#'hope' more like anticipation for the next book and knowing ill get to materially see it

[femmefaggot]

and yknow what i hope the torture fucking hurts at this point

[butterbeerblurbs]

feeling heavy in the strongest arms (f.w.)

💌 : today, your heart felt exceptionally heavy. fred holds your heart gently in his hands, willing to keep you in his arms even if he doesn’t know why you feel that way. as long as it makes you feel a little bit better, that was all fred was willing to take.

📝 word count: 1,786 words / fred weasley x reader / 🌸 ☔️ pretty sad feels but somewhat comforting...? idek

💬: i just pictured, this could be one of the way fred could comfort y/n when she’s feeling upset and there’s no direct reasoning (also bc i see fred as someone who’s sensible to someone’s emotions, especially someone he’s infatuated with ;w;)

from the moment fred’s eyes landed on you in the great hall to start off his morning, something didn’t quite sit right. sure, you gave him the usual smile that sends the tingles down his spine and the burst of warmth gently combusts within when he’s able to spare you a kiss on your cheek as you take your spot next to him but... still, something’s not right.

“g’morning pretty lady,” fred tries the playful method and anticipates for the usual look of “fake” disgust. it doesn’t happen. instead he gets a small smile, a chuckle, even though he feels like that’s the last thing you want to be doing. 

“good morning, freddie,”

yet, fred doesn’t think it’s all that good.

he lets it slide, deciding not to bring it up in the morning when... maybe, just maybe, you didn’t sleep well? he’s hoping for that to be the case (because then it’s another excuse to take a nap together) but... no. when hermione asks if you slept well, you said you slept like a baby. you slept through angelina’s bloody snoring. that only meant you did sleep well.

if it’s not sleep then... hm... could it be-”oi, what are you doing? thinking about eating your own girlfriend for breakfast instead of what’s in front of you?”

fred turns to a mirror of himself, raising a brow with a smirk, “do you really want me to answer that, georgie?”

george gags and looks away, “merlin, you’re going to make me vomit out what i just ate,”

fred hears your voice laughing at what you’ve managed to hear between him and his twin. but when he glances back and locks eyes with you for a moment, he still doesn’t buy that everything’s alright.

//

said ginger boy is still confused as the day continues.

he’s had hours to ponder upon this and the more he observes from you, the more confused he gets. his answers doesn’t match up with the way you were acting (yes, he has been staring at you for a rather long time than doing actual work). it’s like... you were fine? but not really? fine to the eyes of the public, tip-top shape but... nothing about you gets past fred weasley.

absolutely nothing. not when he’s spent days upon months that gathered into the years of learning about you, still surprising himself how much he’s able to love you more each day.

this... this was new.

he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. he’ll continue thinking about it if it wasn’t for-”mr. weasley, maybe you’ll be able to produce something of worth if you actually did the work,” snape’s voice stiffen’s fred’s spine, and snape’s hand physically pushes the nape of his neck down to get to work.

he’ll get down to this soon enough... after potion’s, it seems.

//

surprisingly, fred manages to complete the task just in time for snape to barely let him scrape out of his classroom. fred anticipates he’ll have to rush after you as he collects his things but-”you alright, freddie?”

that voice makes him almost drop his book, missing his bag by an inch as he snaps his head towards the source of who that voice belonged to.

he gapes when you’re standing in front of him with a small smile, books to your chest and bag over your shoulder. you came to check up on him. even when it seems like the world has been unfairly cruel to you, you, still proved the world wrong with such kindness fred thinks you must be an actual angel.

“y-y/n,” he gapes, and that’s starting to-”you’re scaring me, freddie, are you alright?”

he runs his hand through his hair and stares at you, bewildered. however, he is thankful that the room is now empty as the remaining couple of students flutter out. “how?”

he hates how you look genuinely confused as your brows knit together, a pout forming whenever you felt unsure about something.

“h-how what?”

“how could you ask me that? how?” he shoves his book into his bag and leaves it on the stool, now both hands freely extending towards you to give you a gentle shake by your sides, “how can you ask me that when you’re the one not feeling okay?”

like a switch, fred watches as the facade you’ve been putting up all morning seems to crumble. he notices it starts with your breath hitching, which then slowly trails off to how your eyes appear sharp, suddenly blurry with the tell-tales of tears glassing over. fred could see himself frowning in them, and he absolutely hates the gut-wrenching feeling that swallows him whole.

even when you’re about to cry, there’s still a smile on your face.

“i-i can’t seem to hide anything from you, huh fred weasley?”

fred takes this moment to slip your books past your hands, nudging them onto the table. you allow your bag to slip from your shoulders as he tries to keep you close. and he doesn’t know if he’s doing that for your sake, or his.

“i... i feel heavy, freddie,” your voice barely makes it out to him, but it does. and each word is breaking his heart as he watches you try to explain your feelings that you weren’t completely sure of yourself. “it’s like... there’s a weight on my heart, pressing me down and i-”you lick your lips, tasting the saltiness trickling down you cheeks-”-i... feel so heavy, my heart feels so heavy,” you’re clutching onto the fabric of your robe directly above your heart, “it hurts so much, and i don’t even know why,” your voice is strained, stretched out across acres of trying to figure out why you feel like this but to no avail.

“i was feeling okay when i woke up this morning,” your lips are quivering at this point, sniffing as the tears can’t seem to stop, “why does it feel like my world has turned upside down all of a sudden?” fred knows you’re not asking him for the answer, rather, if there was a cruel higher up that was playing mind games with you, that was surely where your questions were directed to.

“i-i have everything, maybe not everything entirely but i should be happy,” you breathed in and out heavily, feeling your knees shaking, “and i am, genuinely am, but today,” fred doesn’t know since when you were out of breath, “m-my heart aches so much,”

fred flinches when you blink up to him, tears falling like your heart at the unexplainable weight that made its way without you noticing. he holds you tight, almost crushing you as he keeps you close to him like it’s the only thing he knows how to comfort you now. your hands don’t even make it around him, only going so far up to his waist to clutch onto the material of his robe hanging by his sides. he closes his eyes and gently strokes the back of your head, attempting to ease your sobs against his chest. he’ll willingly soak all of your tears, sadness, any ill feelings if he could. but knowing he can’t, if this could make you a little bit better or ease just a portion of the weight you were feeling, that’s as much as he’s grateful for.

it feels like an eternity ticked by but in reality it’s a mere ten minutes. your erratic breathing has calmed down from the nosedive of emotions you displayed that it’s starting to make you blush a little. fred only notices this when you’ve gone extremely quiet. he leans back just a little to peek at you, not only with red puffy eyes but also red cheeks.

“what’s the matter, love?” he asks softly, dipping down to get a glance at your eyes that seem too shy to meet with his now.

“i... i’m sorry, this was a lot to take in and... i just realised how much it was,” your tone was different this time. it registered to fred that... this was a tone he recognized. one of your hands remain holding to his robe, while the other reaching up to lightly punch his chest.

it may sound ridiculous but fred could hear yourself coming back. he could feel the aura around your changing.

“don’t tell me you’re sorry, y/n. you’re absolutely mad if you feel that now,” he raises a brow at you, “after all you just said? and cried? are you crazy?”

that makes you giggle - a genuine one, fred thinks - hands gingerly crawling around him to finally return the long-awaited hug.

“well... it’s... it’s not everyday you suddenly have to deal with your girlfriend bursting into tears and have no specific reason for it,” your voice is still raspy and sore from all the crying, but fred could pick out the syllables that gesture to him sonically that you were feeling better.

“i’d gladly take all of that in if it means i’m helping you overcome it,” he proudly puffs his chest out with that grin on his face but it also makes your heart swell at how much love you could feel he’s pouring just from the way he’s staring at you.

“thank you, freddie,” you lean forward to tuck yourself into his embrace, cheek against his chest. you can hear him smile as he squeezes you, then sway your bodies idly as he hums back, “don’t need to thank me, love,”

as the pair of you stay like that in silence (only for a few more minutes before you’d have to hurry along for the day), it’s like there’s an understanding that fred can’t possibly lift the weight up entirely for you. these were your emotions, after all.

but that doesn’t mean fred can’t stay with you as you get through them.

hand in hand, chest to chest.

((”promise if you want to cry, you’ll come to me? or at least, come see me after?” fred didn’t give you room to answer as he squishes your cheeks, towering over you with concerned eyes even though you're laughing, “yes, love? is that a yes? if you’re laughing like a goddess sent from above, i’ll take that as a yes!”

he was having a bit of trouble trying to push your cheeks together when you were grinning so wide, it’s making his heart do somersaults. not even the groaning of people at the common room could divert him away. (the both of you were, afterall, just mere steps away from them when you’re just by the stairs)

“yes, freddie, promise.”

“atta girl.” he winks, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he watches you go up to your room.))

[apothecarinomicon]

Spring week 1 part 1

I’m not quite sure how to begin.

I’m not typically one for journaling but it would appear to be part of the gig, as it were. I found this book—the one I’m writing in, heavy and musty and leather-bound—sitting on the table when I arrived, open to a blank page. There are at least a thousand pages filled before it, and no matter how many blank pages I flip past this one I can’t reach the back cover without closing the book entirely.

Mòrag told me things that present themselves for investigation here tend to be worth exploring, and if my gut tells me what’s right not to stray from its guidance. But I’m getting ahead of myself—you don’t even know who I am.

My name is Fionn Gill, and I’m a witch. I know, I know, but I don’t get into all that “warlock” “wizard” shit. It’s just a way to separate and belittle the same practice based solely on the gender of the practitioner, in my opinion. My specialty lies in potion-making, though I’m not very experienced. I’ve really only just finished my training—I’m from Huntsmanland and they’re not nearly as magically-inclined there as they are in High Rannoc. This is the first part of the country I’ve visited other than my tutor’s homestead and I must say, it hasn’t made the most stellar impression.

My tutor Edith received a letter stating that services would be required in the town of Greenmoor, and since the letter didn’t specify her services, she sent me to take care of it. I don’t know if she expected it to be an indefinite position, but here we are.

I didn’t bring a lot with me—just enough for the journey. It was about all I could carry walking. I arrived in Greenmoor with just about the clothes on my back, hoping they had an apothecary of their own so I could get this over with.

I’ve never really been one for small towns, and nor do they have much love for me. I’ve always thought I was meant for adventure—movement, action, peril, all of it. Small town life just feels so… stagnant. Nothing changes, no one grows or changes or has anything interesting to talk about. It’s enough to drive you mad.

Not to mention the natural suspicion of outsiders. I could see it on Mòrag McKinney’s face, even as she greeted me at the edge of town in her official capacity as mayor. Her hair was done up in a huge bun of thick braids on top of her head—a hairstyle with a formality at odds with her armored clothing.

She seemed surprised when I told her I was the witch. That’s not uncommon—like most intellectual and healing work, witchcraft is traditionally the domain of women. Even in the relatively forward-thinking country of High Rannoc, I tend to get some variation on ‘oh, how progressive!’ when I tell people my vocation. Often if you get a man doing witchcraft, his neighbors will whisper certain things about him. My neighbors back home were whispering those things about me anyway, so that wasn’t much of a hurdle to me.

Mòrag (she insisted I call her by her first name once we’d been properly introduced) gave me a brief tour of Greenmoor. It is, to put it lightly, tiny. I’d estimate a population around fifty. Near everyone has a job that serves an internal function to the community, with maybe the exception of the innkeeper. There are blacksmiths, miners, a carpenter, a tanner… she didn’t indicate any artists or poets or anything of that sort to me, which was disheartening. Even when I thought I would only be here briefly, I was hoping to enjoy the finer things the locals had to offer. The closest this town comes is a library, but I sorely doubt they have any kind of collection of works by local authors.

Mòrag pointed out all the magical resources in town, and some of them impressed me—the lunar tower and ritual circle in particular looked useful. She did not show me any apothecary, and following her aforementioned advice, I took that to mean there wasn’t one. Can’t wait to go out and experience the joys of foraging in the wilderness myself.

Once we’d gone through the entire village, she showed me to the cottage where I’ll be staying. It’s a little ways away from the town proper, down a walking path through some trees. It’s little more than a one-room thing, with only the washroom closed off from the rest of the space. The walls and door are made of dark wood, and the outside still has bark attached in many places. The roof is sloped and overgrown with moss and ivy. Inside the main room there is a bed, a large set of shelves which ought to have reagents and potion-making materials on them but are mostly bare, and a table on which this book sits. The washroom has a tub and a latrine—no plumbing to be found. Out back sits the remains of a garden, only one plot of which looks salvageable. A ways back into the trees there’s a creek. Most of the rest of the clearing is in the early stages of becoming overgrown, with trees and bushes and flowers starting to stretch themselves out and remembering how to be wild.

Mòrag told me the witch who was here before me was a bit of a recluse. No one in town knew very much about her, and she seemed to prefer it that way. They came to her for her healing potions and never made it past small talk and kept inviting her to parties and festivals even though she never attended. And then one day nearly everyone in town woke up with a gift from her—the farmers received her animals, the barkeep her ferments, the innkeeper and bakers her crops. As the townspeople tallied their gifts they realized it amounted to nearly everything she owned. They went together to her cottage to ask her why she’d given it all away, and found her cottage—this cottage—empty. The ensuing search turned up no body, no note, not a shred of evidence to speak of. It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air. As the townsfolk talked and wondered what had happened, they quickly realized no one knew her well enough to provide any real insight. They couldn’t even come to a consensus on what her name was.

They had quickly moved on to discussing the more pressing issue: the town was lacking a healer. The general store owner had worked with my tutor Edith in years prior (Edith loved to tell stories of the time she spent pursuing the culinary arts). Thus, the letter and thus, my presence.

Mòrag told me she hoped I might be more engaged in the community than my predecessor. I decided to refrain from telling her not to get her hopes up, and instead expressed my confusion: I’d thought this was a single gig, that I was to heal someone of their illness and then leave.

She disabused me of that notion with rather more intensity than I think was warranted.

She told me that unless my predecessor reappeared, I was all they had. She said Edith had spoken highly of my abilities in her return letter (I doubted that—Edith never spoke highly of anyone). She told me I would receive a base pay of 20 silver per cure to start, and that if I did the townsfolk well and they grew to like me, they’d most certainly be willing to pay more. She told me that the folks of Greenmoor were good people, even if they were a bit disaster-prone and some of them could make good use of a little more common sense.

And, well, how do you say no to that?

When I asked where I would be getting my materials, she told me the areas surrounding Greenmoor were rich in natural resources. So it will be as I feared. I’m glad I brought my off-road boots.

Mòrag left me to get settled in and I immediately took stock. There are no reagents on the shelves (of course not! Why would there be?), but I did find a cauldron, mortar and pestle, and a copper alembic (which is used for distilling)—so at least once I have the reagents I’ll be able to do some basic cooking with them. I also found a small leather-bound book with vague descriptions of some of the areas surrounding the village. I should be able to cross-reference it with my notes on the environments where useful reagents can be found to make searching for materials a bit less painful.

I pulled a matted tangle of weeds out of the garden plot, but it looks like whatever was planted underneath already shriveled away to nothing. Well, at least the land’s clear now.

One thing that I knew I’d need if I was going to be able to handle this was a familiar. I’ve never been one for conjuration but in this case it’s an unfortunate necessity. I was supposed to be getting one within the next few weeks at Edith’s anyway, and I already knew the process. You’re supposed to have a more experienced witch observe your first time, but that’s just academic formality—there’s nothing actually dangerous about the process.

I found what looks to be a quarter cran basket (was my predecessor into fishing…?) under the bed, and set out around the property collecting small rocks and flowers and toadstools that had the right kinds of vibration. They were for use in the ritual, but also collecting them was a good start to cleaning the property up. Because if I’m going to be living here, it cannot stay looking like this.

I took the basket into the woods near the creek and laid its contents out in a circle as wide as I was tall. Before I placed each one down, I held it for a moment and asked it to help me with my task. Then, I sat in the center of my circle and closed my eyes and tried to meditate. Clearing my head has never been my strong suit, but I’m usually able to fudge the process enough to do what needs doing. This time took a bit longer than usual but eventually I managed. I felt my energy (spirit, consciousness, whatever) radiating out from me, pink and orange and bright and loud, first to the edges of the circle and then beyond. All of it asked a single question and listened for the answer.

The response came from much closer than anticipated, when I felt something small hop onto my knee.

I opened my eyes and looked down to see a frog staring back at me, blinking lazily and making small, guttural noises. Her back was green and rough and slimy. One of her eyes was milky, pointing vaguely off to the left, while the other gazed straight at me. The tips of her toes (three on each foot) edged closer to brown than the rest of her body.

Having clearly presented herself, she now asked if my gut said we would be good partners.

I’ve named her Ailean.

And now here I am, writing all of this down. I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage this every day. Whoever reads this may have to settle for a few times a week. With that said, I do think I’d like to go back and read what my predecessor wrote. Maybe it’ll give a clue as to where she’s gone, and help me escape this position sooner. She seems to have been quite the prolific writer—getting through her logs could take months, especially if the townsfolk keep me particularly busy with their various woes. I’ll have to start reading sooner rather than later.

Speak of the devil, there’s a knock on my door. It hasn’t even been a full day and I might already have my first customer. I’ll finish this later.

⇦●〇●⇨

[johnnys-coors]

Could you do one we’re tommy has a crush on the reader and so Johnny helps tommy by giving the reader 10 leaders (1 a day) and he like saying in the letter like how much they like the reader and some stuff abt them so facts etc. so when the last lettter came he tells the reader to meet him at the beach and soooo he standing there and stuff soooo then tommy asks the read out to like a diner and they end up going to a diner just of them and then they end up dating

Letters Made of Hand

Castles Made of Sand -Jimi Hendrix

Characters: Tommy, Johnny, and Y/N

Contains: fluff, kissing, and feelings

Y/N speeds up her walking, she is going to be late to Geometry. Passing by a row of lockers, she narrows her eyes to see '047D'. She rushes to her gray locker, hurriedly calculating her combination. “Ah, shit!” The lock has stopped moving, it's jammed. A few passerby's stares are felt on Y/N's back. The frustrated teenager’s cheeks grow red from the sudden attention. She glances at the clock right above a classroom next to her. Y/N has two minutes.

A raspy voice asks, "Do you need help?" Y/N whips her head to the right in surprise. Fluffy platinum hair reflects the fluorescent school lights hanging from above. The corners of his light blue eyes crinkle in a laugh, as Johnny finds Y/N’s distress hilarious. “Oh, shut up.” Y/N scoffs, frustrated with combination of her lock and the clock quickly running her out of time. 

“Say less.” Johnny ushers Y/N out of the way and pulls down on the stuck lock. The shiny metal unlatches with a snap. The boy grins, proud of his accomplishment. “Wow, you’re better than any janitor!” Y/N faux swoons, receiving a snort from her friend. She faces the locker and swings open its thin metal door. A white piece of paper floats down onto the beige tiling. Muttering a ‘What the..’, Y/N leans down to grab the note. Johnny notices this occurrence, becoming intrigued. “Is it a secret admirer?”

Opening the folded material, the letter is a page long. Y/N wouldn’t have enough time to read it now. She folds up the paper while grabbing her math supplies. Shoving two Anatomy books into her unorganized shelf, she slams her locker shut. “I gotta get to class, I’ll let you know what it’s about,” Johnny goes to protest, stating she has plenty of time. “See ya!” Y/N shouts over her shoulder, running to her Geometry class, leaving the tall boy behind. 

As soon as Y/N is inside the math class’ doorway, the bell rings. Sighing in relief, Y/N made it! The teacher looks over in disapproval, always expecting her students to be early and ready to learn. Ignoring the glare, Y/N bounces over to her seat, getting a few laughs from her classmates. Elated, and also flattered from a potential love interest, she giggles. Dutch, an aggressive blonde, elbows his desk neighbor. His bushy eyebrows furrow as he tries to keep his voice down. “Don’t tell me Johnny gave you my stash.” 

Jimmy grabs a hold of the broken lock at Y/N’s locker. “What’s this?” His tanned hands cradle the metal as he's kneeled on the ground. “Let’s just say I saved the day, Jim,” Johnny gloats, puffing out his chest. A familiar cocky smirk plays on the boy’s face while everyone rolls their eyes. Y/N lightly shoves the teenager, barely budging from his heroic stance. Bobby and Tommy smile playfully at their group of friends. “Let’s get some lunch.”

Cobra Kai saunters into the loud cafeteria. The typical cliques are in their usual spots. The Cheerleaders and Jocks in the center, the Goths in a corner near a large bulletin, the Nerds by the lunch line, and Cobra Kai next to the water fountains. Now don’t get the group wrong, they’re still studs even if they don’t mingle with the Jocks. Tommy just had to get one swing at the football team’s quarterback. 

Johnny leads them to the lunch line, reaching forward to snatch a plastic tray for himself. Y/N grabs one along with a shiny spoon and fork. The smell of pizza meets Y/N’s nose. Her stomach grumbles, a hunger rippling through her. “Pizza or salad?” The lunch man grumbles, he'd rather be doing anything else than serving food to rude high schoolers. “Uh, pizza, please.” Y/N requests, waiting for the oven-hot rectangular flatbread to slide onto her tray. And it does, nearly staining the fabric of her white shirt. 

Moving her tray to the end of the line, Y/N takes a cup of mandarin oranges and sets it down on her tray. She starts to walk to her seat while her friends pass by her on both sides. The white and gray tiles stick to her shoes as God knows what's been on the floor. Placing down her food, she opens her water bottle she snagged from her locker. The Cobras talk among themselves, laughing about a prank they pulled. Y/N twists her left wrist to open the blue bottle cap. She leans back and begins to take a sip. Cool water hits her parched mouth.

