#like ill see the prettiest art on the face of the earth

[crushes-georg]

I am starting to become inordinately jealous (read: sad) when seeing Tari with other tavs, what the fuck is wrong with me

[essaysbyciara]

Crush On You

[I love writing about love.... - Ci] 

What am I supposed to do with all of this unrequited energy? Explode? That ain’t fair. You’re supposed to stand firm and catch this shit I’m giving you. With consent, of course. 

We met under the prettiest of circumstances. Art galleries set the stage for unions quite unseen. 

“What is it about this painting that moves you?” The painting didn’t move me. You did. You were standing right next to it, silently pouring out your soul onto it. It spoke to you. You tilted your head to the right, bit your lower lip, squinted in the direction of color and brushstrokes coalescing into something that doesn’t quite make sense. 

You made sense, that’s all that mattered to me. 

I had to make sense of the senses going off inside of me when I first laid eyes on you. You were heaven and earth, light and darkness. Love and lust. Stuck in the grey of the black and white of who you were to me. You walked away and I cursed time. Our first encounter wasn’t supposed to end that way. 

Having a crush on you is an ill feeling. Never in my life did I ever think I’d fall for someone like you. My heart was never open to the idea that it’d be someone like you to make me fall in a love deeper than any ocean. I’m down bad. But I care enough about how I feel to acknowledge the real monster of my emotions. You can’t cage in this beast forever. 

I ain’t scared by these feelings. They’re real and honest and true. Real feelings ain’t supposed to scare you. At their best, they reinforce that you are alive. To feel love is to feel a pulse. To feel a pulse is to breathe. If I open up my eyes, I’m here. More time to see your face. Sometimes I think that seeing you face is the only reason why I fight to stay alive. 

I think you know. I think you know about all of what I feel. You’re around more than I can handle sometimes. It’s as if you get a high from watching me melt around you. You can see me inside of the vapors. I can’t hide it as much as I think I can. But even through that, even through this level of reluctant transparency that I carry when it comes to you, I still want to hide. 

Hide with me. We can build a world so dope that we’ll never leave. And that’s what I want. 

I see you a lot. Our planets collided one day and now our orbits are intertwined forever. 

I want to be twisted under you. Longing and lost under you. Seeing stars under you. Blacking out under you. Just get me under you. You’ll see. 

Let’s go hide away so you can find out. 

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-One | Sacrifice] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ]

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“All right...there we are.” Gathering up the mixture of herbs, spices, and tea leaves, Ryū carefully bundles them in some cloth, tied shut with a ribbon. “Whenever a nightmare strikes, brew this in hot water and drink. It will ease your mind and urge your body to sleep.”

“Thank you...you’re a blessing, you are.”

The woman just gives a soft smile. “Thank the earth and its bounties, not me. I just know how to use them. Take care of yourself.”

Making his way out, the man plagued by ill dreams takes his leave, dipping his hat to another just making his way in. The second figure lingers a bit stiffly in the doorway, his own hat removed from his head and instead nervously wrung in his hands as he waits for the healer to notice him.

“Oh!” She comes up short, turning and seeing him at last. “I’m sorry - have you been waiting long?”

“No, just a moment. I, er…”

“Has it been a fortnight already? My how the time flies…”

“Yes ma’am, it...it does.”

“May I take a look?”

Nodding, the man comes further into the cabin as she flares the lamp hanging from the rafters. With careful hands, she takes and tilts his face to the light to better examine it.

Along one side, horrible claw marks mar the surface of his skin. Half-healed now, they look clean and healthy.

“They seem to be doing well...you’ve been keeping up with them, then?”

“Yes, ma’am. Every night, and every morning. Like you told me.”

Ryū smiles. “Good. I’m sorry I didn’t realize the day, I’ll have to mix it now. Do you mind a short wait?”

“Not at all. The rain forced us back, so I’ve nothing to do until it dries.”

“Yes, the weather has been something atrocious lately...soon Winter will be here.” Moving about in the one-room cabin, she begins pulling ingredients from drawers and cutting them from hanging samples. A mortar and pestle are taken from their shelf, herbs thrown into its groove to be mashed. “I dread the thought, but...it’s as Nature intends. We’ll be thankful come Spring thaw and planting.”

“Do you ever have a sour thought, Miss Suigin?” the man then dares to ask.

She offers a soft laugh in return. “Oh, I do. But I keep them inside so as not to sour the air, too. I’d much rather make it sweeter.”

“Oh you - you do that just fine.” His lips flicker upwards in an uncertain smile. Was that too forward…?

“Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing!” A warm smile lifts her lips, and he finds his chest fluttering. “Mister Uchiha, you’ll make me blush with compliments like that.”

“Well, it’s true! You’re the kindest soul in this little town, and you do well by all of us with your medicines. A kind word is the least I can spare you.”

That seems to leave her without a retort, working at her mixture for a moment in silence. “...I appreciate it. I do dote on everyone. Life out here is harsh, so...any little thing I can do to help folks along is good enough for me. Hardships are easier to face when we work together, and that’s done best with everyone of sound mind and sound body.”

Obito just watches as she goes about her mixing and mashing, wondering for the hundredth time how she knows all she knows. A score of books line a shelf...maybe it’s something written that she follows?

“All right...I think that’s done it. You know enough by now, but I’ll say it for my own peace of mind: take a sample on your finger and run it along each mark until they’re all covered. Let it sit overnight, and for as long as you can stand it in the morning before you wash it off. A few more weeks, and we’ll have those wounds scarred shut. It might not be the prettiest thing, but...it’ll keep the wounds clean and minimize the scarring.” She then gives him a curious tilt of her head. “And the rest of your symptoms?”

“Hardly notice them, ma’am. None of those strange headaches, no flashes of anger. All gone.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you, miss Suigin...truly, I -?”

She waves aside his thanks, having heard it many times before. “I know well enough by now how grateful you are. But save your breath for yourself, and take care. If something goes awry, let me know straight away.”

“I will.”

“Go on, then - get some rest, it will be dark soon.”

Nodding politely, he takes up his medicine and takes his leave. By now the downpour has faded to a light misting, the smell of cold air creeping into the evening. She’s right...Winter is just around the bend, and he still has so much to do before the first snow falls.

Around the corner of the cabin, he doesn’t see a pair of jealous eyes watching him, turning from the window and fading into the dark.

Once home, he lights the lamp by his bed, taking it to the broken mirror he’s got hanging on a wall. Every time he catches sight of his reflection, he has to grimace. Whatever that beast was that attacked him that night...it sure left its mark. But thanks to the village healer’s efforts, the angry red tissue is calming, finally starting to close. The pain is nearly nonexistent now, and the strange feelings he’d felt have all but disappeared.

She really is amazing…

Pushing the thought away as his face warms, Obito carefully unravels the hide the paste she’s made him rests in. It smells oddly spicy, but never stings. Practiced fingers delve into it, watching his reflection to carefully trace it along every mark.

It feels oddly cold...but maybe that’s just because of his prior blush.

Once it’s all in place, he fixes himself some supper to let it dry, lest he smear it on his pillow. The stew he’d left to simmer while out working it’s a bit dry, but edible. The recipes his grandmother taught him before passing have served him well, but...he can’t help but wish he had a wife to do so alongside him.

Traitorously, he thinks again of the healer. Oddly enough, despite what he considers to be great beauty and soothing manners, she’s yet to be married. Part of him wonders if her position keeps most folks at bay, or...if it’s the quiet, lingering superstition about her. While most everyone depends on her concoctions, some find her skill with them...odd. Add in her unique appearance, and some have dared to whisper witch.

But no one has outright accused her, so the clergy of their little village have yet to act. Obito finds the notion ridiculous. Some plants harm, some plants feed, and some plants heal. Knowing the difference doesn’t take otherworldly knowledge, or whispers from the devil. Anyone daring to call her some evil spellcaster would be deeply mistaken. Only has she ever helped the people of their little town, never harmed!

Someday...he might muster up the courage to ask her. But for now, it doesn’t feel proper. His work in the village crop fields earns him a miser’s pay, and his cabin is hardly suitable...it needs work. He’ll only make her an offer once he feels that offer is worthy.

So for now, he’ll sit and sigh at the thought.

He tides up after his meal, gently prodding the poultice to ensure that it’s dry before slipping into bed. He’ll have to do the same routine come morning, then the next night. Over and over until the wounds are fully closed. But he doesn’t mind the effort if it means keeping himself whole.

And getting to see the healer every fortnight for more.

Autumn continues to pass at pace, the weather slowly chilling as Obito and the rest of the farmhands work to bring in the last of the harvests and store them away for winter. Animals too are butchered, salted and dried to cover the long Winter months. It’s often a narrow window that they survive the harshest part of the year. At least one life is typically lost. But they all fare far better together than they would apart.

But two days before he once again needs to visit the healer...something changes.

On his way to the fields, Obito slows as he spots an odd sight. A rather sizable group is gathered outside the local church. It’s not Sunday...they aren’t congregating for that. Then what…?

Trying to weave his way to the front, he realizes the crowd forms a ring around a space just before the doors. And at the center is the pastor...and the healer.

Her face is taut with apprehension. “If I’m to be tried, then I want to face my accuser.”

“So you can hex the poor soul? I think not. They will be kept out of sight for their safety, should you decide to loose the devil upon them. They claim to have seen you practicing the dark arts within your home more than once. These accusations must be heard, and you must be tried for your crimes.”

...oh no…

“I’ve committed no crimes! If mixing plants for a person’s health is a crime, then so is any other harmless task! How many of you have benefited from my work, my knowledge?” She turns imploringly to the crowd, desperation in her eyes.

To Obito’s amazement, not a single soul speaks up, all glancing aside in shame as they refuse to admit it. In his chest, he feels a growing heat of anger.

“Me!”

