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softjeon · 5 years

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Devil’s Hand | Pt. 4

• Pairing: King!Namjoon x Jungkook • Side-Pairings: Namjoon x Jimin | Namjoon x Yoongi | Prince!Hoseok x Jungkook • Genre: Angst / Smut | Royal!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 6,6k | Co-Writer: Cat @cassiavioletblue • Disclaimer: alcohol, abusive relationsships, abusive behavior, (sexual) violence, major character death

↳ There had been rumors, but in the end it was not really a secret that Namjoon loved delicate and beautiful things. Especially when it came down to his lovers and his castle. It was decorated with lot of flowing, long blue curtains, colorful paintings in every room, rows of marble columns leading along every aisle. There was a large garden surrounding the palace, which was by far Jungkook’s favorite place to be – next to the king’s bedroom.

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A/N: Just a reminder to be aware of the disclaimers for this & the following chapters! Thank you!

“We should bring flowers all the way up the aisle in the cathedral, as well as the main hall in the castle,” Yoongi said pointing up towards the throne and down to the entrance, “It should be all white lilies representing the king.” Jin nodded at that, turning around to imagine a festive decorated scene in his mind. “The knights should line up, leading the parade and a few of them at the end.” Tipping his finger against the pommel of his sword, he took the quill from Yoongi and added something onto the list that was spread on one of the tables nearby. “We should ask King Namjoon if the knights should wear their usual formal dress up or should get an individual costume for that day.” Jin said and turned to Yoongi, “How long will the travel take for her to arrive? I heard she’s on her way...”

“I don’t know for sure. It was supposed to be a week’s ride but first the weather had forced them to postpone their departure and then one of the wheels had broken down in the red canyon - thank god they had a someone with them who knew how to repair it. And thank all the remaining heavenly figures for carrier pigeons or else we would have to handle the kings mood swings even longer. Though as long as he knows the princess won’t be here for at least another three days he’ll be happy.” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders. “I guess he’s allowed to have a few last days of stubbornness before his life will be finally swallowed by marital duties.”

Jungkook kept his head down when he entered the room, but he kept eyeing the others warily from the corner of his eyes. He was renewing the flowers at the side of the throne, switching the wilted ones for fresh, new and blooming flowers that the King would like, while he was listening to Yoongi’s and Jin’s conversation. The two were acting as if they were planning their own wedding, leaving Namjoon out of every decision and Jungkook wasn’t so sure if Namjoon would be happy about it. In the end the king took his duties seriously, even if it meant marrying a random woman to pretend to be happy and produce an heir while he was making love to someone else.

Jungkook could hear Jimin’s giggles from afar, echoing through the hallway but he didn’t say anything to warn the others. Instead he kept still, seemingly busy with arranging the flowers.

“Come!” Jimin was walking backwards, pulling Namjoon along happily when he turned around. He had wanted to take a walk with the king, taking the path through the main hall that would lead outside the castle when he came face to face with the knight and the consultant. Yoongi and Jin bowed their heads at the sight of the king behind the dancer, but Jimin couldn’t keep from teasing them, nonetheless. “Nah, nah, it’s just me. You don’t have to bow in front of me or am I really that beautiful?” If looks could kill Jimin would have dropped dead immediately. Yoongi was very strict about rules and Jimin was practically ignoring any of them. If he hadn’t been recently reminded about Namjoon’s way of punishing him for mistakes he would have put the dancer in his place right away. Jin didn’t seem to mind Jimin’s behavior but rather that they had been interrupted at all. There were so many things left to organize and they were interrupted what felt like every two minutes by people or the royal routine or their duties. If he wasn’t so important to the kings safety he would have liked to give his duties over to someone else for a bit, at least until the official betrothal ceremony was finished.

Jimin ignored the hard gaze from Yoongi and walked around him, keeping his hand intertwined with the kings. He didn’t care that people thought of him as the toy of the king, because he was exactly that and had no shame about it. When he saw the papers on the table though, Jimin couldn’t help but take a peak. Jungkook froze when he watched the dancer take the papers without caring, his eyes blinking back and forth between Yoongi, Namjoon, the knight and back to Jimin. “Do you really need a whole parade for a simple wedding?” The dancer said and furrowed his brows at Namjoon, “You don’t seem like a show-off. But you should definitely add me to the program though. Afterwards, I mean.” He winked teasingly at Yoongi, leaving the other to figure out if he meant him as a dancer or rather as a solo program for Namjoon. Yoongi tried to keep the growl low and quiet when he ripped the papers from Jimin’s hands, “The king will be busy that night, but not with you.”

“Who knows, who knows. A simple duty fuck won’t take all night. Maybe the king is in for some pleasure after…”

“Enough!” No matter how amusing and refreshing it was to watch Jimin and his sharp tongue wreaking havoc on his confidants the wedding was still a sore spot in his mind. He didn’t like the prospect of having to fake a smile for a whole day in which he would rather be somewhere else. Though he could pull it off, he’s had lots of practice with different banquettes and conferences before. What made him really nervous was the knowledge that he would have to sleep with his newlywed wife. And as much as Namjoon liked to take beauties into his bed and seduce them in the silken sheets - he didn’t like to do it because he was told to. The quicker it was over the better. And as soon as they had fulfilled the expectations of producing three or four children he could go back to living life as he wanted. He just hoped that his wife wouldn’t be against his affairs or else they would both have a great, big problem.

Jungkook had jerked hard when Namjoon’s voice broke through the voices and he almost had pushed the vase over but caught it quickly enough for it not to break. He never liked it when Namjoon got angry, his voice so dark that everyone was scared of him in that moment. The power coming from him, was making them shut up immediately and even Jimin was quiet.

It was no surprise for Jungkook that Namjoon asked for him that night. The only one the king felt wasn’t against him. Namjoon used Jungkook all night to get rid of the anger and bottled up emotions.

Afterwards Namjoon was lying beside him, not even touching him while there was still anger on his face. “I hope you know that this wedding won’t change anything. You’re still going to be mine and although I’ll have to share the queen’s bed from time to time I still want you in mine. You’ll never get me stop having you, you’re mine, you’ve always been, and a stupid fucking wedding won’t change this!” He rolled around until he was over Jungkook again, gripping the younger’s wrists so tightly that Jungkook gasped in surprise. “Tell me who you belong to. Tell me!”

“You, only you, my king,” Jungkook answered right away, only hesitating a little but that couldn’t be held against him. He had been surprised and not the thought of Prince Hoseok was making him think about his words twice. A smile pulled at Jungkook’s lips, his eyes meeting Namjoon’s. “I belong to your side,” Jungkook said with a soft voice, trying to soothe the king, writhing his wrists to get out of his grip. “Let me help you relax, please,” The young man whispered, turning his head to kiss the part of Namjoon’s arm that he could reach while being pinned down like this.

Their kiss was different this time, Namjoon was still a little aggressive but his grip softened after a while and so did his kiss. He trailed his fingers down Jungkook’s body, lingering at the places where he had held him a little roughly or painted marks and love bites onto his skin. “You are alright, aren’t you, Jungkook? You can handle me. You are the only one that can handle me fully. No one knows me like you do. God, I don’t know what I’d do without you!” Namjoon only whispered, words and sentences barely there, lingering in between them like vapor while Namjoon hid his face in Jungkook’s neck. “I’ll keep you with me forever.”

Jungkook held Namjoon tightly to him, his hands caressing over his back soothingly. “I’ll be here, don’t worry,” He whispered into the king’s ear, placing a soft kiss there. The way Namjoon had suddenly cared for him made his heart ache painfully. It was almost like the king was letting him in, letting him see the breakable part of himself to Jungkook. And he was so thankful for it, holding onto the tiny piece of love Namjoon was sharing with him. The hope within him glowing under Namjoon’s attention.

Jungkook held the king for as long as he had needed it, singing quietly to him. The young prince Namjoon had always asked for Jungkook to sing, pulling him into his room to keep him all to himself while listening to his voice.

Maybe it was the only kryptonite he had.

Jungkook’s voice.

The only way to defeat him.

The servant had only returned to his room in the middle of the night, after he was sure that Namjoon was asleep and not needing his comfort anymore. He had draped the blanket over him, so it kept him warm, placing a soft kiss on top of his hair. For the first time in a long time, Jungkook felt loved again.

…

The next day everything was back to hectic and scheduling for the upcoming wedding. Namjoon was sitting somewhere close to his throne, hoping that people wouldn’t look too closely if the throne was empty and just leave him alone though unfortunately something gave him away. It might be his expensive, embroidered robe or the fact that simply everyone knew how the king looked like. In between being asked a million trivial questions about stuff he couldn’t care less about and having to stand up for various reasons (the tailor, the servant responsible for the chandelier that would be attached above their table, his personal doctor claiming that Namjoon sitting on a regular chair was unhealthy...) he tried to burn holes into Jin’s and Yoongi’s back with his eyes until something else caught his attention.

A young boy came into the hall, a big bouquet of flowers in his hands that didn’t fit the theme of the wedding or his taste in general. He frowned a little, not wanting to act like he was happy to get another present from whoever thought it would be nice to send him something to celebrate the upcoming wedding. The boy however seemed adamant to walk past him and down the hallways of the castle. Yoongi didn’t even glance at the delivery boy, way too immersed in the preparations, leaving Namjoon wondering who the flowers were for. Probably just some poor confused delivery boy who would stumble into the wrong room and cause even more chaos. Namjoon got up with a sigh and went after him, finally catching up to him in a side corridor.