"Y/N, why don't you show us what you found in your locker today?" Johnny questions, more demanding than suggestive. She nearly chokes on her water in excitement. Placing the plastic cap back on, she sets the bottle back down onto the red table. "Sure thing." Y/N reaches her index and middle fingers into her front jean pocket. Her eyes flick up to watch her friend's reactions.

Johnny's eyes glow in anticipation, seemingly more blue then before. Bobby nods her on, his long wispy hair framing his olive complexion. Jimmy leans on Dutch, who could care less, while a small smile is in the making. Tommy fixates on his food, sawing off his pizza with a metal knife. The utensil shines as it reflects the school’s overhead lights. He seems off, really off. Squinting, Y/N makes out a slight hue of pink on the loudmouth's cheeks. He's blushing?

"Are you gonna let us see?" Dutch quips, impatient as ever. Finally pulling out the folded paper, it crinkles as Y/N smoothes it out with her palm. Clearing her throat, she begins to read the letter aloud. "'Dear Y/N, I hope I don't come across as a stalker when I write this. Here goes nothing: You may be surprised when you figure out the person behind this handwriting, maybe even shocked. But let me just say that you are the only person that makes me feel like doing a roundhouse kick to the moon and back'," Tommy laughs, saying how bad ass the scenario sounds. This earns a shove from Bobby to quiet him down.

Y/N continues, "'Yes, I'm that thrilled about you. I guess your smile adds to the feeling. No, I think it's your laugh. I remember when we were at the same showing for a movie and hearing your giggle. What I would do to hear it again! Signing off, Hendrix.'" Silence carries through the group, letting the love letter sink into their minds. Bobby breaks the quietness. "What do they mean by 'Hendrix'?" His forehead creases in thought. "I think it's code." Jimmy pipes, the only Cobra with a decent GPA.

"Well, Jimi Hendrix was a rock artist." Tommy suggests, after being quiet for so long. "Right, but who listens to him anymore? I only have cassettes of Boston and Motley Crue." Johnny's hand comes up to comb through his floppy hair. His mouth full of pizza, Dutch grumbles, "MJ is all the rage now." He imitates Michael Jackson, singing an off key 'Billie Jean'. "Okay, I think we get it," Y/N laughs, as an idea pops into her head. "Does anyone have the last name 'Hendrix' in our school?"

In the library for study hall, Jimmy and Bobby help Y/N flip through yearbooks. A stack of them lay off to the right of the wooden table's edge, about to crash to ground. Her eyes scan the names of people, as her eyes become tired from staring. She closes the book's black cover from 1982, giving up. "I found him!" Jimmy exclaims, as Bobby and Y/N crane their necks to see. The librarian hushes the teenagers, adjusting her glasses that sat on her nose. The fuzzy black and white picture showed an attractive Matthew Hendrix. The glossy page reflected dark hair and a white smile.

"I know this kid! He's by my locker." Y/N pieces together, the puzzle falling into place. Bobby glances up at her yearbook in her hands. "Is he in our grade?" He asks. The teenager doesn't want a guy older than the Cobras, he'll just mess around with them. "No Hendrix is in our grade, he does football." At the mention of the ill-fated sport, Jimmy quickly inquires, "Wait, it's not the guy Tommy punched, right?" Y/N shook her head in confusion. Everyone was either too drunk or high to remember who was in the party's fight.

The next day's events were rather quite interesting. Y/N got another letter from this 'Hendrix'. She opened the note hurriedly. It would be embarrassing for her if any of her friends found out. This second paper gave more details about how much they liked Y/N, but they also gave a reference she picked up on. It mentioned going to a summer camp in '83. Y/N went with the Cobra Kais, but other guys tagged along too.

So far, none of her friends had waltzed up to her, pressing more about the topic. Dutch definitely wouldn't, he scoffs at the slightest mention of romance. It's a wonder that he even dated, let alone lost his virginity. Johnny and Tommy have been far too quiet about these occurrences. Jimmy and Bobby have been the only ones willing to help Y/N find more about this secret lover.

The note only fueled a desire for Y/N to ask Matthew if he was writing her letters. She waits, leaning on her locker, awaiting the moment the said boy would roll around. The beginning of the school hours always dragged slow, as if in mud. Y/N hopes this event would bring her some newfound excitement. The first bell rang, signaling to students they had five minutes till class. A breeze blew on her shoulders as a tall figure slowed down their pace. Matthew slung a dark bag over his right bicep, shoving it into his locker.

"Hey, Matthew, is it?" Y/N's voice inquires, raising in pitch with giddiness. The teenager’s brown hazel eyes sweep over her figure, deciding if he should pick up the conversation. With a light sigh, Matthew nods his head. “Yeah, whatcha want?” Y/N holds up the notes that were slipped into her locker from the past two days. “Have you been writing these to me?” She extends the papers for Matthew to take. A look of curiosity takes over the boy as he accepts the letters. His eyes move back and forth as he scanned the writings. 

“I didn’t write these,” Y/N’s heart sank as this encounter did not go as planned. “But the handwriting looks familiar.” Matthew swears he saw this specific printing before, maybe written on his car in red spray paint? Reliving the memory, the red warning scribbled out a ‘NO MERCY’ on his beloved Dodge Turbo’s side. The faraway look in Matthew’s eyes causes Y/N to wave her hand in front of his line of vision. Coming back to his senses, Matthew shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Here are your papers.” Matthew presses the letters back to Y/N. She's positive that she nibbled onto the bait of this fishhook. She goes to ask him more questions, but he slammed his locker abruptly. Grumbling something about getting payback, Matthew heads down the hallway, turning the corner. He deserts Y/N, who's left with more questions than answers. 

For the next few days, each note gave more and more hints about the writer. So far, with the help of Jimmy and Bobby, she figured out that they like soccer and enjoy running on the beach. It’s not a grand discovery, but Jimmy assured her that every clue counted. Besides, the final note would be delivered today. Y/N is thrilled, she hopes the anonymous lover would reveal who they are. 

The Cobra Kai boys have been drifting in and out the letter drama, scrapping up details here and there. She walks into the lunch line by herself, as she chooses a salad today. Y/N decides to walk alone, she's packed with a lot of tests and doesn't have time to wait for the others. “Heya, Y/N.” Johnny greets, changing out his cassette tape in his Walkman. Tommy’s bruised hand covers one of the cassettes nearest to him, its taped title unable to be seen. 

“What’re you doing?” Y/N asks, as the boy seems to be moving the tape closer to himself. Caught in the act, Tommy stops moving the cassette. He lifts his head to meet his friend’s eyes. A nasty shiner around his right eye stands out against his smooth skin. The boy mentioned he fell down a flight of stairs at a party and tried to catch himself. Hence his purple knuckles. 

“Oh, I was just helping Johnny change out his Walkman.” Tommy comes up with, flipping the cassette so it was standing upright, the tape side away from Y/N. Her narrowed eyes dart between Johnny, who fakes a shit eating smile, and Tommy, who doesn't dare move until Y/N lets go of the subject. She sits down, letting the topic dissipate on its own. Her brain's tired enough as is. 

“Do you have the final note?” Bobby leans in, his long hair tickling Y/N’s cheek as he questions her. Y/N reaches into her trapper keeper, laying the letter between her and Bobby, reading silently. ‘Meet me at the beach after school, around eight. Bring your swimsuit!’ She almost jumped out of her seat at the butterflies overtaking her stomach. Bobby pats the back of Y/N, lightly laughing. “Well, there you have it. You’ll meet them after all!” 

The purr of the Firebird rumbles Y/N’s passenger side seat. The smell of the seawater fills her nose with her window cracked open. Johnny’s bright headlights gives way that they're traveling down the dark road. The whistle of the wind and the thumping of REO Speedwagon hum her ears. It's surprising that she didn’t bribe Johnny to take her, he usually would grumble about it for a while. This time he acted almost glad to take Y/N. 

Johnny pulls the car forward and parks it in the beach’s parking lot. She scans her surroundings ahead of her through the glass. The silhouette of a figure is down in the sand, facing the waves. “I think that’s my person. Thanks, Johnny.” Y/N unbuckles her seatbelt, ready to open the door and greet her writer. A tan arm swung out in front of her, holding a piece of paper. This stops her from continuing her motions. “What’s this?” Grabbing the note, she opens it. 

The infamous handwriting is there but another one is visible. A more hurried, scratchy one. ‘You weren’t expecting another letter? Calm your tits, it’s just a note from your letter carrier: Make sure kick ass when you meet ‘Hendrix’. He’s really an amazing dude.’ Johnny laughs, slapping his large hands together in amusement. Y/N mouth drops, the charade coming to a close in front of her eyes. 

“Wait, so you were the one dropping off the letters in my locker?” Y/N asked, her eyes shining in amusement. Johnny nods frantically, his hair reflecting the moonlight coming in on the dashboard. “Hey, it wasn’t hard to put superglue on the lock. It was pretty sick!” Laughing, she opens the car door, leaving the paper on her seat. “You jerk!” Y/N slams the door shut, leaving an emphasis on her words. 

The grainy white sand slows her walking as she approaches the figure. “Hello?” She calls, anticipating rising. Everything has came to this moment, it better be worth it. Brunette hair gently moves in the breeze, as goosebumps rise on her arms. No answer is given. The person’s ears are covered by a certain black foam, connected with wire. Sighing, she nears even closer. 

As if expecting the visitor, or listening intensely, an index finger presses pause on their Walkman. Turning their head, Y/N’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth in surprise. A set of brown eyes watch her reaction while they remove their Walkman, setting it down on their blue towel. A smile forms the longer the person watches Y/N. “It’s me.” The voice was bubbly and unapologetically loud. 

“Tommy? Oh my god.” Y/N’s face pales as she sets herself down next to the writer. The male leans over to the left and makes a show of taking out his cassette tape. ‘Jimi Hendrix- Electric Ladyland’ is written on the brown Scotch tape. “I’m ‘Hendrix’, Y/N.” She blushes, her face turning a shade of pink. “I figured that out by now, doofus.” Tommy quietly laughs, turning towards her. Silence commences.

Y/N’s heartbeat bangs loudly against her ribcage as she leans in. She pauses, just short of kissing him. Y/N wants to make sure he is okay with going further. Fortunately, hesitation is not in Tommy’s vocabulary. Her eyes close once she feels his lips on her own. His warm hand cusps her face, gently stroking his thumb on her cheek. His abs contract as he rests his back on his towel, his left arm propping up his head.

She lays to left of him, her face creating contact with his. Her hair falls over to the side, moving slightly with the ocean wind. Tommy’s hand rests on the small of Y/N’s back, as the warmth of his body pulls her in further. Running her hands through his hair, she gently pulls. A small groan is released from Tommy throat, rumbling Y/N’s chest. An innocent gesture but not so innocent reaction. 

Tommy smiles warmly when the kisses end, fireworks going off in his stomach. Y/N pulls herself up and sits facing the black waves, turning shy with the shared intimate moment. “Come on, let’s go for a swim.” Tommy proposes, rising to his feet and pulling off his gray sweatshirt. His toned stomach pales in moonlight, his crucifix necklace dangling down over his chest. His orange swim trunks are loosely draped over his prominent hip bones. 

“Like what you see?” Tommy teases, flexing his biceps. “As if, loverboy.” Y/N retorts with faux annoyance. She grips the bottom hem of her black top as she reveals her swimsuit, shedding her pants. It’s now Tommy’s turn to gawk. He stands like a little kid, with his hands relaxed at his side, his jaw slack. Y/N takes this as an opportunity to rush into the waves, splashing Tommy with the lukewarm water. 

“Hey! Come here!” Y/N giggles as he rushes over to lift her up off the ground. He spins her around once, laughing. Her eyes widen in thrill as he lifts her up even higher, getting ready to toss her into the water. Her legs kick in excitement as she grips onto his shoulders. “Ah, Tommy!” She giggles, not wanting him to let go of her. Her eyes lock with his own once again. 

Her laughter fades as they gaze at each other. Tommy’s adam apple bobs when he swallows thickly. He’s nervous. She feels herself being let down by the taller. Y/N stands now confused by the change in mood. “Y/N,” Tommy calls, more declarative than interrogative. “Can you be mine?” The water around her ankles feel colder than before. 

She nods, gradually getting faster with her confidence. “Yes, yes, yes,” Wrapping her hands around Tommy’s waist she pulls him in for a quick peck. “A thousand times yes.” She turns to exit the water and put her clothes back on. Her boyfriend follows, now noticing the Firebird that’s been there for over an hour. “Are you kidding me? Johnny’s here?” He whines, falling to his knees, his fists pounding the soft sand. 

Y/N giggles, amused by his dramatic ways. “Hey, let’s get some fries downtown? Johnny can take us.” Tommy gets up off the ground, grabbing his towel and Walkman. “Fine, it’s a deal. Race you to the car!” 

[dimensionsunited]

MARCH 2021 DIMENSIONS ENTERTAINMENT SCHEDULES & REVIEW

Members may earn 3 points each (up to 6 points) for writing, by the end of April 7 KST:

A solo para of 400+ words based on their monthly schedule (does not count toward your monthly total).

A thread of six posts (three per participant, including the starter) based on their monthly schedule.

Threads do not have to take place directly during an important date listed on the schedule, but must be related to what the muse is mentioned to be doing in the paragraph explaining their schedule/the company’s schedule for the month and/or their thoughts on the mentioned activities or lack thereof.

These schedules may be updated throughout the month if new information needs to be added.

Reminder: February schedule posts are due by the end of March 7 KST. Please do not post schedule posts in the fmdschedule tag.

OVERALL COMPANY

Delays in construction have the opening date of the base Culture Complex delayed by a few months more than anticipated, but the idols are still on schedule to participate in preparing materials. This month, all idols will go into a studio to film short videos that will be used for a AR photobooth where fans can “take pictures” with their favorite idols. The videos they need to film will be pretty simple: sitting on benches and standing in a few different poses in front of a green screen (examples: 1, 2).

Important dates:

March 1-March 31: base Culture Complex museum AR photobooth filming (admin note: muses may encounter idols from other companies while there).

DIMENSIONS SOLOIST 1

After five months since her last comeback, another comeback for her has finally been internally confirmed within Dimensions Entertainment. Preparations in the studio and the practice studio don’t kick in quite yet this month, but she’ll be in for a few concept meetings to be told what Dimensions is looking at give her own feedback as a veteran of the company. Before she enters a new era, Dimensions is sending her in to do some wrap-up promotions for “Pporappippam”, including a “Look Me Up” video with 1theK.

Important dates:

March 5: 1theK Look Me Up video filming.

DIMENSIONS SOLOIST 2

Most of the month is spent going between the practice room and meetings as he prepares to make his comeback. His new mini-album will be released on the final day of the month, meaning he won’t get the chance to see the results just yet, but, in their meetings, Dimensions makes it clear to him that they’d like this comeback to see more success in at least a few areas compared to his prior comebacks to show his capability for long-term growth as a soloist in their company, putting the pressure on him.

Important dates:

March 31: Release of “When It Rains” & Day mini-album + press showcase, music show promotions continue through April 30.

DIMENSIONS SOLOIST 3

She finishes a successful round of single promotions on the third of the month, but she doesn’t get a break just because she’s finished promoting one comeback. Instead, she’s almost immediately ushered into preparing for her next one by having scheduled studio time to record the track list of her next mini-album, which Dimensions has slated for a summer release fitting of its more bright and pop-y sound compared to her debut mini-album.

Important dates:

March 3: End of music show promotions.

GAL.ACTIC

The next step of the comeback preparation process is to learn and rehearse the choreography for the title track. Their sound might be a little different this comeback, but their choreography isn’t too far off from what they’re used to. They’ll also attend fittings, as usual, and the denim brand GetUsed that they’re the face of has them scheduled for a fan sign at a mall mid-month. They’ve also been chosen as the newest faces of cosmetics and skincare brand MISSHA and will have a commercial filming for the brand’s Lipsticks this month. All members will appear in all CF versions, but there will be three focus versions focusing on different feelings the lipstick shades give off, where two members will be assigned to each.

Modern: Main rapper/main dancer/vocal & Leader/main vocal

Lovely: Vocal & maknae/vocal

Elegant: Lead vocal & lead rapper/lead dancer/vocal

Important dates:

March 10: MISSHA CF filming.

March 14: GetUsed fan sign.

March 15: M/V and stage outfit fittings.

ALIEN

Fantasia X releases in the second week of March and then Alien is set for promotions for the rest of the month. In addition to the regular music shows, they’ve been scheduled to make appearances on several YouTube channel popular with idols fans, particularly the international audience. The videos will focus on showing different sides of their live performances, which Dimensions considers to be one of the strongest points of their idols.

Important dates:

March 6: Dingo Jackpot Live video filming.

March 9: Release of “Fantasia” & Fantasia X mini-album + press showcase, music show promotions continue through April 9.

March 11: Relay Dance video filming.

March 13: Studio Choom Be Original video filming.

March 30: Try-lingual Live video filming.

MARS

MARS will be in Japan from March 10-19 and March 26-29 to attend Hi Touch events with their Japanese fans spanning across the country. If they haven’t already, they should brush up on their Japanese in the days leading up to their trip in order to make the best impression on their Japanese fans that don’t get to see them as often as their Korean ones. Both while they’re in Seoul and in booked conference rooms in the hotels they stay in in Japan, MARS will learn and practice the choreography for their next title track and b-sides "Zigzag”, “Red Thread”, “Eye Contact”, and “Hero”.

Important dates:

March 10: MARS Mini Live & High Touch at Sapporo Factory Atrium in Sapporo, Japan.

March 13: MARS Mini Live & High Touch at Tokyo Dome City La Coeur Garden Stage in Tokyo, Japan.

March 14: MARS Mini Live & High Touch at Kobe Harborland Space Theater in Kobe, Japan.

March 16: MARS Mini Live & High Touch at Zepp DiverCity in Tokyo, Japan.

March 19: MARS Mini Live & High Touch at Tower Records Shibuya Store in Tokyo, Japan.

March 27: MARS Mini Live & High Touch at My Dome Osaka E Hall in Osaka, Japan.

March 28: MARS Mini Live & High Touch at Electric Building Mirai Hall in Fukuoka, Japan. 

7ROPHY

The lead up to their comeback on the fifteenth includes a fan sign in their role as ambassadors for Kaja Beauty, as well as the pre-filming of two dance videos that will be released in the days following their comeback. They’ll film another performance video for Studio Choom a few days after making their comeback. The rest of promotions are music show performances and radio show guestings for this month. “Oh My God” sees a reception similar to what Dimensions had wanted, finding a success more similar to “Lion” than the other songs they released last year.

Important dates:

March 7: Kaja Beauty fan sign.

March 13: Special Dance Practice video filming.

March 14: 1theK Suit Dance video filming.

March 15: Release of “Oh My God” & I Trust mini-album + press showcase, music show promotions continue through April 15.

March 21: Studio Choom Be Original video filming.

March 22: Guesting on KBS Cool FM Kiss The Radio radio show.

March 30: Guesting on SBS Power FM Cultwo Show radio show.

UNITY

Their album is recorded, so March is dedicated to mastering the choreography for their comeback title track. Mid-month, they’ll have fittings for their wardrobe for the next comeback. The planned style for this comeback doesn’t step too far outside of what Unity is known for, but it’s important for the style team to know that the members’ performance won’t be compromised by ill-fitting pieces. At the end of the month, Unity will go in for a long day of shooting photos for the album.

Important dates:

March 15: M/V and stage outfit fittings.

March 30: Photo book and teaser photo shoot.

 ↳ CHAMPION

CHAMPION will be performing a concert at Tokyo Dome next month, so they’ll be coming together when all members are available this month to rehearse their stages to make sure they haven’t forgotten the concert set list.

Important dates:

N/A

LUCID

Most of the month is spent continuing to promote their comeback. The reception has been mixed. While the song received a detail performance more similar to their lighter concepts that have been more popular with the public, diehard fans of one concept over the other don’t seem to be satisfied with the conceptual meeting of the two, each claiming Dimensions should have gone all the way on one concept or the other. After they finish their mostly successful round of promotions, Lucid will fly out to Los Angeles to perform at KCON as Dimensions’ solo representative at the event.

Important dates:

March 3: Guesting on MBC FM4U Dreaming Radio radio show.

March 5: Yoo Heeyeol’s Sketchbook filming (to be aired: March 13).

March 9: Guesting on MBC FM4U Noon Song of Hope radio show.

March 22: End of music show promotions.

March 27: Performance at KCON LA at Staples Center in Los Angeles, CA, USA (also performing: Decipher, BEE, & Chroma Crystal).

March 28: Performance at KCON LA at Staples Center in Los Angeles, CA, USA (also performing: Decipher, BEE, & Chroma Crystal).

[theskyrimlibrary]

A Dance in Fire, v1

A Dance in Fire Chapter 1

by Waughin Jarth

✲•······················▃🖋️······················•✲

Scene: The Imperial City, Cyrodiil Date: 7 Frost Fall, 3E 397

It seemed as if the palace had always housed the Atrius Building Commission, the company of clerks and estate agents who authored and notarized nearly every construction of any note in the Empire. It had stood for two hundred and fifty years, since the reign of the Emperor Magnus, a plain-fronted and austere hall on a minor but respectable plaza in the Imperial City. Energetic and ambitious middle-class lads and ladies worked there, as well as complacent middle-aged ones like Decumus Scotti. No one could imagine a world without the Commission, least of all Scotti. To be accurate, he could not imagine a world without himself in the Commission.

“Lord Atrius is perfectly aware of your contributions,” said the managing clerk, closing the shutter that demarcated Scotti’s office behind him. “But you know that things have been difficult.”

“Yes,” said Scotti, stiffly.

“Lord Vanech’s men have been giving us a lot of competition lately, and we must be more efficient if we are to survive. Unfortunately, that means releasing some of our historically best but presently underachieving senior clerks.”

“I understand. Can’t be helped.”

“I’m glad that you understand,” smiled the managing clerk, smiling thinly and withdrawing. “Please have your room cleared immediately.”

