’t even be here!

If you get a plus one, so do I!

Why did you pick him? Why? 

Oh, sorry, I thought you liked surprises– given how you fucking handled today.

What did you promise him, huh? 

They had to reschedule everything because you can’t keep your shit together. Bet your wife loved being sloppy seconds to a TMZ reporter. 

Was he even in the area or did you get on your hands and knees to beg him to come here?

He crowds you up against the sink. His throat feels raw, head still spinning. Your hands are clenched at your sides as if preparing to throw a punch or claw or scratch or bite. Why can’t you just ever be nice?

You’re falling back into old patterns. Your instinct around him is to bite, maim, draw blood. The frustrations of a muzzled, brain-infected dog. 

The back of your hips bump up against the counter and you scowl up at him. He wants to put his hands on you but he can’t tell if it's to kiss you or strangle you. Fuck you or split you apart. How did this happen? How did you end up in the exact same place you were before?

But it’s not the same. Everything is different. He’s different, and so are you. You both know all this rage, this animosity, all this vitriol was misplaced. Undefined. A language not yet translated. You were screaming and screaming, in different tongues, begging to be heard. 

He doesn’t know what he feels when he presses himself up against you, but it is a lot.

“Are you doing this to punish me? Is that it?” Dieter whispers. Your eyes roam his face, unmoored by the sudden quiet, your hand at his chest pressing and pulling. “It’s not my fault.”

Your mouth twists, your breathing stunted. His eyes are pleading, searching your face for answers, to remind him of places where he had put his lips. Your nose, your jaw, your throat–

His heart squeezes in his chest. 

“What’s that?”

There’s a shadow on your neck, colored over by make-up, but this close, he can see the purple rings. Bruises. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s seen, your hand sliding up your throat to cover them. 

“Did Oliver do this to you? Natalie, I swear to god, if he hurt you at all, tell me and I’ll–,”

You shake your head. “Dieter, he didn’t do this to me.” Your eyes are sad, but the jut of your chin balances your head high. “He didn’t bruise me.”

“Then, who–,”

His stomach plummets. The two of you relive his hand on your throat in the bathroom earlier today. The panting. The pressure. The force he used to fuck you. 

“Holy shit, Natalie, I am so sorry. I–I had no idea, why did you say anything?” 

“I didn’t want you to stop.” You spin one of your rings on your finger. “I didn’t want to leave.” 

Was this not the exact position you found yourselves in hours ago? Clutching each other, nails digging in, mouths open in want– revolving, revolving, revolving. Light swallowing light. Like a carousel. 

Your pupils are almost entirely black. He’s jealous. He wants that freedom. He wants you. 

“But you do now. You’re going to leave.” He steps away from you.

You scoff, a wet shine in your eyes. “You’re here with your wife, Dieter. You’re always with your wife. You beg and plead with me and I, like a fucking idiot, believe you. I think we know exactly who’s doing the leaving.” 

“It’s not that goddamn simple.” 

You sigh and rub the heel of your palm against your forehead. “It is, Dieter. It really is. This is it. This is the end. I can’t take not having you anymore.”

You drop your hands to your side. His heart flutters, as if slowing down.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we can fight and yell and scratch each other into bloody ribbons, but nothing’s going to change. You’re never going to leave her. Nothing’s going to happen.” You close your eyes, briefly, steeling yourself against something, hands tightening into fists. 

He can’t remember the last time he was this afraid. 

“Natalie–,” He’ll take it all back. Take everything back. He wants you in his arms.

“It means I don’t want to be around you anymore.” You open your eyes and there’s nothing there. A different person sits in your head. Someone who doesn’t care about him, at all.

There’s no anger in your voice, no resentment, or disgust. Only defeat. Only strung out, exhaustion, an ache that cannot be soothed. 

“I need you to leave me alone.”

This is not at all where he thought this conversation would go. Never thought you’d say those words. Never imagined this is what you would do. 

“Is that what you want?” He husks. Something is dragging its claws down his chest, his ribs. It gets caught on his heart and tears. “What you really want. Don’t lie to me.” 

Your eyes harden for a moment, reflective and stern. “Dieter, this is killing me . . . So this is the way it has to be. I’m sorry.”

You avoid his outstretched hands, his inevitable pull towards you, and stagger out into the crowd. He hears the music, the laughter, the sounds of chaos and rapture, and then the door closes and he’s alone in the cold, stale air.

“So I’m still skeptical at this point. Yeah, she’s gotten some things right, but hey, that it could just be a really good guess. I think she can tell I’m not really thinking this has been worth my time, so she offers to read my palm.”

He’s pretty sure he’s heard this story from Samuel before, or heard it somewhere else, or remembers it differently. But it’s all just noise to him. 

Chloe sits on the floor between his legs, her head on his knee. He absently strokes her silky hair from time to time, but it’s just something to do with his hands. Eons and ages have passed in this fucking room and Dieter just wants to go to sleep. He’s watched four people run into the bathroom to blow chunks and he thinks he can smell it from here. 

I need you to leave me alone.

I don’t want to be around you.

He tries to listen, to pay attention, tear his thoughts away from this spiral that’s haunting him. 

Leave you alone? For how long? Don’t you get that’s impossible now?

“So she takes my hand and looks at it, really looks at it. And something about this just feels different, you know, like the air has changed. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I’m being seen for the first time.”

His audience is quiet, captive. Dieter can feel Chloe sit up straighter as if fighting off sleep. 

Roxie snorts. “She’s just going to tell you an incredibly vague, possible future so now any time something even remotely resembles that path, you’ll think she’s right. Nevermind all the times she’ll be glaringly wrong.” 

Dieter knows they’ll never be friends but he’s always admired Roxie’s honesty. Her bravery. She’s shrewd and he likes that. 

“Whatever. It was special, alright? Important. I can’t explain it but it felt right.” 

“I believe you,” Marie pipes up, dreamily. “What else did she say?”

Samuel doesn’t quite look at her, picking at his palm as if it is currently under inspection.

“Well, she did say this other thing. She looks down at my palm, and do you know what she says? She says my life line is jagged. Split.”

“What does that mean?” Someone asks in a hushed voice. Dieter struggles not to roll his eyes. It’s not even a good story. The kid lost thirty bucks to a palm reader. Big whoop. 

Samuel roves his electric blue eyes across his captive audience. “Means something colossal is gonna happen to me. Means something’s going to happen to me where I’m not the same person I was. And I just know she’s right. Don’t ask me how, but I can already feel those life lines splitting, you know? You should all go get your palms’ read. It’s spooky.” 

“What did it say about your love line, Samuel?” Marie asks again, who has her head in Roxie’s lap, her feet in Nick’s. All three are so stoned it’s a wonder she can form words at all. Cooper’s been missing for hours.

Dieter isn’t sure anyone else registers the flash of desire he sees across Samuel’s face when he looks at her, but maybe that’s not the point. God, he desperately wants to leave. He doesn’t even care if he looks ashamed, or guilty, or lets everyone down. The coke has been gone from his system for hours and now the scratchy, heavy haze has set in. It makes him irritated when people breathe too loud. He tugs on Chloe’s hair but she doesn’t move. 

Samuel watches Roxie stroke Marie’s face. “She said my love line is strong.”

“So you’re finally admitting to all the bastards you’ve fathered over the years?” Roxie sniggers and a few others laugh. In his lap, Chloe giggles too.  

But Samuel only scowls. “No, asshole, it means I’m going to have a whirlwind romance. The kind of things they write books and poems and love stories about. Means my twin flame and soulmate are the same person.” 

“What’s a twin flame?”

Dieter’s mouth goes dry as his gaze slides across the small circle to the armchair. Oliver is there. And so are you. Curled up in his lap. The strap on your right shoulder has fallen off, away from your head on his chest. Your eyes are open, but you look very small. Oliver’s got his hand on your low back.

He tries to pull his thoughts away from the memory of his teeth in the crook of your neck, but he can’t. 

“Excellent question, lovely Natalie.” Samuel nods his head in a bow to you. Oliver’s finger dips across your bare shoulder and Dieter grinds his teeth so hard, his jaw aches. He rocks his head back against the wall behind him as if to physically keep himself from lunging forward. 