At once, they all turn to him, parting as he shoves his way forward. “Me, and nearly everyone else! If this woman’s intent was to harm, she would never help us! How many wounds has she patched? How many fevers has she broken? If her intent was to harm...she would never have lifted a finger for us. Half of us would be dead or dying if not for her help. That sounds far less like the work of the devil than it does of an angel.”

Across the gap, her face alights, staring at him hopefully.

“A ruse to cover her tracks,” the priest hisses in retort. “She lulls us into a false sense of safety, of security...while in the dark she conspires with devils and demons! She is cunning...but the eyes of the righteous have seen through her veil!”

Obito’s teeth grit, and he tries to move forward. But arms hold him back, even as he struggles. “Those eyes lie!”

“Throw him in jail to keep him out of the way,” the pastor orders, looking down his nose at Obito. “We cannot let his infatuation with this she-devil interrupt our just and legal proceedings. If God demands a sacrifice to keep our village pure...so be it. Let the trial commence!”

Grunting and yowling as he’s dragged away, Obito does his best to fight back. But it’s one against many, and he’s soon thrown into the singular cell of their little jail.

Hands grip the bars. “Let me out! She’s innocent! Innocent, I tell you!”

The men who dragged him only sneer, turning their backs and shutting the door behind them.

With the slam of the entrance, a sense of finality seems to overcome him. He can hardly escape...and he’s the only one willing to defend her. Surely they’ll convince themselves of her guilt to lay blame on one soul: let her bear their collective sins and be washed away.

No...no!

Slowly, he sinks to his knees, hands still gripping the bars. It’s not fair...how could they do this…?

...he never got to…

The agony of silence and unknowing is torture. The town constable brings him scant meals, refusing to speak as Obito peppers him with questions of the goings-on. A day passes, then another, and another.

That third day, he realizes two things. That he has not been applying her poultice, and that today would have been the day for his next visit. The knowledge clenches his heart. As before, a headache has been creeping up on him, his temper fraying...but that may just be his present circumstances.

He has to get out of here...he has to free her…! But how...how…?!

As the day fades, night slowly blanketing the village...Obito realizes it’s too light. Beyond the single barred window, flickering light begins passing by.

Torches.

Hauling himself up, he gasps as - haloed against the darkness of the woods beyond the village - her cabin goes up in smoke. Hungry flames reach skyward, as if seeking to consume the stars.

“No…!”

Not far from it, a pyre has been erected. And led from the courthouse, fighting and screaming, is Ryū. Hands bound, she’s fitted amongst the kindling and straw to the wooden pole at the center.

They’re going to burn her…!

Rage seems to fill his veins with molten magma, burning from the inside out. Hollering incoherently, he pulls at the bars despite knowing he cannot budge them. Torches are laid at the base of the pyre, and like her home, flames begin to climb.

And then, atop the fiery halo, pale moonlight breaks over the scene as clouds shift aside to bare the full moon.

Like a blow to the head, Obito’s headache reaches a fever pitch. He collapses, clutching his head with a howl of anguish. His entire body seems to pulse with anger and pain. It burns...it burns…!

Outside, the crowd turns to the jail as a ragged wail breaks through the night.

And then, with a shower of stone, the wall bursts forth. Eyes a molten gold, a dark beast crawls from the rubble, teeth bared with a chest-shaking growl.

“Monster!”

“I-it’s come for its mistress!”

Roaring with a flare of spittle and glint of pearlescent teeth, the creature lanches forward as the terrified villagers scatter. He wants to tear, to gut, to destroy!

But first!

With a leap, he reaches the pyre, ignoring the flames and clawing her bounds to shreds. She coughs and wheezes from the smoke, but gestures desperately to the singeing fur of his side.

“O-Obito…!”

But he spares no time for himself, easing her over his shoulder as her form goes limp, too exhausted to stay awake. Lip raised and snarling, he stares down the villagers with their muskets and pitchforks. Oh how he longs to shatter their bones and carve their flesh!

For now, however, there are more important things he must do.

In a half-lope, he lowers to three limbs, one spared to hold her as he flees. A few foolhardy humans try to chase, but he’s swift as the wind, disappearing into the moonlit trees and underbrush. Soon, the only sounds are those of his rushing breath, pluming in the cold as they leave the village behind.

Only once he feels they’re a safe distance does he slow, coming to a stop at the bank of a creek. Gently, he sets her along the sandy shore. A whine crawls up his throat. The hem of her dress is singed, heat blisters along her bare feet where the flames had crept close. As carefully as he can, he urges them into the cool water.

A gasp sounds, and he balks as Ryū suddenly wakes at the feeling. “A-ah…!” Her voice is raw, growling and wincing from the smoke she breathed. Struggling to sit upright, she looks to her feet before her gaze lifts to her companion.

She doesn’t look at all afraid...but rather, sad.

“...I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I thought I could keep it at bay, but...without your medicine…”

He crouches beside her, head tilting.

“...there was wolfsbane in the poultice. It was treating your wounds, but...also the infection of the beast you were marked by. If they’d closed without you missing a dose, then...it would have been held at bay. But now...there’s nothing I can do. With every turn of the moon, you’ll change. It’s all my fault…”

Ears falling, he lets his snout come to rest at her cheek. It wasn’t you...it was them…! He longs to speak, but can’t muster words in his shifted form.

Rather than retreat, she carefully raises hands to hold his massive jaw. “...your burns…!”

Looking at his side, Obito realizes he was indeed wounded...perhaps this hide is too thick to feel?

Ryū begins urging water up to the melted flesh, earning a flinch. “Sorry, sorry...but we need to keep them clean. I think I can find what I need here to make a poultice…” From the plants along the bank she does her best to make a mash with a clean river rock, tearing the hem of her skirt to bind it. “...it’s not perfect, but...it should help. You’ll bear these marks as a man, too. And all for my sake...but...thank you. You saved my life.”

There’s another careful nuzzle to her throat.

“...they were right, you know.”

He pauses.

“I am a witch,” she admits softly. “But not the kind they believe in. I come from the earth, I know its secrets, I bend them to my will. But never could I harm someone. I’m inspired not by the devil, but by the mother of us all. I knew it was only a matter of time before they accused me. Their beliefs always lead them to the wrong conclusions…”

The pair go silent for a time. The creek serenades them with its gentle trickles.

“...I know not where we’ll go. What we can do. But...we are alive. And come morning, when the moonlight fades, you’ll be a man once more. That, at least, is something. But Winter is fast approaching...we’ll need to be swift.” Gentle hands stroke at the coarse fur of his snout. “...will you go where I go?”

Obito brightens, declining his head in a nod.

“...then together we will go.”

     OKAY...I actually really like this one xD It could be longer but I need to catch up dfkjggh - still managed to hit my 3k goal mark though! Hopefully tonight I can get another one done and be back on track lol      We have a proper werewolf this time, not a Nightwalker werewolf xD And he is ANGER! Do not touch his witchy waifu! Also I didn’t use any other characters cuz...I didn’t know who to use so it’s just the duo this time lol so fill in the blanks any way you want!      Anyway, I have irl things to sit and wait for (and...actually do) so I better run for now, but hopefully I can be back in time to get more done today! Thanks for reading~

[verodots]

out of season

(also on ao3)

When he walks in, it’s like the sun pours in after him.

Jeremy swallows a lump in his throat that melts into a seed, and plants itself into the pit of his stomach, finding a home amongst frozen soil and butterflies.

In some way, he’s the prettiest boy Jeremy has ever seen, wrapped in red and just absolutely glowing like a gold sunlit photo as he stands in the threshold of the quaint, ill-lit shop. Jeremy’s heart drums against his chest, hummingbird wings in his ribcage.

(He had felt this once before. Quick pulses and seeds that grew purple spring flowers that he fostered with care.)

The boy looks out of place standing next to paint chipped walls and stacks of old glass pottery; out of season in the same way that Jeremy is when surrounded by summery orchids and roses and violets.

But the boy isn’t blue winter like Jeremy, who embodies overcast skies and layers of morning frost. As he approaches the front counter, a bonfire warmth spreading with each step he takes, Jeremy thinks of autumn, crisp air and crunchy leaves underfoot. The boy tries to drown his earth tones in deep red, red knit, shoulders lifted, head down, hands in his pockets, but it doesn’t hide the way the sunlight follows him like a spotlight, filtering through the windows.

Jeremy forgets himself for a moment. Forgets to shut his laptop. Forgets to straighten his posture. Forgets that he is a worker who is paid to greet and help customers, not fall head over heels for them at a glance.  

The boy shifts in place and glances up. Jeremy blinks and pricks his thumb on a thorn he had been trimming under the counter. They both speak at the same time.

“Hello—“

“Uh, hey—“

Then they both clamp their mouths shut. The boy looks back down and bites his lip. Jeremy looks down at his miniscule injury and feels his ears tinge pink with stupid, stupid embarrassment.

At least the boy has the good grace to make a sound of awkward laughter, while Jeremy struggles to gain what little bearings he had in the first place. He rehearses a line in his head, practiced protocol he uses on little old ladies who wander in on rainy days or browsing teenagers who stop by after school lets out. He snaps his head up abruptly, exhaling.

“What can I help you with—“

“Okay, this is might sound weird—“

Their voices overlap again. This time, Jeremy doesn’t get the chance to feel embarrassed because the boy cracks a helpless half-smile in his direction that causes Jeremy’s mind to go blank. And the seed that settled in the cold pit of his stomach does something (sprouts? takes root?) that sends a rush up his spine.

“We’re kind of in sync, aren’t we?” the boy chuckles softly, finally lowering his shoulders. He takes one hand out of his pocket to gesture to Jeremy. “You go first.”

“I, um,” Jeremy stammers. The boy is even prettier up close, cheeks slightly rosy from the chilly outdoor air, dark mocha eyes bright behind a pair of round, outdated glasses. There’s a radiance about him that not even the muted grey filter of the shop can cast a shadow across.