Scotti began the task of organizing all his work to pass on to his successor. It would probably be young Imbrallius who would take most of it on, which was as it should be, he considered philosophically. The lad knew how to find business. Scotti wondered idly what the fellow would do with the contracts for the new statue of St Alessia for which the Temple of the One had applied. Probably invent a clerical error, blame it on his old predecessor Decumus Scotti, and require an additional cost to rectify.

“I have correspondence for Decumus Scotti of the Atrius Building Commission.”

Scotti looked up. A fat-faced courier had entered his office and was thrusting forth a sealed scroll. He handed the boy a gold piece, and opened it up. By the poor penmanship, atrocious spelling and grammar, and overall unprofessional tone, it was manifestly evident who the writer was. Liodes Jurus, a fellow clerk some years before, who had left the Commission after being accused of unethical business practices.

“Dear Sckotti, 

I emagine you alway wondered what happened to me, and the last plase you would have expected to find me is out in the woods. But thats exactly where I am. Ha ha. If your’e smart and want to make lot of extra gold for Lord Atrius (and yourself, ha ha), youll come down to Vallinwood too. If you have’nt or have been following the politics hear lately, you may or may not know that ther’s bin a war between the Boshmer and there neighbors Elswere over the past two years. Things have only just calm down, and ther’s a lot that needs to be rebuilt.

Now Ive got more business than I can handel, but I need someone with some clout, someone representing a respected agencie to get the quill in the ink. That somone is you, my fiend. Come G meat me at the M’ther Paskos Tavern in Falinnesti, Vallinwood. Ill be here 2 weeks and you wont be sorrie.

- - Jurus

P.S.: Bring a wagenload of timber if you can.”

“What do you have there, Scotti?” asked a voice.

Scotti started. It was Imbrallius, his damnably handsome face peeking through the shutters, smiling in that way that melted the hearts of the stingiest of patrons and the roughest of stonemasons. Scotti shoved the letter in his jacket pocket.

“Personal correspondence,” he sniffed. “I’ll be cleared up here in a just a moment.”

“I don’t want to hurry you,” said Imbrallius, grabbing a few sheets of blank contracts from Scotti’s desk. “I’ve just gone through a stack, and the junior scribes hands are all cramping up, so I thought you wouldn’t miss a few.”

The lad vanished. Scotti retrieved the letter and read it again. He thought about his life, something he rarely did. It seemed a sea of gray with a black insurmountable wall looming. There was only one narrow passage he could see in that wall. Quickly, before he had a moment to reconsider it, he grabbed a dozen of the blank contracts with the shimmering gold leaf ATRIUS BUILDING COMMISSION BY APPOINTMENT OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY and hid them in the satchel with his personal effects.

The next day he began his adventure with a giddy lack of hesitation. He arranged a sear in a caravan bound for Valenwood, the single escorted conveyance to the southeast leaving the Imperial City that week. He had scarcely hours to pack, but he remembered to purchase a wagonload of timber.

“It will be extra gold to pay for a horse to pull that,” frowned the convoy head.

“So I anticipated,” smiled Scotti with his best Imbrallius grin.

Ten wagons in all set off that afternoon through the familiar Cyrodilic countryside. Past fields of wildflowers, gently rolling woodlands, friendly hamlets. The clop of the horses’ hooves against the sound stone road reminded Scotti that the Atrius Building Commission constructed it. Five of the eighteen necessary contracts for its completion were drafted by his own hand.

“Very smart of you to bring that wood along,” said a gray-whiskered Breton man next to him on his wagon. “You must be in Commerce.”

“Of a sort,” said Scotti, in a way he hoped was mysterious, before introducing himself: “Decumus Scotti.”

“Gryf Mallon,” said the man. “I’m a poet, actually a translator of old Bosmer literature. I was researching some newly discovered tracts of the Mnoriad Pley Bar two years ago when the war broke out and I had to leave. You are no doubt familiar with the Mnoriad, if you’re aware of the Green Pact.”

Scotti thought the man might be speaking perfect gibberish, but he nodded his head.

“Naturally, I don’t pretend that the Mnoriad is as renowned as the Meh Ayleidion, or as ancient as the Dansir Gol, but I think it has a remarkable significance to understanding the nature of the merelithic Bosmer mind. The origin of the Wood Elf aversion to cutting their own wood or eating any plant material at all, yet paradoxically their willingness to import plantstuff from other cultures, I feel can be linked to a passage in the Mnoriad,” Mallon shuffled through some of his papers, searching for the appropriate text.

To Scotti’s vast relief, the carriage soon stopped to camp for the night. They were high on a bluff over a gray stream, and before them was the great valley of Valenwood. Only the cry of seabirds declared the presence of the ocean to the bay to the west: here the timber was so tall and wide, twisting around itself like an impossible knot begun eons ago, to be impenetrable. A few more modest trees, only fifty feet to the lowest branches, stood on the cliff at the edge of the camp. The sight was so alien to Scotti and he found himself so anxious about the proposition of entering the wilderness that he could not imagine sleeping.

Fortunately, Mallon had supposed he had found another academic with a passion for the riddles of ancient cultures. Long into the night, he recited Bosmer verse in the original and in his own translation, sobbing and bellowing and whispering wherever appropriate. Gradually, Scotti began to feel drowsy, but a sudden crack of wood snapping made him sit straight up.

“What was that?”

Mallon smiled: “I like it too. ‘Convocation in the malignity of the moonless speculum, a dance of fire --’”

“There are some enormous birds up in the trees moving around,” whispered Scotti, pointing in the direction of the dark shapes above.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Mallon, irritated with his audience. “Now listen to how the poet characterizes Herma-Mora’s invocation in the eighteenth stanza of the fourth book.”

The dark shapes in the trees were some of them perched like birds, others slithered like snakes, and still others stood up straight like men. As Mallon recited his verse, Scotti watched the figures softly leap from branch to branch, half-gliding across impossible distances for anything without wings. They gathered in groups and then reorganized until they had spread to every tree around the camp. Suddenly, they plummeted from the heights.

“Mara!” cried Scotti. “They’re falling like rain!”

“Probably seed pods,” Mallon shrugged, not turning around. “Some of the trees have remarkable - - “

The camp erupted into chaos. Fires burst out in the wagons, the horses wailed from mortal blows, casks of wine, fresh water, and liquor gushed their contents to the ground. A nimble shadow dashed past Scotti and Mallon, gathering sacks of grain and gold with impossible agility and grace. Scotti had only one glanced at it, lit up by a sudden nearby burst of flame. It was a sleek creature with pointed ears, wide yellow eyes, mottled pied fur and a tail like a whip.

“Werewolf,” he whimpered, shrinking back.

“Cathay-raht,” groaned Mallon. “Much worse. Khajiti cousins or some such thing, come to plunder.”

“Are you sure?”

As quickly as they struck, the creatures retreated, diving off the bluff before the battlemage and knight, the caravan’s escorts, had fully opened their eyes. Mallon and Scotti ran to the precipice and saw a hundred feet below the tiny figures dash out of the water, shake themselves, and disappear into the wood.

“Werewolves aren’t acrobats like that,” said Mallon. “They were definitely Cathay-raht. Bastard thieves. Thank Stendarr they didn’t realize the value of my notebooks. It wasn’t a complete loss.”

✲•······················▃🖋️······················•✲

[seductresses-temple]

Fuck

So, this is actually a little something I cooked up for my best friend @50shades-of-truth it’s my first time writing ANY content for this paring and it’s un-betaed and probably sucks SO bad but I love him so much and my bb deserves nice (adjacent) things! Soooo without further adieu

Lessons From Mother

Pairing: Blaise Zabini and Neville Longbottom

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

__________________

Growing up, his mother Selina was all Blaise had ever had. His father -whom his mother never spoke about- had died when he was young. Blaise remembered very little about him. He remembered the smell of sandalwood, a rich, deep laugh that filled up a room, and being held, but as time went on - as it is wont to do- those memories faded into a vague, fuzzy thing. The one thing Blaise did know about his father, with an absolute certainty, was that his death absolutely gutted his mother.

Boyfriends came and went.

Husbands came and went.

Every single man paled in comparison to the bittersweet memories of a long gone ghost.

Blaise adored his mother, he admired her strength and tenacity, sought to emulate her grace and beauty, and he lived his life by the lessons she’d instilled in him. She’d taught him manners, maths, how to dress with style, banking, she had a rule for everything, especially love, especially how to avoid love and Blaise had been doing a damn good job of it for seventeen years...until Neville.

Rule Number One: Don’t let them talk you into anything

It had all started with fucking Slughorn.

Classes at Hogwarts had resumed session over a year after the war and Blaise’s mother had - in no uncertain terms - made it quite clear that he was to continue his education if given the opportunity.

Of course McGonagall just had to give him an opportunity.

Two weeks before term was to begin, his letter came during Sunday breakfast and his mother had fixed him with a happy, expectant stare. They’d gone shopping in Diagon Alley the same day.

Summer passed by all too quickly after that and before Blaise knew it, he was sitting in Slughorn’s potion’s class, getting paired with Neville fucking Longbottom on a three month long potions assignment. All in the name of Interhouse Unity or whatever nonsensical prattle the faculty seemed content to spew about.

As if being back at Hogwarts wasn’t enough of a chore, being paired with the absolute worst potion’s partner on the face of the planet was just salt in the wound, wasn’t it? The only silver lining Blaise could find in the situation was that Draco had gotten paired with Potter and had turned nearly as read as Weasley’s hair.

“You will need to meet with your partner at least twice a week outside of class to conduct research, all of which will be recorded in these journals,” Slughorn waved a small, black, leather bound journal in the air before flicking his wand and sending a pile of them floating through the room.

“You will each share a journal to make the process as collaborative as possible and they will be collected the same day as your potion. Now, everyone switch seats so that you are sitting with your partner, you’ll have the rest of class to have a friendly debate over which potion you’ll be crafting for this assignment.” Slughorn clapped his hands and shuffled behind his desk, seeming all too pleased with himself.

Blaise refused to move from his seat. It wasn’t like he wanted to be there in the first place. To his credit, Blaise’s stubbornness seemed to have no effect on Longbottom whatsoever.

“I had an idea already,” Longbottom plopped down in the seat beside him, journal clutched in his fist.

“You let me do all the work and we actually pass?” Blaise raised an eyebrow at him. It was the only idea that had any merit, after all, Longbottom was rubbish at potions and Blaise Zabini had never failed a class in his life. He certainly didn’t plan on starting just because he’d been paired with an accident waiting to happen.

“Ha,” Longbottom rolled his eyes before leaning in conspiratorially, a wide, mischievous grin splitting his face and making his eyes absolutely sparkle.

“I’ve got something big I’m working on. It’s a risk, but that’s what you lot are all about, yeah? Ambition, cunning, pride. Think you’re in for the ride, Zabini?”

If Blaise had been a smart man, he would have known it was the beginning of the end in that moment. He would have ran away and never looked back. Better to run away than be a fool in love. But having never fallen before Blaise was too blind to know…

Rule Number Two: Don’t fall for their doe-eyed stares

Neville Longbottom, against all odds, was actually quite brilliant. His grand master plan -if they could pull it off- would be even more powerful than dittany. It would effectively have the power to heal wounds left behind by Dark Magic and Magical Creatures alike. Even old scars.

“I’m making it for Bill,” Longbottom told him one day while they were working out on the front lawn, the journal sitting between them as they got settled on top of a large blanket in tacky Gryffindor colors.

“And Bill is?” Blaise asked, twirling a bit of dittany between his fingers, having no issues whatsoever showcasing his boredom.

It seemed to have no ill effect on Longbottom, however, who propelled himself into explaining far more of the Weasley family tree than Blaise could ever bring himself to care about. He didn’t care, not in the slightest, but something about the way Longbottom looked as he spoke made Blaise pause. Made him listen. Made him stare deeply into Longbottom’s eyes, which were impossibly brown with small flecks of hazel and hang onto his every word. There was a fire in his eyes as he talked about healing, his eyes warm and bright, his voice strong and sure, and his face just a little bit flushed, lips moving a mile a minute.

Blaise certainly didn’t think about what those lips would feel like against his own.

That would be preposterous.

Rule Number Three: Don’t become smitten with their little habits.

Neville Longbottom was something of an artist and apparently brilliant at charms.

It was a small fact Blaise had learned by happenstance. The first time the two of them had sat down in the library to research the potion they were creating, Blaise had been reading aloud from some of their research material while Longbottom scribbled notes in the journal. It wasn’t until later that night, when Blaise was leafing through the journal before bed -out of sheer boredom, mind- that he spotted the most gorgeous picture of an English Rose in the margins. It was charmed to bloom, over and over, and looked so fantastically detailed, Blaise would have sworn he could nearly smell it.

They passed the journal off periodically and every time Blaise received it back there was always some new little drawing that caught his eye. Without thought, Blaise took to scribbling the name under each new addition. It got to the point where Longbottom would start drawing less common plants, testing Blaise’s knowledge, and it had turned into a game of sorts.

Their little plant trivia was how Blaise found out that Neville fucking Longbottom was a bit of a bastard underneath that shy, unassuming disposition. Blaise also found out he didn’t care to lose their little game. Every time Blaise couldn’t identify a picture before their next hand off, Longbottom was nothing but smug grins and little jabs.

“I thought part of being cunning was being resourceful, Zabini?” Or something like, “well, I see why you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.” Or a little shove and a “you’re allowed to use a book, you know?” All of which just made Blaise scowl and grumble and try all the harder to the point that Longbottom started leaving little words of encouragement under each drawing.

Blaise found a “you’ve got this” under a doodle of a ‘shy plant’ and there was a rush of vindication when he was able to scribble mimosa pudica underneath. He got a very enthusiastic “show me what you’ve got!” under an incredibly graphic drawing of Hydnellum peckii and he wrote a disgruntled “you’re gross” underneath his answer.

What really put the final nail in Blaise’s coffin was reading the words “I believe in you,” under a drawing of a tulip, its petals charmed to turn yellow ever so slowly.

Blaise didn’t write an answer.

Rule Number Four: Don’t give them the power to make you jealous

Jealousy was an ugly, foul little thing. After the incident with the tulips, Blaise couldn’t bring himself to speak to Longbottom afterward. Every time he tried those damnable yellow twinged tulips flashed in his mind and he heard his mother’s voice in the back of his head. “Be careful with your heart, my darling boy.”

So Blaise was careful, which meant working on their potion -two nights a week- in a terse silence while silently counting down the minutes until he didn’t have to be in such close proximity to Longbottom because it was all becoming too maddening. What was a boy to do when the object of his affection was so close? Their breath mingling together, faces mere inches apart as both of them hovered intently over their potion. They watched the surface suspiciously, anticipation coiled tightly in their chest, and Blaise did everything in his power not to lean over and steal a kiss.

So lost in his own little word of trying to fight his stupid, selfish impulses, Blaise almost didn’t hear Longbottom who was mumbling something at his side. Alright, so he didn’t hear him at all.

“Hm?” Blaise hoped he sounded distracted instead of incredibly flustered. The heat of the potion and the fire in his belly didn’t seem to be agreeing with one another and it was all a bit too much.

“I was wondering if you could watch the potion this evening, just this once. I sort of, well I,” Longbottom cleared his throat, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he sat back in his chair, away from Blaise.

“I sort of have a date, I suppose,” he said at last and something vicious ripped through Blaise.

“A date,” Blaise had to pull the word from his throat. His voice must have sounded odd or strained or too much of something because it made Longbottom wince just to look at him.

“You’re right,” Longbottom gulped.

“I shouldn’t go, we’re supposed to be, well, partners. I can’t just l-leave you to go it alone,” with a nod, Longbottom pulled their journal into his lap and scribbled something down, staring at the table, the potion, anywhere but at Blaise really.

Fuck.

Blaise understood now, why they called Jealousy a ‘little green monster’ because his was currently stomping around his heart, throwing things, and having the world’s most Apocalyptic meltdown.

“Go on your date, Longbottom, for pity’s sake. Have fun,” Blaise waved a dismissive hand, building a wall around his heart brick-by-brick because it was the only thing saving the useless thing from crumbling to pieces.

Rule Number Five: Love with your whole heart or don’t love at all

It was, Blaise liked to think, quite hard to get under his skin. That’s what he thought, anyway, until the day Neville walked into the library, eyes puffy and raw, the tip of his little nose just a little bit red, and the tracks of his tears down his cheeks as visible as the sun in a clear blue sky. Blaise felt instantaneously livid, his emotions flaring hot and intense like a bonfire.

“What’s wrong?” he snapped his book shut and put all of his attention on the boy in front of him, silently wondering how long of a prison sentence he’d get for killing whoever dared to make Neville cry. He was sure to get some leniency, if any member of the Wizengamot took one look at Neville, spoke with him just once, and saw how good and pure and sweet he was.

“It’s nothing,” Neville pulled out their journal, his trembling hands causing it to drop onto the table which caused two things to happen.

The first was that the page just so happen to open on the page where Neville’s tulip was slowly filling with yellow. The second was that a spare bit of parchment came tumbling out of it, falling -ironically- into Blaise’s lap. Without meaning to, Blaise couldn’t help but catch it and he couldn’t help it if a few of the words seemed to jump off the page. The words someone else and break up may as well have been written in red ink.

“He’s an idiot,” Blaise muttered, handing Neville the parchment back, trying to pretend as though he didn’t feel his magic jump beneath his skin as their fingers brushed together.

“He isn’t the only one,” Neville fixed him with a pointed stare and Blaise could only sit and stare back at him.

The boy has a point, some logical part of him whispered but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Their potion was so close to being done and Neville seemed content to through his heartbreak on the backburner in favor of getting down to work.

It was astounding to see him in his element. Blaise couldn’t help but steal glances out the corner of his eye, watching Neville hunched over the potion with a book in his lap, brow furrowed in concentration, and his bottom lip held loosely between his teeth. A strand of his hair fell over his eyes and Blaise’s heart fluttered so hard he thought the damned thing would fly away.

Tucking away every lesson his mother had ever taught him, Blaise reached over for the journal, scribbling down what he should have written over a month ago.

Yellow tulip- Hopeless love- Neville, will you go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?

The smile that spread across Neville’s face as Blaise caught him reading the note over his shoulder nearly stopped his heart.

Fuck.

There was no denying it.

Love seemed to give no fucks about the rules.

[rxpper-roo]

💣 The End Of Everything 💣

{💣}—; It started as nothing more but an ordinary day, I was sitting down and reading one of my favorite books in my collection down in the underwater tube complex I had built connected to my home on Wumpa Island, that led out into the ocean.

A place that I had created to conduct research and if I prefer to spend time with the beautiful sights of the underwater world, and to just be alone for a while. I couldn’t have known this decision to be down here for this point in time would have saved me from initial fallout of a disaster...one that would cause the end of days...

Just as I was about to take a sip of tea I had made for myself I felt the area around me start shaking as a loud boom could be heard beyond the glass of the complex. I quickly got up and looked out a window, and despite being underwater I could see fire and it looked like something terrible must have happened.

So I quickly checked security cameras I have above ground in my home for safety reasons, and saw what looked like a large explosion had taken place and was releasing toxic fumes and radiation. I pondered what could have caused this, and my immediate reaction of course was that this must be the cause of Dr. Cortex. If this were his doing, the he’s going too far this time because being as knowledgeable in many forms of science and history I know that the effects of radiation poisoning and contamination could be very deadly and have terrible consequences.

As a safety measure I locked down the facility including the elevator that went back up...though I felt guilty because I had many associates above ground on the surface who I’d welcome here but I could not go treading through potentially now contaminated grounds and risk my health and safety, thus potentially making my own mental state worse than it needs to be.

Being my underwater facility I at least had plenty of food and water in the event of emergencies, but even supplies as a precaution wouldn’t last forever but I had enough to last a while.

___________________

3 weeks later:

21 Days Without an incident.

As I got up this morning I noticed very quickly that something wasn’t right, the water outside the windows of the tubes started to change color, a more green yellow hue. It would appear as if it’s become ripe with toxic materials. The water levels seem to also be draining, I can’t explain why but I’ve begun to realize that it’s been lonely having no one to talk to...I desperately wish for someone to talk to some days and hope that I don’t have an episode of insanity at this time as for one wrong move could compromise the entire complex and if that should happen...I don’t know if I could hope to attempt a safe escape.

I’ve been using materials I have here to try and figure out a way to craft a breathing mask, for I have no true understanding of what the air quality on the outside could potentially be or if there is anyone still alive out there....goodness I would certainly hope so, if things are as bad as I predict then no one deserves such a fate.

After checking the cameras again above, all I see out there is a ship that I recognize as belonging to Dr. N.Gin that sits right above the tubes and I couldn’t even begin to guess what the doctor is doing...I certainly hope they are not up to not good at this point in time. I could tell the world outside looks worse for wear, the beautiful landscapes have been snuffed out and ruined, it pains me to say even my home and collection of books...some of which were priceless are likely lost to the radiation.

...

During the night the blue kangaroo would feel my head begin to throb to the point as he would breathe heavily, until he felt an uncontrollable sense of fanatical excitement! Feeling a burst of energy he cackled as the mutant would go hopping around the facility. As he placed TNT crates all around the place, his toes and fingers under the straitjacket twitched with anticipation as the crates exploded all around the place for the fun of it! To him it was an excellent time, the explosions, they were fabulous, genius work!

Feeling urges in his head he pressed his face against the glass, from what he’d remember of that is my tongue sticking to it as I peered out into the murky water that seemed to evaporate more and more every time he looked...

Unfortunately for him all this came with a price...

___________________

2 days later:

2 days without an incident.