“Everyone knows what a soulmate is, but a twin flame is not something so well known. Because, maybe, it’s a little more difficult to talk about. A twin flame isn’t the person you’re meant to be with because you’re too alike. Too combustible. But you burn. You burn with love for this other person because it’s like looking into a mirror.”

“So it’s like fucking your clone?” Someone asks stupidly.

“No, you moron. It is not like fucking your clone.” Samuel’s face softens as his gaze brushes up against Marie’s forehead. “A twin flame is like finding your other half. The missing link in the universe. The thing that makes everything else make sense. The thing that quiets you, brings you a sense of comfort. Of wholeness. Intimacy without words, or questions, or concerns. There’s no hiding from this person. It’s a promise, a contract, with the universe. When you find your twin flame, it’s knowing peace for the first time.” 

He can’t look up. He can’t. 

He stares, relentlessly, at the back of Chloe’s head. His grip is almost firm in her hair. He cannot look up. 

He really, really, really shouldn’t. 

And yet he does. 

His gaze flickers to the armchair again.

To you.

And you’re not looking at him. Relentlessly not looking. You don’t look up.

Until you do. 

He doesn’t have a name for it.

It’s not peace. It’s not quiet. 

But it does rage. It rages inside of him. It burns him. 

For the first time since meeting you, he sees tears in your eyes. Unrestrained. Open. They race down your pink cheeks and he can’t be there to wipe them away. You’re crying while looking at him and everyone could see, but they don’t. Oliver could turn around and everyone would catch you right here, right now, with his hands on his wife, and there would be no denying anything. Who wouldn’t take a single look in his eyes and not know exactly what he feels for you?

This is the real punishment. The real pain. Why did you think he could ever leave you alone? This thing inside of him almost has a shape, a texture, a taste. It’s alive in him now. Born from denial and fed on bouts of temporary relief and half-measures, he feels it, this almost inhuman want. And he sees it all reflected back at him through your eyes. You, who came out of nowhere but who was always meant to be here, now matters more to him than he ever thought possible, now who has the power to destroy him. It’s beyond ruination, it’s nuclear war. It’s scorched earth and salting the rivers. Perhaps this is why he’s never been whole, why he tears himself on the corners and edges of his own making, because he’s been searching. Unknowingly, aimlessly wandering, hopelessly stumbling into chaos again and again– because the other half of his soul lives in another body. In a body, so much like his own, set on a path of destruction. 

A path of celestial creatures in collision, of universes collapsing into each other. Of neglected bodies seeking out in the dark that which is familiar. 

The spacial gap between the couch and your armchair is infinite, black and yawning, when he could take three steps across the room and kiss you on the mouth. But he doesn’t. 

He holds this thing tighter, lets it burn. He knows you feel it too. You turn from him, the connection overwhelming and wipe your eyes. The hole in his body he calls a chest aches.

God, he’s such a hypocrite. And a fucking fool.

“That’s so romantic,” Marie sighs from the floor. Her eyes flutter shut. Samuel watches her eyelashes against her cheek. “You get that and a soulmate? You’re so lucky.” 

“Not really,” he says quietly.

The hotel the studio rented for the press junkets doesn’t have a pool. But it does have a pretty nice rooftop bar overlooking the city. Disappointingly, it’s not open at four AM, but that’s probably a good thing. Meant to keep idiots from getting black out drunk and falling over the edge. Idiots like him.

Chloe lays asleep, four floors down, curled up in his bed, the sheets still warm from where he laid beside her for hours, white-knuckling the blankets, and staring at the ceiling. An hour after they left the party and two hours after he put her to bed, he got up and left, flinching at the sense the bedroom walls were closing in on him. 

He thought about going to find you, but he couldn’t. 

Finally, when he had managed to drag Chloe out the hotel room door, when everyone else had been so fucked up, their disappearance had gone unannounced, he pulls the door shut behind him and breathes. 

He can still hear the music through the walls, still smell it all, his mouth has been dry and cracked for hours, and the woman in his arms is nearly unconscious. But at least there’s some separation between you and him. It was too much. 

He bends down and pulls Chloe into his arms, carrying her like he did after they got married. But he can’t move. Not just yet. He tips his head back against the wall, trying to get the image of the rush of tears down your face out of his head. 

The movement stirs her and she lifts her groggy head.

“Wher‘re we?” she slurs.

“We’re going to bed, honey. It’s late and you should be asleep.” 

She smiles weakly, laughing to herself. Her feet kick as she taps his cheek with her finger. “You take sush good care o’ me. Always will. Always will love me.” 

Before he can reply, the hotel room door opens again and his black shadow steps out. 

You’ve been crying. He can smell the salt, hear the sniffles, and your red face all but confirms it. He whispers your name, a hush, a prayer and you tense as though transfixed by the shape of a ghost– you weren’t expecting him out here. You turn, eyes brightening when they meet his, but then you see her in his arms and you whimper– out loud– strands of saliva shining as you open your mouth in distress. He thinks he can physically feel his heart break. 

You’re not looking at him, but her, cradled and asleep in his arms. Your expression isn’t one of jealousy, or rage, but total and utter confusion. Why? Why her? Why not me?

“Baby, let me fix this.” He’d do anything to help you stop crying, to change your mind that you in any way have ever been second to any other woman in his life. He turns to you and Chloe’s arm brushes your shoulder. She hovers, oblivious and nearly-unconscious, between the two of you. 

“Fix what, honey?” She mutters up to him and you jerk back, as if burned.

For the third time, the hotel door opens and Oliver nearly runs you over. You swipe at your face rapidly as Dieter takes several steps back down the hall. 

“Sorry, darling, sorry,” he murmurs, nearly tumbling over, would have fallen to the ground if you had not grabbed him at the last second to hold him upright. His eyes are bloodshot and the edge of his right nostril is bright red. “How are you? Are you leaving?” 

You glance at Dieter over his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s late and I’m tired.” 

“Oh, sweet thing, I promised you a good time, didn’t I? And I don’t think I’ve quite done that.” Oliver manages to right himself and presses a thin hand against your cheek. You close your eyes, as if soothed by the warmth, by a presence if not the right one, so terrified of being alone. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Dieter stands, transfixed and silent, as another man leads you down the hallway, away from him. He can’t even make a noise, something to jostle Oliver out of his single-mindedness, something to tell you that this isn’t what he wants – not by a long shot – something to make this feel less like an all-encompassing nightmare. 

But he doesn’t and Oliver pulls you farther and farther away. You look over your shoulder once, tears rimming the soft hairs at the cup of your eyes, and it’s that face, your face of grief and desperation, that kept him awake and eventually dragged him out of bed, long after Chloe had fallen asleep. 

And so, he sits in one of the black and white booths on the rooftop bar and smokes. 

The late summer wind is warm and it plays with his hair– the curls around his forehead, along the backs of his ears, across his neck. His hair is longer than it has been in years and the wind is gentle as it goes. It reminds him of the few fond memories of his mother. When he was young. When his father still loomed so large. 

He wants to lean into it, into the gentle touch of something bigger than himself, of something that promises to protect him, to keep him safe. But when he does, there’s nothing there.

So he goes on. He smokes and he sits and he waits. He waits for the sun and for clarity and for Chloe to wake up. For the day to start all over again. 

For you to come to your senses and run far, far away from him. 

Eight AM. 

Another hotel room, all furniture cleared out. The window curtains pulled shut, no light. 

There’s a rumble, a clutter of sound, as lights and cameras are posted and aimed. The drowsy drabble of crew going through the motions, half-asleep and not yet caffeinated. It’s slow, sleepy, eyes downcast and unfocused. Light will come eventually, with the rising sun, but it’s still dark. Still blue.

The woman powdering your face does one final touch up before closing her kit and leaving. She goes out the hotel room door, another spindle sliding back into its place in the machine. The rumble around you continues. 

He calls your name, gently, softly, quietly. You don’t turn.

He picks up the coffee he got you and approaches you. 

Up close, he can see you got about as much sleep as he did. 

“Thank you.” You say loudly as a PA crosses behind him. 

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you have a good time at the party?”

“Yeah. We did.” It feels like they’re talking in code, in a foreign language that doesn’t sit right in his mouth. He steps closer to you, his heart digging into his ribcage. “Can I talk to you privately, for a minute?”

He runs a fine line; he needs to sound as if he is asking a good friend, a coworker, for a favor, but he wants you to know that your face is shredding him down to his very last atom. You have to come with him.