“Hey, boy! Where are you going! This is the way to the servant’s wing. There’s no one you can deliver our flowers to. Bring them back into the great hall but try to not disturb the other arrangements please.”

The boy bowed his head as soon as he realized that the king was talking to him. “N-no, I apologize my king, but I am sure that I have to deliver those into the servants wings,” He stuttered, not sure if he should just keep on walking or wait for the king to order him somewhere else.

“That’s absurd! Tell me to whom these are supposed to be delivered. You clearly must have misunderstood something. Who would give flowers to a servant? Who paid you to deliver these?”

The delivery boy opened his mouth to say something, when the king already ripped the flowers from him, trying to search for a card or a letter. “It’s for…for Jeon Jungkook, my king,” He lowered his gaze to the floor, feeling too weak to hold the king’s stare, “They are from the prince.”

“The… what?” Namjoon stared at the card as if the delivery boy could really possess the courage to lie right into his face. “There’s no way... he wouldn’t dare!” Namjoon crumpled the paper in his free hand, the anger distorting his handsome face. He laughed, short and bitter and dangerous before he addressed the delivery boy again. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here. I’ll deliver them myself.”

The boy had nothing to say against the king’s word, watching in awe how the handsome man walked away from him, a big flower bouquet in his hands that almost hid his entire upper body. He had a weird feeling about this. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned around.

It wasn’t his business after all to mingle with whatever the king was doing anyways.

Jungkook was laying on his stomach in bed, reading through a book and deep in thoughts when a knock on his door made him look up. Furrowing his brows, Jungkook was confused on who would want something from him, when he had finished all his duty before time. “Who’s there?”

“Just some humble delivery boy,” Namjoon answered, voice rich in sarcasm. He opened the door, flower bouquet in hand and bowed his head spitefully in front of Jungkook. “Look, what a beautiful gift! And right from the prince.” Jungkook jumped, his cheeks blushing red and his heart sinking low at the sight of the furious king. He was up in a second, staring at the flowers in his hands and trying to process what the king was saying. The kings smile was full of venom as ha put down the flowers on the small table in the middle of the room.

“I didn't even know you two knew each other that well. Though surely the prince doesn't send gifts at random. Tell my sweet little valet, did you let him fuck you? Was he good? Did he make you come like I do when I take you hard? I hope it was worth it.” Namjoon picked up the flowers just to throw them at Jungkook again.

“I…I didn’t…Namjoon what are you saying?” He squealed when the flowers flew towards him, some of the thorns scratching his skin, but it hadn’t done too much damage. But instead of hiding away from the king, Jungkook took a step closer, his hands up in defense. He had seen Namjoon in rage before, certainly not because of him, but he had calmed him many times before. “What is…this?” Jungkook was just as confused, looking around at the flowers all over the floor and then back at Namjoon. Apparently they had come from the prince and it made the servant gulp hard. What if the king would find out about the kiss? The secret – meetings?

“I never let anyone…I didn’t, please,” Jungkook tried to reach out for Namjoon helplessly.

“Sure, you’re all sunshine and innocence, aren’t you? Don’t think I’d fall for your wide, dark eyes this time. You can’t trick me. What are you two up to, hm? Did you make plans behind my back? Do I need to get a food taster from now on? What did he do to get you on his side, tell me, please, I want to know what your loyalty’s worth.” He got close to Jungkook, so close that he could have reached out for him, but he looked at him as if the thought of alone of touching the servant was disgusting him.

It hurt.

It hurt so much that Jungkook was starting to tremble from it. “I would never hurt you, Namjoon. I…,” It was no use lying to Namjoon. The king would find out sooner or later, so Jungkook had no other choice left. He took the blame. “We kissed,” Jungkook confessed, pointing at the card on the floor, tears falling down his cheeks, “You left me. More than I am used to. I was alone, and you weren’t even looking at me anymore. I was weak.” It took all of his strength to look up at his king, the one he adored so much, “But I would never hurt you. It was my mistake, my weakness.”

Namjoon looked at him, cold and contemptuous. Then he hit Jungkook, right on his mouth so that his lip split open and there was blood trickling down the corner of his mouth making him fall onto his hands. “Have fun kissing him now, whore. You don’t get to whine about how I left you alone. I’m the king! I have to take care of a whole goddamn kingdom! You think I owe you any kind of attention? You’re my valet, nothing more. A servant that I let in to my bed one too many times because apparently it got to your head. You are nothing to me! You can’t hurt me if you sleep with him. It just makes me want to get away from your dirty hands. Don’t think I’ll let you dress me for my wedding. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve any of this! Don’t forget that you can only live in this castle because I let you. Though right now I’m not sure if the quarters in the slum areas wouldn’t be more suitable for you. You know those where you can buy young, pretty boys at the corner for a single coin.”

Jungkook choked from the hard slap, tasting the metal on his tongue and the salt of his tears falling down his cheeks. Every word ripped into his heart, tearing him apart, making it so damn harder for him to breathe. “Namjoon, please,” His voice was barely a whisper, when he propped himself up a little off the floor looking up at the king. He sobbed desperately, “It was only one time, please believe me. I didn’t think he would…oh god, please Namjoon, I beg for your forgiveness. Please. I’d do anything.” Jungkook got onto his knees, bowing deeply in front of Namjoon, his whole body shaking from the effort it took from him. “Please, you’re the only one I serve for. My body is yours. Had always been yours.” Jungkook didn’t look up once, feeling unworthy to look into Namjoon’s eyes. He was so unworthy of him. Had always been like this. Who did he think he was, allowing himself joyful moments when Jungkook knew all along that it wasn’t his decision to do so.

“Please.”

Namjoon pulled Jungkook up by the collar of his blouse, ripping it in the process. He didn’t care because he discarded it after opening the last few buttons anyway. “Did he leave any marks on your skin? Immortalize himself on your body? Did you like it when he kissed you? Better than when I kiss you?” He held Jungkook’s face in an iron grip when he kissed him hard, not minding at all that they both tasted blood from the younger’s split lip and that it must hurt for Jungkook to be kissed like that. His hands wandered over Jungkook’s body like the younger was a thing to use and not a person, as if he was checking up on his property.

“No, I didn’t sleep with him, please believe me. There are no marks,” Jungkook stammered, not caring about how harshly Namjoon was holding him, moving him around like a doll and forcing his kisses onto him. Maybe in his tormented mind, Jungkook was even happy about it, being able to feel Namjoon one more time before he would probably cast him out like trash. Like he was nothing but a waste of space. He had done this to himself. It was his own fault and the heaviness of his own guilt made Jungkook submit to every touch of Namjoon’s body. Whatever the king wanted, he would get from him. In the end, he was nothing but his property.

Namjoon undressed him roughly, efficiently, like finishing a task in his daily schedule. Only when Jungkook was fully naked he took a step back, letting his gaze wander over the younger’s form and almost flawless skin. There were a few bruises on his knees where he had bumped into a table at the kitchen while helping to prepare an extra meal for the king and of course the few scars that he had collected over time. However, there were no love bites or bruises, nothing that indicated that Hoseok had slept with him.

Namjoon hugged Jungkook, sweetly, caressing his face as if he cared for him. Then he kissed him, soft and gentle, almost loving before whispering in his ear. “Even if he hasn’t left any visible marks on your skin I can still see it, where he wormed his way into your heart. You like him, don’t you? You want him to have you. And you lost your dignity to me the second you let his lips meet yours. You’re a disgrace Jungkook. I told you you’re mine. I won’t let anyone else have you. But I won’t take you either. You’re too filthy. I don’t want to get myself dirty on you.” Then he pushed him back, hard, so that Jungkook tumbled down onto the bed, naked and helpless. Namjoon send a disdainful look his way, then he turned and walked out the door, just like that.

It felt like his lungs were bursting but there was no scream escaping them. Jungkook was empty. Completely hollow like a shell. But a broken one. One that was too sharp for people to touch, so they left it to be washed away by the waves into the depths of the ocean. Where there was nothing but darkness. He curled in on himself, sobbing quietly, mumbling Namjoon’s name like a prayer as he was hoping that it was just a bad dream. That he would wake up from the nightmare and the other would hold him in his warm embrace. He choked, tears cascading down and wetting the sheets but Jungkook didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything else but Namjoon anymore. His eyes were staring off into the distance, his body shaking from the cold, but he didn’t dare to take the blanket to cover himself or even clean the bruise on his lips. Jungkook didn’t deserve to be taken care of. He was dirty, just like Namjoon said.

…

It was a few days after when Tae finally saw him again. He had started to worry about the younger as he hadn’t even been to the stables where he normally came to visit him on a regular basis. He had figured that Jungkook would be too busy to come and talk to him as the wedding preparations were almost finished and every one of the servants had to make sure each and everything was perfect 24/7 down to the smallest flower in the furthest vase. Still he missed him, so he had been searching for him around the castle. But the younger was nowhere to be found. In the end he ran into him by accident, while trying to sneak out old carrots from the kitchen, that had to be thrown away because they weren’t fresh enough to be used for food (but were still a great treat for the horses).

“Oh, Jungkook! There you are!” His smile faltered immediately when Jungkook flinched as if he had been caught by something forbidden. Though as it seemed he was only getting tea for the king. “You okay? I haven’t seen you for so long! And you’re a little jumpy. Does the wedding stress you out a lot? I guess it must, I bet you have so much more things to do. Have you seen the king’s wedding robe yet? Do you want to come with me to the stables to feed those to the horses?” He showed Jungkook the carrots and frowned when the younger flinched again. “Hey are you.. is everything alright?”

