I feel like the Grand Finale of Rebels, though, has to be the “first victory” that the Rebellion scores. It would be highly effective for the show, because you could have Leia and her ship being the one that retrieves the plans during the battle—but she’s the only one you would be able to 100% guarantee success at survival. Everyone else’s fates would be up in the air, and thus, tension. 

Also, a series finale of a climactic battle with Rebel warships, Star Destroyers, and Darth Vader himself. And if the Rebels series ended in the hours before the Original Trilogy began…it would be too magnificent. I guarantee that at 10:00 PM on that Monday night, thousands of fans would be fumbling for their DVDs just to see what happened next. 

Though there would need to be some denouement, I guess…hm…

The Other Beatrice; a mix for beatrice baudelaire the second, based on the beatrice letters: listen / download 

songs for a tale of confusion and missed connections; of a desperate niece writing to an unresponsive uncle; of an orphaned girl searching for the adoptive family she lost at sea - digging for answers in the ruin of a secret organisation turned to schism and smoke. 

i. paper thoughts laura elizabeth hughes ii. youth daughter iii. a place called home kim richey iv. to whom it may concern the civil wars v. the disappearance of the girl phildel vi. night bus lucy rose vii. tomorrow daughter viii. strong london grammar ix. hometown glory adele x. take me away gabrielle aplin xi. sleeper train paper aeroplanes xii. smoke sarah fimn xiii. no, i don’t remember anna ternheim xiv. sights london grammar xv. the mirror mary timony xvi. nostalgia emily barker & the red clay halo xvii. hope in the air laura marling xviii. apres moi regina spektor 

{ Denouement }

Petyr’s index finger idly circled the rim of his cup, quietly eying the Lord Hardyng from across the dinner table’s spread. The Vale had been starving for months now, and still the Eyrie found itself flush with rich meats and wine; a fact Hardyng seemed to neither notice nor care.

It was, at first, how the Lord Baelish had ingratiated himself upon the young Ser. With strokes of a quill Petyr quelled rebellious hill tribes of the Vale, enlisted half the richest men in eastern shore mercantilism to an illegal trading cabal which strangled the price of certain needful things and froze the price of others throughout half the realm – all while shorting the crown its purse in taxed silvers and coppers. Petyr was a master at this. The Eyrie and its rulers slowly became wealthier, not that Sansa would notice any of this, determined only to find the fly in every pot of ointment, and a starving wretch in every feast. Too concerned with all others to be happy about what she had for herself. But the young Hardyng found himself aback before the Littlefinger genius for stags and dragons.

Now, however? Marriage, the tragic death of Lord Robert, and Lordship bestowed to the young falcon had changed things tremendously. Harrold Hardyng, Lord of the Eyrie, conqueror of the North, felt far different about having Petyr Baelish as a constant presence than Harrold Hardyng, young knight of the Vale did. Regardless of the bounty the Petyr’s labors produced.

Suggestions that the party vacate the Vale to make their way North had, to Harry, seemed unsavory, and gone both unanswered and unheeded. Petyr grew increasingly unimpressed with the man with each passing day. The feeling was mutual by Harry’s perspective.

So when it was that the Lord Hardyng arose from his seat, to kiss his wife upon the head, announcing he was retiring to his bedchambers, Petyr felt entirely satisfied. He bowed his farewell in brief and proper form, and watched the man retreat, too much wine on his breath and too much food in his belly. Petyr’s eyes swept to Sansa. The Lady Sansa. His Sansa.

Entirely satisfied.

“Will you not also be long joining him, my Lady?” Petyr inquired, a thin smile on his lips, indicative of nothing, before he tipped the cup to his lips and partook of wine, his eyes never leaving her.


I cannot write a poem for you, and yet
I’ve written dozens of drafts in vain
attempt to capture your form,
to distill your essence
with efficiency and eloquence.

If I had every word
in every language, every song
in every tongue, I feel
they’d all fall short somehow
when tasked to describe

the pulse of dew on a petal,
or the rasp of tongue
across skin. Where I, with
shortened breath would beg
forgiveness for muted memory

held forth as shattered glass —
a running pain-cold remnant
piercing soft and fluid
down the center of marble stairs.
How I’ve never felt

so together; how I’ve never been
more alone.

© 2014 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller


“What d’you think, Freddie? Should I give it a go?” 1.6k, post-2x08. Spoilers for the finale. Hardy/Ellie I suppose, but not really any more or less shippy than the show itself. Reunion fic of a sort. Also on AO3.