And maybe, because you feel it too, because you can hear the finality in his voice, because at some point the pain and insanity have to end, you nod. You motion to the interviewer– gimme five – and distracted, he nods.

You’re out the door and into the hallway when he realizes you’ve both left your coffee cups behind. Strange how something so innocuous can feel so transparent. 

He shuts the door to the room used as the make-up room, the same one as his argument with Mark less than twenty-four hours ago. The lock clicks with a snik. 

It’s been days since you both slept well, or at all. Either kept up by each other or by thoughts of each other, plagued by images and daytime dreams of waking up next to the person you actually wanted, you look wrung out. The make-up artist had done well, but he knows you. He can see your exhaustion in a way that only someone who intimately knows you can see. It’s a tiredness that goes beyond sleep, one that cannot be soothed by physical rest. It’s a bruise that refuses to heal.

Still, there has to be some sort of build up, just so he has a chance to try and put everything he wants to say in some sort of coherent order.

“How was your night with Oliver?” He asks without malice, without judgment. He’s absolutely sure he doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t want to upset you. Ease you into the thing that’s sitting in the back of his mouth. 

But he can’t anticipate just what you’ve been holding back too. Your eyes flood with tears and you shakily sit down on the bed. He immediately sits down next to you, not caring if putting his hand on your back pissed you off, not caring if holding your hand in his lap is the wrong thing. He wanted to hold you in his arms last night in the hallway, this is the concession he makes with himself. 

“Dieter, how can you ask me that?” 

His heart knots up in his throat as his hand at your back goes up to your shoulders, gently massaging your neck. He can show emotional maturity, or at least try to.

“Baby, it’s okay if something happened with him.” He swears he tastes bile. No, it’s not okay. You aren’t to be touched by another man that isn’t him– he closes his eyes for a second, holding back grief and rage. 

With a watery sigh, you admit: “nothing happened with him. He passed out the second we got to my hotel room. But even if he didn’t . . .”

You lift your eyes to him, catching and holding his gaze, before looking back down at your entwined hands on the coverlet. Your makeup is only slightly smeared as though you forced your own desperation back down the well of sadness. 

“I didn’t fuck him, Dieter,” you say slowly, quietly, words warbled from your still-wet mouth. “But I should have . . . I really, really should have because I don’t know why I’m saving myself for you. You’ll never do the same for me.”

He’s shaking his head. No, no, you’re all wrong. You’ve got this all wrong.

“I didn’t touch her.” He focused on the curve of your knuckles. How your fingers manage to slot so perfectly in between his. “After . . . after the party, she was already asleep by the time I got us back to the room.”

“What about this morning? She must have been awake then.”

“She was,” he admits. He takes a deep breath. “But don’t you understand what I’m trying to say? Baby, I couldn’t. Can’t. Won’t ever do it again.”

Your breathing hitches, caught on every single one of your ribs as it lurches up your chest, fresh tears in your eyes. 

“No, Dieter, I don’t understand. What are you saying right now? What do you want from me?”

He slides onto his knees in front of you, palms shaking as they fold over your thighs. 

“She wants to have a baby. With me.” His voice is quiet, and he can only confess to your waist. Those curves he loves to run his fingers over, his nose across. You jerk as if to pull away, a snarl in your mouth, but he holds on. 

“Dieter, you bastard, I–,”

“But I’m going to say no.” 

He looks up at you. To your face so constricted in pain and heartbreak and a delirium that only comes when the days and nights have blurred together. You’re so tired.

And he’s done. At the end of his rope. 

He holds onto you as you struggle, try to fight him, try to fight the inevitable, but he holds on and he’s never letting go. 

“I’m divorcing her.” 

You still. Go slack. Soft in your disbelief. He’s failed you if this comes as a surprise. 

Something sharp and jagged splits apart in his throat, burning him, and he drops his gaze from your face before you have a chance to see the tears well up.

“When all of this is done . . . when everything is safe, I’m asking her for a divorce.” He tips his head into your lap. His voice is sodden, damp. “Natalie, I can’t be without you anymore. Can’t you see that?”

The back of his shirt, between his shoulders, goes wet when you press your face against him. You breathe through half-sobs. 

“Dieter, what are we going to do?” 

He shudders and smooths anxious circles into your hips. He can feel you shake above him. 

“Just wait, baby, just wait. It’ll all be over soon.”

Maybe, the kid was right.

Maybe, just maybe, despite what may come, despite the countless lives that are going to be ruined and the immeasurable pain coming . . .

Maybe, this is peace. 

[butmakeitgayblog]

Okay so I tried watching TLFOAH and throughout the first episode I got this really crappy vibe (not from the performances) and it didn't match with the book. At all. I watched through to the end and walked away for a bit. It it hit me what the problem was. Male director. This series is not really from the point of view of any one woman or her experiences or her pain. It took the apologetic parts of the novel and centered them by making the suffering of the women especially Alice seem incidental. Nobody's fault. Generational trauma. Repetative. I know not everyone will share that opinion but the fact that they put a totally unnecessary sex scene in (none of it from Alice's point of view she's an object) nullified the whole story for me. Alice is a pretty object through the whole thing. She's an object to her grandmother. She's an object to the men around her. She's an object to herself. The series doesn't reckon with any of that, it just gives a patent "happy" ending. This really seems to be the trajectory of ADC's career too. Pretty object, patented storytelling. This story really could have benefited from a woman director who gets it what a shame.

I tell ya, I read this about 4 times, each time myself walking away for a but to kind of think it over, and I'm still just not coming up with the same conclusions you are. First and foremost, that line about her career? Totally unnecessary. It was tasteless, and I'm not sure if it was just rage bait or some personal bone you have to pick with women being unapologetically attractive, but frankly you can leave that shit at the door because I'm not gonna entertain it. She's an actress. Actresses by and large get paid to be pretty. If you don't like that, fair enough, but that's something you need to take up with Hollywood casting, not actresses trying to make a living. She's going to take the roles she likes (such as this one, which also happens to be the best role of hers to date), but also the ones she gets cast in. It's not like every actress has the luxury of turning down jobs no matter what your personal preferences are. You talk about being reductive and objectification in the rest of your message, yet really treaded the line on some sexist/misogynist sounding bullshit right there. Be better. That said, I'm not flat out saying you are wrong in regards to this show, but I don't think I got that impression of it at all.

I mean, it was stated from the start that the show is about generational trauma. It's about how victims of abuse can end up falling into and continuing cycles of abuse. I can't side by side compare to the book, but taking the show at face value, that's exactly what it did, so I'm not entirely sure what it is that you wanted from it.

Fundamentally, I'm not even sure what you're talking about the suffering being incidental and not painted as anyone's fault? It was. In her childhood years, it was Clem. In her adult years, it was June and Dylan. There was no ambiguity there. They were all shown as manipulative people who hurt those around them. June's motives may have been different, but she was still shown in a harsh light. In fact something I appreciated was that they didn't write Clem any sort of boo-hoo-woe-is-me sad boy backstory as a kind of way to write off or pseudo-excuse why he did what he did. He was just an abuser. He liked to hurt people, particularly the women in his life, plain and simple. He abused and took advantage of Candy, then June, then Agnes and his daughter, and there was no attempt to try and soften him to pull away from that fact.

Another thing that I appreciated was the fact that they didn't focus the show on the abuse itself, but rather the damage that's left it's in its wake, and the healing process that needs to be done. I don't think that approach lends itself to rendering the trauma itself incidental, but rather it shifts the focus from the violent acts themselves and more toward the victims left to pick up the pieces and move on with their lives. Too often in these cases people get so caught up in the story of the abuser and the whys and the whats and the white noise that comes with those high octane emotions. But the reality is that those scars last long after the dust has settled, and unfortunately by then usually nobody's really paying attention to the victims anymore because it all becomes about the sensationalism of the violence and the abuser. (*Cough* D3pp and Heard *cough* Tory and Meg *cough*)

That's what I think, in part, this show was trying to portray.

Now, switching gears here, while I had my own issues with the sex scene, I do somewhat have to push back on what you're saying here because while I could've lived without it, I do see what it was saying. I don't think Alice was being used as just a visual sexual object, but rather it was giving insight into where she was emotionally. Only, what? Days prior? A week or two at most? She had found out the man she loved - her childhood best friend mind you - had fallen in love with someone else. And that's after months of thinking he'd just left her behind, only to find out it was her own grandmother who had betrayed her and sent him away "for her own good". The girl was emotionally flailing and desperately searching for some sort of connection. She was desperate to find solace and comfort and thus, glommed on to whoever made her feel something that wasn't pain and betrayal.