His mouth feels dryer the longer he stares; the boy is waiting for him to say something. Say something. Say anything.

“I’m Jeremy!”

His own reaction is instantaneous: covering his face with his hands and muffling a mortified groan. The boy, on the other hand, takes a second to process Jeremy’s colossal social fumble.

“Oh, yeah?” he drawls out, unsure, but recovers from his surprise quickly. “Oh—Well, uh, I’m Michael.”

And for the briefest of moments, Jeremy’s heart completely stops.

Michael.

Time moves in slow motion as Jeremy creates just enough space between his fingers to see an outstretched hand offered to him across the counter.

Michael.

The boy’s name echoes in his head, and everything in his body starts to move at once

The butterflies make his insides soar, his heart pounds a loud, steady rhythm, and that damn seed shoots up into his throat and blooms red red red with a hiccup of—

“Michael!”

Jeremy flinches at his volume at the same time the boy–Michael–does. Self-conscious, Jeremy moves a hand from his face to flatten his hair, eyes looking anywhere but at Michael.

“I-I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…”

“No, yeah, I mean…that’s me,” Michael clears his throat, another nervous chuckle following. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy!”

Jeremy looks up just in time to see Michael taking the liberty to reach the rest of the way over the counter and grab his hand in a handshake. Michael’s grip is firm and enthusiastic; his large hand encompasses Jeremy’s thin, bony one. He notes the heat of Michael’s skin, warming his own clammy hand until the tips of his fingers don’t feel numb anymore.

When Jeremy dares to shift his gaze upward, meeting Michael’s eyes, his whole face starts to burn, cheeks filling with a red, red color. He manages to squeeze Michael’s hand back weakly, and Michael grins.

For just a moment, Jeremy doesn’t feel like winter or autumn or even spring. Michael makes him feel like something entirely new. A feeling that is much too fleeting the second their hands part.

Jeremy masks his disappointment by pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his knuckles. “Uh, how can I help you, Mi-Michael?”

Michael’s face lights up now that all the awkwardly placed introductions are aside. He’s nearly bouncing in place when he explains what he’s looking for. “Oh, man! When I was passing by, I saw this super rad flower in the window. The Fire Flower! You know, from Mario? I’m not a big flower person, but man, that just seemed like such a rare find! Do you—is it for sale?”

Jeremy is already stumbling out of his stool before Michael can even finish his question, maneuvering around the counter and hiding his face so Michael won’t catch the fond smile on his lips. It’s like Michael just keeps getting better and better.

“Yeah, yeah! Of course! Let me just—just get it for you! Hang on,” he motions for Michael to stay put while he weaves through the aisles to the front of the store. The flower in question isn’t actually one with a price. It’s more of as decorative piece that Jeremy had made a few days prior, a red daisy that he slapped some glue and foam on and then stuck it in a cheap vase before putting it in the very corner of the front window in his own feeble attempt to add some character to the otherwise dull shop.

He has to stand on his tip toes to grab the vase now, careful not to drop it or snap the flower’s stem. He examines it over once as he carries it back to the front, checking to make sure no petals are falling off or wilting. Thankfully, the daisy is in perfect condition, and he happily holds it out to Michael, who is even more thrilled to see the flower up close.

“Woah! This is amazing! Do you guys have any more of these? Or anything else like it?” He doesn’t look up from the flower, but Jeremy is still touched by Michael’s admiration for his amateur handiwork.

Fiddling with his sweater sleeves again, Jeremy shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry, it’s, um, one of a kind… Since I-I only made one. I didn’t think anyone would actually ask about it.”

The statement causes Michael’s head to snap up, his mouth parted in a comical ‘O’ shape. “Dude, one of a kind? And you made this,” Michael exclaims, shaking the vase none too gently. Jeremy almost reaches out to stop him, but catches himself at the last second. Oblivious, Michael continues, “I’m talking to a real flower artist here! How much? I think I have like fifteen bucks in my pockets…somewhere…”

Michael shifts the vase into one arm, shoving his other hand into his pocket to dig around for change. This time, Jeremy helpfully takes the vase for him, his heart jumping when Michael, tongue poked out in concentration, offers him a grateful glance.

“No, uh, don’t worry about it. You can just have it. For—for free, you know?”

Michael’s eyes widen. “Wait, what—“

“I’m serious,” Jeremy walks back to the other side of the counter, touching one of the black eyes that are hot glued on the flower. He’d constructed the simple design with the help of old yellow and black craft foam, and it’s hardly a job well done. “This was really easy to make. I just used some old stuff lying around my garage. It’s fine if you take it. Just make sure you change the water every few days or so.”

“Yeah, but,” Michael runs a hand through his hair, lips pursed, “I can’t just not pay for art.”

Jeremy snorts, partly because of Michael’s exaggerated statement, and partly because talking to Michael is so miraculously easy. He definitively slides the vase across the countertop. “I’m a florist, not an artist. I can make more if I want.”

“You should!” Michael blurts with a suddenness that shocks them both. “I would—I really want to see the other stuff you can make! Like, if you get any more ideas for cool video game bouquets I want to be the first to know.”

Jeremy swallows thickly again, and the sprout in his stomach, his chest, his throat tickles and prods him. He wants to be brave, to say what’s on his mind, to live with one less regret.

He sees red, daring, warm, comforting red. In Michael’s jacket. In the daisy. In his own cheeks. In the petals that bloom in his stomach. Red, so tempting that he knows he has to do something.

So, Jeremy takes a deep breath, feeling brave and red and entirely out of season.

“You can always call. I-I mean, if you have an idea or a special request of your own.”

That something (that red, red something) in his stomach rewards him with a breath of air in his lungs and a giddy tingle in his limbs. Michael rewards him with the widest smile he’s seen yet and a fumbling attempt to dig through his pockets once more for something.

Finally, Michael holds out his cell phone, new contact information pulled up on the screen.

Jeremy offers a business card, the contact number for Heere Family Flowers printed in bold.

They both speak at once.

“You can just put your number in—“

“This is our card, you can—“

And they both clamp their mouths shut.

Jeremy goes pink again. Michael follows in suit. He retreats his hand back into his pocket at light speed, and it’s like the phone was never there in the first place.

“Oh,” Michael tries to laugh off his mistake, but his voice cracks in the slightest, “You—you meant call the store…”

The awkward tension is palpable. Jeremy’s muscles clench, and he wants to cough up the metaphorical petals in his throat, but he forces the sensation back down. He can fix this.

“Yeah, but,” he scrambles to find a pen, ducking under the counter when there’s none to be found on the countertop. He spots a blue gel pen under his stool, bumps his head on the underside of the counter when he stands back up, and continues mission despite Michael’s noise of confusion and worry.

The business card is packed with text on the front, but the back is blank, and that’s where Jeremy scribbles his name, number, and a tiny doodle of Yoshi. It’s messier than he would like, but it’s legible. He’s just amazed that his shaky hand was even able to hold a pen correctly.

“Here.” He feels a bit breathless as he holds out the business card between obviously shaking fingers. Michael studies the small card, before slowly reaching out and taking it gently from Jeremy’s grasp. Jeremy breathes out a sigh of relief. “You can call me too.” he says, then quickly tacks on, “If-If you have any ideas!”

Michael, looking surprised himself, smiles down at the card. Then, as he pockets the note, grins at Jeremy as well. “I’ll definitely give you a call! Thanks for everything!”

He slips a folded five-dollar bill in the empty tip jar sitting on the edge of the counter before he starts to leave. Jeremy watches him go, heart still thumping. Still feeling red red red.  

“I’ll see you around, Jeremy!” Michael calls as he steps out the door, waving. Jeremy mirrors the gesture. Then Michael is gone.

And the sun follows after.

[uomo-accattivante]

A long time ago, a grade-schooler got his hands on a spaceship. He followed the assembly instructions as best he could, snapping on the cannons, the landing gear, the tiny interstellar-chess table. Soon enough, Rian Johnson was holding his very own Millennium Falcon. “The first thing I did,” he recalls, “was throw it across the room, to see how it would look flying.” He grins. “And it broke.”

Johnson grew up, went to film school, made some good stuff, including the entertainingly twisted 2012 sci-fi drama Looper. He’s nearly 44 now, though his cherub cheeks and gentle manner make it easy to picture the kid he was (too easy, maybe – he’s trying to grow back a goatee he shaved); even his neatly pressed short-sleeve button-down has a picture-day feel. In late October, he’s sitting in an office suite inside Disney’s Burbank studios that he’s called home for many months, where a whiteboard declares, “We’re working on Star Wars: The Last Jedi (in case you forgot).” Johnson is the film’s writer-director, which means he ended up with the world’s finest collection of replacement toys, including a life-size Falcon set that nearly brought him to tears when he stepped onto it. He treated it all with what sounds like an intriguing mix of reverence and mischief – cast members keep saying nothing was quite what they expected. “I shook up the box a little bit,” he says, with that same grin.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, everything is broken. In the months since the franchise stirred back to life in 2015’s The Force Awakens, it has felt rather like some incautious child grabbed civilization itself and threw it across the room – and, midflight, many of us realized we were the evil Empire all along, complete with a new ruler that even latter-day George Lucas at his most CGI-addled would reject as too grotesque and implausible a character.

Weirdly, the saga saw it all coming – or maybe it’s not so weird when you consider the Vietnam War commentary embedded in Lucas’ original trilogy, or the warnings about democracy’s fragility in his prequels. In the J.J. Abrams-directed The Force Awakens, a revanchist movement calling itself the First Order assembles in Triumph of the Will-style marches, showing the shocking strength of an ideology that was supposed to have been thoroughly defeated long ago. What’s left of the government is collapsing and feckless, so the only hope in sight is a band of good guys known as the Resistance. Familiar, this all sounds.