Jungkook was nervous, his hands shaking when he walked over to the kettle, checking if the water was boiling already. “I...I am fine, but I can’t. I would...love to but I need to check up on...the king,” He stuttered, trying to put a smile on his face but he failed miserably. He couldn’t lie to Taehyung. Had never lied to him. Tears were burning in his eyes, his stomach growling from the lack of food and he felt exhausted. Ever since Namjoon had found about the kiss, he kept his servant closer than before, restraining him from all his benefits he had before. He was working non-stop and not because Namjoon necessarily needed him but only to keep an eye on the younger.

When the king was having lunch, he stood close by in eyesight for him instead of sitting down with him like they used to - so the only time Jungkook could eat something was at night, if he wasn’t with Namjoon. When he was in his room to study, Jungkook stood there, too, not moving an inch. Sometimes his legs were shaking so much that he was scared of falling onto his knees. Even when Namjoon was just taking walks around the castle deep in his thoughts, Jungkook was around not allowed to take a step away from him.

“Look up,” The king had ordered so many times and Jungkook immediately complied. His touch was almost soft, tracing the lines of his face with his thumb and down to his neck. He wanted to give Namjoon everything, to apologize, to make him see that he always just wanted him. Only him. Jungkook had bruises all over his body. Marks, love bites, blue and violet colored flecks where Namjoon had gripped him so tight that no one who would even think about undressing him would want to touch him. It was evident that he belonged to someone else. In a way Jungkook appreciated it. It was a way of Namjoon saying that he didn’t want to let go off him.

That he might love him, too.

Jungkook took the kettle of the hanger and walked over to the tea pot, answering Taehyung’s questions shortly, trying not to make him ask deeper questions, once that can make him more nervous. It was risky enough that they both stood so close to each other already. If Namjoon would see it then he would be doomed. The horrified thought of losing the king and his home with it, mixed with his shaking hands, made him let go of the kettle. It fell down onto the floor with a loud noise and Jungkook cried out when some of the hot water spilled onto his skin, burning. He squatted down immediately. “Oh no, no, I need to...I got to be fast...I take too long I need to,” Jungkook stammered completely trapped in his anxious mind of Namjoon finding out. In his hastiness, he grabbed the kettle without a kitchen towel burning his hand again. He fell back and onto his bottom, not realizing what a mess he let Taehyung see right now. The tears were falling down on their down, his whole body shaking from the anxiety as he tried to fix his mistakes as fast as he could.

“Jungkook! Kookie what…,” The younger sat on the floor, hands held out in front of him that were very obviously hurting but Jungkook didn’t react, didn’t try to cool them, he just sat there, eyes wide and fearful, talking about how he had to ‘go back right now’ and ‘couldn’t make a mess’ under his breath.

“Come, let’s get some water for those burns.” He ignored the water spilling out of the pot and tried to help Jungkook up. He didn’t miss the pained gasp when he held him at his waist though didn’t comment on it just filed it away in his mind. Right now, he needed to treat the burn because any wasted second would just mean more hurt for the younger. The water was always cold in the kitchen anyways, so he simply had to turn on the faucet but Jungkook still didn’t seem to know what to do so Taehyung carefully took his wrists and guided his hands under the cold water. Neither of them said anything for a while before Jungkook started to go fidgety again –

“I need to go back, the king... the tea…”

But Taehyung was having none of it. He turned Jungkook around to face him and then pulled down his collar to show more of his neckline. There were bruises around there too, purplish fresh ones and some that looked a little faded, older, as if someone had pushed Jungkook down or held him in place with a hand on his neck multiple times. Taehyung had to swallow harshly to find back his voice. “Who did this to you?” The way Jungkook avoided his eyes made him guess who it was, “Is it Namjoon? Is the king treating you like that? But why? What happened?” Of course, the younger has had bruises every now and then, so did everyone else who was working for royalty, sometimes you were clumsy or too slow and someone higher up the hierarchy deemed it fit to punish you. But he had never seen Jungkook like that, not so hurt, not so shaken. This didn’t look like a make out session that had gotten a little too rough, it looked like pure punishment. Like cruelty. And Taehyung got horribly scared for his friend. He couldn’t really help him if someone higher up the food chain was adamant on breaking him - but he sure as hell would find out who it was and then try his best to protect Jungkook.

“It’s my fault,” Jungkook finally spoke up, his gaze locked on his feet, too scared to look up. “I...I thought I could make my own decisions, take a peek at what it feels like...that there was more….but,” The young servant was talking in riddles for Taehyung, but to him it made awfully a lot of sense. “He keeps me to himself.” Jungkook was trying to get a little off Taehyung’s grip and away from him. “Please, stop...Taehyung please. I know you mean well...but if he sees us. I can’t. He will cast me out. I can’t be without him.”

“Jungkook, what are you...,” He broke off. Clearly he couldn’t reason with Jungkook right now. He was scared or confused or both. Still he couldn’t help but pry, lifting up the hemline of his top and peeking underneath. More bruises, more fingerprints and faded discolorations. Taehyung gasped in shock. “Kookie, please. He hurts you! Tell me what happened! Maybe I can... I could ask Jin to talk to him. I know I can’t but Jin is a knight he is allowed to send a letter and maybe I can convince him.. god, Jungkookie!” Overwhelmed by his worries he hugged the younger close, carefully not to touch his too harshly. “I’m so sorry! I never thought Namjoon would… he always seemed to love you so much.”

Jungkook couldn’t help it. The tears came all on their own, when Taehyung hugged him and the younger instinctively held onto his clothes, shaking with the sobs. “It’s my fault. Taehyung, it’s my fault,” He shook his head, trying to hide from the shame and guilt he felt. “It’s not because he wants to hurt me…but,” Jungkook hiccupped a little, “This way… no one touches me.” When Tae tried to pull Jungkook away a little more to look at him, the younger just clung onto him, shaking his head, not wanting to see the way Taehyung would think of him if he knew. “I kissed someone else.” He whispered almost not audible, “The…the prince, Taehyung…I kissed the prince. Namjoon found out…he brought me flowers and…it was just the kiss, I promise. He wants to keep me at his side…no one but Namjoon…” He broke off, feeling absolutely helpless in Taehyung’s arms right now. He needed to get a hold of himself.

“Shh, sht, I’ve got you. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” It broke his heart that he couldn’t keep Jungkook safe - and that all his sweet words and reassurances were lies. Nothing would be okay. If Namjoon wanted to keep this up he could, and no one would be able to stop him. He was the king after all. He could have Jungkook tortured or killed for no other reason than that he felt like it. Taehyung had always thought they were lucky with Namjoon as king. Turned out they weren’t when the king was jealous. Though there was something else at his mind that was just as pressing.

“When you say you kissed the prince then.. how.. what do you mean by that? You kissed his hand?” If Jungkook had kissed the prince with anyone present then he would have been incarcerated for this disrespect. And Hoseok surely wouldn’t let him get away with it as well. However, it was different if it was Hoseok doing so. Just like Namjoon could kiss Jungkook as much as he wanted while Jungkook would never be allowed to kiss him first. “Did the prince start this? Did he touch you? Did he… Jungkook, please, tell me what happened! I haven’t seen you for days and now you tell me all those things... can you start from the beginning? Do you think you could do that? We could sit down, I could have the maid bring Namjoon his tea. Please Jungkook. I don’t want to let him go back to him like this.”

“N-no, didn’t let…anyone else touch me,” Jungkook shook his head, rubbing his eyes to keep from crying. He nodded at Taehyung’s suggestion, waiting for his friend to tell a maid that he had burned his hand, so she had to bring the tea and come back to him shortly after. Taking a deep breath, the young servant looked left and right quickly, trying to ensure himself that no one could eavesdrop.

“I was weak. Prince Hoseok was flirting with me…you saw me dancing with him on Namjoon’s birthday, right?” Jungkook started off the story, telling him all about how he had run into him in the garden, how they had hidden in the broom closet and how it all lead to many more secret meetings. “I saw Jimin and I…I would never be enough for him. No matter if I stay here my whole life, he will always have someone else. Someone purer. Someone more beautiful,” Jungkook had flung his arms around himself, as he and Taehyung sat at the stairs outside that lead to the backdoor of the kitchen. “So, I kissed him. That’s it,” He looked at his friend all apologetic, “For once I wanted to feel how it is to be…loved like that. Just once. For one moment. A prince shouldn’t be interested in me. And it is my fault, I deserve this after all.” Jungkook cursed quietly, rubbing his hands over his face, causing it to grew paler than it already was. “I didn’t know why he thought bringing a bouquet of flowers would go by unnoticed? I didn’t think the prince would…” He stopped, shaking his head in disbelief that his life had become a mess like this in only a few days. “Since then I am not allowed to leave Namjoon’s side.”

Taehyung bit his lip. Gently he traced Jungkook’s face with his fingertips, pushing a strand of hair behind the younger’s face. “You are beautiful, Jungkook! And no, this is not what you deserve. No one does. This isn’t right. You should know it isn’t and I hope that deep, deep down you do. Namjoon is drunk on his jealousy. And him treating you like shit doesn’t mean that you are worth only this. If Hoseok treated you well and he was kind to you then... maybe him sending the bouquet was a sign? Maybe he wanted you to know that he wasn’t scared of someone finding out and it was just... bad luck that it was the king? You should talk to him. Tell him what Namjoon is doing to you. Maybe he can help. He could tell Namjoon that it was his fault or... or help you in another way. We can’t do anything about this - but a prince could! Maybe he can ask for your company in exchange for lending the king Jimin and then he could keep you safe as long as he is here. And when he’s gone there would be no reason for Namjoon to keep you chained to him any longer, right?” Taehyung’s smile wavered a little, but he tried. He hoped, he hoped so badly that this could be solved in Jungkook’s favor.