That's a very understandable human emotion given the situation.

Enter Dylan, shithead extraordinaire, who she immediately thinks is hot. They have an instant attraction and he pursues her just as hard as she pursues him, and in the unstable emotional space she was in, it's entirely understandable that she'd latch on to someone like him. He makes her feel wanted and desirable, he's a fresh start and a way to leave behind her past. It would be so easy to fall into someone like him when you're already looking for a place to land to begin with.

However, really look at that sex scene.

Really evaluate it.

She's not even looking at him.

She's not holding him close or wrapping her legs around him, there's no prolonged eye contact or heavy kissing. Nothing that speaks of actual intimacy. She's disconnected from him and the moment. To me that is Alice's point of view.

You may take that as her being portrayed as just a sex object, but in my opinion it spoke volumes about what was actually going on with her internally, even if she herself was not entirely aware of it (although tbh I think she was.) Even the upside down camera shot leaves the viewer feeling off kilter, almost as though it's mirroring just how off balance and desperate she is, right along with how everything between them was from the start.

I don't think it's fair to reduce Alice down to just an object because at no time did I get that impression of her at at all. She is young woman who has had everything in her life ripped away from her over and over again. She's not stupid, just unsure of exactly who she is. She thinks she's a murderer, she thinks everyone who has ever loved her either hurt her, left her, or betrayed her. But even through that, she's cunning, and clever, she thinks on her feet and has a will to keep going. Just because she makes some bad decisions, that doesn't negate all those character traits.

And again, they don't soften Dylan as a character. I've actually had A Lot of conversations about the portrayal of Dylan and I think I've landed somewhere around: I didn't need to know much more about him. Would I have liked to maybe see more of the building blocks of their relationship? Yes. But in the same breath I think that might've only given them space to try and paint him in a more forgivable light when that did not need to happen. Because in the end this story isn't about the abusers. It's about the women who have to escape them. It's about the quiet after the storm and what they do to pick up the pieces. And I liked that they didn't try and make these women, Alice included, into these fake af perfect renditions of what we think victims should look or act like. Sometimes they're messy, sometimes they make bad choices, sometimes they're strong and resilient fighters who never turn back. Sometimes they do. One is not more worthy of sympathy or safety over another. They make their own choices and they're still allowed to be humans who are imperfect and none of that somehow diminishes what it is they go through even after the abuse is over.

And honestly I'm not sure of you and I watched the same finale. The whole point of June's letters and the Flowers burning down her statue that Clem made was about Alice and June and all the other women taking back their power and their stories from those who hurt them. It was point blank saying that not only is this June giving Alice back that power she had so mistakenly taken away as a family member who loved her and thought she was doing best but had gotten it so so wrong, but also it was her passing the torch on to Alice. Giving her the ability to literally burn Clem and Dylan, even June herself if Alice so chooses, out of her life and start over from the ashes (the Phoenix metaphor from the very beginning.) To start writing her own story.

I don't actually see that as a happy ending per se, but more a hopeful one. So very few times in life are we given the chance to wrap up our traumas and wounds in a pretty bow and have everything feel perfectly resolved. More often than not the people who hurt us don't ever have to answer for it. More often than not the worst people in this world don't suffer any sort of repercussions for their actions or are made to pay a price. What usually happens is we're left with the scars and the frayed edges of what we went through, and we do our best just to keep going, trying to make peace with it through the pain and injustice. I feel like that was a much more realistic - albiet whimsical for narrative purposes - ending than a lot of other options that I'm sure got tossed around the writer's room.

Now all that being said, yeah I think it would've been interesting to see a woman's directorial take on it. I'm not sure the changes they would've made but for the sake of it, it would've been interesting. Knowing what's been said though, I feel like this director cared a lot about the story as it was, not just what he wanted it to be, and added elements that I loved that weren't in the original script (such as the ending fire that tied up all the symbolism.) But also considering the author herself was hands-on through the entire process and the fact that the showrunner and producer was a woman (actually there were 6 women executive producers on this as well 3 women screenwritersand 2 women editors) worked closely with Holly, I think what got into the show was more or less what the author wanted. I don't think the director skewed what the overall message was, at least not in the author's eyes it seems. So while I may read the book down the line and adjust my views accordingly, for now I'm going to trust that Holly Ringland and Sarah Lambert had a very steady hand on the reins of this thing.

[mayasdeluca]

I know we have our issues with Emily but I feel like some people are exagerating, if we don't see it on a emotional/fan way her choice to have Bailey for that scene made sense (She got the episode already outlined: Ross-Andy- Big Call-Ben). We can talk about not liking her stuff for quality but I feel like its too much to say things like "she's gonna let Carina out of her episode for sure" when she had Carina and even Marina on other stuff she wrote. Also, she doesn't direct or edit so the blames on how certain scenes were made or angles aren't on her.

I just feel like people are more on her than on let's say, Z because he had Marina outlined an CHOSED to wrote those ofensive lines. She's not my fave for other reasons but I don't feel like she has anything agaisn't Marina/Carina

I think you're giving her the benefit of the doubt and that's your opinion but I see it differently. In 3 of her 5 episodes, she has had no Carina and/or Marina. That's not nothing so of course people's initial reaction is going to be 'will she even put Carina in the episode'. I don't blame people for having that reaction...it's hard to trust some of these writers after certain things have happened and 5B is included in that so it's not like Zaiver is automatically in good graces either and he's not going to be my first choice ever but I can only speak for myself with that. He at least writes for Carina and Marina and kind of made up for it with 6x15. Even when he was approached with how the Carina/Jack convo in 6x07 was made more about Jack than Carina, he at least seemed to take the criticism that time and try to explain what he was trying to do (even if I didn't necessarily agree with it) whereas when you approach Emily with stuff, she immediately gets defensive and has attitude and puts it on the fandom/viewers. Like the whole situation with the double standard with wlw sex scenes and straight couple sex scenes...the way she was trying to make us the problem for how we viewed that was insanity. Yes it's not all on the writers because the network has a say and the directors do their angles and all of that but just the way she's always acted has personally been off putting to me.

As for the whole situation with Danielle's episode, you can't tell me that there wasn't one scene that she could have put Carina in that would have made sense. Of course Bailey should have been there for Ben's plot but that doesn't mean Carina couldn't also be working at the hospital and been included for part of it or could have been at the station at the beginning with Maya quickly or something at the end..it was completely disrespectful to have every cast member and several guest cast members involved and not Stefania when it was Danielle's first experience directing on the show and you'll never convince me otherwise.

[forkaround]

i don’t see why they would need pr? i mean all shows and movies need pr of course but even with the budget not being big it has lots of people watching and talking about it? am i wrong or is that not the most important thing? or will the writers and creators of it talking about it and hyping it up help the pr? ngl i don’t know how any of this works tho i thought pr was just meant to bring it viewers which it already has but i could be wrong? https://www.tumblr.com/forkaround/725704160869220352/the-only-friends-team-is-interacting-a-lot-with

Yes, people watching and talking is important and that's my point. The OF team starts responding to comments/theories or posts something (like the blacked out card very early on this year.) And people start making theories and analysis before the show is even out giving it publicity. It's honestly an interesting tactic that perhaps other productions might learn from.

Now tbh, I'm personally very interested in how this all unfolds. I've not been following everything to closely, I never follow promo material for any show from anywhere, just a post here and there and what people repost to tumblr, basically whatever reaches me through word of mouth. And that's why it stands out as odd to me. For other shows I've seen lesser activity and even people repost something it has to do with the actors, what they said, some details of the characters, etc. but not enough to piece together a plot or characters even if these theories end up wrong. On the other hand Only Friends has Jojo and other Behind The Scenes people responding to fans or, like a day or two ago, where someone from the crew said something about heartstopper and then Jojo said something too. Like how often have shows hinged on the behind the scenes members [director, writer, PD, etc.] instead of the actors. For most shows everywhere it's the actor that determines how many people show up, thus the concept of brand pairs is so popular. And no doubt people are here for FK, FB, NeoMark, but more than that fans are here because of Jojo. For the queer rep he has promised. I've seen more reposts of his tweets than any of the actors.