Unbelievable...it would seem that a crack has begun to form on the tube near the fossil room, and I believe that it’s unfortunately my own doing as I woke up in the night and had another episode. This crack if it grows could put an end to this safe haven I’ve had for the past weeks and....I cannot have that. I needed some way to fix it but how could this happen, I looked at the crack and placed a foot up to it but I wasn’t a fool I ensured to use a thick cloth and when I looked back I saw the cloth was now wet...

Panic began to swell in my stomach...if the time came where I would have to leave this place then I would have to venture out and hope for the best even if it meant no more safety because once the water drained entirely then this place would be no longer safe as it would be completely accessible and exposed to the outside.

I can hear the glass straining, and the more I watched it I can see water dripping from it and I’m always trying to block it to ensure the potentially dangerous water doesn’t cause me trouble.

___________________

No...NO!

It’s a catastrophe! I woke up today to a loud crash and the sound of...glass breaking and a rush of water. Thankfully the emergency protocol did it’s work but I am seeing now that Dr. N. Gin’s ship has been hit with some kind of attack and sunk right on top of the tube complex....breaching the glass on the other side and causing the cracks in my area to spread, I’m afraid this is the end of my facility if the remainder of the water doesn’t contaminate everything the poisoned water will.

My...how strange that feels, my stomach feels warm and as I feel chills across my body and I feel my knees shaking I know what this is, I’m scared and I’m not afraid to admit it to myself. I’m fearful of what is going to become of me and what fate I will meet if I don’t leave before it’s too late.

I have to go, and so I’ve quickly assembled any and all supplies I still have here into a pack and placed it around myself like a backpack, soon the tubes will collapse and see the end of their days and even if the water is at an all time low and when it inevitably dries out...the tubes won’t be a haven for anyone anymore.

...

The moment I took the elevator up, thank goodness it still worked otherwise I’d be stranded and have no choice but to wait to die...upon exiting I felt my lungs and eyes burn and string with unsavory air and atmosphere that had me coughing as I wasn’t used to this.

But I pushed forward through what remained of my home which was dusty and had piles of strange substance even on the dusty old books of which some survived most didn’t.

So I stepped to the entrance of my home and looked out to see what appeared to be a land unlike what I knew it to be...it was like an industrial sector....and not much water left where the ocean should have plenty all I saw was mostly dry land.

___________________

Once night had come to an end I ventured out to see that the water had reached an all time low and I could see my underwater or now desert facility completely dilapidated and in shambles. All that work and time...completely destroyed. But it surely didn’t matter now given how the entire surrounding area looked, I could see clear marks of graffiti along the surrounding area and others moving around...I was feeling hungry so I prepared some of the leftovers I managed to salvage all as an attempt to stay out of conflict as long as possible.

But while scavenging around closer to my old home I found some spray cans, and other items that I notice there is a lot of perhaps I should make use of such things...I don’t quite know what the future will hold from here but I must learn to make the most of it now.

...

I opened my eyes the next morning to the strong scent of smoke and ash, not a good sign but I most certainly hoped that there was no one hostile nearby. I hadn’t seen really anyone so I had no idea of the presence of survivors or if there was few to none, of if anyone I knew was alive or not.

Checking my supplies I took a drink of water...remembering to be careful because once I was out I would have to scavenge for more. I kept and decided I should see how the land has changed, see if there is anyone around whatsoever. Surely I couldn’t be alone, but not knowing what could be out here after the initial blast had me concerned.

Feeling my eyes continuing to sting I knew eventually I’d get used to it, but I didn’t know what kinds of ill effects it could potentially have in the open. So I went through my backpack to check if I had something that could help my eyes...taking some time I dug around in the backpack with my foot and pulled out some goggles with red lenses that could help. Deciding this would be better than just simply glasses for obvious reasons I placed them over my eyes, having me see everything in red yet hopefully the air could clear up more so I don’t have to constantly wear these.

Regardless I made my way down looking at large towers and makeshift buildings including a large watertower with graffiti of what looked like Dr. Cortex’s face with a metal half. “Megamix” That face he had in the drawing sent shivers along my spine...I didn’t have a very good feeling about what I was looking at there.

During my exploration I thought rather than waiting to look for supplies I should perhaps just do it now so I don’t starve or go thirsty. It would be the smart thing to do, and while it’s likely been pillaged already I thought the ship belonging to Dr. N. Gin could hold something, I didn’t know what I’d find inside but I’d be prepared to defend myself if needed.

I knew the ship was essentially responsible for destroying my underwater facility and thus driving me out into the open but I couldn’t ignore potential supplies. So I very carefully climbed up into the torn hull and into the ship where I saw wreckage of abandoned crew uniforms and what looked like the impression of a walrus in the wall as if he’d rammed the wall.

How peculiar...however it didn’t matter in the end. If there was something still behind there I’d rather not see any grotesque remains so I stayed on the other side looking for anything useful to pick up. I came across not much except a still sealed canister of water that was buried under rubbish, possibly hidden so that it wasn’t yet found by anyone. I also peered upon a red scarf that I took with me from there as well.

Upon hearing some voices I decided it was best to take my leave and head back, noticing that these people...on the way out appeared to be some of Dr. Cortex’s old lab assistants. I heard them mention something about the bandicoots, telling me they must still be lurking around somewhere...I might have to figure out who else is out there for there are some I would trust.

I hope on the way home, no one saw me and I’m not being followed because I would not like to fall into unwanted conflict.

___________________

Once I had arrived home again, at least what remains of it I took a seat and had a quick meal. Knowing that things would only get rougher from here. My first night without a roof over my head besides the ruins of my home, I hear strange sounds at night and I haven’t seen a familiar face out here yet but I try my best to keep my sanity. I woke up late in the night, and I could’ve sworn I felt something push it’s snout up against me but I cannot be sure. It quite honestly shakes me to my core. I’m fully capable of defending myself but I couldn’t have the slightest idea of what’s out there...

[erosluna]

Felicity p3

Fluff! Wc: 2.7k The next few hours had been agonizingly long for Yoongi, he couldn’t sleep. Not with a palm flat on his forehead, a leg dangerously sprawled across his abdomen and a tail clinging for dear life on his thigh. Had he not been erect he could’ve let out a laugh or two at your strange sleeping position but right now, it is plain torture. The pain from his manhood made him forgive his own moral slip up, now he’s just praying to whatever deity there is that you not move anywhere closer to his aching member that had just receded in defeat. “Yoongi…” You whispered in your sleep, his heart ached once more and now he’s back to his normal and composed self, still suffering from pain in the guts but now he managed to pull you back for an embrace. A vibration from the phone on the nightstand woke you up, a few seconds later the phone started ringing as well. Y/n’s birthday flashed on the screen when you reached for it and now you’re jumping over the sleeping Yoongi, not knowing that he’s only been sleeping for an hour now. Kicked back to senses by the frantic movements, Yoongi pulled up with a phone screen flashing over his face. He took the phone off your hands and put it back on the night stand, there you were again straddling his thighs but Yoongi had just learned his lesson the hard way. You stopped bouncing but your face bearing the biggest closed lipped smile and your tail swinging high, Yoongi swore you were the cutest and the sweetest birthday girl ever, not that he’s known a lot of girls or a lot of people in general anyways, but still. “Goodmorning princess, happy birthday-” and with that, you threw the biggest hug over Yoongi. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lulled you gently with his deep bed voice humming a tune of happy birthday through your hair. At the last note you pulled back an arm length to clearly see his face, you felt your cheeks heating up then tears start rolling. You simply felt overjoyed. You could just stay there, like any other day, together with Yoongi and still call it the best among best days of your life. To have someone like him, as your mama promised, who would be there for you for whatever reason that is that you both feel towards each other. You still don’t have the exact word for it but you have the idea from so many books you’ve flipped. But you don’t need words. You knew. You know he knew. But maybe, someday, you’ll have to say it aloud. Not just in your minds, but from your heart with your actual voice. Yoongi can’t ever be grateful enough for what the world conspired for him, all the indifferences he endured and the closed walls that trapped him which he wouldn’t admit but in fact suffocated him for so long, has now been trampled to nothingness since fate has brought him to you. He’d forgotten or forgiven everyone and everything, you made him when you came over his life. You pulled Yoongi to land a soft kiss on his lips, you touched and cleared his forehead which you palmed overnight and landed a kiss on it as well. Yoongi’s hand gently brushed your hair, creeping higher and higher until his fingers touch the back of your perky ears. You winced in surprise but a purr of satisfaction rose out of you, since you’ve waited for this for oh so long. Yoongi couldn’t help but smile to your now overly relaxed figure, shoulders fallen and cute round eyes reduced to slits pushed by your cheeks ever so high from a closed lip smile. “Come on now, y/n. I have so much wonders for you to see today, don’t drop your energy like that.” “But Yoongi, this is the best. Let’s just stay here in bed pleaaaaase” you pretty pleased making Yoongi chuckle “alright princess, just a minute more. You can have all of this when we get back from todays adventure, and tomorrow and the day after tomorrow” he assured you with a bop on your nose “Yoongi, you’re the best!” “I’m ready Yoongi, let’s go!” you’re done wearing your sneakers but still Yoongi hasn’t come down from his room yet. “Y/n! Come here one sec, I have something for you.” You ran upstairs excitedly, Yoongi handed you lots of paper bags filled with pastel colored things. Your tail wagged as your eyed the lovely colors inside while Yoongi took a step out of the room. “Wear what you find the prettiest baby girl, I’m sure they’d all look good on you.” These are your first dresses, after a long time. Ever since you stayed with Yoongi, you wore nothing but unisex shirts, pants, and shorts since the poor guy had no one he could ask for to shop in the female section just for you. For the undies, Seokjin took care of the business in advance. You didn’t mind. You would never mind. Not if Yoongi wore similar things as yours. He only managed to grab the same things on smallest sizes hoping they’d fit you, and they did. But in anticipation for today, he ventured on the other sides of the stores to look for clothes that are pretty enough to suit you. The pursuit wasn’t easy though. In the end, he just bought all too many just praying that something could actually fit you since apparently he had to know numerous sizes he’s avoiding to meddle with. “Yoongi!” You called. He was just waiting outside the door where when he peeked, you pulled completely open and you turned around giddily as you displayed the baby blue dress you’re wearing. First checking the length, the dress fell below you knee, okay. Then the hips, not too small for you to move about, not too lose either. Next the waist, and oh, Yoongi never have paid attention to how small your waist was but there the dress was actually loose when it should be tighter. Lastly the chest, “Oh gah-“, the dress fitting was so confusing, when you look closer it was similar to what the other girls usually wore just above the knee but looking at you- You look tiny and cute and curvy and superfuckin’ sexy- Yoongi gasped at the thought. He swallowed the once again arising ache he suffered just last night and turned his back on you in a halt. “B-baby can you change into something else.. something please you look so pretty in that dress I don’t want to share you to the world.” You were almost hurt by his reaction thinking you looked terrible, but his words swept away the tears slowly forming in your eyes, and you blushed instead. “Okay Yoongi, just wait there. You don’t have to go outside.” And there Yoongi stood in panic trapped with you in a suddenly such a small room which used to be so spacious even with 10 people inside. He can hear the rumble of a fallen garment to the floor, his heart wouldn’t seize its wild beating. He tried holding his breath and deprive his brain of oxygen hoping it would help numb his senses and it did- You had to tap Yoongi’s shoulder to call his attention, you made a turn again to display the cute pink dress with red ribbons across your body. Yoongi examined tensely. Length, okay. Hips, okay. Waist, a bit loose. Chest, A BIG NO. “Find another one baby, sorry. Please bear with me, you can wear that inside the house, not outside. I can’t-“ “Sure Yoongi” you cut his words knowing already how this hard this is for him. You know he’s tensed and you don’t want to push him over, you just need to get properly dressed soon so you can start your adventures right away. “What about this?” You mused the simple white dress. You loved how soft the material felt against your skin, just like the one’s you always wear. The sleeves were long, round neck, and the dress is loose falling right below you knee. “Oh dear” Yoongi felt defeated. His shopping mission was a total wreck, you favorited what was supposedly his own shirt that got mixed in your bags. “But why? I like this the best, it’s comfty and look, I’m all okay, right? Right?” you pouted “Y/n, that’s mine. That’s a man’s cloth and you are a woman now. Wait, let me just-“ He went past you and took out everything on each bag across the bed as he scanned for a good fit for you while you stood behind him and stripped the white one and handed it to Yoongi. He was busy estimating the clothes fit on your body and he just took the white shirt you offered to his face. When his eyes finally settled on the yellow summer dress and reached out across the bed to pick it up, he then only saw what you handed him earlier. It was his long sleeved shirt, which means that right now- “Yoongi! Look I think I’m good with this. We can just leave all of those here, I won’t wear them outside.” Yoongi baffled by what you were saying, imagining you now only in your undies, thinking how you must’ve misunderstood why he wouldn’t let you out in these ill fitting dresses, couldn’t stop sweating like a sicko. Imagining your skin shining exposed to the leaking sunlight from the curtain of his windows. You jumped in front him and he nearly had a heart attack. His head spun almost falling to his feet but you caught him by the waist and you eased him down to his bed. “YOU’RE DRESSED!” he exclaimed with a sigh of relief “YES I AM, NOW LET’S GO!” You ended up wearing what you originally wore, the jeans, the tshirt and the sneakers, all with their own pairs amongst Yoongi’s closet. You felt happy with the thought. “I like this the best.” Gazing out from the window of his car, you take in the dancing lights as you went past among them. First, you went over to a place for a garden sunrise breakfast. Next, to the museum. And then the national library. You can’t express how happy you were by words but Yoongi understood through your minds, how elated you were, how much of a great day the two of you are having. He was having such a great time too, just watching you gasp at foreign things, making big-O’s with your mouth as you were told to be quiet by the librarian, all kinds of scenery made his heart easily flutter, all scenery with a picture of you, including this. He’s been driving for about an hour now to attend your last stop for the day. A dinner with your psychiatrist Seokjin. He was up to date with all your progress as Yoongi trusted only him when it came to you, well, only him in general. “Y/n, are you ready to meet Seokjin? He’s our friend okay? He’s nice and he cares about you as much as I do.” Yoongi asked with softness and worry combined in his voice. “Yes Yoongi, I can’t wait to see him! He said he’s prepared a gift for me over the phone the other day, I wonder what could it be..-“ This is only the second time you’re meeting Seokjin, but his scent was familiar to you and you’re not bothered or uncomfortable with him or even anyone you encountered throughout the day. Yoongi, on the other hand, had his hands clenched to a fist hiding beneath the table. Seokjin brought his hybrid companion Taehyung, he’s a tiger hybrid with orangey to gold ears paired with matching tails, who’s hogging all of your attention throughout the evening. You were seated in front of him, beside Yoongi, and in front of him is Seokjin. Taehyung was a huge chatterbox who is very animated while talking, he’s a bit touchy too that when you both share a laugh he would always reach out to you for a high five, which you giddily accept everytime. While the two of you are so busy exchanging stories, the two other men talked in all seriousness. Seokjin tried to ask Yoongi if they could move to the other table so they could chat properly, but Yoongi suddenly went fuming with the idea with a HELL NO! a bit too loud for a whisper, but wasn’t enough to call your attention. You knew they wanted to talk in private, to maybe some sensitive topics they both wouldn’t want you to hear, but your ears are just too sensitive no matter how many tables they flipped through the room you’d know what they’re talking about. Yoongi knew that too. And the thought of you giving all of your ears to Taehyung was why he’s getting mad right now. You only pretended to be enthusiastic and attentive to Taehyung, not that you didn’t really like talking to him, you just very much prefer if it would be Yoongi not him. But they’re busy, you shouldn’t be so greedy with him. It’s only Seokjin, and they have to talk about you. The dinner came to an end and the psychiatrist reached out to you, looking over to Yoongi first asking by mind if it’s okay to give your hand to Seokjin, he nodded, and you carefully placed your palm on top of Seokjin’s hand. He then took out his other arm hiding behind him and there appeared the same book he gave the personnel arranging your papers that night. Your eyes gleamed at the sight. You could’ve jumped up and down if not for the tensed Yoongi behind you, once again you feel grateful. You just bowed your head for like 3 seconds to him, and flash him very cute smiling face as you rise up. With that, you bid farewell to the guys while one of your hands clutching the book against your chest and the other squeezing hard on Yoongi’s hand. Before the car door closes, you hear your name being whispered from a distance. This is Seokjin’s voice. “Y/n, I know you know already. You are highly intelligent. I’ve seen where your owner got you and it’s amazing how she managed to raise you being one of the most fragile of the generations of your kind. This dinner wasn’t meant to check on you, but Yoongi. Now, you have to make him read the book, and discuss it like you always do with him. You have to get him say the words, you got to make this work. You can do this! I’m so happy for the two of you.” Yoongi patiently waited by your side as you seemingly spaced out suddenly, in a moment or two, you removed your hand restraining the car door and with a smile, Yoongi closed it for you. Your drive home was a quiet and peaceful one. Overwhelmed with so much knowledge and emotions, you fell asleep in no time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is silently drowning in his thoughts. If he was being honest, he’d rather not take you out to the world. He wanted to keep you to himself, like you’ve always been. But then he wouldn’t be any different to the cagers who locked you down on that miserable place. The gaze you bore through his memory from that night, he feared it so much. He’d never want to be the one to inflict such fear and pain in you in the future, this is what pushed him to compose himself and decide to let you out and see the world. Thinking back through the day, it hasn’t been so bad. He watched you react to everything, never leaving your side. He felt full. Your questions, your astonishments, laughs, and troubles, everything was directed to him, until the dinner.

[jarryprompts]

Harry making a deal with a demon (James). Prompt Fill

Submitted by @itsacruelirony as a response to this prompt. Thank you!

Warnings for some dubcon so approach with caution. Smutt from the outset so under a cut :)

Harry feels the bile rise in his throat and quickly chokes it back down. He won’t get paid if he vomits on his client. Even if this is his most loyal and kind client, it would still earn him a beating and lose him the day’s earnings. Instead he fakes his pleasure, because he knows this man likes him to be responsive, and gives the appropriate moans and touches. His mind conjures up images of the few boyfriends he’d had in the past and of porn he’d watched - anything to make this even slightly enjoyable.

Finally, with a grunt and one deep thrust, the man finishes, slumping over Harry’s prone body to catch his breath. Harry dares not move, despite how rank the man’s aftershave smells and the way the hands still clutch his hips. Hot breath puffs against his ear. Wet, open mouthed kisses press against his neck and bare chest. A tight squeeze of his hips for a moment causes a strike of fear in Harry’s mind - does he want to go again?

Thankfully, the man rolls off him and pulls up his trousers, zipping his fly with finality. Harry gives a sigh of relief. As the man straightens his shirt and tie and slips his blazer back on, Harry takes stock of his body. No matter how often he does this, how integral to his life it is now, he will never get used to the pain and the humiliation he feels every second of the day. But this is his life now.

“I might give you tip. You make me regret being married.” The man jokes, drinking in the sight of Harry’s still exposed body and winking lecherously. The man fishes a wad of cash out of his wallet and hands it over. Harry gapes at the amount but tucks it away before the man can snatch it back.

“Much appreciated.” Harry needs every penny he can get. Maybe, once the cut for his family comes out, he will have enough to spare for a crisps, water and biscuits. A bland diet, he knows, but he’s not ill or deficient in any vitamins yet, so it’ll do.

The man lingers in the alley, stood in his suit with an honest to God briefcase, looking impossible out of place. Harry doesn’t say anything as he fidgets on his sleeping bag. Will the man just leave already? This is awkward.

“…Everything okay?…” He asks hesitantly. His stomach begins to twist nervously.

“You’re a good person.” The man isn’t looking at him. He contemplates the moss growing on the damp brick walls, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t deserve to live your life like this. I know you, and you deserve a second chance.”

“I’ve my second chance and I blew it. If you knew me, you’d know that. Are you done here?”

The client ignores the dismissal, finally turning back to Harry. His hand holding the briefcase clenches. “I can help you. I have a way to make all of your problems disappear. Poof! Gone. And it’s not money.”

Harry knows it is too good to be true, but so long as the man isn’t offering to buy him completely and fix his problems with sex. A miracle fix for his problems. That is the dream. It could make his money worries go away, get him a flat to live in, stop him ever going hungry, get him back into uni, fix his relationship with his father, cure his sister’s near-incurable disease. Harry has wished on every star, on the first snowflake that falls - he would hunt for a genie’s lamp if he thought they existed.

“Go on.” What does he have to lose?

The man doesn’t answer, instead, he winks and smirks and places his case down on the ground and opens it. Harry can’t see what the man is doing, rummaging around in it as if the inside were bigger than the outside. Harry’s heart speeds in anticipation, and he suddenly aware that he is still naked. The chilling breeze nips at his shoulders as he hunches over his drawn up knees. A spark of irritation flies at the man who delights in building the suspense as he stares at Harry.

Finally, from the inside of the case, the man retrieves a thick book. But it is so much more than a simple book. Cracked, burnt black leather covers, with clasps made of a shining red metal, inlaid with inky black pearls. The pages are crumpled and jagged, something rust coloured stains the parchment. It looks to be a thousand years old at the very least. It is too ancient for a sexually deviant businessman to be carrying around in his man-bag. What is it?

As if he could read Harry’s mind, the man begins to explain. “This book and many like it have been handed down the generations of my family, we are the custodians of the secrets it holds. We gift it to those we deem worthy - and you, I think, are worthy. I see how desperate you are, how low life has brought you. You sleep on the ground, in the dirt, like a common beast, and you sell yourself to the highest bidder. And the lowest. You’re starving. You’re hopeless and dying down here. I see everything and I give this to you.”

The man holds out the ominous tome, pressing it into Harry’s hands. He almost buckles under the weight of it. Thankfully it is large enough to cover his modesty from his creepy client.

“How does any of that make me worthy? And what even is this? What am I meant to do with this book? Sell it, eat it, use it as a pillow?”