The trial ends, the Sandbrook case closes, and just like that, the dust in Ellie Miller’s whirlwind life begins to settle.

It takes only a gentle tug on a few strings to get her old job back, and then she’s DS Miller again, investigating petty theft, teenage vandalism and minor drug charges. It’s a bit like going from a thousand-piece puzzle of fall foliage to one of Fred’s picture books, and she wonders if a time will come when she itches to do more. For now, though, she focuses on the welcome relief not having to think about dead children or missing bodies.

On Ellie’s first day back in the office, the new DI brings in a box of donuts for everyone to share. As she carries a Boston creme to her desk, she finds herself thinking wistfully of salad.

Remarkably, the Latimers and the Millers grow closer than ever, driven by defiance and a common grief. Beth stands at the centre of it like the force of gravity, her unbridled fury turning into a righteous determination to thrive, as though being happy is the greatest act of spite she can think of in an uncaring universe.

Ellie thinks Beth must be the strongest person she’ll ever meet.

There’s still Joe, looming like a storm cloud on the far horizon. She changes every lock in the house and gets new, unlisted phone numbers for her and Tom. Most days, Ellie can convince herself that the threat of her, and Mark, and Beth will be enough to keep him at bay. On the other days, she sleeps lightly, and wonders about divorces, custody battles, and the safety of the children in Sheffield.

Slowly, improbably, life goes on.

Keep reading

do you ever just go back and read the endings of your favorite fics

Wrapping It All Up

Creating a satisfying, compelling, believable ending to your story that winds every subplot and character arc snugly into the main plot is no easy task. 

When ending your story…

Was there an ultimate confrontation between the antagonist and protagonist? There should be. This is mandatory.

Is the conflict resolved? In the hero’s favor or the villain’s favor?

What character transformations occurred? After all that has happened in your story, your main character shouldn’t be the same from the beginning to the end. Show how they have transformed, what they have learned, and how their life will now be different.

What were the costs of the final outcome of your story? (What did the protagonist lose in order to reach their plot’s conclusion?)

Is every question and plot point answered? Don’t leave gaping plot holes in your story. If the book begins with Sammy wondering who his real father is, but the main plot is actually about him falling in love, don’t forget to conclude in some way his search for his true father.

Is the conclusion logical? Even if you’re writing a story flooded with magic and fantasy, your reader should be able to shut the book with some sense of satisfaction that your story has ended realistically. Your protagonist didn’t win “just because.” Don’t cheat and decide that everything worked out fine and everyone lived happily ever after, because you couldn’t come up with anything better. Use plot twists and surprises, but don’t leave your readers scratching their heads at the end of your story and saying, “Um, what?” 

Is your reader both surprised and satisfied? Going off of a logical conclusion, adding plot twists is fantastic, but you want them to leave the book with a sense of satisfaction about the resolution to your story. Read this.

Was the end “hard won”? Make sure it was difficult for your main character to reach their goal. There should be a moment of despair or absolute frustration in your novel, where your protagonist is almost defeated.

Can your reader catch their breath? Don’t end right at the break of the climax. Imagine if The Lord of the Rings ended right when Frodo destroyed the ring. Give your reader a few more pages, at least, to wrap up the entirety of the story and say farewell to characters they’ve come to love.

Is the ending long enough? Don’t sum everything up in a few short paragraphs to end the story. That’s as bad as info-dumping your character’s entire backstory into the first paragraph of your book. Your readers have been waiting eagerly for your story to wrap up, for the climbing tension to be resolved. Treat them with your ending. 

Is your ending too long? Don’t allow the cheesy self-reflection drag on for too long, or you’ll have your reader finishing the book with eye rolls. You want the ending to impact your audience, not pound a message into them.

Did the book actually end? No matter if you’re writing a sequel (or a trilogy), your story needs to have a beginning, middle, and an end. Think about each Harry Potter book and each Hunger Games book. Your reader will have put however many hours of their lives wondering about what will happen to your characters. For a series, you may need to leave on a cliff hanger, but answer at least some of the questions. Resolve your story, even if you leave readers wanting more.

this non-spoilery article really captures how i feel (still am feeling, like 24 hours after watching) about the latest Cucumber episode:

The latest episode, which broadcast on Thursday night, with its shocking, hammer-blow denouement, has proved a game-changer. Enough so we might adopt “doing a Cucumber” as the best way to describe the moment a show you think you’ve got a handle on, suddenly turns into something altogether different, more provocative, and emotionally overwhelming. Episode six of Cucumber was the most sublime yet devastating hour of TV I’ve watched in a long, long time.