Now this very much has to do with money. OF does not seem to have it. But it does have a dedicated crew who would like to tell this story and prove that this story and stories like these are worth telling and people are invested in it. That people will show up to it. In my personal opinion I think the crew is more dedicated to it's success than the cast. Perhaps it has to do with contracts, perhaps money but overall, while I see the actors playing their role as actors when doing publicity, it's no different than they would for any other show, afaik.

The thing I'm most worried about and perhaps even the most dangerous thing with this approach is if the show does not deliver on what it's promised or if they do deliver on the scamming, cheating, sex but with a bad storyline or if the show loses steam towards the end which GMMTV shows are infamous for. I don't think it would take away from the show but I suspect people could use it as an excuse to not invest in similar shows. [There is a very slim chance of this happening. LBF it would require the show to fuck up so bad it doesn't even make any sense by the end. But thing is, fans have hyped it up in their heads so much that I imagine anything less would cause an uproar. Which would be really sad. But I've also seen this fandom stick to terrible storytelling and flat out refuse to see the issues when the word queer is slapped on something.]

Sorry this answer was so long. I'm just as interested in the show as I am in watching how it unfolds in the fandom and how people react to it so I have a lot of thoughts on the matter. It's the crew's strategy that has done the PR for the show.

[gogosingularity]

Namjoon Twin Flame

first of all, this post is not about who's his twin flame or if he has any or other similar questions... this post is about me taking a rather logical or critical approach to this topic. but if the end of this post disappoints you, I don't actually have made my mind fully about it yet but I still want to express my thoughts about it.

after scanning bts tarot and astrology, twin flame was mentioned many times. I didn't really pay attention to the details until this week.

so I re-read posts that talk about namjoon twin flame. I found various type of posts from serious and detailed to unhinged in the most odd almost destructive way and unhinged in the funniest way.

I think posts that mention namjoon and twin flame in the same post has been spread through the years and everywhere. one of the post I keep coming back to is this. particularly, I think we have similar view but different approach regarding this, that namjoon know about twin flame. this post was posted in 2020.

it's 2022 now and yeah, he knows.

here's my story.

watched Decision to Leave finally. I have wanted to watch it so bad after Park Chan-wook's answer at Cannes Film Festival 2022:

Q: why there isnt sex in decision to leave

PCW: if this is other directors' work you wouldnt ask this question, i think it isnt necessary for this movie, i said when i prepared i said i want to make an adult movie, someone said "there will be a lot of sex then? it strange when poeple think adult means sex, so i made the exact opposite of what people think when they thought of adult movie"

PCW is one of the recognized directors in South Korea and many of his works include sex scenes. many were surprised when they learned there's no sex scenes in this movie, so do I. and that become my main driving force to watch this movie.

the minute I finished watching it, I forgot about my initial driving force to watch this movie. when the credit titles started running, that's when I realize this movie's premise is, twin flame.

okay. let's stop talking about this movie too long (even if I want to). let's go back to talk about namjoon twin flame thing.

so namjoon himself has watched this movie many times. wonwoo from seventeen has also mentioned watching this movie. so far only these 2 kpop idols mentioned to have watched this movie. I found it interesting that only these 2 have watched this movie and rather funny that namjoon have watched it too many times.

I think namjoon can't hide his obsession. He's seriously knee-deep into this movie.

this movie itself is beautiful, like ✨beautiful✨, but I don't want to dig deeper because it deals with cheating issue which is painful to watch. well, again, let's focus on namjoon twin flame thing.

there are more stories regarding namjoon and this movie, and coverage by media as well.

it's also interesting how other members have attended movie red carpet thing this year, I think it's jin and v. and then there's namjoon. you can tell that in namjoon's case, he's genuinely into this movie and willing to do everything for this movie.

in conclusion, yes, he knows about twin flame and he's probably also down bad about twin flame thing. as in, thinking so hard if he has twin flame, and if he does, he'll ask himself whether he will ever meet that person, and so on.

personally, this namjoon twin flame topic gets even more interesting after watching decision to leave because it's giving that buzzfeed unresolved meme.

so, good luck namjoon!

[covenlegacy]

Hi. At first I want you guys to take cool approach before you'll judge what I'll write. I wondered will BTS spouses take benefits from being wives of famous husbands and do what they want behind the scenes? They're probably won't because members are shrewd and will look for someone even more rich. Idk, but I'd do this. Spending their money and making people jealous that my spouse is big persona but I'd be also looking for affection and sex somewhere else. Because, let's be real. They'll cheat on wives too or will change them on a younger versions after more years. I'm sure. Let's even take look at all those older, Hollywood actors who already have 3, 4th gf or wife who's younger. Typical for rich, white prick. I think in Korean version it's that they will stay in marriage even if it will be awful but they'll sleep around behind the scenes for ages. More likely to happen because it's Korean culture. Because culture in Korea is similar to those rules in times of our grandparents who remained in marriages even if it was practically long gone. I know that fans are told by most of readers that those marriages will be great but it's only for fans to not to attack readers. It made me kinda smile when you told one of anons that they'll all marry because of love.. And you don't seem someone who answers to please fans. People of such status like BTS will firstable pray to get someone with good image and good family background who won't take advantage of them financially. It's a top priority of such people. Then the top priority on a list is the same level of wealth and good looks. We're talking about people who gave up on dating to debut, who mostly have casual relationships for basic needs because of fame and fear of being used. Even Namjoon new songs hint about ,,not being able to be close enough to partner" Love will be on a far list when they'll decide to marry someone. Marriage is a contract between very rich people and especially in korean culture (that are very practical in love). I know what I'm talking about because I got familiar with korean culture but also rules in rich society. If people of such caliber would care about relationships and feelings, they wouldn't be on the top. You need to be calculated af. It's very lonely life for sure but I think that most of them don't complain if they've got everything available - including girls who wait with legs wide open for them 🤭 Some even lost a touch with reality like Taehyung/Jimin who thinks that he can seduce everyone or Jungkook who gets super shocked when someone isn't interested in him (Because why when he's the Jeykey 🤣) Men are funny.

Hi, let's chat. According to all your versions, they won't change wives. most likely. Even if they are rich. And even if the guys. Well… I have a question. And why do rich girls need someone from BTS? Something for one night? I understand what you wanted… Add bitterness to people, but don't confuse your finger with a hedgehog. They are artists, not businessmen. The same gene directors in their company earn more. They have no power. Reputation? Yes, they need to support it, but they do not need to "make deals". I'm talking about arranged marriages. And you won't believe it, all people (mostly) marry for love. And then they have a life together. And yes, that's what I assume it will be. They deserve at least one wonderful relationship.

Well. Yes, maybe I don't want to argue. Maybe they will cheat, what difference does it make to us? Maybe even girls will cheat. (I do not know why you think that only guys fuck (in principle)

Ironically, they will look for people who are of the same or higher income with them, those who doesn't even talk to people if it doesn't bring income (figuratively speaking), so that they don't being used. I wonder how it is?

Fear of being used… How can you be so sure? Maybe they don't have any fears of being used? They're very rich according to you. Such are not afraid that they will be used.

I do not know which song exactly you are talking about. It is logical that they are not about close love / marriage. After all, he wrote these songs about his years that have passed. And Big Hit didn't confirm that he was married or in a relationship. So yes…

Marriage is a union of two people. Not two rich people. Everyone (so far) can get married. (even though it's fucking expensive)

You won't believe it, I'm also familiar with Korean culture. Your rules of "rich society" (although this is high society) only apply to those wives who were "bought". She came to everything ready and endures for the sake of money. Marriage contracts, did you hear? It's a pretty common thing if both have something. And if you're talking about such marriages, then, in principle, "rich people" often have both he and she have a lover.

Yes, you need to be prudent, but it's enough not to confuse work with personal life. And since you mention Korean society in this way, then the conversation may be over, because then they will not choose anyone for themselves, their parents will choose their spouse.

In general, everything turned out to be quite blurry… Summing up, I still didn't understand what kind of essence you were trying to convey.

Why have they lost touch with reality? How do you know their abilities? There are people who can literally seduce anyone. This is in fact pure psychology, and charisma. And Jimin and Taehyung have enough charisma.