He should have known. No power in the world is capable of fixing the absolute mess Harry has made of his life. And now this charlatan thinks a stupid book can fix all of his problems. If a book could fix his fucked up life then university wouldn’t have been such a failure at university. He’s kidding himself even thinking he can get together enough money to pay for a private treatment for Dee Dee. His life is fucked.

The man rolls his eyes and growls angrily. For a moment, Harry thinks his eyes flash red. But a second later it’s gone. He must have imagined it. Low blood sugar probably.

“Read it and you’ll know. Do what it takes to improve your life.”

With that dire instruction, the man slips away down the alley, smart shoes clicking on the pavement. He leaves Harry naked on his thin and patchy sleeping bag, with a medieval book in his lap, feeling more humiliated and taken advantage of than he did when the man was screwing him. A book? If only, he scoffs. 

In the cold silence that Harry has grown used to now, he gets dressed, cleaning himself up and preparing for his next client. Money safely stashed away, he tries to focus on his motivation - Dee Dee, and his family - but his thoughts and eyes drift constantly to the bloody book. So out of place in the modern world. Finally, he give sin to the temptation to open it and read. There’s nothing else for him to do.

Reading it turns out to be a bust, because not only is it in some near illegible fancy calligraphy, but it appears to be in Latin, which Harry only knows from his old boarding school’s motto. He doesn’t know near enough to translate this thing. But, undeterred, he examines the pages and the accompanying illustrations, hoping for something to help him, or at least, entertain him until he has to go in search of a new customer.

Weeks later, as he finishes the last page, Harry goes back to the beginning and starts all over again. And again. And again. With each rereading he understands more and more of the contents. When he realises that it is a Satanic text about demons and spells and evil deeds, he only contemplates throwing it away for a second before starting to read again. It’s not like there’s an abundance of reading material for homeless prostitutes, and besides, it’s actually pretty interesting.

In the dark of the night, when he has no light by which to read his tome, Harry wonders why his client gave this to him, and he mulls over his cryptic words as a kind of lullaby. He hasn’t seen the man since so has no one to go to for answers. While the book is illuminating in many ways, he still doesn’t know what to do.

That is until the day he collects his meagre savings and shoves them into a wrinkled brown envelope. It’s not enough, even with the money he was going to save for himself so that he could eat a little better the following week. Dee Dee’s treatment is expensive, he knows, and this will barely put a dent into it. But he posts it through the flat’s letterbox anyway, when he knows that everyone is out.

It’s as he lets the tears fall down his cheeks, as the realisation that this could very well be his life until the day he dies washes over him, that he understands. He was given the book because he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. So he might as well use what he’s learnt. Harry doesn’t care if this is a ploy to suck him into some cult, or steal his immortal soul or whatever, he really does have nothing left to lose.

So, by the fading light of the day, Harry settles down on his sleeping bag, a demonic book in his lap, and prepares to summon a demon. It’s what the book is for. It details all the requirements - not many - and the consequences - a few - and the risks - too many to list. Harry feels prepared for this, so he confidently recites the required Latin text. Though he stumbles over pronunciation he guesses it doesn’t matter how he pronounces a dead language, and carries on. It’s the intent that matters, anyway.

As he finishes the silence in the alley presses down on him. No birds sing, no cars rumble by, no wind whistles. Harry’s breathing becomes laboured as fear creeps in. What did he just do?

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry shrieks and nearly jumps out of his skin. For where there once was empty space, now stands the most handsome man Harry has ever seen. Well, demon, he supposes, given the ritual he just performed. But he looks nothing like a demon. He’s dressed in an impeccable suit, hair combed back, and completely devoid of a pitchfork and tail. Thankfully the man - demon - says nothing about his scream.

Neither of them speak. Harry tries and fails to break the silence but his jaw merely opens and close noiselessly like a dumb fish. God, he must look so stupid and brainless to this impressive and immortal demon. A puny, pathetic prostitute.

Seemingly amused, the demon takes a step forward and gracefully folds himself down to sit next to Harry. Harry looks up, at the demon, confused.

“Take your time. I know that book doesn’t quite prepare you well enough for demon summoning.”

“I— I— I just summoned a demon?”

“Yes. Me.”

“Do you have a name?”

“… What?” That startles the demon. Harry feels flicker of pride at having shocked someone as powerful as him before the confusion and shock settle in again.

“A name. It’s rude to just call you demon, isn’t it? I’d find it rude if I called ‘human’ or ‘person’ all the time. Surely you have a name.”

“Oh. My real name is rather difficult for your kind to pronounce - much like that Latin you butchered.”

“Sorry. Is there a name you want me to call you, then? One I can pronounce.”

“You may call me James.”

“Very well. Nice to meet you, James.” Harry hold out his hand for the demon - James - to shake, rather surprising himself. And James if the look on his face is anything to go by. “Just go with it. I think I’m in shock.” With a quirk of his lips, the demon shakes his hand.

“What happens now?” The book didn’t explain what to do once the demon has been summoned, it seems to rely on the person working the spell having some sort of natural instinct. Something Harry does not have. If he did, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

“Well, you are obviously worthy, since you have the book. Tell me what you need to do and we’ll work out a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Obviously, I don’t do this for free.”

“No, I… I knew that, obviously. I just… you’ll do it? No matter what? So if I needed someone to die in order to improve my life, then you’d do it? What if I asked you to commit genocide?”

James doesn’t bat an eyelid. “It would be done. For a price.” There is no doubt that the price would be steep, but the fact that he would kill a person, or an entire race of people, for a price - for Harry - is startling. Though, Harry supposes, he is a demon. Demons don’t exactly have morals.

“But I doubt you need me murder anyone, let alone an entire population.” James reassures him. Harry finds he quite likes this man. It might be because he’s the first person to have a proper conversation with him in months. Or because he is undeniably attractive and Harry can feel the stirrings of desire in his stomach. “What is your predicament?”

Harry sighs, his shoulders sagging where he sits and feeling more relaxed next to an omnipotent demon than he has done in a long time. He shuts the book and scrapes his nails gently on the tough cover; absently, he notices how long and dirty his nails have gotten.

“I did something my father can’t forgive.”

“I can’t change the past, Harry. No one can. I’m sorry.” Somehow, Harry believes James.

“I didn’t expect you too. I’d either screw up again exactly the same or be so plagued with guilt about it I’d tell my dad and be back here again. I messed up, got kicked out and I just need to make amends so that I can go back home.”

“And you’re making amends how?”

“Any money I have goes towards paying for a treatment for my sister. She has autoimmune encephalitis and there’s a treatment that might help but it’s experimental and not available on the NHS, so the family have to pay.” There’s something wrong about paying for a child’s medical bills with sex, but it’s the only choice Harry has. No savings, no job, no smart clothes for an interview or a printer for a CV. Being homeless sucks.

“You’re selling your body for your sister. For your family. And how do they feel knowing the money you give them comes from a man abusing your body?”

“I don’t really know. I post it through the letter box when I know they’re out.” Harry fidgets guiltily. He can’t even face his family, how will things ever be okay? “They’d hate it. I’m disgusting and dirty… they won’t want me anywhere near the kids. And too right.”

“So you won’t be allowed near the sister you sacrificed yourself for. Charming.” James doesn’t try hard to keep the contempt out of his voice. It brings a rare smile to Harry’s face to have someone on his side - a smile he fights down because that’s a selfish thought and it’s wrong.

“I guess I need… I would like Dee Dee to be healthy. I want her safe and comfortable, and I don’t want it come at the cost of my family’s financial stability. I want my family to be happy.”

“And what about you? Is there anything you want for yourself?”

“I don’t deserve anything. I’m a lost cause.”

James stiffens beside him, but Harry doesn’t dare look at him. He knows he has a sort of ally, but he can’t see the pity or compassion. Not when he doesn’t have it from his family.

“Very well. I will require something in return.”

No matter what was demanded of him, Harry has nothing to lose. That was what drew him to summon a demon in the first place. And for his sister? He would give anything to see her smile again, to have her laugh and be carefree, without tubes sticking out of her. “Anything.”

“Your soul.”

“And what will you do with my soul?”

“Set you free.”

[aion-rsa]

Best Returning British TV Series 2021: the Most Anticipated Series Coming Back This Year

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There’s no getting around it; you’re going to see more of your TV than your friends and loved ones over the next few months. That being so, it’s lucky that there continues to be still so bloody much of the stuff, despite Covid-19’s best efforts to shut it all down. They might have been delayed, they might have been curtailed, but they weren’t stopped. Returning British TV shows are on their way. The horizon is filled with them, gambolling like lambs over the fields and into your living room.

There’s comedy and drama and crime thrillers arriving by the lorryload, and sci-fi and fantasy coming by the… much smaller lorryload. (More of a small van for returning British sci-fi and fantasy this year, but check out the new titles coming soon.)

We’ll keep this list updated as soon as more details are announced and release dates are confirmed.

A Discovery of Witches Season 2 (January 8th)

Based on Deborah Harkness’ All Souls trilogy about the forbidden love between a powerful witch and a centuries-old vampire, A Discovery Of Witches debuted on Sky in autumn 2018 (read our reviews here) and was renewed for series two and three almost straight away. The second run sees leads Teresa Palmer and Matthew Goode (pictured) time-walking in Elizabethan England where they meet some famous faces of yore.

A Very English Scandal series 2

This one has yet to receive the official commission stamp, but it’s too good not to pass on a bit prematurely. Following on from the success of Russell T. Davies’ acclaimed three-part drama based on the real-life events of Lib Dem leader Jeremy Thorpe’s plot to have his lover Norman Scott murdered, the BBC plans to turn the ‘A Very English Scandal’ header into an anthology series following different true life events that rocked English society. As reported by Deadline in March 2020, Agatha Christie adapter extraordinaire Sarah Phelps is writing a three-part drama about a 1963 sex scandal involving the Duchess of Argyll, nicknamed ‘The Dirty Duchess.’

Back Season 2 (January)

Channel 4 has a second run of Simon Blackwell’s excellent sitcom Back on the way. The first series aired in autumn 2017 and was delayed while actor Robert Webb suffered an episode of ill health. The comedy reunites Peep Show’s David Mitchell and Webb as Stephen and Andrew, two erstwhile foster brothers whose neurotic rivalry boils up in the wake of Stephen’s father’s death. Louise Brealey also stars in the squirming, tragicomic delight. Stream the first series on All4 here.

Back To Life Season 2 (tbc)

Daisy Haggard and Laura Solon’s six part comedy-drama about a woman released from a lengthy prison sentence arrived in 2019 as one of a clutch of well-received original BBC shows. Haggard plays Miri, who returns to her childhood home and isn’t exactly welcomed back to the community with open arms, alongside Adeel Akhtar, Geraldine James, Liam Williams and more. It aired on Showtime over in the US, and will return for series two, which is currently being written.

Baptiste Season 2 (tbc)

Tcheky Karyo will return as grizzled French detective Julien Baptiste in a second series of the Williams Brothers’ Euro-set crime thriller. The character made his name on two series of The Missing, and earned his own BBC spin-off in spring 2019. (Read our spoiler-filled reviews here.) Series two sees Baptiste in Budapest on a search for the missing family of a British Ambassador, and co-stars Killing Eve‘s Fiona Shaw. Production on series two was halted in March 2020 because of the global spread of COVID-19, but got back up and running in the summer.

Breeders Season 2 (tbc)

Filming wrapped on the second series of Sky One parenting comedy Breeders just before Christmas 2020, so we can expect to see the new episodes later this year. The series, created by Simon Blackwell, Chris Addison and Martin Freeman, follows the child-based frustrations and catastrophes of Paul (Freeman) and Ally (Daisy Haggard), breaking taboos and punching you in the heart as it goes.

Britannia Season 3 (tbc)

Playwright Jez Butterworth and showrunner James Richardson first brought their trippy vision of warring Celts, mystical druids and invading Romans to Sky Atlantic in January 2018, and were quickly rewarded by a second series renewal. That run has already been and gone, leaving us awaiting the return of David Morrissey, Mackenzie Crook and co. for more bonkers ancient history, this time with added Sophie Okonedo!

Bulletproof: South Africa (January 20th)

After two hit series of crime drama Bulletproof on Sky One, police officers Bishop (Noel Clarke) and Pike (Ashley Walters) are back for a three-part special set in South Africa. The miniseries will see the crime-fighters’ attempt to relax on holiday scuppered when they become entangled with a dangerous kidnap plot.

Cobra Season 2 (tbc)

Robert Carlyle’s PM will return for another series of Sky One political thriller Cobra, written by The Tunnel and Strike: Cuckoo’s Calling‘s Ben Richards. The first series saw Carlyle’s character attempting to maintain power after solar flares took out Britain’s power grid and left the country in chaos as political factions vied for his position. What disaster will befall him in series two we don’t yet know…

Dead Pixels Season 2 (January)

Jon Brown’s gamer comedy debuted in March 2019 and was renewed four months later for series two. It stars Alexa Davies and Will Merrick as two die-hard MMORPG gamers (massive multiplayer online roleplay game, if you were wondering) and Charlotte Ritchie as their non-gaming flatmate. Here’s our interview with the creator on how other TV shows and films so often go wrong in their depiction of gaming and gamers.

Derry Girls Season 3 (tbc)

Lisa McGee’s terrific 90s-set Northern Irish comedy is set to return for a third series about the lives of secondary school students Erin, Orla, Clare, Michelle and James. Filming was due to begin in June 2020, but Covid-19 disrupted that schedule so we’ll have to wait a little longer for this one. Set in the 1990s, Derry Girls is a coming-of-age nostalgia-flood with characters to love and jokes to spare, in which crushes and friendship fall-outs are dealt with in the same breath as dangerous political turmoil. Cracker.

Doctor Who Season 13 (tbc)

Thanks to Covid-19, we’re getting a shorter run of eight episodes for Doctor Who‘s next series, which is confirmed to welcome new companion Dan to the TARDIS. Played by comedian-actor John Bishop, Dan will join Yaz and the Doctor as they continue their travels after saying goodbye to Ryan and Graham in New Year special ‘Revolution of the Daleks.’

Endeavour Season 8 (tbc)

A three-episode seventh series of Russell Lewis’ Inspector Morse prequel aired in February 2020, taking Morse into a new decade, as he and the team investigated the discovery of a body on a canal path on New Year’s Day 1970 (read our spoiler-filled reviews here). Shaun Evans not only returned as the lead, but also directed his second instalment of the long-running crime prequel. Series eight was due to begin filming in summer 2020 but it was pushed back until 2021 due to the Covid-19 pandemic.

Gangs of London Season 2 (tbc)

The body count was high in Sky Atlantic’s ultra-stylish, ultra-violent 2020 thriller Gangs of London, but enough characters made it all the way through for a second season to be commissioned. When it eventually arrives, expect more expertly choreographed fight scenes, more international crime family intrigue and more betrayal. Co-creator Gareth Evans and his fellow directors gave us a taste of what to expect from the new run here.

Gentleman Jack Season 2 (tbc)

Renewed even before series one had aired, Sally Wainwright’s Gentleman Jack arrived on BBC One in the UK and HBO in the US with a bang. It stars Suranne Jones as real-life trail-blazing lesbian industrialist Anne Lister, with a cast including Sophie Rundle, Gemma Whelan and Rosie Cavaliero. It’s witty and dynamic, offering television a new 19th century hero at whom to marvel (here’s our episode one review). The eight-episode second series started filming in November 2020.

Ghosts Season 3 (tbc)

This tremendously fun comedy arrived in 2019 from the cast of Horrible Histories and Yonderland. Happily, it was renewed by the BBC for a third series, which guarantees us at least six more episodes of spectral shenanigans as Alison and Mike (alive) try to keep the ancestral family home going while dealing with an influx of housemates from history (dead). Speaking to Den of Geek in November 2020 about the terrific Christmas special, Kiell Smith-Bynoe, who plays Mike in the show, said they were hoping to film series three in spring 2021.

Guilt Season 2 (tbc)

BBC Scotland’s dark comedy-drama Guilt was a word-of-mouth hit that became an award-winning hit. Created by Neil Forsyth and starring Mark Bonnar, it was the story of two very different brothers attempting to cover up an unthinkable act. It’s currently available to watch on BBC iPlayer and will be joined by a second four-part series. Don’t get it confused with the US Amanda Knox series of the same name, which was cancelled.

Happy Valley Season 3 (tbc)

We’re cheating here because there is very little chance that 2021 will see the planned third and final series of Sally Wainwright’s excellent crime drama Happy Valley but it’s too good a drama not to include. The word seems to be that creator Wainwright and star Sarah Lancashire are keen to return for the final chapter in Sgt. Cawood’s story, but they’re waiting for young star Rhys Connah, who plays Cawood’s grandson Ryan, to get a bit older before tackling the story Wainwright wants to tell. Patience.

His Dark Materials Season 3 (tbc)

One final eight-episode season is on its way to BBC One and HBO to conclude this stunning adaptation of Philip Pullman’s book trilogy. Season three will tell the story of The Amber Spyglass, taking Lyra and Will to even more new worlds, where they’ll meet strange creatures and have to face a weighty choice. Pre-production began earlier in 2020, but the renewal announcement didn’t officially arrive until December. Here’s a taster of what we might expect to see.

Innocent Season 2 (tbc)

ITV’s Innocent was a four-part series about a miscarriage of justice that aired in May 2018. Its conclusion certainly didn’t call for a continuation so news of a second series renewal was a bit of a head-scratcher until it was revealed that creator Chris Lang (Unforgotten) was writing a whole new case and a whole new set of characters for the second run, now due to arrive this year.

Inside No. 9 Season 6 (tbc)

Knowing a good thing when it has one, BBC Two renewed Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith’s ingenious anthology series Inside No. 9 for a sixth and seventh series back in March. That means 12 new half-hour stories told with wit, originality and – every so often – a surprising amount of heart. Shearsmith Tweeted in November 2020 that the team were in rehearsals and planning to start filming on the new episodes imminently.

Killing Eve Season 4 (tbc)

Season four of mega-hit spy thriller Killing Eve was announced back before season three aired, so we know that it is coming, the question is: when? As the series films across various European locations, it’s been hit harder than many by the Covid-19 pandemic, and production was confirmed as being on an indefinite hiatus in October 2020, so don’t hold your breath for the usual April start date. As soon as things are up and running, we’ll let you know.

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Line of Duty Season 6 (March)

Series five of Jed Mercurio’s hugely successful crime thriller concluded in May 2019, and, after a Covid-related five-month delay, filming wrapped on series six in November 2020. Line of Duty stars Vicky McClure, Martin Compston and Adrian Dunbar as bent-copper-hunters AC-12, with each series welcoming a high-profile guest – previous series have welcomed Stephen Graham, Thandie Newton and Keeley Hawes, and this time around it’s Kelly Macdonald.

Man Like Mobeen Season 4 (tbc)

Announced on creator and star Guz Khan’s Instagram account in September 2020, as reported by Comedy.co.uk, hit BBC Three comedy Man Like Mobeen will return in 2021. Series three left fans on a serious cliffhanger that saw Mobeen doing time despite his best efforts to stay out of trouble and raise his younger sister. Catch up on BBC iPlayer here.

Marcella Season 3 (January)

ITV’s Marcella, co-created by The Killing’s Hans Rosenfeldt and starring Anna Friel, went out in a blaze of bonkers glory in 2018. Series two marked a turning point for the detective show, which went from domestic crime drama to full-blown comic-book spy thriller, complete with faked deaths, conspiracy, and secret investigative units. Series three has Marcella working undercover in a Belfast crime family. It’s already aired on Netflix around the world, and will finally arrive on ITV in January 2021.

McMafia Season 2 (tbc)

Starring James Norton as the conflicted British son of a Russian mob boss, McMafia was BBC One’s big, glamorous New Year drama for 2018. It was renewed for another eight episode season a good while back but updates on progress have been very thin on the ground since then Whenever it arrives, expect more double-crossing and high-stakes violence set against the backdrop of gangland London. Read our series one episode reviews here.

Mortimer and Whitehouse: Gone Fishing Season 4 (tbc)

A fishing show may seem like a strange choice for this list of mostly high-profile dramas and comedies, but Gone Fishing deserves as much celebration as any of them. That’s thanks to Bob Mortimer and Paul Whitehouse’s natural chemistry as two long-time friends, both of whom have been forced to contemplate their mortality in recent years due to serious heart problems. It’s fishing, yes, but it’s also chat, silliness and genuine human warmth.

Motherland Season 3 (tbc)

Sharon Horgan, Holly Walsh and Helen Linehan’s parenting comedy Motherland will be back for a third series. Starring Anna Maxwell-Martin (Good Omens, Line Of Duty), Lucy Punch, Paul Ready and Diane Morgan, it’s a caustic look at the demands of modern parenting and life in your thirties and forties that you don’t even need to have kids to relate to/stare at in rapt horror.

Peaky Blinders Season 6 (tbc)

Peaky Blinders, Steven Knight’s BBC Two crime saga following the ascendancy of Birmingham’s Shelby family in post-World War One England, is set to return for two further series, which should, if all goes to plan, take us all the way up to the outbreak of World War II. Series five aired in late summer 2019 and here’s all the news we have on series six, which was sadly forced to suspend production in March due to the global spread of Covid-19. Filming is due to resume in January 2021, so fingers crossed we’ll get the new series later this year.

Sex Education Season 3 (tbc)

Season three of Netflix’s celebrated high school comedy-drama went into production in September 2020, so there’ll be a little wait until the new episodes arrive on the streaming service. The show has won such an adoring fandom over its two seasons that they’ll wait as long as it takes to continue the stories of Otis, Eric, Maeve and of course, Gillian Anderson’s masterful Jean.

Staged Season 2 (January 4th)

A lot of people tried their best to make new TV under lockdown conditions last year, and some fared better than others. At the top of the comedy pile is Staged, starring David Tennant and Michael Sheen as exaggerated versions of themselves, rehearsing a play on Zoom with a host of big name guest stars and plenty of laughs courtesy of their other halves Georgia Tennant and Anna Lundberg.