“Do…do you think he would help me?” Jungkook looked at him all hopeful, “What…what if I am not important enough, Tae. You know, we’re just…I mean, you will be a knight soon.” Jungkook smiled at his friend, “You’ll be of higher status and you deserve it…but I am just a servant. I always belonged to Namjoon. I…oh god, Taehyung. I love him. I love Namjoon.” Jungkook hid himself behind his hands. “What if it only gets worse if they talk? Namjoon said he will cast me out…”

“He...he would never do that.” Taehyung gripped Jungkook tightly as if he could prevent it himself. Despite his words he wasn’t so sure about anything anymore. He had always thought that Namjoon was looking out for Jungkook. That despite him being stern and a bit harsh and a little cold sometimes that he loved Jungkook for being by his side and serving him with such commitment. Jungkook had told him about the kisses and that Namjoon held him after they had shared a bed. Surely it must have meant something and when Hoseok spoke to him maybe Namjoon would be reminded of how loyal and precious Jungkook was to him - and that hurting him like this wouldn’t help. “Please Jungkook. Talk to him. He sent you flowers, he likes you. He will help. He has to help!”

Jungkook looked at Taehyung with tear-filled eyes. He didn’t know what to do and what was the right thing. He didn’t know anything anymore. Just that it hurt. Staying away from Namjoon hurt, as much as it did to be with him right now. “Tae,” Jungkook whispered quietly, his voice barely audible. So, he just hugged his friend, tight, not wanting to let go. “Thank you,” He mumbled into the crook of his neck, holding onto the other as if the moment he let go he would fall into pieces.

“It’s alright. No matter what happens, no matter how messy or dangerous or confusing you can always, always come to me. I’ll help you as best as I can. I’m your friend Jungkook. People like us need to stick together, right? You’ll see, everything's going to turn out fine. You’re such a sweet person. Hoseok will do his best to make sure you’re okay. And Namjoon will see that he was in the wrong and… and go back to being more caring. You’re his childhood friend, the one closest to his heart. He’ll realize how much you mean to him and how he should treat you sooner or later.” The words came over his lips of their own accord, wishes and hopes tumbling out even though they might not subsist in face of reality. He just really, really hoped that at least some of this came true. Jungkook deserved his ‘happy ending’, he deserved to be appreciated. Even if it would just be for a little while during the prince’s stay.

A/N: Only one chapter left! Do you think Hoseok will help Jungkook? That Namjoon can go back to being more caring again? *sighs* We hope you enjoyed this chapter! Leave us a comment or a message down below!

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ksica · 5 years

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Hello, have you seen the 13th doctor? How do you like it? Also how does the 11th doctor compare to the 12th doctor storywise?

i was constantly postponing to reply to this ask, i’m not into fandom drama but i guess it would be impolite of me to ignore it :) here we go.

i didn’t like series 11 at all. i dropped it after episode 5; it was that bad that i couldn’t even finish it (i need to remind everyone that i’m the person who co-run timelordgifs). i don’t know what show chibnall wrote but that wasn’t doctor who. it was a dull, historical scripted drama for kids. there was no sci-fi, thrill, real danger, a season arc, excitement, proper monsters. real villains were men; i’m aware that he wanted to show that humans are monsters too, but sadly that was the only thing he knew how to write.

doctor who has always dealt with social issues, it’s nothing new. a problem with chibnall is that he is not a good writer, he lacks subtlety and craft. we got a “trump” episode; he was written as a one dimensional over the top character who is evil just for the sake of being evil. the same episode tackled a topic of gun control and it was supposed to teach us guns are bad. SPOILERS: “trump” wanted to solve spider infestation by killing them, but doctor found suffocating and starving them more humane solution.

rosa parks episode was okay. it was co-written by malorie blackman and chibnall. i don’t know who wrote which part but i can bet that all nonsense belongs to chibnall. SPOILERS: a monster traveled back in time with a mission to kill ryan, a black man, “because they ruined everything”. aliens have always seen human race as one race, when did they start caring about skin shades?

premiere and thirteen’s introduction were promising. i don’t want to spoil anything but if it were me i would make different choice of companions, people who watched the premiere know who i’m talking about.

everyone but bradley walsh was miscast. jodie has no charisma and no screen presence; the doctor’s role doesn’t fit her. there are too many companions that often do nothing; there’s no chemistry between them. tosin’s wooden acting is hard to watch, mandip is slightly better but that’s not saying much. nobody can convince me that they had the best audition. if you want diversity cast someone like pearl or freema. i’m so sorry pearl’s stories were terrible, she deserved better (same as capaldi). i hoped she would be part of s11 too but i’m thankful she wasn’t, season 10 is a masterpiece comparing to season 11. i will never get over rita not becoming a companion. bbc should have cast the actress and introduce a new character, it worked for karen, jenna and freema. as said above graham was the best character but i give all credits to bradley and his talent, he knew how to make best of terrible script.

gallifrey and time lords weren’t mentioned once. companions were unaffected by alien being standing in front of them. they weren’t even impressed with the tardis!

the saddest thing is that many will put a blame on female doctor, and everyone mentioning a possibility of another female doctor will be shut down by using thirteen as an example how it didn’t work. the only one to blame is bbc for giving the show to incompetent man. whenever i read articles about fans not liking the season because they don’t like women i want to screem. hello, female companions are adored by the fandom! “yes, but they hate the thought of female doctor!” - people were willing to give jodie a chance, 11 mill people watched the premiere! ratings continued to drop due to terrible writing not the female doctor. the finale was watched by only 6.65 million people. i cannot wait to see season 12 premiere numbers.

i pretend season 11 never happened, and i don’t consider it canon. i’m waiting for a new show runner and i hope season 12 will be chibnall’s last.

people might be dissatisfied with moffat’s writing - overly complicated arcs/storylines and characterizations - but at least he wrote something people could complain about. people were still passionate about the show in his era which can’t be said for the current one.

moffat seasons: story wise eleventh doctor’s series were better but i liked twelfth doctor better, peter was fantastic. his scripts are generally weaker but his talent could pull off every debatable script (jodie would never). moffat didn’t know how to write twelve at first, and many thought he was unlikable in season 8, which was the reason they dropped the show. i loved season 9 characterization wise and peter and jenna’s chemistry was a pleasure to watch. season 10 as a whole was debatable and a mess, but the cast was terrific and i could endure through the season just for them. but again - season 10 is a masterpiece comparing to season 11!

eleventh doctor is more light, childish and fun doctor but like his previous incarnations he is also dark and menacing. i don’t know what to say about his seasons. expect great dynamics and chemistry between him and his companions and better scripts from twelfth era.

#this was long i hope you were satisfied with my reply :)#answered #doctor who #Anonymous

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obliviatemick · 5 years

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Ben Hardy Fanfiction | When I Kissed You p. 7.

CHAPTER SEVEN: HELLO, STRANGER.

PLAYLIST: blazed - Ariana Grande.

WORD COUNT: 1761.

BARBARA'S POV.

"I can't believe it!", it was around 2 pm in Amsterdam and I was talking on the phone with Cole. "It was like reliving that night in New York. EVERY.LITTLE.DETAIL"

The dream/déjà vu about Ben had made of me a nervous mess. Of course, I had thought that night with Ben (several times, in fact), but none of my memories were that... vivid. In my dream I'd felt him once more: his skin, his lips, everything. For some reason, my dumb brain took this as a warning, a sign that something big was about to happen. The question was: what?

"It's normal!", his voice blasted through the speaker, there was a buzz of people speaking in the background, probably photographers and models. He spoke as if he found the whole situation very amusing. "Having those dreams is a pretty common thing in women like you and 12 year olds. It's biology, Barbara."

"Women like me? What does that mean?"

"Unsatisfied", he stated, a smile on his voice.

"Wha- the fact that he's the first guy I've slept with in months has absolutely nothing to do with me having those dreams and also-", in the line, he was laughing his ass off at my expense. "Cole, listen!!"

"Look, I'm just saying that you had a good time with an attractive guy whose greek profile and sculpted body were saved by your subconscious just to give him to you when you need a certain... stimulation." He made a pause, I heard him blowing his cigarette. "Your dream means absolutely nothing. "

I bit my lip, unsure of what to believe. On one side, I had my bff giving me unsolicited biology facts and on the other side I had sweaty hands, an upset tummy and not to mention the need of looking over my shoulder every two damn seconds. I was going crazy. Whatever it was, I decided to give Cole the benefit of the doubt. "I guess you're right..."

"The hell I am, now-", he made a pause to take another drag of his cigarette. "Could you stop whining about wet dreams and enjoy your moment of glory?", in the background, the clamour of conversation stopped swiftly. "Oh", I shut my eyes, embarrassed.

"Did you... have to say that out loud?"

⭐

My agent was already waiting for me in arrivals, even though we were supposed to meet thirty minutes later. The blonde, round woman was stomping her way to me, her cheeks looked rosy pink and tiny beads of sweat were glued to her forehead. She pulled me by the arm as soon as she laid hands on me.

She explained that the producers had changed the schedule and that instead of having a private table read with the cast, we would be doing a press conference with lots of media to report on it. Which meant I had to answer a lot of questions about my character in front of the whole country!

"Countries, darling", she corrected me. "This is a Netflix series; the whole world will be watching you"

I felt sick.