[tma293uploads]

Online Response #5

11/28/22

Similarities between I am Not Your Negro and Paris is Burning

Despite each documentary covering distinctly separate topics, I am Not Your Negro (a social critique film directed by Raoul Peck, using James Baldwin’s words as a framework/commentary to support the film’s organization and narrative), and Paris is Burning (a chronicle of NYC ball culture and the African-American, Latino, gay, and transgender communities involved in it) share an obvious similarity in that they both seek to provide insight, and perhaps even empowerment, for marginalized groups. Beyond the surface analysis of minorities in America, however, the two films also share some similarities in narrative structure and their nuanced portrayals of imagined communities.

I am not your Negro takes a video-essay approach: it explores the history of racism in the US through a series of “chapters,” following Baldwin’s recollections of civil rights leaders Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr, as well as his personal observations of American History. Paris is Burning is far from an essay–but it also provides structure by following the development of involved characters (in this case Pepper LaBeija, Dorian Corey, Angie Xtravaganza, and Willi Ninja, to name a few) while also separating scenes by vocabulary topics (e.g, voguing, houses, “mother,” “shade,” reading,” “legendary”).

Both films are portrayals of imagined communities. While Benedict Anderson uses the term “imagined communities” to discuss the spread of nationalism, this concept can be applied to communities of any size or self-identification. He describes nations as “imagined communities” because it allows us to identify with others in the nation-community, despite not ever knowing these other people as individuals. In I am not your Negro, Raoul Peck is speaking to African-Americans currently living in the United States. In Paris is Burning, Livingston observes, in particular, the ball culture of NYC—but in doing so, also provides insights on the larger US LGBT community as a whole. 

Each film director is also deliberate in their nuanced portrayal of the communities at hand. The directors advocate for the better treatment of each marginalized group, while also showing each community's internal challenges and controversies. They highlight human dignity, rather than choosing to pedestal or make their subjects “model minorities.” For example, in I am Not Your Negro, Baldwin takes no stance on which civil rights leaders had the “best” or “right” approach to eventual black liberation. In Paris is Burning, Livingston doesn’t shy away from the differing views on gender reassignment surgery, as well as the commonality (and consequences) of shoplifting and sex work within ball culture. 

Additionally, each film highlights the history and ongoing struggles of each group, while also acknowledging the relative, ever-changing structure of these communities. In Paris is Burning, Both Pepper and Dorian, long-time “legends” of the ball scene, comment on how ball culture has experienced significant changes during their involvement, and will continue to change as time progresses. In I am Not Your Negro, Baldwin talks about race as a social construct, and how the distinction of a “Negro”, in opposition to the “white” race, in itself will always be a barrier to full equality (e.g.: “What white people have to do is try to find out in their own hearts why it was necessary to have a ‘nigger’ in the first place. Because I am not a nigger, I am a man! But if you think I’m a nigger, it means you need him. [...] I am not the nigger here, and you the white people invented him, then you’ve got to find out why.”)

At the end of the day, any imagined community is well, imagined. Our social structures are only as objective and real as the people who collectively say they are so. However, as each film shows, the effects that imagined communities can have on the people involved in them—a sense of belonging, empowerment, and kinship—are undeniably real. 

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Goodbye Emmanuelle (Letterier, 1977)

In Goodbye Emmanuelle: Her Last Game of Death... Okay, that’s not the actual title, but I just can’t resist making a Bruceploitation joke. Technically Emmanuelle is a character in The Dragon Lives Again, even if she isn’t played by Sylvia Kristel there, so one could argue that Kristel is a Bruceploitation star by proxy. (No, the character does not kung fu fight in that movie, but does try to give somebody a sex-induced heart attack.) Normally this is the part where I go into a long-winded anecdote only tangentally related to the movie, but I’m just settling for Bruceploitation jokes this time. We’re having fun, right? Why is everybody leaving? Fine, I’ll talk about the actual movie.

This entry finds Emmanuelle and her husband living the good life in the Seychelles. One day when they’re gettin’ it on on the beach, she makes eye contact with a hunky director cruising by shirtless on a boat while filming something or other, and becomes hopelessly attracted to him. This causes Emmanuelle to reexamine her lifestyle choices and creates tension in her marriage. Will their (free) love survive the presence of this hunky shirtless director? Or is it doomed to fail like his shirt presumably was at keeping him clothed? I guess the biggest problem I have with this one is that it has the characters behave fundamentally differently than the previous movies. The second entry especially defines the relationship between Emmanuelle and her husband as being open, honest and encouraging of each others’ extracurricular activities. Having them suddenly grow jealous, possessive and monogamously inclined feels like a betrayal of who these characters are. Now obviously people can change and experience different emotions, but there needs to be a convincing instigating factor to sell this change, and this director fella, hunky as he is, ain’t it. He’s just a big pile of nothing, and it’s hard to see why Emmanuelle would go for him when his competition is the significantly more charismatic Umberto Orsini.

The featurette on the Kino Blu-ray has Kristel and others talking about this movie taking a more intellectual approach, and I don’t think the movie is better off, as what we get here is pretty rote stuff. In contrast, while the second movie is an almost plotless progression of softcore sex scenes, those help you feel the dynamic of their relationship much better than this one tells you about it. (The second movie is also substantially better smut, as this one has fewer and less imaginative sex scenes.) The movie does share some of the non-skeevy pleasures of the previous movies, in that it’s handsomely shot and takes place in an attractive setting, meaning it’s not unpleasant to veg out to even if the actual proceedings aren’t terribly interesting. Yet Seychelles is essentially a vacation spot here, as the movie fails to mine it for the kind of erotic charge that Bangkok and Hong Kong provided in the previous entries. (I guess that makes it less problematic, and but also less interesting. These movies are all about white people having sexual adventures in exotic locales, but this one seems least eager to own up to it.) There’s also the music by Serge Gainsbourg, who I imagine brought some of the same energy to composing this as Michael Scott did in that one episode when he wore the one braid in his hair after a Caribbean vacation. His main theme, replete with seductively breathy vocals by Jane Birkin, did get stuck in my head for the rest of the day, so I guess I liked it.

As you can deduce from the title, this marked the last entry where Kristel played the lead role. I don’t know how good the later entries are supposed to be, but I see one of them is directed by Walerian Borowczyk, so perhaps further exploration is warranted. (She admits she took cameos in the later entries because she needed money, which is refreshing in its honesty.) Now, aside from the resolution of her relationship troubles, the movie also waves goodbye to her in fairly literal terms. Or rather, she waves to us, multiple times, in slow motion. I don’t know, I thought it was cute.

[blogger360ncislarules]

EXCLUSIVE: Creatives behind Alice & Jack, which stars Domhnall Gleeson and Andrea Riseborough in the latter’s first role since the To Leslie controversy, have spotlighted how they wanted the Channel 4/Masterpiece TV series to feel like an indie film.

Speaking before Alice & Jack‘s TIFF premiere, Cannes Grand Prix-winning director Juho Kuosmanen and EP Richard Yee explained that the team behind the show, which is penned by Mad Men’s Victor Levin, virtually all came from the world of independent cinema.

The idea for a romantic series about an unbreakable bond between two people emerged from long conversations between Levin, Riseborough and Gleeson during the Covid-19 pandemic and had been percolating for years, with Channel 4 then Masterpiece subsequently boarding. Also starring Aisling Bea, Sunil Patel and Sex Education’s Aimee Lou Wood, Alice & Jack follows these two people over a lengthy period of time who are bound by a connection “so powerful nothing can break it,” but “life and emotional complexities get in the way,” according to the logline.

“It was key to us that we approached this more like a film than a TV series,” said Yee, exec producer and co-founder of I Am Ruth indie Me+You Productions. “We wanted to build it up to feel very authored and didn’t want to treat it as just another TV show.”

Yee compared the series in tone to BBC/Hulu smash Normal People, which catapulted Paul Mescal and Daisy Edgar-Jones to stardom and was also shot over a long period of time with indie film sensibilities.

“Alice & Jack is obviously its own thing but that slightly more adult approach to relationships is similar,” he added. “They are observationally driven and show the messiness and imperfections of life and love. People who have watched [Alice & Jack] have said they wish there were more ‘adult’ depictions of relationships like this out there, so it has definitely connected with a lot of people.”