“It’s somewhat a reflection of society,” acknowledges the saga’s new star, Daisy Ridley, who plays Rey, and who has gone from unknown London actress to full-blown movie star nearly as fast as her character went from desert scavenger to budding Jedi. “But also it is escapism, because there are creatures and there are people running around with fucking lasers and shit. So, I think, a wonderful mix of both.”

And the worse the world gets, the more we need that far-off galaxy, says Gwendoline Christie, who plays stormtrooper honcho Captain Phasma (as well as Game of Thrones’ Brienne of Tarth): “During testing times, there’s nothing wrong with being transported by art. I think we all need it. Many of us are united in our love for this one thing.”

The Last Jedi, due December 15th, is the second episode of the current trilogy, and advance word has suggested that, as in the original middle film, The Empire Strikes Back, things get darker this time. But Johnson pushes back on that, though he does admit some influence from the morally ambiguous 2000s reboot of Battlestar Galactica (which is funny, because Lucas considered the Seventies TV show a rip-off and urged a lawsuit – long since settled – against it). “That’s one thing I hope people will be surprised about with the movie,” Johnson says. “I think it’s very funny. The trailers have been kind of dark – the movie has that, but I also made a real conscious effort for it to be a riot. I want it to have all the things tonally that I associate with Star Wars, which is not just the Wagner of it. It’s also the Flash Gordon.”

As of late October, almost no one has seen it yet, but Johnson seems eerily free of apprehension about its prospects. He exuded a similar calm on set, according to Adam Driver, who plays Han and Leia’s Darth Vader-worshipping prodigal son, Kylo Ren. “If I had that job, I would be stressed out,” he says. “To pick up where someone left off and carry it forward, but also introduce a vocabulary that hasn’t been seen in a Star Wars movie before, is a tall order and really hard to get right. He’s incredibly smart and doesn’t feel the need to let everyone know it.” (“It felt like we were playing the whole time,” says Kelly Marie Tran, cast as the biggest new character, Rose Tico.) A few weeks after we talk, Lucasfilm announces that Johnson signed on to make three more Star Wars films in the coming decade, the first that step outside of the prevailing Skywalker saga, indicating that Disney and Lucasfilm matriarch Kathleen Kennedy are more than delighted with Last Jedi. And Kennedy’s not easily delighted, having recently replaced the directors of a Han Solo spinoff midshoot and removed original Episode 9 director Colin Trevorrow in favor of Abrams’ return.

The Force Awakens’ biggest triumph was the introduction of new characters worth caring about, led by Rey and Kylo Ren, plus the likes of John Boyega’s stormtrooper-defector Finn, Oscar Isaac’s Poe Dameron and more. Kylo Ren (born Ben Solo) lightsaber-shanked Harrison Ford’s Han, depriving Johnson of one coveted action figure – but the film left us with Carrie Fisher’s Princess Leia, now the general who leads the Resistance, and the climactic reveal of Mark Hamill’s now-grizzled Luke Skywalker.

The Last Jedi will be Fisher’s last Star Wars movie. In the waning days of the cruel year of 2016, she went into cardiac arrest on an airplane, dying four days later. Less than a month afterward, 500,000 or so people assembled in Washington, D.C., for that city’s Women’s March, and Leia was everywhere, in posters bearing her doughnut-haired image circa 1977, with accompanying slogans (“A Woman’s Place Is in the Resistance” was, perhaps, the best).

Johnson had grown close with Fisher, and is glad to hear that I visited her psychedelically decorated Beverly Hills house a couple of years back, where she did almost an entire hilarious interview prone in bed. Afterward, she cheerily cracked jokes about drugs and mental illness in front of a visiting Disney publicist. “You got to experience a little bit of that magical sphere that she created,” says Johnson, who went over the script with her in that same bedroom. “I’m happy I got to poke my head into that, briefly, and know her even a little bit.”

He left her part in the film untouched. “We didn’t end up changing a thing,” says Johnson. “Luckily, we had a totally complete performance from her.” So it is now Abrams who has to figure out how to grapple with Fisher and Leia’s sudden absence. (He is characteristically gnomic on the matter: “It’s a sad reality,” he says. “In terms of going forward … time will tell what ends up getting done.”)

Overall, Johnson enjoyed what seems like an almost unfathomable level of autonomy in shaping The Last Jedi’s story. He says no one dictated a single plot point, that he simply decided what happens next. And he’s baffled by fans who are concerned by the idea that they’re “making it up as we go along”: “The truth is, stories are made up! Whether somebody made this whole thing up 10 years ago and put it on a whiteboard and we all have to stick to that, or whether we’re organically finding it as we move forward, it doesn’t mean that any less thought is being put into it.”

Mark Hamill’s single scene in The Force Awakens lasts all of one minute, and he doesn’t say a thing. But it’s an indelible piece of screen acting with real gravitas, from an underrated performer who had become better known for Broadway and voice-over work – he’s been the definitive animated Joker since the early Nineties. (“With voice-over,” Hamill says, “I thought, ‘This is great! I can let myself go to hell physically! I don’t have to memorize lines!’”) As Rey approaches him on the lonely mountaintop where’s he’s presumably spent years studying the Jedi equivalent of the Talmud, Luke Skywalker’s bearded face cycles through grief, terror and longing.

“I didn’t look at that as ‘Oh, this is going to be my big chance,’” says Hamill, who has just shown up at Johnson’s offices and plopped down next to him, carrying a large thermos of coffee in the right hand that Darth Vader once chopped off. He has a trimmed-down version of his elder-Jedi beard, which he’s grown to appreciate: “I shaved, and I thought, ‘You know what, the beard does cover up the jowl.’”

Hamill is a charming, jittery chatterbox – turns out that even at his youngest and prettiest, he was a geek trapped in the body of a golden boy. He is excitable and wild-eyed enough to give the vague sense that, like Luke, he actually might have spent a few solitary years on a distant planet, and is still readjusting to Earth life, or at least movie stardom.

He admits to having had “frustrations over being over-associated” with Star Wars over the years – his Skywalking cost him a chance at even auditioning to reprise his stage role as Mozart in the film of Amadeus – “but nothing that caused me any deep anguish.” He still spent the decades since Return of the Jedi acting and raising a family with Marilou, his wife of 39 years. And as for his current return to the role of Luke? “It’s a culmination of my career,” he says. “If I focused on how enormous it really is, I don’t think I could function. I told Rian that. I said, as absurd as it sounds, ‘I’m going to have to pretend this is an art-house film that no one is going to see.’ ”

For his Force Awakens scene, he says, “I didn’t know – and I don’t think J.J. really knew – specifically what had happened in those 30 years. Honestly, what I did was try and give J.J. a range of options. Neutral, suspicion, doubt … taking advantage of the fact that it’s all thoughts. I love watching silent films. Think of how effective they could be without dialogue.”

Abrams had some trepidation over the idea of handing Hamill a script with such a tiny role. “The last thing I wanted to do was insult a childhood hero,” he says, “but I also knew it was potentially one of the great drumrolls of all time.” In fact, Hamill’s first reaction was, “What a rip-off, I don’t get to run around the Death Star bumping heads with Carrie and Harrison anymore!”

But he came to agree with Abrams, especially after he counted the number of times Luke was mentioned in the screenplay – he thinks it was more than 50: “I don’t want to say, ‘That’s the greatest entrance in cinematic history’ … but certainly the greatest entrance of my career.”

Johnson turns to Hamill. “Did I ever tell you that early on when I was trying to figure out the story for this,” he says, “I had a brief idea I was chasing where I was like, ‘What if Luke is blind? What if he’s, like, the blind samurai?’ But we didn’t do it. You’re welcome. Didn’t stick.” (He adds that this was before a blind Force-using character showed up in 2016’s side film Rogue One.)

Hamill laughs, briefly contemplating how tough that twist would’ve been: “Luke, not too close to the cliff!”

He had a hard enough time with the storyline Johnson actually created for Luke, who is now what the actor calls a “disillusioned” Jedi. “This is not a joyful story to tell,” Hamill says, “my portion of it.” Johnson confirms that Hamill flat-out told him at the start that he disagreed with the direction Luke’s character was taking. “We then started a conversation,” says Johnson. “We went back and forth, and after having to explain my version, I adjusted it. And I had to justify it to myself, and that ended up being incredibly useful. I felt very close to Mark by the end. Those early days of butting heads and then coming together, that process always brings you closer.”

Hamill pushed himself to imagine how Luke could’ve gotten to his place of alienation. A rock fan who’s buddies with the Kinks’ Dave Davies, Hamill started thinking about shattered hippie dreams as he watched a Beatles documentary. “I was hearing Ringo talk about ‘Well, in those days, it was peace and love.’ And how it was a movement that largely didn’t work. I thought about that. Back in the day, I thought, by the time we get into power, there will be no more wars. Pot will be legal.” He smiles at that part. “I believed all that. I had to use that feeling of failure to relate to it.” (We do already know that Luke was training a bunch of Jedi, and Kylo Ren turned on him.)

Hamill’s grief over the loss of Fisher is still fresh, especially since the two of them got to renew their bond, and their space-sibling squabbling, after fallow decades that had given them far fewer reasons to get together. “There was now a comfort level that she had with me,” he says, “that I wasn’t out to get anything or trying to hustle her in any way. I was the same person that I was when she knew me. … I was sort of the square, stick-in-the-mud brother, and she was the wild, madcap Auntie Mame.” Promoting the movie is bringing it all back for him. “I just can’t stand it,” he says. “She’s wonderful in the movie. But it adds a layer of melancholy we don’t deserve. I’d love the emotions to come from the story, not from real life.”

I mention how hard Luke seems to have had it: never meeting his mom; finding the burnt corpses of the aunt and uncle who raised him; those well-known daddy issues; the later years of isolation. “It’s the life of a hero, man,” says Johnson. “That’s what you’ve gotta do to be a hero. You’ve gotta watch people that you love burn to death!”

Hamill notes that reality is not so great either. “Sometimes,” he says, softer than usual, “you think, ‘I’d rather have Luke’s life than mine.’”