We hopped in a car I assumed was hers (if not: what a nonchalant way of stealing a car, Amber. Damn!) and drove 10 kilometres to the speed of an overstressed Amber to the building where the production team and the rest of the cast were already waiting for us.

When we arrived, I looked around and saw that everyone else was dressed in far better, not as casual outfits. I cocked my head to give Amber an alarmed look, but she was already directing orders to a pair of stylists that came to my rescue. One of them worked my hair while the other did my make-up and I wondered how the hell could they put up with so much pressure! They put me in a black dress that had see-through sleeves and a puffy skirt and matched it with white stilettos. In a normal situation, that would have felt like too much, but considering I would be in front of cameras from hundreds of countries... it felt just right.

My hands started sweating as I stood near the entrance of the stage, my stomach churned with both my nervousness and the odd feeling from before. It was getting worse with every minute that passed. I peeked to the room where the conference would be held and OMG, without counting cameramen, at least two hundred people were sitting there in front of the stage! I started worrying about puking in front of all those cameras and news reporters.

A raven-haired girl appeared from the side and patted me on the shoulder, she was wearing a gorgeous red dress with matching lipstick and white pumps.

"Is this your first time doing press?", she spoke with a feminine, kind of high-pitched voice.

I sighed and nodded. She smiled warmly and wrapped an arm around my shoulders

"It'll be okay, we've all been there", she chirped. "And to be honest, these things are very short! There's nothing to worry about, you'll see", she winked at me before stepping away.

Seconds after, the whole producing crew entered the stage through a door located just in front of ours. I breathed deeply and tried to mentally prepare for what was about to come. After presenting himself and the crew, Zach, the casting director, invited us to stage, a man in his forties with greying hair, beard and hard blue eyes winked at me as the whole cast walked to get our seats at the pannel.

A roar of clapping and cheering flooded the room as soon as we put a foot on the stage and GOD walking that stage felt like ages! I waved to the public and tried to give them my best imnotnervous smile before finally sitting at the table with my colleagues. To my right sat the black haired girl and then to her right was the rest of the cast. The only empty seat was on my left, I figured it would be for the actor who'd play Rowan.

"You look very concentrated today, Barbara", one of the writers said on the mic. "Are you preparing yourself for the shooting tomorrow on set?"

"Actually I was just trying not to fall on these damn heels!", I declared and then quickly shut my mouth. I couldn't believe I'd just said that in front of cameras. To my surprise, everyone in the room laughed, my co-stars, the writers, even some cameramen. Wtf?!

"Just be sure not to sprain an ankle, Barbara!" he pointed a finger at me but he smiled. "We'll need you in one piece for the next three months..."

"Roger that!"

The writer then gave the floor to Zach, the casting director who started giving some background for our characters and asking questions about how we felt related to them. During this time, I got to know my cast mates a bit more, they were friendly and WAAAY fun! Their jokes and great attitude helped me feel better and confident up on stage, I was sure we would be a great team. But... where was the other guy?

"Now, I believe this is the moment everyone has been waiting for", Zach started and everyone cheered. It was time. "My team and I have postponed this announcement for months, but there is a reason to it", he made a pause to approach our table. "As you can see, we did our best to collect the best of the best. Only the best candidates for the roles were the chosen ones for the titanic effort that bringing Fiber to life means! Like we did with Farren's role (little Barbara here), we thoroughly analysed every candidate for Rowan's role until we found the perfect match, both physically and mentally..."

I could feel the expectation growing in the room, all eyes were locked on Zach's face, following his every movement. I sat up straight and whispered to the black-haired girl, whose name I'd learned was Emeraude.

"Do you know who got that role?"

"Are you joking? I was about to ask the same thing!"

Marcus, the blue-eyed man joined in, speaking through his teeth, "It's top secret, rumour has it only Zach and the book's author know who he is..."

"I just hope he's handsome", Emeraude purred grinning and raising her eyebrows in a seductive manner. Marcus and I snorted.

"... through all the possibilities, we came to the conclusion that the one person who could bring Rowan to life is him. From X-Men: Apocalypse and Bohemian Rhapsody, please welcome the talented Ben Hardy!"

In a milisecond, the crowd around me went bananas and my soul left my body. People were cheering and whistling while for me the room spun at wild angles, they clapped and stomped their feet and I supressed a scream. Please, be other Ben Hardy, please be other Ben Hardy!

But there he was, walking straight to the empty seat next to me, looking like a model taken out of a magazine cover, that damned blond, green-eyed bastard! Because fuck me right?! After all I'd been through to avoid him... He glanced at me and instantly looked away, as if he hadn't even noticed my presence. I took a gulp from my water bottle, trying to hide my discomfort.

"Finally!", Zach was beaming, a few more cheers erupted from the crowd. "Ben, what does it feel like to be the chosen one for the job?"

"Oh, it's an honour!", he stated with that deep voice of his. "It's just crazy, knowing that I was the chosen one when you had other thousand actors, good actors, willing to take on this role. It blows my mind!"

"Yeah, and then there's the fact that you didn't have to lie to get this role", both Ben and the crowd laughed at this comment, even some of my cast mates did. I didn't get it.

After a few more interchanges between them, Zach gave the floor to the reporters who'd been patiently waiting for Ben to appear.

"A question for Mr. Hardy, yes!", a reporter with glasses stood up. "What are your expectations of working with Miss Benavides as her character's love interest?"

Shit.

"Uhh, well..."

"Did you two know each other before today? Have you talked about..." (hey, only one question! Someone reprimanded the reporter)

"No!", we answered in unison. Our eyes met for a split second before Ben returned his attention to the reporter. "This is the first time we meet."

TAGLIST: @rrrogahtaylahhhh @valeriecarolinaw

Thank y’all for reading!

Let me know if you’d like me to put you on the taglist!

#benhardy #ben hardy #benhardyfanfiction #fanfic #romance #bohrap #bohemian rhapsody #eastenders #maiamitchell

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adme55 · 6 years

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‘Bucket List,’ Madhuri Dixit’s Marathi Debut, Is About Unfulfilled Wishes: Filmmaker Tejas Prabha Vijay Deoskar

When Marathi filmmaker Tejas Prabha Vijay Deoskar had a germ of an idea inspired by a small but significant event in the news, he never knew that it would take him as far as making a movie which would feature a star he’d long admired.

Tejas couldn’t be happier that Madhuri Dixit Nene – a childhood icon of his – chose his film to make her Marathi debut.

In Bucket List, Madhuri plays Madhura Sane, who leads a rather uninteresting life as a home-maker. She admits to being content, but, soon enough, something changes. In the teaser, we see her riding a bike, learning how to whistle, wrestling chefs, and drinking tequila smooth.

In a telephonic interview with Silverscreen, Tejas, who’s best known for his work as director and writer of a popular short film – Kalakaar (2006) – and feature films like Ajinkya (2012) and Premsutra (2013), talks about the making of Bucket List, storytelling, and why Madhuri is more than just a superstar.

You studied architecture. Why did you make the switch to cinema?

My education has helped me design better spaces and understand the ergonomics of other things. It has been a roller-coaster of sorts, but I never felt I’d made a mistake. I still don’t understand how I got sucked into this media field. Honestly, I just wanted to learn about media and technology, and when I look back at the various things I’ve done, I owe it to my upbringing and the fact that I was exposed to a variety of literature and was introduced to several stories since my childhood.

My great grandparents, in whatever little time I had spent with them, would tell me interesting stories. Through them, I realised what storytelling can be and should be. When my grandmother told stories, she didn’t have technology or equipment. Now there’s technology and other means. I have always loved reading and listening to stories, and eventually, that has made me tell stories.

Having dabbled in editing, script-writing, directing and sound engineering, which department of filmmaking do you like the best?

The two most important disciplines of filmmaking are storytelling and writing. I love them both. I firmly believe that a director has to be a writer. Only the medium changes between the two, but if you don’t know the craft, then it’s very difficult to write for films.

Bucket List seems like a simple story. How did you come up with it?

Bucket List is the story of every human being; it just so happens that our lead is a woman. The crux of the story is that everyone has unfulfilled wishes. It can be as simple as wanting to meet an old teacher again or as bizarre as building a time machine. Here, I tell the story of people who have certain wishes, but lack motivation or are bound by their priorities to pursue them. Apart from your priorities, you have to take time out for yourself. It might sound narcissistic, but it’s really self-realisation.

The lead is your typical woman-next-door, someone you’d find walking down the road while you watch out from your balcony. A common person in an uncommon situation, and how she evolves over the course of the story. It’s so simple that anyone can identify with it. It’s not larger-than-life, it’s more slice-of-life. A few years back, I read about an event in the news, it was small but significant. After reading that, I thought it would be interesting to write a story on it.

While I had the idea at the back of my mind for a while, when the time came, I wrote the story which Madhuri eventually chose to make her debut in Marathi cinema.

So Madhura Sane is based on a real person?

You look around and you’ll find a Madhura Sane everywhere. Who are they? They are common people like us, they lead a common life. My character represents all those people, but we’re all unique in our own way. I try to bring that out in the story.

How did you get Madhuri on board?

It’s a long story. I was working on another subject and for some reason, it wasn’t going the way it should’ve gone. In the midst of it, I met a friend of mine who had just turned producer. He called me up to ask if I have a film for him to produce. I told him that I do, but my ambitions are big. I told him a snippet of the story, and I had a sudden realisation that this idea could work. It motivated me to write further. That’s how I started working on Bucket List. I had Madhuri Dixit in mind. I thought if she doesn’t say ‘yes’ to this project, then I should wait, in the hope that she would agree some other day.