Stath Lets Flats Season 3

We waited too long to hear that Channel 4 was doing the sensible thing and renewing Jamie Demetriou’s excellent Stath Lets Flats for a third series. During that wait, the show won three Baftas and even more fans, securing its reputation as one of the best comedies around. According to cast-member Kiell Smith-Bynoe, who plays reluctant letting agent Dean, the plan is to start filming in summer 2021, if everybody’s schedules can match up.

Taboo Season 2 (tbc)

From Steven Knight, creator of the excellent Peaky Blinders, in collaboration with star Tom Hardy, Taboo presents a very different vision of Regency England to the traditional Jane Austen world of assembly balls and etiquette faux pas. It’s about James Delaney, an almost invincible, little bit magic, highly mysterious thorn in the side of the East India Company. Series one aired in early 2017, and as of summer 2019, Knight had finished six of the eight scripts for the second series. Here’s what we know so far.

Taskmaster Season 11 (tbc)

Joining the Taskmaster and little Alex Horne for series ten of Taskmaster – its first series on Channel 4 – were Daisy May Cooper, Johnny Vegas, Katherine Parkinson, Mawaan Rizwan and Richard Herring. Then came a New Year treat featuring all-new one-off contestants. In 2021, we’re due a full new series starring Charlotte Ritchie, Jamali Maddix, Lee Mack, Mike Wozniak and Sarah Kendall, plus a champion of champions miniseries.

Temple Season 2 (tbc)

Adapted from Norwegian series Valkyrien, Temple is the story of an underground medical facility run by a desperate surgeon and his apocalypse-prepping colleague. It stars Mark Strong, Carice Van Houten and Daniel Mays, and debuted on Sky One in autumn 2019. The series two renewal was announced as the series one finale aired, and the new episodes are expected to air in summer 2021. Read more about the series here.

The Bay Season 2 (January)

Daragh Carville’s Morecambe-set crime thriller returns with a new case for Morven Christie’s DS Lisa Armstrong and co. this year. The first series dealt with the disappearance of a set of teenage twins and shady goings-on in a picture-perfect coastal town, earning it the title of ‘the new Broadchurch’. Here’s our episode one review.

The Capture Season 2 (tbc)

Ben Chanan’s BBC One thriller The Capture was a high-stakes crime drama that tackled the question of what truth and innocence mean when video evidence can be so easily manipulated in the modern age. It starred Strike‘s Holliday Grainger, and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them‘s Callum Turner, and was renewed for a second series in summer 2020.

The Crown Season 5 (tbc)

Olivia Colman took over from Clare Foy as HRH Elizabeth II in The Crown series three. The time jump saw Matt Smith replaced by Tobias Menzies as Prince Philip and Helena Bonham-Carter take the reins from Vanessa Kirby as Princess Margaret, with Gillian Anderson playing Margaret Thatcher. For season five, the palace welcomes Imelda Staunton (pictured) and Lesley Manville as the Windsor sisters.

The Last Kingdom Season 5 (tbc)

The Last Kingdom series five will adapt the next two books in Bernard Cornwell’s Saxon Stories series: Warriors of the Storm and The Flame Bearer. Starring Alexander Dreymon as Viking-raised-Saxon Uhtred of Bebbenberg, it’s an action-packed historical drama filled with wit and characters to love. Read our spoiler-filled episode reviews and more.

This Time With Alan Partridge Season 2 (tbc)

Filming concluded on the second run of This Time With Alan Partridge in December 2020, so there shouldn’t be too long a wait for the new episodes to arrive on BBC One. Series two sees Norwich broadcasting veteran Alan established as the co-presenter of fictional magazine chat show This Time, following his gaffes on-screen and off. Susannah Fielding co-stars.

Unforgotten Season 4 (tbc)

Cassie and Sunny (played by Nicola Walker and Sanjeev Bhaskar) return for a fourth series of ITV’s excellent cold case crime drama Unforgotten. What makes Chris Lang’s detective series stand out is its empathy—for its characters, for the victims, and often, for the killers themselves. The new series will take another decades-old case as its starting point, and no doubt tell another engrossing, affecting story led by excellent performances from a cast including Susan Lynch and Sheila Hancock.

War of the Worlds Season 2 (tbc)

FOX UK sci-fi War of the Worlds was one of the first TV dramas to restart filming after the enforced Covid-19 lockdown (it helps when your show is set in a post-apocalyptic world where the population has been more or less destroyed), so even with all the effects-heavy post-production required, we can expect it to arrive this year. It uses H.G. Wells’ story more as a jumping-off point than a bible, and developed into a poised and atmospheric sci-fi for adults. Read more about it here.

World on Fire Season 2 (tbc)

To the delight of fans following series one’s tense cliff-hanger ending, Peter Bowker’s WWII drama following multiple interconnected stories from around the world during the war, was recommissioned in November 2019. The stories of Harry (Jonah Hauer-King), Kasia (Zofia Wichlacz) and Lois (Julia Brown) will continue in the second run, alongside those of Lois’ conscientious objector father Douglas (Sean Bean) and Harry’s ice-cold mother Robina (Lesley Manville). 

Year of the Rabbit Season 2 (tbc)

Detective Rabbit returns! Matt Berry, Susan Wokoma and Freddie Fox will be back for more Victorian crime-based comedy in a second series of Channel 4’s acclaimed Year Of The Rabbit. C4’s Head of Comedy Fiona McDermott describes the show, which is co-written by Matt Berry with Veep and Black Books‘ Andy Riley and Kevin Cecil, as “glorious, gutsy and audacious”, and you won’t hear any disagreement from us. Series one is currently available to stream on All4, and the six new episodes are expected to arrive this year.

Also returning:

Brassic Season 3 (tbc)  – Joseph Gilgun’s Sky One comedy returns for a third run.

Code 404 Season 2 (tbc)– Stephen Graham and Daniel Mays are back on Sky One in this very British comedy take on RoboCop.

Don’t Forget the Driver Season 2 (tbc) The brilliant Toby Jones returns in this heartfelt seaside comedy drama.

Feel Good Season 2 (tbc) – Mae Martin’s autobiographically inspired comedy returns to Channel 4.

Hitmen Season 2 (tbc) – Mel and Sue will be back on Sky One for more paid-assassin larks.

King Gary Season 2 – Gary King will be ruling the crescent once again in this BBC One comedy.

I Am… Season 2 (tbc) – The Channel 4 female-fronted anthology drama returns with Suranne Jones among the cast.

Intelligence Season 2 (tbc) – David Schwimmer and Nick Mohammed are back on Sky One for more tech-spy comedy.

State of the Union Season 2 (tbc) – Nick Hornby is creating two new characters who meet up weekly before their marriage counselling sessions for this BBC Two comedy-drama.

The Cockfields Season 2 (tbc) – This Gold original comedy starring Joe Wilkinson and Diane Morgan will return, but sadly, without comedian Bobby Ball, who passed away in 2020.

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[expatimes]

Michael S. Smith, the Obamas' 'decorator in chief', reflects on 8 years at the White House Written by Oscar Holland, CNNThere aren't many interior design jobs in which a decorator is prohibited from visiting the property before starting work. But then again, there aren't many residences like the White House.So, when Michael S. Smith -- President Barack Obama's self-described "decorator in chief" -- arrived at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington on Inauguration Day 2009, he knew he had to hit the ground running."You're given all sorts of research material ... you have photos and diagrams, but you don't really know what's going on in the rooms until you show up," he recalled in a phone interview, adding: "One thing I didn't anticipate -- and most people don't, if they've never been upstairs -- is how unbelievably tall the rooms are."Smith renovated, redecorated and reimagined America's most famous home over the course of the next eight years. Now, in his comprehensive new book "Designing History: The Extraordinary Art & Style of the Obama White House," the interiors expert reveals how he did it, whether selecting mahogany chairs for the State Dining Room or commissioning a handmade carpet for the master bedroom.The White House's master bedroom complete with a late 18th century desk and bookcase, and a high-post bed from the early 19th century. Credit: Michael MundyWritten alongside journalist Margaret Russell, the book provides a detailed history of the White House's layout and contents. Smith and his team found reminders of past Presidents at every turn, such as the service wings constructed at Thomas Jefferson's behest, the installation of running water during Andrew Jackson's term, James Monroe's French-inspired stylings and James Buchanan's penchant for Victorian Rococo Revival furniture.As such, the challenge was partly about reconciling the building's heritage with the progressive tastes of a first family that -- as Michelle Obama noted in the book's foreword -- included "two little girls who preferred Crate & Barrel over antique credenzas and a grandmother who bristled a bit at any whiff of pomp."The interior designer is, however, quick to defer credit to his most famous clients."Being so incredibly interested in history in general, I think they were unbelievably respectful of what existed before," he said of the Obamas, adding: "They were so thoughtful and so appreciative of the fact that this wasn't their house, it was the country's house -- America's house."Family needsUpon his arrival, Smith's most immediate task was to redecorate the living quarters, with an emphasis on helping the Obamas' children settle in.While the White House had, he said, been left in "extraordinarily good shape" by the Bushes, the 18th-century building was ill-equipped to meet the needs of a young family. With Sasha and Malia ages 7 and 10, respectively, when the family moved in, the Obamas' arrival marked the first time in decades that small children had lived in the residence.President Barack Obama and Michael S. Smith pictured at the White House in 2015. Credit: Pete Souza/Barack Obama LibrarySome of the changes were relatively practical, like improved lighting that "literally made it possible for the girls to do their homework," Smith said. But transforming their bedrooms into fun, colorful and age-appropriate spaces required a more radical approach.Here, he combined vibrant colored wallpaper and bold, oversize leaf-patterned carpets with down-to-earth decorative flourishes -- accessories from Anthropologie and playful chandeliers made of bottle caps and other found objects."To try to contextualize it and keep it somehow tethered to the White House was really more challenging," he added. "That was about taking furniture that was newly made, but really emulated classic American shapes."At the other end of the spectrum lay the Oval Office, a room so iconic and historic that even the slightest alteration can attract ire -- as Smith discovered when his revamped design was described by Arianna Huffington as the "Audacity of Taupe" (a play on Obama's memoir "The Audacity of Hope") upon its unveiling in 2010.Inside the redecorated Oval Office, which was unveiled in 2010. Credit: Michael MundyWith its walnut coffee table and light brown velvet sofas, the room's neutral tones were seen by some critics as cautious, boring even. But Smith received greater plaudits for his choice of ornaments, which included Native American pottery and a rug embroidered with quotes from five celebrated Americans, including Martin Luther King Jr. and Abraham Lincoln. And he still stands by the choices he made in America's highest office."Someone said that Bush's (Oval Office) looked like the kind of room you'd have tea in, and that it was very genteel, but that Obama's looked like a place you'd have a quick espresso and get down to work," Smith said. "And that pleased me to no end, because that was very much my intent."The country was facing a very, very serious financial crisis," he added. "I knew that (Obama) was an incredibly Socratic thinker, and would work really late into the night, so this room ... was really a working office."Contemporary touchesOne might expect the White House decorator to have access to a rich selection of old furnishings, but until the turn of the 20th century, decorative objects and items of tableware were often auctioned or sold off at the end of any given administration. So, while there is a secretive warehouse containing a cache of usable presidential furniture, it's not, Smith said, as bountiful as some have speculated."There's this lore ... that it's this crazy treasure trove," he said. "But anything really wonderful is already in the building."Though he did borrow items from the warehouse, Smith instead focused on acquiring contemporary pieces from outside, injecting a sense of modernity into the historic setting."My big initiative, which Mrs. Obama was very enthusiastic about and signed off, was this idea of bringing more 20th century, postwar art into the collection," he said, "because the most recent (artwork on display) when the Obamas moved in was from 1943."A painting by Sean Scully, on loan from the National Gallery of Art, pictured in the family sitting room. Credit: Michael MundyAfter meeting with museums and curators, Smith secured loans from across the spectrum of America's modern art tradition, incorporating the minimalism of Robert Mangold, the abstraction of Mark Rothko and a work of pop art by Ed Ruscha. Paintings by Edward Hopper were famously displayed in the Oval Office, and as the first African American family to reside in the White House, the Obamas also expressed a preference for the work of pioneering Black artists like Jacob Lawrence, Alma Thomas and Glen Ligon, whose lithographs hung in the Billiard Room."The idea was to make up for lost time," Smith said. "You basically had 75 years of American art history and cultural history to bring the building up to (speed with)."This is not to say that the house's rich collection of historic portraiture and European masterpieces were tossed aside, but -- as the former first lady wrote in her foreword -- old artworks needed to brought back to life."A little recessed lighting here, a dimmer there," she wrote. "And, like that, the Monet painting hanging outside my bedroom door and the Degas sculpture in our dining room became newly vibrant, newly alive."Changing of the guardEffusive in his praise for President Obama, Smith described his former employer as having "the precision and the focus of an architect." And while the first couple possessed plenty of opinions on interior design (Barack has "never liked decorative plates," the decorator revealed), they trusted him to execute their vision -- all while keeping one eye on the needs of future occupants."Everything was always met with this question of, 'How will this be for the next family?'" Smith recalled. A painting by Jules Olitski, "Jean Harlow's Night, Black and Blue," pictured on the left in the third-floor corridor. Credit: Michael MundyQuite what that next family -- namely the Trumps -- make of his work remains to be seen. Despite maintaining a "cordial relationship" with the White House's current decorator Tham Kannalikham, Smith admitted to knowing "very, very little" about what has taken place since the keys were handed over in 2017.There are signs that the Trumps may have more traditional tastes than their predecessors. Architectural Record magazine in February reported seeing a draft executive order calling for all new and upgraded federal buildings to be constructed in a "classical architectural style," while a new tennis pavilion being overseen by the first lady is being built to a neoclassical design.In any case, the artworks borrowed by the Obama administration have already been returned to the institutions they belong to. And much of the contemporary furniture (which was largely purchased out of pocket by the Obamas, and thus could be taken to their next house) now serves as "the nucleus" of the family's new Washington property, said Smith, who also helped decorate the family's post-administration home. Regardless of what has transpired within the White House's walls, the designer seems at peace with the transience of a role in which decisions can be later overturned as easily as they were made. Related video: Photographer Pete Souza on capturing unguarded moments with Obama "Always knowing that it is not a permanent situation makes you hyperaware of enjoying being in the space," he reflected.And while Smith said he would be "surprised" to get a call from former Vice President and 2020 Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden should there be a change of administration at the upcoming election, he doesn't rule out a return to the White House, if asked -- by a President of any political persuasion. "It would depend," he said diplomatically, "on the President more than the party.""Designing History: The Extraordinary Art & Style of the Obama White House," published by Rizzoli, is available now. #lifestyle Read full article: https://expatimes.com/?p=12947&feed_id=12626

[samwinlover-blog]

Hiding in the Impala

Pairing: Sam x Reader 

Characters: Sam, Reader, Dean, Reader’s Ex

Warnings: the reader’s ex is an ass, fight scenes, angst, swearing

Word count: 2511

Summary: The Reader is running from her crazy ex and happens to jump into a certain Impala to hide.

Tag list: @jessabro101  @deascheck @cwstandsforcaswinchester @fralackles@danandphilforlife112 @rdy4thevoid @disneychic8 @deepbreathssammy@amanda-teaches @myplaceofthingsilove @evyiione @gallifreyansass @star-arm-and-shield @macymoosesuniverse @rosep16​ @arianacullen2008 @spectaculicious @spnfanficpond 

A/N: This isn’t my storyline! It’s an adaptation of @writingthingsisdifficult ‘s “Hiding no more” You all should go check out their page it’s awesome and has a ton of great fics! Ps. I’m going to write a part two soon! I have april break next week so expect a ton of new material:) 

“Shit!”, you cursed loudly. He’d found you, no matter how far you ran, he always found you. Your ex, the man who you’d been hiding from for months now. The one who you’d feared for years, who had yelled and kicked and hurt you. You’d spent too long running from him, too long looking over your shoulder, nearly paralyzed with fear that he’d be there. 

It was a dreary Tuesday night, around 8 PM. Rain drizzled down from the grey skies, darkened with storm clouds and wet stars. You’d just finished grocery shopping and were walking, bags in hand, back to your motel. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, your ex. And you believed you were in the clear, that you’d finally gotten away. But that false sense of security that had settled over you was ruined when, once again, you turned back and saw him. Wearing a sleazy grey hoodie, peppered with rips and burn holes, his presence chilled your bones. You started walking faster, the motel was close enough that you could make it. But when you heard him yell your name, panic took over. Adrenaline coursed through your body; you dropped your groceries and, hearing them clatter to the ground, took off in a sprint. 

When you rounded the corner you saw an empty parking lot, save for a handful of cars. The closest one to you, what you thought was some sort of Chevrolet, already had one of the windows cracked open. It would be easy to shimmy your arms through the slit and open the door, it would only take a few seconds. So, with that thought, you’d made your decision. You were panting at this point, feet slapping down on the wet pavement in a steady rhythm. When you approached the car, you found the doors were already open. So, without hesitation, you flung them open and practically leapt inside.

Once inside, you sat on the floor of the back seat. You pressed yourself to the ground, trying to become as small as possible. Breathing slowing from quick pants to longer sighs, you took a moment to find your bearings. You prayed he was far enough behind you that he didn’t see where you’d gone. And you prayed he’d leave and stop looking for you, but you knew that wouldn’t happen. 

When the two of you were dating, you’d been his. “You’re mine” and “You’re my girl” were frequent phrases he’d use to praise you, to show affection. When you’d tried to leave the first time, you were met with a black eye- which you told your family was from falling down the stairs. The two of you never worked, not even in the beginning. Your personalities and life styles clashed from the get go, but for some reason you stayed- even when you knew you shouldn’t have. 

“(Y/N)!!!!”, he bellowed your name through the parking lot and tore you from your thoughts. You shuddered at the sound of his voice, and pressed yourself tighter into the corner. The windows of the car were sprayed with water droplets from the rain outside, you hoped he couldn’t see through the cloudy glass. 

Suddenly the front door opened- shit. At first the man entering the Impala didn’t notice you were there. But your cover was blown when he went to retrieve something from the back seat. With a small gasp, you made eye contact with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. His skin was tanned and practically glowing, even in the dim light. You didn’t even know how to describe the color of his eyes. They were what looked like a dark green. Their color, it was something authors could write books on. Series on even. And never fully capture the beauty, the mystery and mischief dancing beneath the surface, intermingling and fusing with a dark, forest green. With a brief pause you decided his eyes were the color of kelp on the shore, flecked with splinters of driftwood and grains of sand. But when he dropped his gaze to look down at you, the color shifted. It changed from the shorelines of beaches and sea foam, to the oceans themselves. Dark blue and grey and stormy. His eyes shifted into the clouds before a lightning storm, or the smoke before a fire. You were at even more of a loss than before, these beautiful, ethereal, eyes were staring directly into your own. Your gaze trailed to his jaw, firm and powerful, it complemented his pink lips- which were currently pursed in confusion. How god damn attractive he was just made the situation so much worse. 

Your cheeks flushed red and you started stuttering, “Um, I can explain, I just, um...” your voice trailed off and you took a deep breath, “I’m hiding from my ex okay? Can you just give me like five more minutes, I’m really really sorry, it’s just, uh, he can’t find me” 

You were so flustered at this point, eyes darting around the car and hands breaking into a nervous sweat. But he just nodded with understanding and said, “Is your ex the blonde one yelling your name in the parking lot?” 

His voice was deep and sounded as if it was coated in honey. Thick and low, the words bounced off his lips. You nodded your head in response to his question, shaking it furiously up and down. 

“Okay, one sec”, he responded in that silvery voice of his. 

Your heart skipped a beat as he called out to your ex, still screaming your name, “Hey!” 

No, no, no, no you silently panicked, what was this man doing? You were overwhelmed, and had absolutely nowhere to run. You tried pressing yourself even further into the side of the car, to no avail. You were trapped, at the mercy of this stranger you’d only just met. 

“Who are you looking for?”, the man asked your ex, Zach, as he ran up to the car. 

And Zach launched into a story about how you were mentally ill and needed to be taken home, voice hoarse from the screaming. And you just had to sit there, listening to the rain’s pitter patter interrupting his ridiculous story, and hoping this beautiful stranger wouldn’t believe him. Shivering and shaking, half from the cold and half from fear, you sat there in anticipation. What if the man believed him? What if he opened the car doors and revealed where you were hiding? You shuddered at the thought. 

But minutes passed and the man just stood there, nodding his head at various points throughout the story. The mental illness one was common, there was also one where you were an escaped convict or he was a tax collector and you were running away from debt. He never failed to bring a picture of you, everywhere he went it was always brought along. You knew he spent hours stopping people and asking them if they’d seen you around, it was what made you so paranoid. What caused you to constantly look over your shoulder and give aliases whenever asked your name. It was no secret that this man had turned your life into a strung out nightmare of paranoia and sleazy motels. You were always on the run, always on the move. 

More minutes passed and then the car door was opened with a click, but the stranger was the only one you saw staring down at you. 

“I got rid of him,” he said, voice low and almost annoyed sounding- you wondered why.

“Are you sure he isn’t hiding somewhere?”, you asked, peering out from behind the front seat to look at him directly.  

“Yeah, don’t worry he’s gone”, he responded. 

“I never got your name”, he spoke again, with a smile this time, leaning over the seats to help you pull yourself from the crouched position you were currently stuck in. 

“I’m (Y/N), (Y/L/N)”, you answered, grunting a little as you stretched out your legs. 

“(Y/N ) (Y/L/N), I’m Sam Winchester”, he said, again holding out his hand, which you shook awkwardly. 