Adam Driver has a question for me. “What,” he asks, “is emo?”

Between training for the Marines and training at Juilliard to become one of his generation’s most extraordinary actors, Driver missed some stuff, including entire music genres. But the rest of the world (including an amusing parody Twitter account) decided there’s something distinctly emo about his character, with his luxuriant hair, black outfits and periodic temper tantrums. “You have someone who’s being told that he’s special his whole life,” Driver says of his character, “and he can feel it. And he feels everything probably more intensely than the people around him, you know?”

As anyone who’s seen Driver in practically anything, even Girls, could tell you, the actor himself seems to feel things more strongly than most. “I don’t think of myself as a particularly intense person,” he says, possibly not unaware that he is making intense eye contact, and that his right knee is bouncing up and down with excess energy. “I get obsessive about certain things and, like, enjoy the process of working on something.” He’s in a Brooklyn cafe, on a tree-lined street, that seems to be his go-to spot for interviews. He arrived early, fresh from shooting the new Spike Lee movie, wearing a dark-blue sweater over black jeans and high-top Adidas. Driver has a certainty to him, a steel core, that’s a little intimidating, despite his obvious affability and big, near-constant laugh. It’s not unlike talking to Harrison Ford, who played his dad. Until Driver’s character murdered him.

Driver, raised by his mom and preacher stepdad after his parents divorced when he was seven, doesn’t flinch when I suggest his own father issues might be at work. “I don’t know that it’s always that literal,” he says. He mentions that Kylo Ren also murders Max Van Sydow’s character, who was sort of a “distant uncle” to him. “No one asks me, ‘So you have a distant-uncle problem?’ ”

John Boyega told me in 2015 that Driver stayed in character on set, but that seems to be not quite true. Driver just tries to keep focused on his character’s emotions in the face of an environment he can’t help but find ridiculous. “Watching Star Wars, it’s an action-adventure,” he says. “But shooting it, it’s a straight comedy. Stormtroopers trying to find a bathroom. People dressed as trolls, like, running into doorways. It’s hilarious.” And when he wears his helmet, he can’t see very well. “You’re supposed to be very stealth, and a tree root takes you down.”

He refuses to see his character as bratty. “There is a little bit of an elitist, royalty thing going on,” he says, reminding us that the character’s estranged mom is “the princess. I think he’s aware of maybe the privilege.” He does acknowledge playing Kylo Ren younger than his own age of 34: “I don’t want to say how much younger, 'cause people will read into it… .” He flushes, and later says he regrets mentioning it at all. If it’s a plot spoiler, it’s unclear exactly how, unless it’s related to his unexplained connection to Rey. The two apparently spend serious time together in this film. “The relationship between Kylo and Rey is awesome,” says Ridley, whom Driver calls a “great scene partner,” apparently one of his highest compliments.

At first, Driver wasn’t totally sure he wanted to be in a Star Wars movie. I’m always skeptical of Hollywood movies because they’re mostly just too broad,“ he says. But Abrams’ pitch, emphasizing the uniqueness of Kylo Ren’s character as a conflicted villain, made the sale. “Everything about him from the outside is designed to project the image that he’s assured,” he says. Only in private can he acknowledge “how un-figured-out he is … how weak.”

Driver can make a passionate case for why Kylo Ren isn’t actually a villain at all.

“It’s not like people weren’t living on the Death Star,” he says, his brown eyes shifting from puppyish to fierce without warning. He seems almost in character now. “Isn’t that also an act of terrorism against the hundreds of thousands of people who died there? Did they not have families? I see how people can point to examples that make themselves feel they’re right. And when you feel in your bones that you’re supported by a higher power on top of that, and you’re morally right, there’s no limit to what you’ll do to make sure that you win. Both sides feel this way.”

You’re starting to talk me into joining the Empire, I say. He laughs and shifts his delivery one degree over the top. “So, the rebels are bad,” he says, connecting his fist with the table. “I strongly believe this!”

On an extravagantly rainy Thursday evening in Montreal, I’m sitting at crowded, noisy Le Vin Papillon, a wine bar ranked as Canada’s fourth-best restaurant, holding a seat for a Jedi. Ridley arrives right on time, in a fuzzy faux-fur coat and a jumper dress – “the dregs of my wardrobe,” she says. Her shortish hair is in a Rey-ish topknot that makes her way too recognizable, but she doesn’t care. “This is how I have always had my hair,” says Ridley. “I am not going to change it.” She’s been in Montreal for three months, shooting a Doug Liman-directed sci-fi movie called Chaos Walking – which “is a little bit chaotic, in that we’re writing as we go and everything,” she says. “I’ve realized I don’t work well with that.”

She’s on the second of two unexpected days off thanks to co-star Tom Holland (a.k.a the latest Spider-Man) suffering an impacted wisdom tooth, but she’s still deeply exhausted. 

“I need a [vitamin] B shot in my ass,” she muses, in the kind of upscale British accent that makes curses sound elegant. It seems already clear that typecasting won’t pose the kind of problem for her that it did for the likes of Hamill and Fisher. Instead, she’s just busy in a way that only a freshly minted 25-year-old movie star could be – and she still managed to fulfill a pre-fame plan to go back to college for a semester last year. “I have no control in my life at all,” she says. She has four movies on the way, not even counting the Liman one. “So there is a lot going on, and I have never had to deal with that before. I don’t think my brain can really keep up with what is going on.” She has full-blown night terrors: “I wake up and scream.”

Rey had an epochal moment in the last movie, claiming her lightsaber from the snowy ground, and with it, her power, her destiny, her place at the center of the narrative. Her turn. Ridley is still absorbing what that moment, and that character, mean to women and little girls. But she definitely felt more pressure this time around, especially because last time, “it was all so insane, it felt like a dream,” she says. “I remember saying to Rian, 'I am so fucking neurotic on this one.’ I was like, 'I am going to fuck this up. All these people think this thing. How do I do that thing?’ ”

Part of the problem may have been Ridley’s tendency to downplay what she pulled off in the first movie. Her heart-tugging solo scenes in the first act, especially the moment where she eats her sad little “one half portion” of green space bread, created enormous goodwill, in seconds, for a character no one had seen before. She mentions Harrison Ford’s effusive praise for that eating scene, to the point where he was “getting emotional.” “I don’t know,” she says with a shrug, ultimately giving credit for the impact to Abrams and the movie’s cinematographer, Dan Mindel. “I was just eating!”

But in other ways, Rey has given her confidence. On her current film, she says, she was offered a stunt double for a scene where a door would swing open and knock her back. She took Liman aside and said, “'Doug, I don’t need a stunt double to do that.’ And I thought, 'I don’t know if this would’ve happened if it was Tom Holland.’”

Unlike almost everyone else in the world, Ridley has known for years who Rey’s parents are, since Abrams told her on the set of The Force Awakens. Ridley believes that nothing ever changed: “I thought what I was told in the beginning is what it is.” Which is odd, because Johnson insists he had free rein to come up with any answer he wanted to the question. “I wasn’t given any directive as to what that had to be,” he says. “I was never given the information that she is this or she is that.” 

The idea that Johnson and Abrams somehow landed on the same answer does seem to suggest that Rey’s parents aren’t some random, never-before-seen characters. All that said, Abrams cryptically hints there may have been more coordination between him and Johnson than the latter director has let on, so who knows what’s going on here – they may be messing with us to preserve one of Abrams’ precious mystery boxes. In any case, Ridley loves the speculation: Her favorite fan theories involve immaculate conception and time travel. It seems more likely that she’s either Luke’s daughter or his niece, but again, who knows.

Back in 2015, Ridley told me she was fine with the idea of being seen as Rey forever, the way Fisher was always Leia. Now she’s changed her mind. “There are literally no similarities with Carrie’s story and mine,” she says, adding that while Fisher ultimately embraced writing over acting, she plans on continuing to “inhabit” as many characters as possible. On the other hand, “a lot of Rey is me,” she says, “but that is not me being Rey. That is parts of me being a character as Rey, because how could it not? So in that sense, I understand it, because so much of Leia is Carrie.”

This trilogy will end with Abrams’ Last Jedi sequel, and after that, it sounds like the main thrust of the franchise will move into Johnson’s mysterious new movies, which look to be unconnected to the previous saga. As far as Abrams is concerned, that will be the end of the Skywalker story. “I do see it that way,” he says. “But the future is in flux.”

As far as Ridley is concerned, the future of Rey is pretty much set. She doesn’t want to play the character after the next movie. “No,” she says flatly. “For me, I didn’t really know what I was signing on to. I hadn’t read the script, but from what I could tell, it was really nice people involved, so I was just like, 'Awesome.’ Now I think I am even luckier than I knew then, to be part of something that feels so like coming home now.”

But, um, doesn’t that sort of sound like a yes? “No,” she says again, smiling a little. “No, no, no. I am really, really excited to do the third thing and round it out, because ultimately, what I was signing on to was three films. So in my head, it’s three films. I think it will feel like the right time to round it out.”

And how about coming back in 30 years, as her predecessors did? She considers this soberly, between bites of Brussels sprouts roasted on the stalk. (We split the dish, which means she got … one half portion.) “Who knows? I honestly feel like the world may end in the next 30 years, so, if in 30 years we are not living underground in a series of interconnected cells … then sure. Maybe. But again, it’s like, who knows. Because the thing I thought was so amazing, was people really wanted it. And it was done by people who really love it.”

She thinks even harder about it, this new Star Wars trilogy that we’ve made up on the spot. “How old will I be?” she asks, before doing the math. “55.” She looks very young for a moment, as she tries to picture herself as a middle-aged Jedi. Then she gives up. It’s time to go, anyway; she has a 5:25 a.m. pickup tomorrow for her new movie. “Fuck,” Ridley says. “I can’t think that far ahead.”  