Meanwhile, I met Devashree Shivadekar, my co-writer. She had come from L.A and was looking for work. I told her about the story. She got really excited and approached Vivek Rangachari from DAR Motion Pictures who became one of our producers. Soon enough, we got in touch with Madhuri’s manager and, before anything, we first asked if she’d be interested in a Marathi film. Turned out, she was. We sent a five-page synopsis of the film and they loved it, and within three days, we were standing in front of Madhuri and narrating an idea which was yet to become a story.

What was the first meeting like?

We narrated the story several times to our friends from non-cinema backgrounds so as to prepare for the actual narration. When we met her, the narration went on for 30-45 minutes. After that, there was silence for ten minutes. We were kind of scared then, worried we didn’t make a good impression. She asked for some time, and later at the parking lot, we were mulling over what had happened. Fifteen minutes later, we get a call from her manager telling us that she wants to listen to the script and we were given six weeks to work on it.

Since we had worked on the flow and structure, we only had to work on the real writing part. In those six weeks, we called in different groups and narrated the story to around 70 people who were not from the industry. Five versions and six weeks later, we had it ready. Barring a few things, Madhuri was fine with the way the script had developed. A week later, we got a positive response from her, but she wanted us to work on a few other things. Three days later, she was finally on board.

Did you fight the urge to make the film more commercial, especially with a star like Madhuri in it?

Not at all. What is commercial? People usually think of commercial films as those with item numbers and other elements. With her on board, our film had already become commercial.

What was it like working with Madhuri?

Working with her was like a poem. When we started shooting, there was a storm in Mumbai. Two days before the storm hit, the set we had built had gotten drenched. It wasn’t a huge set, but for a Marathi film, building even a small set is a big thing. Ours was intricately designed, too. We were wondering if we should postpone the shoot or move to another location. A day earlier, I had sent Madhuri a message assuring her that we would do our best. I knew we had to start this project because we had been waiting for a long time. Amidst the uncertainties and contemplation, Madhuri sent me a message which read:

“A storm is coming in tomorrow on the first day of shoot. Wishing this team all the best. Let’s make a great product that creates a storm at the box-office. With warm wishes to everyone, Madhuri aka Madhura.”

It gave me more confidence – that she was transforming into the character she was about to play. She turned out to be a delight to work with. She would come to the sets early and would never have complaints till the time we said pack-up. Next to her, I’m actually a novice, but she gave me a freehand. She came prepared everyday, and that holds for the rest of the crew too. There was no shouting and screaming or people arguing on sets. We faced other difficulties, too, but we stormed through it. In fact, our drone camera broke when we were shooting a song in Langkawi. But now when you look at the song, you wouldn’t realise that it was made despite us losing one entire precious, expensive day – it’s a big deal for Marathi films. And she stood by us throughout.

Upcoming projects?

Next project is under Blue Mustang Creations, which I head; my promoters are Ashok and Aarti Subhedar. In fact, they are the ones who incubated Bucket List, too.

Bucket List, produced by Dark Horse Cinemas, DAR Motion Pictures, Blue Mustang Creations, and Dharma Productions, is scheduled to release on May 25.

*****

The Tejas Prabha Vijay Deoskar interview is Silverscreen exclusive.

#Madhuri Dixit #Bucket List #Bollywood

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aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Celebrating The Sopranos Review: Three Part Doc Doesn’t Stop Believin’

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

The whole idea of big Sunday dinners in Italian homes may seem like a cliché, but someone’s pouring tomato sauce on top of onions and garlic fried in olive oil on stovetops every weekend. The Sopranos, both the series and the two families at the center of it, brought just desserts every Sunday night to homes across America. Although, Carmela (Edie Falco) had been known to show up at neighbors’ homes mid-week, unannounced, with ricotta pie. It is only fitting that the main setting of Celebrating The Sopranos are fine dining establishments.

Consisting of three separate films, Celebrating The Sopranos is a series of conversations held by critics Matt Zoller Seitz and Alan Sepinwall, and cast members Federico Castelluccio (Furio Guinta), Arthur J. Nascarella (Carlo Gervasi), Vincent Pastore (Salvatore “Big Pussy’ Bonpensiero), and Vincent Curatola (Johnny ‘Sack’ Sacramoni), in restaurants that meant something to the show. For dessert, they serve up an interview with the creator, David Chase, but he only drinks coffee. This is doubly sweet because Chase doesn’t grant many interviews.

The conversations are cordial, which doesn’t add to the mythology or provide new insight. Even casual fans of the series have spotted the actors working together in some form or another in earlier works. We’re not surprised by the respect they show for Edie Falco, who does not have a seat at the table. But things heat up when the actors break omerta. That’s one of the things you have to love about actors who play gangsters: they break the vow of silence as easily as they break off the ass of a loaf of semolina bread to scoop up a stray sausage.

Revenge is a dish best served cold, according to the old Sicilian proverb. But the cast dishes out old grudges warmly. They name names and wink at the camera. They offhandedly drop who James Gandolfini, who led the “glorified” Jersey crime crew as Tony Soprano, thought was a pain in the ass. They mention people who never should have been on the set in the first place, and how you’d be lucky to catch Joey Pants (Joe Pantoliano) wearing pants off camera. The actors talk about who got paid by HBO, and who went without pay to make sure everybody got to wet their beaks.

Vincent Pastore breaks down during questioning giving us some insight into the actors relationship with HBO. His character, Salvatore “Big Pussy” Bonpensiero, was a rat and a lesson to every character and actor on the show. He was the first major character to get killed off. Big Pussy’s execution taught the audience not to get too close to any of the characters. Look how close Bonpensiero was to Tony. It broke Paulie’s heart. Silvio was beside himself. But Big Pussy had to go.

It became a trend on HBO. They started killing off characters left and right. The Red Wedding sequence in Game of Thrones is nothing if not a major character culling. Nobody’s safe on HBO, characters or actors, and Pastore jokes about getting around that. He carries around a contract at all times, just in case.

Actually, the contract turns out to be a call sheet to an HBO show, and one of the highlights of the documentary is Vincent Curatola, who played New York mob boss Johnny “Sack” Sacramoni, demanding he do a nude scene. It’s an imperative. I don’t know if Pastore will wind up shooting one but, like Curatola, it is something I now need to see. The chemistry between the actors offscreen is no less tangible, and no less dangerous. They’re not out for blood, that’s a terrible expense. But one false word and they are all over each other. They don’t miss a trick.

Matt Zoller Seitz and Alan Sepinwall didn’t miss a trick either. They’ve been reviewing The Sopranos since the show first began airing, and they were doing it for Tony Soprano’s hometown paper, The Newark Star-Ledger. They went on to co-author the book The Sopranos Sessions. The feature length interview, My Dinner with Alan: A Sopranos Session, finds them trying the onion rings at Holsten’s in Bloomfield, N.J., where the last scene of the series cuts to black. Besides hassling the waitresses over cholesterol, “Session 1: The Critics” lets them nitpick the series, the role of psychiatry in mob entertainment, and the origin of Taylor Ham.

“Session 2: The Cast” is served as a four-course meal at Il Cortile at 125 Mulberry Street in downtown New York City. It is also called “The Last Supper” because that Little Italy restaurant was where the cast would take actors after their characters were killed off on the show.

Federico Castelluccio, who played Furio Guinta on the series, occasionally seems like he’s surprised to be at the adult table. He looks visibly shocked at some of the revelations pouring out the mouths of his co-stars. Like a good soldier, he immediately closes rank in solidarity, but it is very revealing just how much he missed while acting. He, like Pastore, is an artist, who is now also directing, but still learning about the politics of TV programming. It was completely refreshing.

But not as much as almost every word which comes out of Arthur J. Nascarella, who played caporegime Carlo Gervasi on the series. He is not the biggest name at the table. He admits his character barely made a blip on the audience, but he’s also got nothing to lose. He says he used to tag along with Pastore to auditions and con his way in. When he told his father he got his first part, his dad went out and got headshots. When Curatola dismisses some of the writers’ choices and asks who made them God, Gervasi says he was happy for every line he got.

This comes in response to one of the new facts we get about the behind-the-scenes doing on The Sopranos. Iconic actor Burt Young put in an unforgettable performance in his one appearance as Bobby Baccalieri Sr. But the series casting people originally wanted Curatola’s father for the part. Another revelation is that none of the cast of The Sopranos will be seen in the prequel movie The Many Saints of Newark, which has been postponed from March to September.

The best part of the documentary is the last segment. David Chase: A Sopranos Session lets Matt and Alan pick Chase’s brain for any memories he hasn’t suppressed. He is very open about how some of the actors blame him for ruining their lives, and gives a lot of credit to James Gandolfini. The star transformed the show, Chase says. He’d originally envisioned it as something like a live-action gangster comedy resembling The Simpsons. But when Gandolfini grabbed Christopher Moltisanti (Michael Imperioli) by the collar for talking about a screenplay, the entire dynamic changed.

Chase is interesting to watch. He doesn’t discount anything. He is a musician and thinks like one. Whether something was intended or not, he immediately is able to affirm an interpretation. While the actors may have bitched about the specifics of scripting, Chase seems like he appreciates happy accidents.

The Sopranos debuted on January 10, 1999, and changed TV. Filmed by Kristian Fraga and the team from Sirk Productions, this three-part feature film documenting the phenomenon is an enjoyable viewing for fans wanting to catch up with old friends. It’s a no-frills affair, there are no action sequences. The most dangerous weapon isn’t even the steak knife, it’s Curatola’s side glances.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Celebrating The Sopranos is slated to hit theaters after its U.K. premiere in December, but is available online for a limited time until March 29. The special International VOD presentation is sponsored by Frankie & Benny’s, who is offering customers 50 percent off movie tickets.