Kuosmanen, Yee added, felt a good fit for the project as lead director due to his prior steering of “unconventional love stories” such as Cannes winner Compartment No. 6, and he was handed the first three episodes, with Lilting’s Hong Khaou directing the rest.

Finding the director

Finding Kuosmanen proved tricky. The creative team were impressed with his work on Compartment No. 6 but he barely had representation. Only a chance trip to Finland for Riseborough, where she spontaneously asked a driver if he knew Kuosmanen, reaped rewards, with the driver turning out to be one of the director’s former students.

“That is just the way things work in Finland – people say ‘It’s not a country it’s a club’,” joked Kuosmanen.

He said he was happy to take on the challenge of transposing an indie film sensibility to TV. “The main difference between cinema and TV is really how many pages per day you are shooting but on the other hand the passion and the ambition really felt like working on a film.”

A bigger challenge was entering the show further down the line than he normally would in a project, Kuosmanen explained, along with keeping the style and tone the same across all episodes including those directed by Khaou.

“I really like Hong as a director but our style is very different,” he added. “So when I was thinking about designing and blocking scenes, I wanted something that is not so much my style but won’t be too far from his. We had the same cinematographer and that helped.”

Both Yee and Kuosmanen talked up Gleeson and Riseborough’s on and off-screen chemistry and the pair have worked on multiple projects down the years including Never Let Me Go, where they played a couple, and Shadow Dancer, where they were siblings. This brought “a shared history to the characters,” according to Yee.

“I’m an actor-driven director and felt like the way they were talking about the show meant they were really in it and were willing to do a great job,” added Kuosmanen. “It’s easier to get inspired and excited about actors over a funny scriptwriter or great producer.”

‘To Leslie’ controversy

The months preceding Alice & Jack’s announcement saw Riseborough hit the headlines due to the To Leslie controversy, a movie for which she was Oscar-nominated following public support from huge stars such as Cate Blanchett, which generated a backlash.

Yee, however, rejected the notion that this acted as a distraction for Alice & Jack, adding: “Andrea has lots of different projects on the go. She was brillant in To Leslie and the more people get to see it the better because she is an amazing performer.”

Yesterday, Deadline revealed Masterpiece had boarded Alice & Jack in the U.S.

Alice & Jack is produced by Me+You along with Academy Award-nominated Groundswell Productions, De Maio Entertainment and Fremantle. Fremantle is distributing globally. Levin is creator and EP. Other EPs are Riseborough, Gleeson, Kuosmanen, Yee, Krishnendu Majumdar, Michael London, Shannon Gaulding, Lorenzo De Maio, Rebecca Dundon and Hilary Martin.

[denimbex1986]

'Time isn't a physical thing yet writer/director Andrew Haigh somehow weaves the mercurial essence of it into every single frame that makes up his fifth feature, All of Us Strangers (sixth if you count Looking: The Movie). In doing so, Haigh imbues the film with an ethereal quality that's just a step or two outside of our so-called objective reality.

But actually, that's what life can often be like as a queer person. In childhood, other kids often know you're different before you do, as if they've glimpsed your future first-hand, and for those who suppress their queerness growing up, it often takes years longer to come into your own.

Even then, once you've finally found some degree of healing, past traumas can pull you back in time just like that, transforming you once again into a younger, damaged version of yourself. (It doesn't help that coming out is a lifelong process, as if you're stuck in a not-so-funny '80s time-loop movie.)

In All of Us Strangers, a gay forty-something man named Adam is literally pulled back to these traumas when he meets his dead parents as they were, all those years ago before an accident took them away.

In coming out to these time-displaced figures – who both bring with them the baggage of AIDS-fuelled '80s hysteria – Andrew Scott's character almost becomes a child himself again, and in Haigh's real childhood home, no less.

Through adapting Taichi Yamada's novel Strangers (a book that's also a product of the '80s), Haigh bridges the gap between not just his past self and the present, but also two different eras of gay men through the intergenerational love story that unfolds between Adam and Harry (Paul Mescal), a younger man who accompanies him on this journey of healing.

Digital Spy caught up with Andrew Haigh to discuss coming-out scenes of a very different kind and the importance of crafting "a love letter to queer people of a certain generation". Along the way, we also talked the hidden significance of that sex scene and why casting Jamie Bell and Claire Foy was such a gamble.

All of Us Strangers plays so much with time – like most of your work does – and that feels intrinsically queer to me. As queer people, we don't always follow a traditional timeline, so I wondered if you could share how the film's shifting of time relates to the queerness that's integral to this story?

It's so interesting, because I feel like as a queer person, time is somehow different. As you say, your life seems to go on a different trajectory, and you don't have the sort of markers that other people have, although that is changing. I do think for younger queer people, it is a slightly different experience.

So I think it's just inherent in me as a person that I see time slightly differently, which is why it's always so interesting for me to play around with the idea of time.

All of my films, whether it's been Weekend, which is an obsession with 48 hours of someone's life, or 45 Years where something from the past has come back and disrupted the present, it just... I'm just so interested in the nature of time.

Casting Jamie Bell and Claire Foy as Andrew Scott's parents, even though they're actually younger than him, is such an interesting idea to play around with, both visually and emotionally. But were you ever apprehensive or worried that this approach might fall short or not work in the way you hoped it would?

Yeah, I was really worried about it [laughs]. I thought if that doesn't work, the film is terrible. People might laugh at it and be like, "This is just so stupid". The film works on an emotional level and I need that to be believable and real.

But then, weirdly, the minute I started filming with them, my fears went away, because I could see that it was working in the moment. And I could see that it was working emotionally.

Jamie and Claire do an incredible job at feeling like they are Andrew's parents. And he does feel like he is their child. So the nature of how they look sort of becomes irrelevant. Then I thought a lot about how, of course, that makes sense.

If we think about our parents in our minds, we don't necessarily think about what they look like now, if they're still around. We think about how they used to be. It's the same with anybody in our lives. You can think of a friend that you may not have been in contact with for 20-30 years. In your mind, they're exactly like they were back then. I think that is just the nature of our memory and how that works, so it does make sense for the film.

That moment when Adam gets into bed with his parents could have been particularly hard to pull off, but it works so beautifully within the context of the narrative.

I mean it could be ridiculous. He's wearing pyjamas that don't fit, and he's trying to get into bed with his parents. It could be absolutely ridiculous. But I think it speaks to this idea... Think about those pyjamas.

We all understand the desire to want to go back and feel that comfort sometimes that we felt as a child, but of course, it doesn't fit anymore. They're too tight and he isn't a child. He is an adult. But within all of us, we still have that element of being a child within our adult bodies, not just as children but our parents are the same. Everybody is the same. The child is always trapped within us.

That element really comes to the fore in the film's two coming out scenes when Adam reveals himself to parents who are technically younger than him. We've seen so many coming out stories over the years, but we've never seen anything like this before. Why do you think these two scenes have resonated in particular with so many fans of the film?

I mean, there's a number of things. People are always like, "Oh, we don't need more coming-out scenes. We've done all the coming-out scenes," but I think a lot of us, as queer people and gay people, are still affected by that, that feeling of having to come out and how terrifying, how horrendous that was for so many of us and the fear of having to say something to our parents, and they may reject us for that.

It was a very, very traumatic event for lots and lots of people, especially back in the '80s.

What this is about, in many ways, it's not just that he's coming out to his parents, but he's being reminded of how he used to feel back then. Because the parents reaction is how everybody felt about gay people back in the '80s. Or how most people felt. That was a very difficult time.

I wanted it to be sort of generous as well, even to the parents, because they lived in a period of time where they were just fed stories and lies, essentially, and fears about gay people. So I didn't want to vilify the parents either because that's the culture they lived in at the time.

It's so rare still to see the experiences of gay men Adam's age explored like this. Why would you say it's important that the stories of gay men who lived through the AIDS crisis continued to be centred this way on screen?

I think it's a really important generation for me as a queer storyteller. I wanted to say something about that generation, and it is a very specific generation. It is a generation of people who grew up as AIDS was decimating communities.

As young queer people in that time, we grew up surrounded by the idea that our sexuality was completely linked to death. I think it's very easy to forget how traumatic and horrendous that was, and that we are still living with the ramifications of that and the shame that went along with that.

The way that people treated us made us feel ashamed. It's not that we were inherently shameful because we were gay, but we were made to feel shamed. That has been a struggle that a lot of us have had to work through into our 40s and 50s and people into their 60s are still dealing with that, so I think it's a really important thing.