###

[son-of-alderaan]

Jedi Confidential: Inside the Dark New 'Star Wars' Movie

The cast and director of 'The Last Jedi' on the story's secrets, a disaffected Skywalker and a death in the family

A long time ago, a grade-schooler got his hands on a spaceship. He followed the assembly instructions as best he could, snapping on the cannons, the landing gear, the tiny interstellar-chess table. Soon enough, Rian Johnson was holding his very own Millennium Falcon. "The first thing I did," he recalls, "was throw it across the room, to see how it would look flying." He grins. "And it broke." 

Johnson grew up, went to film school, made some good stuff, including the entertainingly twisted 2012 sci-fi drama Looper. He's nearly 44 now, though his cherub cheeks and gentle manner make it easy to picture the kid he was (too easy, maybe – he's trying to grow back a goatee he shaved); even his neatly pressed short-sleeve button-down has a picture-day feel. In late October, he's sitting in an office suite inside Disney's Burbank studios that he's called home for many months, where a whiteboard declares, "We're working on Star Wars: The Last Jedi (in case you forgot)." Johnson is the film's writer-director, which means he ended up with the world's finest collection of replacement toys, including a life-size Falcon set that nearly brought him to tears when he stepped onto it. He treated it all with what sounds like an intriguing mix of reverence and mischief – cast members keep saying nothing was quite what they expected. "I shook up the box a little bit," he says, with that same grin. 

Meanwhile, back in the real world, everything is broken. In the months since the franchise stirred back to life in 2015's The Force Awakens, it has felt rather like some incautious child grabbed civilization itself and threw it across the room – and, midflight, many of us realized we were the evil Empire all along, complete with a new ruler that even latter-day George Lucas at his most CGI-addled would reject as too grotesque and implausible a character.  Weirdly, the saga saw it all coming – or maybe it's not so weird when you consider the Vietnam War commentary embedded in Lucas' original trilogy, or the warnings about democracy's fragility in his prequels. In the J.J. Abrams-directed The Force Awakens, a revanchist movement calling itself the First Order assembles in Triumph of the Will-style marches, showing the shocking strength of an ideology that was supposed to have been thoroughly defeated long ago. What's left of the government is collapsing and feckless, so the only hope in sight is a band of good guys known as the Resistance. Familiar, this all sounds.

"It's somewhat a reflection of society," acknowledges the saga's new star, Daisy Ridley, who plays Rey, and who has gone from unknown London actress to full-blown movie star nearly as fast as her character went from desert scavenger to budding Jedi. "But also it is escapism, because there are creatures and there are people running around with fucking lasers and shit. So, I think, a wonderful mix of both."

And the worse the world gets, the more we need that far-off galaxy, says Gwendoline Christie, who plays stormtrooper honcho Captain Phasma (as well as Game of Thrones' Brienne of Tarth): "During testing times, there's nothing wrong with being transported by art. I think we all need it. Many of us are united in our love for this one thing." The Last Jedi, due December 15th, is the second episode of the current trilogy, and advance word has suggested that, as in the original middle film, The Empire Strikes Back, things get darker this time. But Johnson pushes back on that, though he does admit some influence from the morally ambiguous 2000s reboot of Battlestar Galactica (which is funny, because Lucas considered the Seventies TV show a rip-off and urged a lawsuit – long since settled – against it). "That's one thing I hope people will be surprised about with the movie," Johnson says. "I think it's very funny. The trailers have been kind of dark – the movie has that, but I also made a real conscious effort for it to be a riot. I want it to have all the things tonally that I associate with Star Wars, which is not just the Wagner of it. It's also the Flash Gordon."

As of late October, almost no one has seen it yet, but Johnson seems eerily free of apprehension about its prospects. He exuded a similar calm on set, according to Adam Driver, who plays Han and Leia's Darth Vader-worshipping prodigal son, Kylo Ren. "If I had that job, I would be stressed out," he says. "To pick up where someone left off and carry it forward, but also introduce a vocabulary that hasn't been seen in a Star Wars movie before, is a tall order and really hard to get right. He's incredibly smart and doesn't feel the need to let everyone know it." ("It felt like we were playing the whole time," says Kelly Marie Tran, cast as the biggest new character, Rose Tico.) A few weeks after we talk, Lucasfilm announces that Johnson signed on to make three more Star Warsfilms in the coming decade, the first that step outside of the prevailing Skywalker saga, indicating that Disney and Lucasfilm matriarch Kathleen Kennedy are more than delighted with Last Jedi. And Kennedy's not easily delighted, having recently replaced the directors of a Han Solo spinoff midshoot and removed original Episode 9 director Colin Trevorrow in favor of Abrams' return. 

The Force Awakens' biggest triumph was the introduction of new characters worth caring about, led by Rey and Kylo Ren, plus the likes of John Boyega's stormtrooper-defector Finn, Oscar Isaac's Poe Dameron and more. Kylo Ren (born Ben Solo) lightsaber-shanked Harrison Ford's Han, depriving Johnson of one coveted action figure – but the film left us with Carrie Fisher's Princess Leia, now the general who leads the Resistance, and the climactic reveal of Mark Hamill's now-grizzled Luke Skywalker.

The Last Jedi will be Fisher's last Star Wars movie. In the waning days of the cruel year of 2016, she went into cardiac arrest on an airplane, dying four days later. Less than a month afterward, 500,000 or so people assembled in Washington, D.C., for that city's Women's March, and Leia was everywhere, in posters bearing her doughnut-haired image circa 1977, with accompanying slogans ("A Woman's Place Is in the Resistance" was, perhaps, the best).

Johnson had grown close with Fisher, and is glad to hear that I visited her psychedelically decorated Beverly Hills house a couple of years back, where she did almost an entire hilarious interview prone in bed. Afterward, she cheerily cracked jokes about drugs and mental illness in front of a visiting Disney publicist. "You got to experience a little bit of that magical sphere that she created," says Johnson, who went over the script with her in that same bedroom. "I'm happy I got to poke my head into that, briefly, and know her even a little bit."

He left her part in the film untouched. "We didn't end up changing a thing," says Johnson. "Luckily, we had a totally complete performance from her." So it is now Abrams who has to figure out how to grapple with Fisher and Leia's sudden absence. (He is characteristically gnomic on the matter: "It's a sad reality," he says. "In terms of going forward ... time will tell what ends up getting done.")

Overall, Johnson enjoyed what seems like an almost unfathomable level of autonomy in shaping The Last Jedi's story. He says no one dictated a single plot point, that he simply decided what happens next. And he's baffled by fans who are concerned by the idea that they're "making it up as we go along": "The truth is, stories are made up! Whether somebody made this whole thing up 10 years ago and put it on a whiteboard and we all have to stick to that, or whether we're organically finding it as we move forward, it doesn't mean that any less thought is being put into it."

Mark Hamill's single scene in The Force Awakens lasts all of one minute, and he doesn't say a thing. But it's an indelible piece of screen acting with real gravitas, from an underrated performer who had become better known for Broadway and voice-over work – he's been the definitive animated Joker since the early Nineties. ("With voice-over," Hamill says, "I thought, 'This is great! I can let myself go to hell physically! I don't have to memorize lines!'") As Rey approaches him on the lonely mountaintop where's he's presumably spent years studying the Jedi equivalent of the Talmud, Luke Skywalker's bearded face cycles through grief, terror and longing.

"I didn't look at that as 'Oh, this is going to be my big chance,'" says Hamill, who has just shown up at Johnson's offices and plopped down next to him, carrying a large thermos of coffee in the right hand that Darth Vader once chopped off. He has a trimmed-down version of his elder-Jedi beard, which he's grown to appreciate: "I shaved, and I thought, 'You know what, the beard does cover up the jowl.'"

Hamill is a charming, jittery chatterbox – turns out that even at his youngest and prettiest, he was a geek trapped in the body of a golden boy. He is excitable and wild-eyed enough to give the vague sense that, like Luke, he actually might have spent a few solitary years on a distant planet, and is still readjusting to Earth life, or at least movie stardom.

He admits to having had "frustrations over being over-associated" with Star Wars over the years – his Skywalking cost him a chance at even auditioning to reprise his stage role as Mozart in the film of Amadeus – "but nothing that caused me any deep anguish." He still spent the decades since Return of the Jediacting and raising a family with Marilou, his wife of 39 years. And as for his current return to the role of Luke? "It's a culmination of my career," he says. "If I focused on how enormous it really is, I don't think I could function. I told Rian that. I said, as absurd as it sounds, 'I'm going to have to pretend this is an art-house film that no one is going to see.' "

For his Force Awakens scene, he says, "I didn't know – and I don't think J.J. really knew – specifically what had happened in those 30 years. Honestly, what I did was try and give J.J. a range of options. Neutral, suspicion, doubt … taking advantage of the fact that it's all thoughts. I love watching silent films. Think of how effective they could be without dialogue."

Abrams had some trepidation over the idea of handing Hamill a script with such a tiny role. "The last thing I wanted to do was insult a childhood hero," he says, "but I also knew it was potentially one of the great drumrolls of all time." In fact, Hamill's first reaction was, "What a rip-off, I don't get to run around the Death Star bumping heads with Carrie and Harrison anymore!"

But he came to agree with Abrams, especially after he counted the number of times Luke was mentioned in the screenplay – he thinks it was more than 50: "I don't want to say, 'That's the greatest entrance in cinematic history' . . . but certainly the greatest entrance of my career."

Johnson turns to Hamill. "Did I ever tell you that early on when I was trying to figure out the story for this," he says, "I had a brief idea I was chasing where I was like, 'What if Luke is blind? What if he's, like, the blind samurai?' But we didn't do it. You're welcome. Didn't stick." (He adds that this was before a blind Force-using character showed up in 2016's side film Rogue One.)