The post Celebrating The Sopranos Review: Three Part Doc Doesn’t Stop Believin’ appeared first on Den of Geek.

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theseadagiodays · 4 years

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April 20, 2020

No more muzzling my words

OK, so I’m just going to say it. There are times when this really stinks. And it actually feels good to give myself permission to admit that.

One of my favorite novelists, Anne Patchett, author of Bel Canto, also wrote a memoir called Truth & Beauty about her lifelong best friendship with someone who struggled with cancer since childhood. What I remember most is her friend’s very unusual way of enduring horrific hardships that included having her jaw surgically removed, (no less in the middle of self-conscious adolescence). To feel better about her own situation, she would regularly re-read The Diary of Anne Frank in a sort of schadenfreude effort to remember that there were people who’d had it far worse than herself. However, these contrived gestures only took her so far.

I guess the truth is, there is only so much glass-half-full thinking any of us can exercise. Realizing this, I was relieved to hear Brene Brown’s recent podcast about Comparitive Suffering,

https://brenebrown.com/podcast/brene-on-comparative-suffering-the-50-50-myth-and-settling-the-ball/

Here, she recognizes that while the daily news barrages us with crises much greater than our own (lost jobs, health, and even loved ones), many of us feel guilty for bemoaning our own losses at this time, because we think we should be grateful for what we have. Certainly, this universal suffering has allowed us to gain some clearer perspective on our lives and our blessings. And the fact that the entire world is experiencing some similar aspects of this reality has enabled us to build real global empathy. However, it is also true that each micro-loss deserves its own relative mouring period. So, I am going to give myself a little license to acknowledge what I am grieving at this time. But I wanted to find a creative way to do this. So, I am going to write a love letter to the time before COVID, identifying the things I truly miss. This idea came out of an exercise we led with my non-profit’s Women Rock group. They are co-writing songs to express the myriad of feelings they are having during this period. In one song, they plan to write about the solace that nature brings them right now. But they also want a vehicle to communicate their challenges. In other words, they want somewhere to “deposit the negative,” because this can actually be very healing: to name what’s wrong, genuinely feel the impact of it in your life, and then let it go. The etymological root of the word de-posit means to put (poner), away (-de). Ironically, this is similar to the origin of the word positive, which is to formally lay down (or to state absolutely). So, perhaps by absoluting stating what we feel bad about, we leave room to feel good about what’s left.

But in case this is just a little too sad for some people to read, try imagining the theme song to Jimmy Fallon’s regular Thank You Notes segment, for a bit of comic relief while you read. Here he is in his At-Home Edition, writing some with his daughters:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6x2UgPVYJs

Vancouver Mural Festival on Main St

Dear pre-COVID days,

I remember how good it felt to walk down Main St and hug everyone from my neighbor, to my colleague, to the barista. You were so open in the way you invited human touch on a daily basis.

I was so grateful that you allowed me the opportunity to interact with people from all different walks of life. You let me work in so many different environments, from elementary schools, to prisons, to seniors centres, where I was privileged to hear people’s stories as they found their own creative voices.

I loved being free to spend time with my family even though they live far away. You made it possible to see my parents in Arizona, and my brother in NY, and my uncle in Colorado, and my in-laws in Ontario, every year, despite the distance.

I enjoyed all of the opportunities you gave me to experience live art. You animated my world and made it technicolor, with concerts, dance clubs, galleries, theatre performances, and different arts festivals every week.

I loved how healthy I felt running around the tennis courts at Queen Elizabeth Park. You made it so easy to exercise my lungs, my legs, my arms, my focus, my flexibility and my stamina all at the same time.

I felt so much passion for the adventures that you brought me to. You generously satisfied my infinite curiosities with music projects in Zambia, and holidays in Hawaii, and cultural immersions in Guatemala.

I miss all of the the ways you let me love and live and work and play freely. And I long for the day you return,

Laura

April 21, 2020

Neighborhood Art

There are so many signs that we are all missing connection and stimulation during quarantine. But the human spirit is extremely buoyant. So, we’ve found remarkable ways to share artistic moments through the walls of COVID.

In Rome, locals are projecting classic films against their apartment building facades: https://www.wantedinrome.com/news/lockdown-rome-lights-up-with-cinema-by-night.html

In Berlin, neighbors are displaying art installations from their balconies:

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/berlin-artists-turn-their-balconies-mini-galleries-180974677/

An art installation by Raul Walch, created for the “Life, art, pandemic and proximity” project

In Ohio, kids play cello duets for an elderly neighbor:

And right here in Vancouver, people lead streetside Zumba classes as seniors home residents dance along:

https://www.cbc.ca/player/play/1716406851557

April 22, 2020

Earth Day in Isolation

I am hardly the first to note that while this virus has taken so much from mankind, it has also given Mother Earth the long-awaited rest she so deserves. There have been plenty of photos of Himalayan mountain tops viewed from Indian cities for the first time in decades, or Orcas returning to Vancouver’s shores to prove this.

In another gift to our planet, appropriately on Earth Day here in BC, where it has oddly not rained for 30 days, it appears that Gaia is being showered with much needed rain for her day of celebration. And even a sun-worshipper like me has been doing rain dances lately, to ensure that our city will not be shrouded in smoke from a fire-ravaged province, as we have been for the past two summers.

On a different note, a more distorted personification of nature has been touted by many a cynical observer in recent weeks, citing Covid as retribution against humans from a vengeful Mother Earth. I do not subscribe to such punitive thinking. But I do believe there are environmental lessons to be learned from this crisis if we listen closely enough.

Writer Kristin Flyntz makes this point more beautifully than I ever could, in her Greatful Web post: https://www.gratefulweb.com/articles/imagined-letter-covid-19-humans Here, instead of a love letter to pre-Covid days, she has imagined the letter that Covid might write to humans. The tone is intentional and generous but also insistent. It is spoken as if from a friend not an enemy. And it proposes that we ask the hard questions: “As the health of a tree, a river, the sky tells you about the quality of your own health, what might the quality of your health tell you about the health of the rivers, the trees, the sky, and all of us who share this planet with you?”

Another letter, falsely attributed to Bill Gates, whose proven himself to be a true leader of responsiveness in this critical time, also had similar things to say. The anonymous writer claims that this time: “is reminding us that this Earth is sick. It is reminding us that we need to look at the rate of deforestation just as urgently as we look at the speed at which toilet rolls are disappearing off of shelves. We are sick because our home is sick.”

And as usual, artists are responding too. The NY-based NGO, Earth Celebrations has postponed their Virtual Earth Day Pageant for May 9th in the interest of garnering more public participation, with a callout for anyone who wants to craft a costume, mask, puppet, etc. All are welcome. And more details can be found here: https://earthcelebrations.com/?fbclid=IwAR30nj7NtS52E-RLjpvz739L-3fcp-DtnJ1YeVE8Roln4vJXPC7bzBLxew0

April 23

Virtual Festivals

If you’re looking for an alternative to Netflix and chillin’, there are endless arts festivals that have moved content online, for your streaming pleasure. So, I thought I’d recommend a few interesting ones here.

If it’s efficiency you’re after, when browsing thru infinite entertainment options, the Social Distancing Festival does all the work for you, by scouring the globe to curate the best livestreamed events they can find. Links include everything from modern dance to virtual gallery tours to musical theatre:

https://www.socialdistancingfestival.com

Myseum of Toronto’s Art in the Time of Covid - work by Evgeni Tcherkassk

For some lighter fare, this Edmonton Series hosts nightly cabaret, music, and comedy acts performed by local artists from their homes.

https://www.citadeltheatre.com/2019-2020/stuckinthehouse?utm_source=Citadel+Theatre&utm_campaign=67600c620f-Stuck-in-the-House&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_482a5c3fca-67600c620f-80741247

And if you’re looking for a bit more sophistication, Toronto’s Festival of Literary Diversity has managed to move online, and it starts next Thursday. Their line-up features many of Canada’s finest emerging and established voices. My personal favorite, Mona Awad will be reading from her new novel, Bunny, which was the funniest read I’ve had in ages. In this high art version of Mean Girls, she nails the pretentious banter of grad school writing cliques with a dash of magical realism. https://thefoldcanada.org

April 23

Creative Gratitude

Florida police thank-you

Our shared appreciation for front line workers has become a true muse for collective community creativity.

Clockwise: Navajo muralist Ivan Lee; local Vancouver sidewalk; Long Island artist, Kara Hoblin

But this one takes the cake for audacity!

https://gfycat.com/magnificentabsolutegosling-health-workers-coronavirus-thank-you-meme

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jadewritings · 7 years

Text

Blinded By Secrets [One]

Author’s Note ~ So I decided to set everyone’s heart at ease and make 💔Why’d You Leave?💔 a series, so to speak. Might not be much of a series but I'm gonna try. The gif will be the cover from now on. This is also co-written with a special friend of mine! Enjoy!

Co-Writer ~ @darknightfrombeyond, She is so amazing. She literally to a look at what I already had written and practically deleted it all and rewrote it. Not that I'm complaining, she made it a hell of a lot better.

Pairing ~ Dean x Reader

Word Count ~ 2,631 (Longest I've EVER done..)

Warnings ~ Language, angst, Blood and gore, TOP SECRET INFORMATION

Prologue [x] Part 2 [x] Part 3 [x] Part 4 [x] Finale [x]

The funeral was agonizingly slow, the kids were crying, along with many others. A military chaplain lead honor guards, derived from the United States Marine Corps, as they carried Dean’s casket to the burial site.