And also just to remind people that yes the world has changed, thank God, and everyone seems to have forgotten what it was like back then, but we haven't forgotten, even on an unconscious level. We can remember.

I always wanted it to be a love letter to queer people of a certain generation to say, "You know what? I know that it's still painful to think back at that time, and it is still painful. And I want us to realise that it's still painful and it's okay to to appreciate that sometimes."

I was born in the mid '80s, so I wasn't an adult during the height of the AIDS crisis, but I absolutely felt the ramifications of it still into the '90s and beyond, this idea that being gay is instantly connected to fear and death.

Yeah, the '90s wasn't a Golden Age either. Even into the late '90s, I remember there were debates going on in the House of Commons where people would still be saying that what we were doing was sinful and wrong and that we were gonna go to hell.

This is in the '90s. This is not the 1970s or 1980s. So I think that living in the '80s and '90s was not an easy time for queer people, definitely.

That sex scene early on where Harry licks cum off Adam's chest really struck me, because any kind of contact with bodily fluids like this would have once been horrifying to Adam. Did you consciously include this scene in relation to Adam's shame and him overcoming it?

Absolutely. That's the point of that shot to me. I think there's probably lots and lots of people who will not truly understand that at all. Of course, you will understand it because you understand it from a personal standpoint.

There are two gay people of a different generation and one has no fear in that moment of what he's doing. The other one is still resistant to that. That's years of something within his body telling him to be resistant. And he overcomes it because of course, you can overcome it. Lots of people do overcome that fear and shame and that is the point.

In that moment, there was a little bit of resistance, but the intimacy and the compassion of Harry in that moment allows him to overcome a sort of embedded fear.

Some people see the ending as very uplifting and hopeful while others find it sad. Obviously, tragic endings are embedded in the history of queer cinema, so did you feel pressure to try and avoid tropes like 'Bury Your Gays'?

I understand there was that trope. It's often the trope actually gets said more than the reality of that being an actual reality. It's like "Oh, you're gonna kill off all the gays" but actually, that's not always what happens.

There is a way in which this film could have ended on a very optimistic, joyful note. To me, that would have been a little bit simplistic in terms of what the story is trying to unpick and understand, which is about the actual nature, the essence of love, and what is important within that.

I also think that sometimes when you're telling queer stories, I want to dig a little bit deeper into the pain, into the reality of things. There you can get closer to the truth and I think that is important.

Let's go back to the '80s. A lot of people, a lot of gay, queer people, lost their partners young and lost a lot of people that were very, very important to them. But as that also happened, what I found so profoundly beautiful is, it sort of highlighted the idea of love in itself as being some kind of saviour and that it can save you and the importance of that love. After all, loss is still so fundamentally important.

Looking back, is there a particular example of queer TV or film that really resonated with a younger version of yourself?

It's a tricky one. I feel like in the end, it was probably watching Beautiful Thing, that Hettie Macdonald film.

I remember I was working in a cinema, the National Film Theatre, and it was the gay and lesbian film festival, I think, or it was a special screening of Beautiful Thing. There is a gay film, actually, that's very, very joyous. It's got so much joy in it. It ends on a really uplifting, joyful note.

I just remember sitting at the back as an usher, seeing that film, and I wasn't even out at that point. I was still in the closet. And I remember feeling like, "Ah, okay, there's a possibility out there for me". I remember loving that moment. It was both emotional and cathartic and joyous.

I still love that film. I watch that film now when they're running through the woods and The Mamas and the Papas are playing and they kiss against the tree. It's so beautiful. I adore it. So even though my films don't often end on moments of pure joy, I still like moments of pure joy [laughs].'

[amplesalty]

Halloween 2022 - Day 7 - Dracula’s Daughter (1936)

Dracula’s Daughter should hook up with the Son of Frankenstein, imagine the kids!

I was a little neglectful to the classic Monsters last year, going with the KARLOFF/Lugosi ‘Invisible Ray’ from the Golden age, with a little Frankenstein 94 thrown in but not nothing from the Universal Classic Monsters era. I had wrapped up my journeys through the Frankenstein Legacy Collection back in 2020 so now it’s time to break out the Dracula one. This promises to be a much shorter affair since I’ve obviously already covered Dracula along with the latter half of the box set in House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. These box sets really are kind of redundant in that sense, I own those movies times each between the different sets. Theoretically I could sell all those sets and put the money towards the more comprehensive Universal set that has 30 movies in it but that thing is over £100, not to mention it’s probably out of print at this point and therefore likely goes for even more. They’re doing 4K releases for some of the Monsters too, another round is due out next week apparently including the Claude Reigns Phantom and Bride of Frankenstein. I know I probably said the same about the original blu-ray releases but how much are you really gaining from seeing these in 4K?

Shall we do our yearly check in on the Dark Universe before we start proper? We might as well as there’s not much to update on, Renfield is due out next year but otherwise I think the only other things vaguely on the horizon are The Invisible Woman and a possible sequel to The Invisible Man from 2020. I keep forgetting that Nic Cage is playing Dracula in that Renfield movie so that has the potential to be fun.

As for Dracula’s Daughter, talk about your sequels that don’t skip a beat, this thing picks up right after the original with the police walking into Dracula’s castle to find a dead Renfield at the foot of the stairs and Van Helsing pretty much walking out dusting his hands off as a job well done. The guy doesn’t even deny putting a stake through Dracula’s heart, pleading the Bob Marley defence of denying one murder by admitting to another one.

And from there we get this weird sort of dual story play out where we have Van Helsing facing murder charges on the one hand and, on the other, the sudden appearance of a glamourous European woman who has a keen interest in the late Count’s body. There seems to be a lot of talk about lesbian imagery with this character but I don’t really see it. Maybe it’s just something I don’t notice but maybe because they were so under represented for so long they just started to try and find that representation. Or maybe because of legal or moral limitations in place at these times, people just suspect there’s a lot more subtext going on where writers/directors were trying to mask their true intentions enough to not make it obvious but were still putting it out there.

Like there’s scenes where the eponymous Dracula’s Daughter will skulk around the darkened streets of London looking for her next prey, which has been compared to her prowling for sex. Or how she enlists a young lady to come model for her, only to feed on her. Maybe a female vampire is going to prefer picking young women because, if they have to suck the blood of their victims to help maintain their youthful good looks, wouldn’t it make sense to target other young attractive women? And also, women are going to be much more likely to trust random women approaching them in the street rather than some random guy.

The intro to the movie does have what seems to be a classic Universal trope of making the policemen into bumbling idiots, with this one guy in particular looking shocked and dumbfounded by everything that’s going on with this all this talk about vampires. You wanna talk about sub-text, what was Universals agenda against the police to always portray them in this way? I thought our generation harboured a lot of anti police sentiments but these guys were trailblazers in the field. Though this is nothing near on the same level as that near catatonic guy in The Invisible Man.

Drac’s little girl is out to try and cure her own vampirism and even tries to enlist psychiatrist, Dr Jeffrey Garth to help, a man who is also serving to help Van Helsing’s criminal defence so there’s a link between the two sides of the story. Luckily she doesn’t come across nearly as moping or annoying as Larry Talbot in the Wolfman movies.

Dr Garth and his assistant, Janet, have this playful banter throughout the movie, it never seems to be a romantic relationship between the two but there does appear to be a hint of jealousy on Janet’s part when she takes objection to this woman coming into Garth’s life, going so far to prank call him when he visits the Countess. This just results in him getting someone to prank call her back every half hour throughout the night to ensure she doesn’t get any sleep. Very childish behaviour from what is meant to be a very well respected doctor.

I remember this coming up in The Thing from Another World as well, just this fast talking back and forth between characters that seems to come up a lot in movies of that time but just strikes me as odd when it comes up in horror movies. It throws off the tone a bit but I suppose on the other hand you could argue that it normalises things and that perhaps enhances the horror for it to happen in a scenario that is so unsuspecting.

Overall, the movie is okay but nothing amazing. Dracula isn’t even one of my favourites but this is a step down from that, you still have Edward Van Sloan as Van Helsing but you really do miss those big performances from the likes of Lugosi and Dwight Frye. The Countess does manage to sneak in the classic ‘I never drink wine’ line but it comes across a little half hearted.