Hamill laughs, briefly contemplating how tough that twist would've been: "Luke, not too close to the cliff!" He had a hard enough time with the storyline Johnson actually created for Luke, who is now what the actor calls a "disillusioned" Jedi. "This is not a joyful story to tell," Hamill says, "my portion of it." Johnson confirms that Hamill flat-out told him at the start that he disagreed with the direction Luke's character was taking. "We then started a conversation," says Johnson. "We went back and forth, and after having to explain my version, I adjusted it. And I had to justify it to myself, and that ended up being incredibly useful. I felt very close to Mark by the end. Those early days of butting heads and then coming together, that process always brings you closer."

Hamill pushed himself to imagine how Luke could've gotten to his place of alienation. A rock fan who's buddies with the Kinks' Dave Davies, Hamill started thinking about shattered hippie dreams as he watched a Beatles documentary. "I was hearing Ringo talk about 'Well, in those days, it was peace and love.' And how it was a movement that largely didn't work. I thought about that. Back in the day, I thought, by the time we get into power, there will be no more wars. Pot will be legal." He smiles at that part. "I believed all that. I had to use that feeling of failure to relate to it." (We do already know that Luke was training a bunch of Jedi, and Kylo Ren turned on him.) Hamill's grief over the loss of Fisher is still fresh, especially since the two of them got to renew their bond, and their space-sibling squabbling, after fallow decades that had given them far fewer reasons to get together. "There was now a comfort level that she had with me," he says, "that I wasn't out to get anything or trying to hustle her in any way. I was the same person that I was when she knew me. ... I was sort of the square, stick-in-the-mud brother, and she was the wild, madcap Auntie Mame." Promoting the movie is bringing it all back for him. "I just can't stand it," he says. "She's wonderful in the movie. But it adds a layer of melancholy we don't deserve. I'd love the emotions to come from the story, not from real life."

I mention how hard Luke seems to have had it: never meeting his mom; finding the burnt corpses of the aunt and uncle who raised him; those well-known daddy issues; the later years of isolation. "It's the life of a hero, man," says Johnson. "That's what you've gotta do to be a hero. You've gotta watch people that you love burn to death!" Hamill notes that reality is not so great either. "Sometimes," he says, softer than usual, "you think, 'I'd rather have Luke's life than mine.'"

Adam Driver has a question for me. "What," he asks, "is emo?" Between training for the Marines and training at Juilliard to become one of his generation's most extraordinary actors, Driver missed some stuff, including entire music genres. But the rest of the world (including an amusing parody Twitter account) decided there's something distinctly emo about his character, with his luxuriant hair, black outfits and periodic temper tantrums. "You have someone who's being told that he's special his whole life," Driver says of his character, "and he can feel it. And he feels everything probably more intensely than the people around him, you know?"

As anyone who's seen Driver in practically anything, even Girls, could tell you, the actor himself seems to feel things more strongly than most. "I don't think of myself as a particularly intense person," he says, possibly not unaware that he is making intense eye contact, and that his right knee is bouncing up and down with excess energy. "I get obsessive about certain things and, like, enjoy the process of working on something." He's in a Brooklyn cafe, on a tree-lined street, that seems to be his go-to spot for interviews. He arrived early, fresh from shooting the new Spike Lee movie, wearing a dark-blue sweater over black jeans and high-top Adidas. Driver has a certainty to him, a steel core, that's a little intimidating, despite his obvious affability and big, near-constant laugh. It's not unlike talking to Harrison Ford, who played his dad. Until Driver's character murdered him.

Driver, raised by his mom and preacher stepdad after his parents divorced when he was seven, doesn't flinch when I suggest his own father issues might be at work. "I don't know that it's always that literal," he says. He mentions that Kylo Ren also murders Max Van Sydow's character, who was sort of a "distant uncle" to him. "No one asks me, 'So you have a distant-uncle problem?' "

John Boyega told me in 2015 that Driver stayed in character on set, but that seems to be not quite true. Driver just tries to keep focused on his character's emotions in the face of an environment he can't help but find ridiculous. "Watching Star Wars, it's an action-adventure," he says. "But shooting it, it's a straight comedy. Stormtroopers trying to find a bathroom. People dressed as trolls, like, running into doorways. It's hilarious." And when he wears his helmet, he can't see very well. "You're supposed to be very stealth, and a tree root takes you down."

He refuses to see his character as bratty. "There is a little bit of an elitist, royalty thing going on," he says, reminding us that the character's estranged mom is "the princess. I think he's aware of maybe the privilege." He does acknowledge playing Kylo Ren younger than his own age of 34: "I don't want to say how much younger, 'cause people will read into it. . . ." He flushes, and later says he regrets mentioning it at all. If it's a plot spoiler, it's unclear exactly how, unless it's related to his unexplained connection to Rey. The two apparently spend serious time together in this film. "The relationship between Kylo and Rey is awesome," says Ridley, whom Driver calls a "great scene partner," apparently one of his highest compliments.

At first, Driver wasn't totally sure he wanted to be in a Star Wars movie. I'm always skeptical of Hollywood movies because they're mostly just too broad," he says. But Abrams' pitch, emphasizing the uniqueness of Kylo Ren's character as a conflicted villain, made the sale. "Everything about him from the outside is designed to project the image that he's assured," he says. Only in private can he acknowledge "how un-figured-out he is … how weak."

Driver can make a passionate case for why Kylo Ren isn't actually a villain at all.

"It's not like people weren't living on the Death Star," he says, his brown eyes shifting from puppyish to fierce without warning. He seems almost in character now. "Isn't that also an act of terrorism against the hundreds of thousands of people who died there? Did they not have families? I see how people can point to examples that make themselves feel they're right. And when you feel in your bones that you're supported by a higher power on top of that, and you're morally right, there's no limit to what you'll do to make sure that you win. Both sides feel this way."

You're starting to talk me into joining the Empire, I say. He laughs and shifts his delivery one degree over the top. "So, the rebels are bad," he says, connecting his fist with the table. "I strongly believe this!"

On an extravagantly rainy Thursday evening in Montreal, I'm sitting at crowded, noisy Le Vin Papillon, a wine bar ranked as Canada's fourth-best restaurant, holding a seat for a Jedi. Ridley arrives right on time, in a fuzzy faux-fur coat and a jumper dress – "the dregs of my wardrobe," she says. Her shortish hair is in a Rey-ish topknot that makes her way too recognizable, but she doesn't care. "This is how I have always had my hair," says Ridley. "I am not going to change it." She's been in Montreal for three months, shooting a Doug Liman-directed sci-fi movie called Chaos Walking – which "is a little bit chaotic, in that we're writing as we go and everything," she says. "I've realized I don't work well with that."

She's on the second of two unexpected days off thanks to co-star Tom Holland (a.k.a the latest Spider-Man) suffering an impacted wisdom tooth, but she's still deeply exhausted. "I need a [vitamin] B shot in my ass," she muses, in the kind of upscale British accent that makes curses sound elegant. It seems already clear that typecasting won't pose the kind of problem for her that it did for the likes of Hamill and Fisher. Instead, she's just busy in a way that only a freshly minted 25-year-old movie star could be – and she still managed to fulfill a pre-fame plan to go back to college for a semester last year. "I have no control in my life at all," she says. She has four movies on the way, not even counting the Liman one. "So there is a lot going on, and I have never had to deal with that before. I don't think my brain can really keep up with what is going on." She has full-blown night terrors: "I wake up and scream."

Rey had an epochal moment in the last movie, claiming her lightsaber from the snowy ground, and with it, her power, her destiny, her place at the center of the narrative. Her turn. Ridley is still absorbing what that moment, and that character, mean to women and little girls. But she definitely felt more pressure this time around, especially because last time, "it was all so insane, it felt like a dream," she says. "I remember saying to Rian, 'I am so fucking neurotic on this one.' I was like, 'I am going to fuck this up. All these people think this thing. How do I do that thing?' "

Part of the problem may have been Ridley's tendency to downplay what she pulled off in the first movie. Her heart-tugging solo scenes in the first act, especially the moment where she eats her sad little "one half portion" of green space bread, created enormous goodwill, in seconds, for a character no one had seen before. She mentions Harrison Ford's effusive praise for that eating scene, to the point where he was "getting emotional." "I don't know," she says with a shrug, ultimately giving credit for the impact to Abrams and the movie's cinematographer, Dan Mindel. "I was just eating!"

But in other ways, Rey has given her confidence. On her current film, she says, she was offered a stunt double for a scene where a door would swing open and knock her back. She took Liman aside and said, "'Doug, I don't need a stunt double to do that.' And I thought, 'I don't know if this would've happened if it was Tom Holland.'"

Unlike almost everyone else in the world, Ridley has known for years who Rey's parents are, since Abrams told her on the set of The Force Awakens. Ridley believes that nothing ever changed: "I thought what I was told in the beginning is what it is." Which is odd, because Johnson insists he had free rein to come up with any answer he wanted to the question. "I wasn't given any directive as to what that had to be," he says. "I was never given the information that she is this or she is that."

The idea that Johnson and Abrams somehow landed on the same answer does seem to suggest that Rey's parents aren't some random, never-before-seen characters. All that said, Abrams cryptically hints there may have been more coordination between him and Johnson than the latter director has let on, so who knows what's going on here – they may be messing with us to preserve one of Abrams' precious mystery boxes. In any case, Ridley loves the speculation: Her favorite fan theories involve immaculate conception and time travel. It seems more likely that she's either Luke's daughter or his niece, but again, who knows.

Back in 2015, Ridley told me she was fine with the idea of being seen as Rey forever, the way Fisher was always Leia. Now she's changed her mind. "There are literally no similarities with Carrie's story and mine," she says, adding that while Fisher ultimately embraced writing over acting, she plans on continuing to "inhabit" as many characters as possible. On the other hand, "a lot of Rey is me," she says, "but that is not me being Rey. That is parts of me being a character as Rey, because how could it not? So in that sense, I understand it, because so much of Leia is Carrie."