The both of you fell silent; him outstretched in the front seat, leaning over to look at you, and you sitting in the back, fidgeting and glancing around the Impala nervously. 

You started to awkwardly shuffled out of the car, but he stopped you when saying, “Wait, um I forgot to tell you, that guy knew the motel you were staying at.” 

The same panic from before crept up on you and you starting feeling as if you couldn’t breathe. If he knew where you were living it wouldn’t be long before he caught up to you. 

“Wh-what?”, you choked out, running a hand nervously through your hair. 

“Do you have anywhere else you can go?”, Sam asked with a sympathetic look. 

You shook your head no, but responded with, “I’ll figure something out” 

Again you turned to leave, but again he stopped you, this time putting a hand to your shoulder. 

“You can stay with my brother and I, we’re in a motel just a few miles from here. We’re only in town for a couple more days, but if you need a place to crash for a few while you figure things out, our door’s open.” 

Who was this man? Why was he being so kind to you, you were just a stranger after all. A stranger who had broken into his car and been called mentally ill within five minutes of meeting him. But you trusted him, for some reason. His face was kind, his voice inviting. So you nodded your head, thanked him, and climbed up to the front. 

You saw him wince as your booted foot scraped the leather seat as you clambered to the passengers side.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you one of those guys really in love with their car?”, you asked while hurriedly rubbing your hands over the scuff mark. 

He let out a laugh and caught your hands, “No, no. My brother, Dean, it’s his car and he’s definitely one of those guys you just described. Don’t worry though, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”, he replied with a wink. You let out a laugh, something you hadn’t done in weeks. This man had you smiling and giggling as if you were some school girl, untouched by misfortune and hardship. 

“Tell me about this Dean”, you responded, making conversation. And even though he was a complete stranger, you found yourself easily talking and opening up to Sam. With him you felt secure, safe even. 

“Oh, he’s the less attractive Winchester”, Sam joked, gesturing to himself and rolling his eyes, “I mean that’s what everyone says” 

Again you laughed out loud, throwing a hand to your mouth and feeling your lips tug into a smile. 

Sam started the car with a turn of his key and a roar of the engine. The entire drive you found yourself watching him. The way he eased on the gas and turned on some god awful rock song while smiling apologetically. Shadows and stray strips of light crawled across his face in the low light of the night. The rain was still tapping on the window and the skylight above, probably not going to stop for a while. And even though cold, rainy nights were your least favorite, you found yourself never wanting this particular one to end. 

Throughout the drive you and Sam made conversation, just small talk about your lives and jobs. You lied and told him that you were an accountant, and he lied and told you he was a federal agent. The conversation was easy, never a moment of silence or an awkward pause. You felt everything was easy around this Sam Winchester; talking, laughing, smiling, all of it. 

Soon enough you pulled into the parking lot of probably the sleaziest motel you’d ever seen, and you’d seen your fair share. Walking into the room you found the floral wallpaper was peeling and the shag rug was ratty at best. You also saw who you assumed was Sam’s brother, Dean, sitting at the coffee table cleaning a gun. Your body went rigid at the sight of it, you’d never actually seen one in person before. 

Sam let out a pointed cough and Dean’s eyes snapped up, meeting your own and then quickly tossing the firearm into his back pocket. 

“Dean, this is (Y/N)”, Sam gave a small wave in your direction, you nodded in return. If Sam was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, Dean was the second. His face was stouter than his brothers, but donned the same powerful jaw. His eyes were green. The kind of green that sparkled out of emeralds or freshly cut grass. The kind that brought life back to the plants after long, long months of winter. Paired with them were long ,thick lashes. His lips were a darker shade of red and fuller than his brother’s, you found yourself staring at them absentmindedly. 

Those bright green eyes gave you a wink as he said, “Well well well, Sammy finally brought a girl home” 

Your cheeks turned pink and you felt yourself inch closer to Sam, who was no doubt feeling the same embarrassment you were. 

“Hilarious, but no.”, Sam said back to his brother with a roll of his eyes, and set into the story. He told Dean everything, your ex, the Impala, your motel. When he was finished, Dean’s eyes were narrowed and his lips pursed. 

“Who the hell is this guy?”, he responded. 

Sam let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah exactly, so (Y/N)’s just gonna crash here for a couple days.”

Looking around the motel room you found only two beds and just assumed you’d sleep on the ratty sofa you saw standing in front of the tv. But Sam started making an actual bed for you, adding more pillows and blankets than you could possibly need. 

“Oh no, it’s fine I can sleep on the couch. Seriously I don’t want to take one of your beds”, you said quickly, instantly feeling bad for intruding. 

“No way in hell you’re sleeping on the couch. Seriously it’s fine, you can have my bed. Trust me I’ve spent more nights without one than with”, Sam insisted, laughing and nodding. 

You shook your head in return with a sly smile, and conceded. If he wanted you to sleep in a gigantic comfortable bed, who were you to decline? 

Your smile faded with an abrupt knock at the door. You froze, eyes darting in Sam’s direction. He moved towards the main entrance and cautiously looked through the peephole, you saw the way his shoulders and jaw tensed and knew it was Zach. 

“Go hide in the bathroom.”, Sam instructed, the look he gave told you who was at the door. You felt yourself break into a cold sweat and, with one last look at Sam and Dean, you retreated to the bathroom with your hands shaking.

[ingridgovaninsights]

The Worst I’ve Ever Been- A Short Story

The worst I’ve ever been has got to be October of 2010. When I look back on it now, I feel okay. I don’t feel ashamed or angry with myself, because those times are long gone and they must have happened for a reason. Yes, back in 2010 I was most certainly embarrassed and self-pitiful. But I was young then, and I still had a lot to learn. Most of my embarrassment came from worrying what other people thought about me, and that’s a slippery slope to be on. Twenty years later, I am not cured. That’s the thing- there is no magical cure. There isn’t a doctor in the world that can hand you the prescription to make you forget all your troubles, or erase every single feeling you’ve ever felt before. If that were the case, we’d all be robots, and I think I’d rather keep myself and be a bit messed up than be not messed up in the slightest but void of any emotion.

As I was saying, I am not cured. I must repeat that for emphasis, because it’s so, so important. I am, however, managing. At some point along the way- and you may feel at the time like it’s never going to happen, but trust me, it will- you’ll start to feel slightly better. Maybe you found a job, or you discovered a new hobby. Perhaps you reconnected with an old friend, read a book that moved you, or you fell in love. Regardless of what that something is, something happens to you, and you suddenly feel a lot more grounded. That something makes you feel whole and okay again. It’s a wonderful feeling, and it gives you hope. When we talk about treatment for mental illness, we’re talking about a change not a cure… that’s the difference. That difference makes all the difference- because frankly, if you walk around looking for an outright cure, you’re going to be faced with disappointment.

These are the sorts of things I half-read off cue cards to my first year psych students, much to their dismay. I think they were looking for actual content; cold, hard facts and statistics thrown into a lengthy PowerPoint. If they wanted to hear someone’s life experience, they could meet up with a friend for coffee. They chose university for a reason- there’s only so much you can learn from telling and hearing personal stories… or that’s what they say.

Well, these were the doubts I fed myself after every class. Never did a student actually approach me and say, “Hey, Mr. Taylor, your class sucks… I wanna see more slides on the history of cognitive behavioural therapy”, but I was a master mind reader, of course. Over time, I became more experienced in ignoring my negative inner dialogue, but it was no easy feat. I had hard days just like anybody else, even after I thought I’d shot anxiety down for good (turns out there’s no such thing- and as a psych professor, I really ought to know that).

Despite being forty years old, I’d only been teaching for a year. It took me a long, long time to get to where I am now, and to even figure out that’s what I wanted. There were so many wrong turns, drop-outs, and quitting crappy jobs along the way. I’m a man with many regrets, but hey, you live and learn, right?

The new, bright-eyed students watched me from their uncomfortable seats in the lecture hall as I spewed out my usual first-day greeting. What I did was I talked too much about how I got into psychology and teaching, and then I would try to cram the syllabus into the last five minutes of class. I hadn’t yet mastered my time management skills, in contrast to many veteran professors that made the whole teaching thing look like a cake walk. Mr. Allen, who’d been teaching at this very university for over thirty years, was a favorite among psych students, and he always delivered the perfect blend of statistics, history and personal experience. And then there was me, Isaac Taylor, clumsily trying to find that balance when all I really wanted to do was blab to everyone about my life.

I could’ve sworn I saw a few students exchanging uneasy glances, so I quieted down a little, coughed and changed the slide over to the vague course description. What would we be learning about this semester? What were our learning goals? All of that general, boring stuff that didn’t really talk about what we would actually be learning. I’ve tried to talk to my superiors about reconsidering the “orientation” information, perhaps giving it some more interesting content, but my suggestions weren’t taken much into consideration being the “psych baby” that I was. The psych veterans laughed at me with their eyes, as if to say, “Mr. Taylor, you’ll come to learn that you can’t change anything around here, but good luck with that”.

To my surprise, one of the new students raised a hand with a question. I was shocked because most of them kept their mouths shut at first, at least before they decided whether or not they wanted to drop out. It was a young woman- she had to be in her early twenties- with fiery red hair tied up in a messy bun; freckles; wide-rimmed glasses. She balanced a handful of books on her lap- a few notebooks, a few textbooks. A fairly standard nerd type.

“Professor, you said that October of 2010 was the worst you’d ever been. I think it’s unfair of you to say that and then change the subject; we were all a little bit intrigued to know why, I think. Could you finish the story?”

Again, I was shocked. Caught off guard. I wasn’t expecting any questions at all, never mind such a bold one. Well, there wasn’t much time left for storytelling; it would simply have to wait. Maybe my doubts had been wrong- people did want to hear what I had to say. Or at least this strange young lady did.

The nerdy redhead tipped her head to the side slightly, waiting patiently for my answer. I noticed I was starting to sweat- something I did when I was nervous- and I tugged at the collar of my sweater, desperate for more air. The pause between her question and my answer felt like hours, but in reality it must have only been a few seconds; it’s odd how time seems thrown off when faced with anxiety.

“Well, I’m glad you found my introduction so interesting,” I began, “but unfortunately, the next chapter will have to wait until our lecture on Friday. If people are still wanting to hear it.”

I heard murmurs of approval, a few nods of the head. But the redhead looked unimpressed. She wanted my story now; well that was just too bad. I wasn’t anticipating such a reaction from anybody. Last year, students were polite when I told my story but I didn’t get many questions. I certainly wasn’t encouraged to continue talking. I think some people just wanted to learn what they came here for- textbook material- and be on their way. Others, like this redhead, wanted some more context. She was frowning at me, as if that were not the answer she wanted, but then the clock signaled it was time to leave, and I dismissed the class.

***

A couple hundred students poured out of the lecture hall, and I stayed at the front to gather my supplies, shut down my laptop, and so on. When I had my back turned, focusing on whether I should schedule my updates for a later time or just say “meh, I’ll do it when my laptop finally forces me to”, Nerdy Redhead tapped me on the shoulder. I whipped my head around to see who it was, and her green eyes met mine fiercely.

“I think you have a pretty good story to tell,” she said to me, “and I’m not sure I can wait until Friday. Can you please at least tell me a little bit, to get me through my day? I love stories.”

I narrowed my eyes. I was always skeptical of people that even showed remote interest in me- what was her motive? Perhaps she was being sarcastic; maybe I was dreadfully boring to her and her classmates were going to laugh about this over lunch later. How could I know for sure? I was also slightly offended the way she said “stories”, as if I were reading her some sort of choose-your-own adventure novel. It was a story, sure, but it was a true story and a story that ought to be taken seriously. Maybe I was just too sensitive.

“You can wait like the rest of your classmates,” I said firmly. What made her think she was so special?

She extended a hand; it looked to be quite shaky. “My name is Casey. I don’t think you understand. I think you telling your story will help a lot of people-”

“Can you please cut it out with this fake-worship-the-professor act? It is pretty insulting to me that you think you can march up here and demand a ‘story telling’... I can’t even be sure you’re serious right now.”

Why did I act this way? Why did I doubt everyone that ever believed in me, to the point of pushing them away? I didn’t want that; as soon as the words came out I regretted them, and I felt embarrassed. Casey was young and impressionable. She was a new student, eager to learn- that’s all. Why on Earth would I doubt that?

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, “I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I think it’s great you’re taking such an interest… but really, it’s easier if I just tell the story all at once on Friday. Can you wait like everyone else?”

Casey was upset; that much was obvious now. Her green eyes looked glazed over, almost as if she were on the verge of tears. She didn’t say any more; she turned quickly on her heel and speed-walked out of the classroom.

Okay, so we’d both overreacted- maybe that was normal for us. It was normal for me, anyways- I had a tendency to make everything a bigger deal than it was. Of course, I’d gotten better at that over the years, but it would always be a part of me. I think some of it had to do with the fact that I second guessed everything, automatically in my mind. I guess I couldn’t blame Casey for reacting the way she did- I had been pretty rude to her. Now she’d probably meet up with her friends and they’ll talk about what a dick I am.

I sighed, zipped up my laptop bag and headed for the door, being careful to keep a distance in case I saw Casey again. She probably wouldn’t appreciate that. God, how did I always manage to ruin everything?

***

When Friday rolled around, the hundreds of cookie-cutter students poured into the lecture hall, blurring into one big lump that stared straight at me with innocence and curiosity. This class was far more eager than any of my classes in previous years; perhaps it was just luck. But to my disappointment, when the clock hit exactly ten o'clock, Casey was nowhere to be found.

I hung around the front of the class, awkwardly delaying my start in case she decided to show up a little late. She didn’t. Well then, she mustn’t have been that excited to hear my life story. I rolled up the sleeves of my dress shirt and started up the PowerPoint. Lecture first, story time later. Maybe Casey would rush into the hall in a flurry, books spilling out of her arms, face flushed and out of breath, and maybe she would later tell me “I’m so sorry, Mr. Taylor, I missed the bus!”

But she didn’t. And for some odd reason that I couldn’t figure out- maybe I had some sort of psychic powers, as much as I didn’t believe in that shit- I had a really bad feeling in my gut. Of course, we had only shared one lecture together- maybe Casey was just pretending to be an Eager Beaver and she was secretly hating every moment, and so she dropped out of the class? Well, I guess she would have to drop out of the entire program, since this course isn’t exactly optional. But something told me she wasn’t feigning her curiosity that day- it was still clear in my mind, the way she teared up and fled when I upset her, and the way she seemed to lean in more when I announced to the class I would be sharing some personal details about my life.

Could I really trust my mind, though? I did have a tendency to overthink things. Maybe she was just sick. People do get sick. All of these troubling thoughts raced through my mind while I tried to teach the lesson. I must not have sounded as passionate as the week prior, because my students were quickly losing interest.

“Okay,” I said loudly, stopping the current slide, “what is going on here? It doesn’t seem that anybody is listening.”

Students were whispering, looking down at their laps, and fidgeting. It was almost like a room full of entirely different people. One girl, who I do remember from last week because she had been sitting next to Casey, raised her hand.

“Um, Mr. Taylor… we’re all a little bit distracted right now, given the news.”

News? What news? I looked around me, perplexed. I guess a lot of the school gossip went over the professor’s heads. Whatever- it didn’t really bother me; most of them were an entirely different generation, anyways, so of course they didn’t want to stand around and share intimate details with me.

“Care to share what that news might be?” I asked, feeling slightly self conscious because I appeared to be the only one in the room who didn’t know.

The girl looked at her friend beside her and they exchanged a sad look. Then, she said, “Our classmate tried to commit suicide last night. She’s in the hospital.”

I felt my heart sink in my chest, and my stomach did a backflip. I thought I might be sick. It had to be Casey, right? I tugged at the collar of my shirt; I was beginning to sweat.

“Oh… um… oh dear. Excuse me, does anybody have the name of this classmate?”

Maybe it was an inappropriate question; I wasn’t really sure. But I just had to know, and I didn’t really care if people thought I was being inappropriate or desperate. I felt absolutely sick to my stomach; this was bad. Really, really bad.

The girl, who was now crying quite visibly, couldn’t look up at me to meet my eyes. “It’s… Casey. Casey Peters, I don’t know if you know her. She’s one of my best friends.”

My fears had been correct. It was Casey. She was laying in a hospital bed somewhere, probably feeling really bad. My heart was racing, and so was my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder- could I have done something to prevent it? If only I’d been nicer…

God, I felt like absolute shit. How could I have talked to a student like that? And not to mention a student that had clearly been going through so much… all the warning signs had gone right over my head. I’m a psychology professor; I should be the expert at understanding human behaviours and thought processes. But then another thought occurred to me- perhaps she hadn’t been showing any of those signs. Perhaps she had kept it well-hidden for a reason. It hurt me to think that maybe, just maybe, she had been in pain for so long, she felt the best way to deal with it would be to conceal it, act like everything's okay, and not bother anybody anymore. What if her wanting to hear my story was like a final cry for help? How could I have missed that?

“Mr. Taylor, are you alright?” one student, a young man probably in his mid twenties, called out with concern.

My face must have looked pretty terrifying, because all the students were watching me with worried eyes. I don’t know how long I was out of it, lost in my thoughts wondering how I messed up so badly. When I finally snapped out of it, I knew I had to escape. The room was suffocating me.

“You can read the slides online,” I managed to say, gathering my things and rushing out of the lecture hall in panic.

I took a seat on a nearby bench, trying to focus on my breathing. But it was incredibly difficult to remain calm- swarms of students were bustling by, silently judging me and getting into my personal space bubble. And out of the thousands of people that attended this university, one person in this gigantic student body had the ability to shake me to my core… one person that I hardly knew possessed the capacity to make me question everything.

After a few minutes of unsuccessful mindfulness exercises, I got up and speed-walked to the Dean’s office, where the short man in his late fifties sat at his desk sipping a coffee, pretending to be very busy. I stood in the doorway, breathing heavily from all the commotion, and he looked at me with wide eyes.

“Isaac Taylor,” he said, “what can I do for you? You look… out of sorts.”

“That’s an understatement,” I said. “Look, Michael… I need you to tell me if you know anything about what’s going on with Casey Peters. I am sure you’ve heard about her… recent struggles?”

Michael sighed and looked down at his desk sadly. “Ah, yes… I can’t say I have met the young lady, but I have heard some of your fellow psych professors chatting about her. A few days prior to her attempting… suicide, the professors were discussing how well she was already doing in her classes. Her very first quizzes she was getting perfects on, easily. A bright young lady, for sure.”

When Michael said the word suicide, he had to pause before he used it… and when he said it, it seemed a struggle- like pulling teeth. Like the word was far too embarrassing, or dark, or upsetting. I guess it was one of those “loaded” words that people can’t seem to spit out, like rape, or gay or depressed. Things that people didn’t talk often enough about. Well, look what happens when you don’t.

“No, I… I mean, yes, she does seem very bright. But what I need to know is, what hospital is she staying at? Is she still there? Can I go see her? I’m very worried that I upset her, and I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Isaac, relax,” Michael said to me, which did absolutely nothing to relax me. “Casey is fine. Her suicide attempt was unsuccessful. She is being cared for.”

“Yes, but it shouldn’t have gotten to that point at all!” I yelled, beyond frustrated. I stepped forward; I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my forehead. “Listen, you need to tell me whereabouts she is so that I can pay her a visit. It’s very important to me.”

I suppose I looked pretty serious, because Michael hurriedly gave me the address, and before I knew it I was fleeing the campus on my way to see Casey. I was so anxious I don’t even recall the car ride over- just one giant blur; I may as well have been driving in the rain with broken windshield wipers. I couldn’t decide whether it was my greatest weakness or my greatest strength that I cared so fucking much.

Casey was laying in her hospital bed, pale-faced and eyes glazed over with what I imagined was great sadness. Her fiery red hair was a mess, it looked in dire need of brushing, and her shoulders were slouched. She looked exhausted. For what seemed to be the longest time, I watched her in the doorway, frozen, unable to figure out what to do or say next. How could I possibly say anything that would make her feel better? I couldn’t. I was no miracle worker, just an amateur psychology professor with apparently no ability to use that psychology knowledge in real life.

“Come in,” she said weakly.

I hated hospitals. Well, who liked them? I guess what I’m saying is, I really hated them. I almost had a fear of them- just visiting a hospital or even going to a doctor’s appointment made me sick to my stomach and lightheaded. But I had to be strong for Casey- I couldn’t be fainting now. I stepped into the room, and the robotic beep of the machines had me feeling woozy.

“I am so, so sorry,” was what I finally said to her.

“Why?” Casey asked me, looking at me with genuine curiosity.

“I’m sorry I didn’t sit down to talk with you, and I’m sorry that I got frustrated and snapped at you. I should have been more sensitive. So… I’m sorry.”

Casey shrugged. “I took a bottle of pills. I freaked out. I decided to throw them up… I felt like I was making a mistake. None of this is your fault, or anybody else’s. Please don’t feel bad.”

“It’s kind of hard not to,” I said. “Casey, I’m really worried about you. Do you have family you can talk to about what you’re going through? Friends? Someone…”

“I am fine, Mr. Taylor,” she snapped. “Seriously. I… think this was my wake-up call. I don’t want to die, I just want the pain to stop. So I have to figure out how to make the pain stop without dying. I’m going to get help here.”

I watched her, trying to figure out her eye movements and her facial expression, but then I stopped myself and just tried to focus on the conversation at hand. I tried to listen.

“That’s good you’re going to get help now,” I said. “I want you to know that anytime you need someone to talk to, my door is always open, okay? And I don’t know if it’ll help or not, but you can most certainly hear my story anytime you’d like.”

Casey smiled faintly. “You know how you said October of 2010 was the worst you’ve ever been? Well, last night was the worst I’d ever been. But I think that’s what it took for me to open up my eyes.”