[…] if there was some way for the broadcaster to alert anyone who cares about good dramas to the fact that this week’s episode of Cucumber is a stunning piece of work, they really should. Perhaps a Breaking News alert in the middle of Hollyoaks, or something.

   To say that he wasn’t there to recollect a vague memory of her would be a lie. It was almost as if his mind worked on autopilot, dragging him toward the vivid reality of nearest thought on mind due to incessant pondering about what happened just a few days ago. It was true he was bound to disappear for twenty-four hours due to a bet that had an awkward finale, but 24 transformed into 48, and so on, shadows being more comfortable than dealing with the truth. 

    Until now.

    The smell of coffee entered nostrils easily, his seclusion within work coming to a denouement for the meantime whilst legs automatically dragged him to the shop where he once met her. Gabriel was going with the simple of excuse of getting a cup of java when, really, there was that hopeful fragment of seeing Isabel again, right where her feet stumbled with a mouse——though he was trying his best to forget about that, to repeat and repeat and repeat within his mind that everything was just thin air,  n o t h i n g  after it was lived. Forget about it, forget about it, just go to the counter, don’t look around you, don’t search——

    But eyes betrayed the rest of senses as he saw familiar silhouette, a thick swallow being ensued. There she was, right where concealed optimism wanted her to be. However, before she could see him staring, he looked to the other side, hands going in pockets as he pretended to be focused on the menu glued to wall, nothing else.

The Asphalt Jungle (1950)

Johnny Hyde lobbied hard to get Marilyn a break in this landmark caper movie, celebrated among other things for being the first ever told from the criminal’s point of view. Written and directed by John Huston, The Asphalt Jungle received great critical acclaim and four Academy Award nominations. 

Hyde was right to insist: the role was made for Marilyn. In the novel on which the movie was based, author W.R. Burnett describes the Angela Phinlay character as “voluptuously made; and there was something about her walk - something lazy, careless, and insolently assured - that was impossible to ignore.” Marilyn acquitted herself admirably in her three brief scenes, bringing poise and confidence to the role of the carnal yet girlishly vulnerable mistress. In her final scene, shot in only two takes, she runs through a gamut of emotions as her loyalty unravels under police interrogation, causing the film’s tragic denouement. 

Marilyn always considered this to be one of her finest performances, and it was certainly the first of which she felt she could be proud. After the wrap on her last scene, she said to drama coach Natasha Lytess, “I don’t know what I did, but I do know it felt wonderful.”

The behind-the-scenes networking of smitten agent Hyde was in fact just one of the reasons why Marilyn landed the role of Angela Phinlay. There are several stories about exactly how it all happened over the two auditions it took. One story runs that at the first call Marilyn turned up in a padded bra. John Huston is reputed to have reached into her sweater, pulled out the falsies and said, “You’ve got the part, Marilyn.” In Huston’s own autobiography he states, “Marilyn didn’t get the part because of Johnny Hyde. She got it because she was damned good.”

This, however, is most probably apocryphal, and it certainly clashes with Marilyn’s recollection a few years later of her second performance before the renowned director: “When I first read for him I was so scared I shook. I’d studied my lines all night but when I came in to read I just couldn’t relax. He asked me to sit down but there were only straight-backed chairs all around the room so I asked him if I could sit on the floor - just to get comfortable. But I was still nervous so I asked if I could take off my shoes. ‘Anything, anything,’ he said. Then I read for him - and I was sure I was awful - but before I had a chance to say anything he kind of smiled and said I had the part, all right. Then he said I’d probably turn into a very good actress - which is really what I want to be.”

At least one biographer, however, considers that Marilyn got the part not because of her audition and not because of Hyde’s solicitation, but because Huston was subjected to a piece of “friendly” blackmail. Huston, a keen horseman, had been stabling his horses on a ranch belonging to John Carroll and Lucille Ryman, who the year before had helped struggling starley Marilyn financially and with contacts. As Huston had fallen seriously in arrears with his payments, Ryman threatened to sell his stallions to liquidate the debt…unless he gave Marilyn the part.

First husband James Dougherty got a close look at how far his wife had come after leaving him, when he was posted with fellow police officers to restrain fans outside the theater where The Asphalt Jungle premiered.

- The Marilyn Encyclopedia by Adam Victor.