This trilogy will end with Abrams' Last Jedi sequel, and after that, it sounds like the main thrust of the franchise will move into Johnson's mysterious new movies, which look to be unconnected to the previous saga. As far as Abrams is concerned, that will be the end of the Skywalker story. "I do see it that way," he says. "But the future is in flux."

As far as Ridley is concerned, the future of Rey is pretty much set. She doesn't want to play the character after the next movie. "No," she says flatly. "For me, I didn't really know what I was signing on to. I hadn't read the script, but from what I could tell, it was really nice people involved, so I was just like, 'Awesome.' Now I think I am even luckier than I knew then, to be part of something that feels so like coming home now."

But, um, doesn't that sort of sound like a yes? "No," she says again, smiling a little. "No, no, no. I am really, really excited to do the third thing and round it out, because ultimately, what I was signing on to was three films. So in my head, it's three films. I think it will feel like the right time to round it out." And how about coming back in 30 years, as her predecessors did? She considers this soberly, between bites of Brussels sprouts roasted on the stalk. (We split the dish, which means she got ... one half portion.) "Who knows? I honestly feel like the world may end in the next 30 years, so, if in 30 years we are not living underground in a series of interconnected cells ... then sure. Maybe. But again, it's like, who knows. Because the thing I thought was so amazing, was people really wanted it. And it was done by people who really love it." She thinks even harder about it, this new Star Wars trilogy that we've made up on the spot. "How old will I be?" she asks, before doing the math. "55." She looks very young for a moment, as she tries to picture herself as a middle-aged Jedi. Then she gives up. It's time to go, anyway; she has a 5:25 a.m. pickup tomorrow for her new movie. "Fuck," Ridley says. "I can't think that far ahead." (x)

[amysoprano]

Honouring the Past: the origins of my "Nostalgia" concerts

Original blog post from April 4, 2013 

At the end of my fifteenth "nostalgia" recital, "A Touch of Old," presented last summer in Gravenhurst near my home town of Port Carling, several people asked me for copies of the speech I had written for Doreen to deliver while I was changing into my old-fashioned dress.  I have decided to share it here, since it gives some background as to why I am so passionate about the old "parlour" songs.  

For those who do not know, my "nostalgia" recitals are all based on a similar framework.  I present selections of opera arias, art songs, folk songs and music theatre songs, finishing with a set of so-called "parlour songs" from the early 1900s.  I carefully programme the songs and dialogue to create a flow of mood that is deep yet uplifting.

Doreen Uren Simmons is not only a fantastic and versatile collaborative pianist familiar from childhood with the old-fashioned songs, but she is also a wonderful actress.  Here is the speech she delivered on my behalf at "A Touch of Old:"

Amy had a unique childhood over there in Port Carling.  Her parents, Nora and Paul, spent years in the 1950s, 60s and 70s collecting antique phonographs and gramophones, cylinders and records from the early 1900s, when these treasures were being discarded as out of date.  The scratchy and wiggly, yet surprisingly rich-sounding recordings permeated Amy and Vicky’s childhood, indoctrinating the girls with old-fashioned songs and a style of singing that is vastly different from that of today.

This was an era before radio and television took over, when family members entertained and comforted each other with stories, songs and music.  There is an emotional quality to these songs that to today’s ears can seem overly-nostalgic and melodramatic, but Amy sees in their sometimes simple sentiments an innocence and charm that believes in a shared humanity.  We must remember that this was an age, not so long ago, when death was no stranger to the daily lives of a family, and struggles with poverty and illness drew communities together.  Nature was not so removed from their lives as it is from ours – its challenges were not so easily ignored, and its beauty healed the soul.  Travel to another land meant parting for good – no texting or skyping, telephones or airplanes.  Faith in God, beauty, love and humanity were the strongholds that kept their souls intact, permeated by the pain of parting and loss.

Those who lived through 1914-18, were the first of us to witness the insanity of a modern war and the widespread mass destruction human technology was capable of producing.  Yet they could remember a time before, when the future did not hold the possibility of such darkness of the human spirit.  And so in song they clung even more strongly to golden memories of an innocent age, and to the powerful forces of love and hope.

Moving back to Amy’s family life and early education… the Dodingtons tend to accumulate things that "normal" people have thrown out.  Amy’s surprise arrival on this earth resulted in the room that was meant to be her mother’s walk-in closet being converted to a small bedroom for Amy.  She never resented her tiny, “prettiest room,” with its south-facing window, because she understood that the records and machines that filled the spare bedroom, and every available nook and cranny in the house, were a treasure trove of living history; and that her kooky, imaginative Dad who woke them up with blaring cylinder records every morning was also an encyclopedia of knowledge about this history.  

Whether Amy’s mother resented the loss of her walk-in closet, is perhaps a question we might have asked her…  but she was no less guilty of accumulating treasures than the Dodington clan she married into.  One such treasure Nora saved is a vintage Victorian dress from her grandmother, along with an Irish lace shawl from her great-grandmother.  

Paul and Nora were of like minds when it came to antiques – despite shocked exclamations from outsiders that such treasures should be kept safely vacuum-sealed in a museum display case, they believed that in order for us to REALLY appreciate the personality of these treasures, they must be EXPERIENCED.  Therefore, the antique records were daily played on the vintage machines, and the 1914 Model T Ford was gaily driven along dusty, twisting, pot-holed Muskoka back roads, with Paul and Nora in full “hysterical” (historical) costume.  Nora soon managed to scrounge a fancy feather hat and high-button boots to go along with her vintage dress and shawl, and with Paul in his tails and beaver top-hat the two made quite a sight, windblown in their beloved Model T.

Amy, a true Dodington, has now accumulated vast piles of antique sheet music from family and friends, from which we will be performing in this last set.  Amy has also inherited her great-grandmother’s dress and great-great-grandmother’s Irish lace shawl, and the hat and high-buttoned boots from her mother… perhaps a little worse for wear, but as alive with purpose as on the day they were first made.  She has a new hat tonight, generously given to her by Helen Robinson from Leonard Lake, in honour of Nora.  Amy promises not to wear the new hat in the Model T.

Please note that my next nostalgia concert is coming up on October 13, 2018 in Toronto.  The format has changed slightly, with the musical genres mixed together rather than in sets.  Songs are grouped by theme.  Dad may be making a special guest appearance with one of his phonographs.

Thanks for reading!  'Til next time. Amy

Further note: "A Touch of Old" was recorded for my live CD, "Roses of Yore," now available for order from my website.

[settingorange]

do all the evens lmao

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

Sometimes!

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

Lots of sugar!

6: do you keep plants?

No but I’d like some succulents

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

I don’t express my feelings next question

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

Side

12: what's your favorite planet?

Earth bc all my friends live here

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

First of all, Id love this and its all i want so jot that down. It would probably be kinda messy bc of how i am and also we would have plants and art on the walls. Idk what else id like but also be afraid of a lot of windows

16: what's your favorite pasta dish?

Fetuccine alfredo fuck u max goodwin

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

Newsflash asshole everything i do is dumb and nobody lets me live anything down. Altho i cant think of anything atm

20: what's your favorite eye color?

Not blue

22: are you a morning person?

I can be. Im versatile af

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

Uh yeah its called every person i know im an open book bitch!!!!

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

Black vans w flamingos on them which i may retire soon :((

28: sunrise or sunset?

im a ho for both but probably sunset

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

Yes.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

I usually am not up that late and i cant think of anything particularly exciting except one time me and Destrie stayed up at our friend Kims grandmas house and watched Epic Rap Battles of History and we were the only people awake

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

Which one i have so many!!! but uhhh there is one that was my favorite for  while and it was a black panther and i named her Midnight and once i got bubblegum on her and we had to cut it out. I still have her around somewhere.

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now?

The Front Bottoms

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

My roommate clicking her pen

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you?

I have a spinny ring that I bought at earthbound, its not like, significant but i like it

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop?

Java Haute bc the memories but Vienna here at purdue has a real good spiced chai so... watch out java haute

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

The day we went to the parking garage and lydia and i laid on the ground and looked at the stars

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

They feel a slight precipitation."I think it’s raining," says the man."No, it’s snowing," replies the woman."How about we ask this Communist officer here? He is always right!" exclaims the man. "Officer Rudolph, is it raining or snowing?""Definitely raining," Officer Rudolph replies before walking off.The man turns to his wife with a smile. “See? Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear.”

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

A fire burning my house down. No

50: what's an odd thing you collect?

Rubber ducks ig?

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

any of the iasip memes tbh

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

Lydia “flavoureddogs” herself...

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

just like, laughs and stuff ik how to explain it but everyones is unique and lso cute

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

Sarahs definitely the vodka aunt but idk who the wine mom woul be??? Me if i werent so opposed to drinking alcohol

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

I love poetry! Annabelle Lee by Edgar Allen Poe and An Etiquette for Eyes by Cate Marvin (Which if you havent heard... Please go listen to Jon Risinger read on soundcloud)

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

Sometimes! Apple or Grape usually

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

dark

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

Lots of little flowers that are v cute

68: what's winter like where you live?

Cold cold cold!! Snowy sometimes!

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

No :/

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it?

Nope

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

They go to school with me and are one of the prettiest people I know and without them id be dead on the street!!!

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't?

Dam math homework

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

HATE

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

Light blue, yes, because i like it

82: are/were you good in school?

i used to be

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

id like one, maybe some kind of sunflower

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

I do! There are quite a few but I really enjoy Death of a Bachelor and Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys 

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

Not particularly i just like art

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

Im not sure i have any bc i hate terre haute and i dont know shit about anywhere else

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

so much cheesee

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

Myself hehe

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

ill update my technology when im dead

98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

real hiking? I went to turkey run w my squad in the summer so then probably

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

The past bc the future scares me bc things change so often and also i could have a heads up on some shit that goes down

Thanks lyd for this ask it only took me forever to get around to it!!