End

[hatnews3-blog]

Ask Ausiello: Spoilers on Good Place, Riverdale, Timeless, B99, Resident, Million Little Things, Flash and More

Got a scoop request? An anonymous tip you’re dying to share? Send any/all of the above to askausiello@tvline.com

Question: Got any Riverdale scoop? What’s next for Archie? —Kerri Ausiello: When we last saw Archie in the fall finale, he was dyeing his famous red locks and making a run for the Canadian border. Executive producer Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa won’t tell us who he finds when he gets there, but “he is headed into the Canadian wilderness, for sure.” He won’t be seeing his dad Fred in the flesh anytime soon, though: It wasn’t shown on-screen, but the EP confirms that Fred did make it back into Riverdale before the quarantine came down.

Question: Any Million Little Things scoop? My friends and I are obsessed with it and hope it’s back for another season. —Montreal4 Ausiello: Remember how showrunner DJ Nash said that everyone in the group of friends has a secret they’ve kept? Look for Regina’s to come to light in Episode 14.

Question: Any scoop on what to expect when Grey’s Anatomy returns? —Al Ausiello: I will have a special holiday treat for you this coming Monday, so sit tight. In the meantime, I tried to get showrunner Krista Vernoff to share even the tiniest bit of intel about Jennifer Grey’s mysterious character and… I struck out. “I can’t [say anything],” she responded. “Because it would really ruin a twist and turn that I don’t want to ruin.” Hmm… I’m sticking with my initial prediction: She’s Jo’s mom.

Question: Anything on The Good Place? (Janet, specifically.) —Whitney Ausiello: Everyone’s favorite not-a-robot will be forever changed by having the humans materialize in Janet form, creator Michael Schur teases: “The way to really have empathy for people is to walk a mile in their shoes, and she did, like, the inverse of that. A bunch of people walked in her weird body for a decent amount of time… so that is another contributing factor to her evolution.” He adds that the season finale “has some pretty wonderful ‘compare this version of Janet to the one you saw in the pilot’ kinds of scenes.” So enjoy, Janet fans!

Question: I’m glad Dorian finally confronted Kaleb about his feeding problem on this week’s Legacies. Can I stop worrying about MG now? —Susan Ausiello: I don’t think it’s ever safe to stop worrying about MG, but as far as Kaleb goes, it sounds like Dorian’s pep talk was just the beginning. “Kaleb has a lot of really big ideas, and a lot of opinions about how things should work,” series creator Julie Plec says. “Much like in the real world when a hot-headed teenager thinks he can second guess what makes the rules the rules, he’s going to have a rude awakening pretty soon where he realizes he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he knows.”

Question: The ending of New Amsterdam‘s fall finale makes me think that Max’s cancer is progressing quicker than first assessed. Will this affect the clinical trial Dr. Sharpe has gotten him into? —Malasha Ausiello: We brought your query to showrunner David Schulner, and he said: “While we can’t reveal here what happened to Max on that dock, we will in our first episode back January 8. But, you’re right to ask if this will affect Max’s clinical trial. It most definitely will. This setback will change a lot of things in Max’s life. And Dr. Sharpe’s too. Thanks for watching and caring and writing to TVLine about the show.”

Question: Will The Flash give us any more hints about what Nora seems to be hiding? —SSH Ausiello: Now that we know there is some sort of alliance with Eobard Thawne, you should expect “a flash-forward flashback episode” that explains “how all that came to be, which will be a lot of fun,” says showrunner Todd Helbing. “You’ll slowly start to get the pieces of info that you need, but there will probably be one episode where we explain how that all happened to get her to come back [in time].”

Question: Challenge: Make me look forward to the Schitt’s Creek holiday episode more than I am already. — Belinda Ausiello: TVLine’s resident Schitthead Charlie Mason promises me that, no matter how great your expectations are, you won’t be disappointed — the special totally “sleighs.” What’s more, he issues a warning that the episode reveals a potential stumbling block to Alexis and Ted’s rekindled romance that neither she nor we anticipated.

Question: I need to know two things about Timeless: First, will #lyatt have a baby? Two, is Jessica really pregnant with Wyatt’s baby? —Miwako Ausiello: In response to your second question, star Matt Lanter says, “We address that [in the series finale, airing Dec. 20]. We’ll find out.” As for Wyatt, he’s not suspicious of Jessica and her baby news. “We’ve seen Wyatt be blinded by love throughout the last two seasons, though, and this is nothing new for him,” Lanter says. “Inherently, he’s a good person with a good heart, and I think he has a hard time accepting that people he loves or cares about … wouldn’t be good. So I think it’s easier as an audience member to look at Jessica and go, ‘Yeah, she’s lying.’ But I think Wyatt is just more blind to things.”

Question: How many time periods will we see in the Timeless finale? —Amanda Ausiello: “There are two-plus time periods, I will say that, that we have not visited before,” showrunner Arika Lisanne Mittman shares, adding that the historical time trips highlight “ethnic representations that we have not seen before [on the show]. Both of these stories are things that [are about] lesser known historical figures. You get to meet some new people that you’ve probably never heard of.”

Question: I’d love a Resident scoop on Conrad/Nic. —Holly Ausiello: I hope you enjoyed the couple’s honeymoon phase while it lasted, because the back half of Season 2 will be “nothing but obstacles” for the pair, according to executive producer Todd Harthan. “In just about every episode, there’s a new one for them to overcome… and they just start stacking up,” Harthan says, adding that the couple will be especially preoccupied with the health of Conrad’s father and Nic’s sister. “It’s going to be a ‘hold on and hope that they make it’ kind of ride,” he teases.

Question: Any hints on how to solve the Blindspot episode title puzzle for Season 4? —Hannah Ausiello: “Oh man! We finally built a title puzzle this season that is legit very hard to crack,” showrunner Martin Gero answers. “I will say this: The puzzle is an homage to some our favorite TV series and how they title the shows. Figure out which, and you might be a step closer.”

Question: Creek’s death on Midnight, Texas was so awful. Please promise me no one dies in tonight’s episode! —Rina Ausiello: I cannot make that promise. But I can tell you that Mr. Snuggly makes it through OK. So that’s something… right?

Question: Got any red-hot Chicago Fire scoopage, Aus? —Gene Ausiello: I see what you did there and I’m… very amused. Well done. The NBC drama is planning some girls-only bonding time for Sylvie, Stella and Emily. “They’re going to go on a road trip to [Sylvie] Brett’s hometown,” showrunner Derek Haas previews. The episode will air the week of Valentine’s Day, “so we’re calling it the Galentine’s trip.” Before that, though, the show will explore Emily’s “attitudes towards dating, which are different than Brett’s, and I don’t mean LGBTQ,” Haas explains. “I mean more of what [Emily, who is bisexual] considers casual versus what Brett considers casual. All of those dynamics are going to be deepened.”

Question: March is far away. I want American Gods scoop now! —Rob Ausiello: Well, because you asked so nicely… Pablo Schrieber says the “antagonist and ally” relationship between Mad Sweeney and Laura Moon will be tested big time by his allegiance to Mr. Wednesday when the Starz drama returns for Season 2. The leprechaun’s destiny “is tied to [Wednesday], no matter what, but it’s also very thoroughly tied to her,” the actor says. “So Sweeney is walking the line, balancing what he owes Wednesday and what he’s realizing he feels in other places.” Hmm. Sounds a lot like we’ll see Laura kissing the Blarney Stone before the season’s over, am I right?

Question: Can you give us any Outlander spoilers? (Especially involving Brianna’s and Jamie’s meeting!?!) This is my first time doing this — hope I’m doing it correctly! —Carolina Ausiello: You did OK. I’ll send you some notes about how to refine your approach in a separate email. Regarding the question at hand, I turn it over to our resident sassenach, Kim Roots, who has seen the scene in question: “I have rather high standards for the huge moments on this show — the wedding night, the print shop reunion, etc. — and I was incredibly satisfied by how the father-daughter plays out in [episode number redacted according to Starz’s spoiler restrictions]. Fans of the book definitely won’t be disappointed.”

Question: Elizabeth and Henry on Madam Secretary are #couplegoals. Please tell me anything you can. —Mary Ausiello: An upcoming episode opens with the McCords taking a tango lesson. And one of them is significantly more skilled than the other.

This AAnd That… ♦ THE BLACKLIST: As teased in the Season 6 trailer, Red will spend some time behind bars after being double-crossed by a close confidant — but don’t count him out just yet. “He’s really been stripped of his superpowers,” series creator Jon Bokenkamp shares. “He’s disconnected from his resources, he may have friends who will fall away and he’s sort of on his heels, which is new for us.” But Bokenkamp assures fans that “if anyone could embrace the solitude of a cell and the experience of incarceration with open arms, it would be Raymond Reddington. We have really high stakes, but we also have some of the most fun we’ve had, as well.” ♦ BROOKLYN NINE-NINE: There will be one major.hilarious change when the sitcom makes the leap from Fox to NBC in January. “We’re allowed to bleep and blur [now],” series co-creator Dan Goor recently told us. “Fox had a no bleeping and no pixelation policy.” Now the gloves are off. “Some filthy, filthy things have been said,” added Terry Crews. “I had one [joke] where I’m ashamed. I’m actually very, very ashamed. It was so jarring that everyone was like, ‘Whoa,’ and we needed to regroup… But holy cow, we never heard language like that on the show.” ♦ CHICAGO PD: Burgess is not the only one who will have a reaction to Upton and Ruzek’s romance. In an upcoming episode, Jay “responds in a way I think you’d expect Halstead to respond,” showrunner Rick Eid teases, “and I think what’s going on in his head is a little different than what he says.” Eid also adds that Jay’s “relationship [with] Upton is interesting and evolving, so don’t sleep on that.” ♦ HOUSEKEEPING NOTE: This is the last AA of ’18 so happy holidays and all that jazz!

That’s a wrap! Please send questions, comments and anonymous tips to askausiello@tvline.com. (Additional reporting by Kim Roots, Andy Swift, Dave Nemetz, Vlada Gelman and Diane Gordon)

Source: https://tvline.com/2018/12/14/million-little-things-spoilers-season-1-episode-14-regina-secret/

[thenerdparty]

Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Review by Matthew Rushing

Two years ago Star Wars roared back into the collective consciousness of the world as The Force Awakens dawned a new era for the saga. The installment left many viewers speechless and eagerly anticipating this return to a galaxy far, far away. Luckily in this era of Disney’s rule, the wait was only 2 years (with a nice side of Rogue One in the middle) for Rian Johnson’s addition, The Last Jedi.

Context

First, let’s start historically. It is clear that the original “Rebel” generation was unsuccessful in passing on it’s values to the next, as the galaxy has quickly descended back into the universe of pre-prequel. A government that became ineffectual, split into populists and centrists, all the while allowing the First Order to rise, unchallenged because, they’re not really a threat. “Relax, the First Order is the JV squad”. The greed and corruption in the galaxy has returned to what we saw in the prequels, as people line their pockets with ill gotten gain, selling weapons to the highest bidder, on any side. It all boils down to this one truth not being clearly passed on, “freedom isn’t free”, and sadly there are too few in the galaxy who seem to understand that.

Where are you getting all of this, you might ask? Well, not from the movies. All of this has been cobbled together from the ancillary materials that have come out surrounding this new sequel trilogy and that’s only, vaguely been hinted at in the films themselves. The main issue here is that The Force Awakens did very little to set up the context of the galaxy and now The Last Jedi suffers even worse because of it.

Think back to the Original Trilogy, as you watch those movies, you have an instinctive understanding of who all the characters are as well as the overall context of the movies because Lucas based them on archetypes that we know. The heroes’ journey, an evil empire and a a small group of freedom fighters looking to rescue the galaxy. In the Prequels, it’s the fall of a Republic and the story of a man that cannot let go and will do anything to hold on to what he “loves”. Each of these previous trilogies gave us the context we needed to know about the universe as a whole and the characters so that we could understand the journey we were on.

And here’s where this all comes into play, not just with the world building but with the characters. Not only do we not truly understand the state of the galaxy, but we also don’t know the history of these characters and it’s clear the writers of the film don’t either. Say what you will about Lucas, he always knew the history and the future of his creation. Some details may change along the way, but the journey ended up much the same. The same can be said for Rowling with Harry Potter , she knew the end from the beginning, so she understood what each character needed to go through to get them to that end.

It’s been clear from The Force Awakens and now through to The Last Jedi that there is no knowledge of what the end game is for their characters. Writing 101, if you don’t know their past and future, you don’t know how to write their “present”. You can see this in the all of the characters. Take Snoke. We have absolutely no idea who or what he is. We don’t know how he came to power or seduced Ben Solo, he’s a vague phantom menace so that when he goes out like a punk in this movie… well lets just say fans may be arguing whose death was better, Snoke or Boba Fett. Oh and remember Phasma? Well don’t worry, you don’t really need to, turns out she wasn’t all that important any way.

Ben suffers from this same problem we saw with Snoke, he’s completely ill defined and so is his “fall”. As with The Force Awakens, there is still no context to his story other than him having darkness in himself and somehow, Snoke temps him to the dark side. It’s all so nebulous that when he turns on Snoke, I don’t know what to make of it. There is no weight to his decision because I don’t know enough of the history of the character to actually care.

As bad as this issue is for Ben, my first impression was it was worse for Rey. The ultimate mystery box seemed to still be very much an enigma. The answer we get about her family was vague and unconvincing, I still don’t believe she’s a nobody and while I am frustrated that they skirted the issue of her family, I can see why they sidestepped that to make the focus, who she chooses to be. Her struggle for identity is fascinating. The questions of who we are, is it a product of bloodline, upbringing or are we a sum of our choices and experiences is brilliant. I think the movie comes down on the side of choices and experiences and the idea that personal responsibility is the answer is outstanding. Rey shows us that even though we are personally responsible for ourselves, we are also responsible for those around us, to look after one another, teach each other, guide one another, pass on hope to one another and the chance of redemption.

The most damaged in all of this is Luke Skywalker. We know Luke’s past, how he saved his father, who’d effectively become space Hitler, because he believed there was still good in him. By the end of Return of the Jedi, Luke is the culmination of the collected wisdom of Anakin, Obi-Wan and Yoda but greater because he avoids the mistakes of the past and forges a true, new path for the Jedi. But then, we get nothing. Oh we know Luke started a new Jedi Order and thought he could help Ben, only to be scared by his raw power and darkness. Wait, really? This is the same guy who redeemed Vader but can’t find a way to help Ben? Luke was right, “This is not going to go the way you think.” It’s as if the history of Luke has been forgotten. Now, I get the idea that Luke, like Obi-Wan, feels the pain of taking too much on, but at least Obi-Wan didn’t try to murder his student in his sleep and gave him a chance to change before delivering the “killing” blow.

Now, all that said, the lesson Luke learns about failure being part of life and how to deal with it, is actually a timely one. In life, failure is the best teacher. Yet, again, Luke’s past should have prepared him for this, his knowledge about Anakin and the help of force ghosts like Yoda, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, should have been able to help shepherd him through this ordeal, instead of running away to an island to die, screaming, “get off my lawn” to anyone who comes calling.

It is interesting that Kylo and Luke are actual after the same thing, Kylo wants to burn it all down and so does Luke, but for different reasons. Kylo because of his anger at everyone and everything and Luke because of his own hubris. He sees the Jedi as a failure, as well as himself, yet he’s blaming the wrong thing. In the end, it’s people and their choices that lead them to the dark or to the light, not the teachings of the Jedi. The Jedi texts and code are only a guide, that applied properly, promote peace, prosperity and hope in the galaxy. Over a thousand generations is not a bad run. Even though Luke gives Rey a lesson in humility in relation to the Force, it seems much to learn, he still has.

All of the issues I do have, stem from there being no direction for this trilogy. With no clear plan or endgame, this is what is left, each installment trying to make sense of the last, leading to it not always having fullest depth or payoff. This is post modern story telling at it’s worst, characters and plot without history and context that could have been more cohesive with planning.

Pass on What You Have Learned

Just as the galaxy and the characters in the movie lack context, the original characters fail to pass on their wisdom to the next generation and Luke is the biggest offender here. He seem incapable of passing on what he has learned as Yoda told him to. He’s driven by fear to almost kill Ben, and then the same fear leads him to reject training Rey for most of the movie. When he finally does train her, there is no depth or true substance to what he offers. You’d think someone with access to the original Jedi texts and a few good force ghosts would be able to provide more guidance than what we see.

Just because one has talent at something, does not mean they don’t have to practice, be taught and hone their skills. Rey is never given any of this, in the end, she’s forced to intuit who she should be for herself and from who Luke was, in the Original Trilogy. This may fit into the post modern world of “make your own way and your own truth”, but it’s not Star Wars. Lucas himself said,

“Star Wars has always struck a cord with people. There are issues of loyalty, of friendship, of good and evil…I mean, there’s a reason this film is so popular. It’s not that I’m giving out propaganda nobody wants to hear…Knowing that the film was made for a younger audience, I was trying to say, in a simple way, that there is a God and that there is both a good and bad side. You have a choice between them, but the world works much better if you’re on the good side.”

Lucas is clear, wisdom is meant to be passed on, the wisdom of failures and of triumphs.  It’s what both Obi-Wan and Yoda both do for Luke. Yes, they were wrong about Anakin, but that does not mean they didn’t have wisdom to share. Proverbs reminds us, “Listen to advice and accept discipline, and at the end you will be counted among the wise.” And the place to find wisdom is through, as Job reminds us, “Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?” Lucas was once asked how he felt about the human condition and he said,

“I am very cynical, as a result, I think the defense I have against it is to be optimistic and to think people are basically good, although I know in my heart they’re not.”

It is clear that he understands that wisdom and goodness must be passed on and taught because they are not something we are born with’. Sadly Rey is left to find her own path, alone. Hopefully the books she saved from the force temple will give her some guidance, now that she is the last Jedi.

Luckily Rey seems to instinctively understand what Luke did at the end of Return of the Jedi, the Jedi are the embodiment of hope and light in the galaxy. Rey allows people to be defined by their choices, not their bloodline or possible history. She does not lose hope in that person’s chance at redemption until they make the choice to turn away from it completely. At that point, she stands on the side of the light, in it’s defense and in the defense of others. I think this is what is frustrating, is that I still feel like Luke should have been the one to show her this and he does, it’s just the Luke from the past not the present.

The only one in the movie doing any actual mentoring is Leia. Her relationship with Poe is a good example of passing on what you have learned. She gives Poe responsibility and then takes the time to discipline him, instruct him and trust him all over again when needed. Sadly the story is muddled with the interjection of Admiral Holdo, but it’s still the best example of someone passing on what they have learned to the next generation and it actually changing the character being taught.

The Movie

The plot of the movie is all over the place. The most glaring issue is with the Resistance story line. They don’t seem to know what to do with them, in the least and it leads to the worst “chase” scenes since Speed 2. There is no logic to what is happening. In space, there is no weight, so it’s all about thrust. If the First Order ships can create enough thrust, they could catch up to the Resistance ships. Another possibility is having a ship jump into the system, in “front” of the Resistance (it’s three dimensional space so there really is no “front”) and take them out. Now here is where context comes in again. Because we have no idea how big the First Order is, are we to assume that all the ships chasing the Resistance are it? And even if they are, could they just not jump “ahead” of the Resistance fleet and be done with it?

Another massive plot issue is why Admiral Holdo refuses to tell Poe and the rest of the Resistance her plan. Does she suspect a saboteur or a spy and that’s why? Well, we’ll never know, because the movie gives us no indication what she is thinking. It just creates a bad plot reason for Poe, Finn and Rose to come up with their alternative plan, to give Finn something to do.

As mentioned above, in the previous section, context creates a maelstrom of issues revolving around the plot points between Luke, Snoke, Rey and Ben. This leaves us with not always feeling the fullest weight behind who they are, the choices they make and who they become as the movie ends.

I enjoy the music, the effects are wonderful except that Yoda puppet, not too keen on his look. The design work is not bad here. Canto Bight is cool, but why is it in the movie and why is that not the story for the Resistance? Going to Canto Bight to try and rustle up support for the cause seems like a much more intriguing idea than the universe’s slowest chase. And would it kill the sequel trilogy to have some aliens we know from the rest of the series? What’s it going to take to get a freaking twi’lek in this series?

Another point of contention in the movie is the humor. Lucasfilm seems to be taking a page from the Marvel playbook and has inserted humor everywhere. Humor in itself is not a bad thing and the Star Wars saga is replete with funny moments, but The Last Jedi pushes it too far. So much of the humor that works in Star Wars is the dry, sarcastic kind that is exemplified in The Empire Strikes Back. Here, it feels forced in many places such as the constant porg jokes, Poe’s ribbing of Hux or Finn waking up in a clear suit and leaking fluids everywhere as he walks down the hall. It just does not feel as organic as it needs to, to truly work. The Star Wars franchise has it’s own rules on how things work in it and as Gareth Edwards said, 

“There’s such a fine line in Star Wars, if you go just slightly to the left it’s not Star Wars, it’s another sci-fi movie that doesn’t feel right. And if you go slightly to the right, you’re just copying what George did. So trying to navigate this thing where it’s new but feels fresh was like the dance that was the process of making the film.”

Conclusion

The Last Jedi suffers under the burden left to it by The Force Awakens. With no clear trajectory or plan for this trilogy, Johnson works to forge his own path but it’s one fraught with plot holes and many times, muddied character motivations. The universe, as it stands, lacks cohesion, history or context and it’s hurting the story. I love that Johnson tired to be different and some of it really works now that I have seen it a second time, while other parts still fall very flat. I love some of the moments in the movie, especially Luke’s noble end and the strong work done with the Rey/Ben/Luke story but Abrams has his work cut out for him with Episode IX. I never thought I’d say this, but J.J. Abrams, you’re our only hope. The Last Jedi is rated 2.75 out of 5 stars.

Don’t miss Matt on Aggressive Negotiations: A Star Wars Podcast and Owl Post: A Harry Potter Podcast!