Y/N had cried every day leading up to today. Now all she could do was try and soothe her fatherless, weeping children. She needed to be strong for them. It was a closed casket ceremony, so there was nothing to see but she still sensed something was off. They shot off a 17-gun salute and speeches were given, to honor Dean’s memory.

When no one was looking, her youngest son, Jacob, wandered away to investigate the casket. Too young to understand the significance of the long, glossy oak box. She turned in time to see him opening it. Y/N rushed over but stopped sharply when she heard him say, “Where’s daddy?”

Shocked by those words, Y/N crept forward to peek into the casket. Just as the boy said, there was nobody inside.Tears burned in her eyes, disbelief coupling with tentative hope. Where was he? Dean. Could he still … somehow … be alive?

She shouted for Sam and Cas, her voice rising sharply over the hush of the funeral home parlor, earning her too many disapproving glares. Sam and Castiel came rushing over, alarmed.

“What’s the matter Y/N? What happened?”

“Where is he?” Y/N demands, voice harsh from the tears she had spent hours swallowing down.

Cas, stoic, said nothing though his sky blue eyes gleamed with knowing. Sam shook his head.

“Is he alive? Sam! Is he alive? Will you help me find him?”

“Y/N, I don’t know what to say. I saw him. He was in that house when it went up. Y/N there’s no way he could have -” Sam stopped. What he was saying struck a chord as he realized … as he remembered … there had been someone walking out behind the house just moments before the explosion.

He hadn’t forgotten that, but in the span of what came next, he’d dismissed what was really just a glimpse.

“I’ll help,” Sam muttered, without thinking. An impulsive statement while his mind reeled with what might be. Dean alive. Was it possible?

“False hope,” Castiel said, laying a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You know what you saw. Dean could not have survived.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, eyes still trained on Y/N. “I think I saw a lot.”

Relief and for the first time, real hope-filled Y/N.

“You can stay behind and watch the children, Cas, if you’re really so sure there isn’t any point.”

As they left the postponed funeral, none of them saw the man following close behind. Someone that Sam would have recognized; would have remembered. One who didn’t want them to discover the truth of what happened that day, and would go to quite a lot of effort to make sure that none of them did.

Y/N put the children to bed. Carefully tucking each one in, and fluffing the sheets around their bodies the way they liked. Made sure the youngest’s nightlight was plugged into the wall socket. Only once she was sure the young were taken care of did she return to her dining room where Sam and Castiel had taken seats at the small kitchen table. Each nursing mugs of black coffee in their hands.

The steam rose from each cup, framing the men’s grim faces.

“She’s holding onto her hope,” Castiel said, his voice low. “You can’t feed into this. She needs to grieve.”

Y/N pauses in the doorway, one hand braced on the wall. She slinks back a couple inches, hiding behind the wall and listens carefully. Her heart thudding in her chest.

Sam’s hushed response, “You don’t know that. The casket was empty, Cas. We know we brought his body back for burial, but did you see him? At any point, did you actually see what we were escorting? What if Dean was never dead?”

“Then what do you believe happened?” Silence. “You think this was a coverup? What for? What would be the point in faking his death?”

“Maybe, he didn’t. What if it was someone else?” Sam shifted in the chair.

“And who would do something like that?” Cas crossed his arms, still not believing the story. There had to be more than wishful thinking. He needed evidence. Something more concrete than “well, what if?”

“I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out,” His voice hardened. “Care to help?”

“I am helping,” Cas groused.

“No, you’re really not.” Y/N stepped out from behind the wall. “All you’re doing is doubting everything. Do you even care that my husband, the father of my children, your fucking best friend could possibly be alive? That he might be out there somewhere? Alone and in trouble?”

Sam and Cas jumped in their chairs, startled by Y/N’s sudden appearance. Sam shot a glance at Castiel. The other man had the grace to look embarrassed to have been caught saying those things, but he met her stare evenly.

“Of course I do. Like you said, he’s my best friend. I want to find him. I really do but what’s the point? Dean … he’s gone Y/N. You realize what this is? You’re clinging onto the maybe of an impossible situation. The odds that he may still be alive are nil. You know that.”

“Then where is his body?” Said with finality. That - THAT - was the missing element. The dead don’t run away. He should have been there. He wasn’t. If Dean was truly dead all it meant was that somebody stole his remains. And that was grotesque. If her mind refused to go anywhere, it was in that direction …

No one said anything for entirely too long. All looking at each other, frowns and dark looks. Finally, it was Cas who spoke. But not to continue his argument. He said, “Pass me your laptop.”

Sam blinked. “Me?”

“Yes. Pass me your computer.”

Hesitantly, Sam pulled a slim silver laptop from the leather bag at the foot of his chair. Slid it across the table to Castiel, who opened the top. The man’s face lit with bluish light as the computer booted up. He began to type quickly, with careless efficiency. He clearly knew exactly what he was doing. Y/N leaned over, curious to see what he was doing. Without breaking stride, Cas nudged the computer so she couldn’t see it’s screen.

Y/N sat back with a huff. Sam took a swig of his coffee, grimacing at the too strong flavor. It was like battery acid, burning his throat but he got the feeling this was going to be a long night.

“There,” said Cas, after only a few minutes. “Look.”

He twisted the laptop around so Sam and Y/N could see. They both leaned forward eagerly. On the glowing laptop screen was a single article written two years prior.

BODIES MISSING FROM MORGUE - Army Colonel Killed in the Line of Duty returned home today. Body recovered on the 2nd of August was due to be returned to the grieving family has been found missing from the local morgue on the 13th of this month. Official documents show the body was received and scheduled to be transferred to the mortuary, however, city employees deny the arrival of the Colonel’s remains. Family threatening legal action.

“Oh my god. So Dean isn’t the only one who’s been taken. He really is alive.” Tears pooled in Y/N’s eyes.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Cas cautions darkly. “We don’t know exactly what’s going on.”

“At least we have something to go on.” Sam took his laptop and scrolled through the article to find any other information, paying no mind as to how Cas did that so quickly.

Y/N blinked and looked up at Castiel, gratitude shining through the tears in her eyes. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Find information as quickly as you did?”

Cas said nothing.

Sam cut in, “Wait, the article says they found the missing bodies washed up on shore. Many wounds were inflicted; burn marks, cuts in the skin. Bullets wouldn’t do that. An IED wouldn’t leave cuts so clean. Flying shrapnel tears through, it doesn’t slice.”

“So?” Y/N asks.

“So … what does that? Surgical precision.”

Y/N laughs nervously. “Surgically precise, Sam?”

Cas’ expression darkens ominously. “Surgical precision is necessary when performing tests. Medical procedures. Or experimentation.”

A chill works it’s way up to Y/N’s spine. “Experiments?”

“You think human experimentation is an option, there, Cas?” Sam sighs. “And you thought believing Dean might still be alive was ridiculous. C’mon.”

“It’s happened before,” was all Cas had to offer.

“What do you mean, ‘It’s happened before’ Cas?” Y/N wondered.

“Nazi Germany,” he said quietly. “Experiments were performed on human subjects. And other government agencies … accused of the same. Vietnam soldiers “vaccinated” with chemical agents; involuntary experimentation. They have labs all around the world.” “Why have you never told me about this? And Dean, he would have wanted to know.” Sam’s temper flared, he didn’t like being lied to.

“There are times when things should be said, that was not one.” Cas stood, grabbing his cup and moving to the counter to pour himself another cup of coffee.

“U-Uh, okay, so what are we supposed to do now?” Y/N asked.

Sam sighed, “Now, we find their lab. It’s our only shot at finding Dean.”

Going on a dangerous trip like this called for a shopping trip. Y/N went to the grocery store while Cas stayed watching the kids and Sam waited in the car; gathering more intel on that damn laptop of his.

Pushing her buggy through the aisles, her gaze passing over boxes and packets of stuff she would need a stove to cook - making them useless on a road trip - Y/N felt the first flutters of nervousness. This would take a long, long time and she didn’t know if they would ever succeed. It would be hard. It would be dangerous.

Distracted by her thoughts, Y/N bumped somebody with the end of her cart.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going, totally my fault!” she repeated, flabbergasted.

As she looked up, she was met with a cold stare. The man towered over her, dark and imposing. Shivers snaked up her spine, making Y/N want to go. Not turn around and leave; this was a man she would never show her back. No, he made her want to back away.

“W-Well, I should be going then. Have a nice day, sir.” Picking up the pace, Y/N quickly finishes buying her groceries and starts for the back door. She turns her head slightly to check if the man is there, only to be met with a damp cloth, smelling sickly sweet and through her terror, she understood it was chloroform.

Y/N kicked with her feet, throwing her weight back but the arm around her waist tightened like an iron band around her stomach. She could feel her ribs bruising beneath his incredible strength. She tried to hold her breath but her panic spiked and her lungs burned. Demanding air.

She took a breath. That hot, stinging chemical all there was. It seared the inside of her nose. She could feel it grating harshly at the back of her throat. Her head spun, reeling with this incredible dizziness that made the whole world tilt and sway.

It wasn’t like in the movies. It was nothing like in the movies …

Her stomach rolled, cramping painfully with nausea so fierce she knew she would be sick. Y/N tried to swallow, tried to breathe. Spots erupted across her vision, and it was like the static of an old TV and the worse part, the part that scared her more than anything was the sensation of falling.

It was as if she were sinking. Darkness swelling up and closing over her head and it was so much like drowning … sinking …

Sam waited for as long as his patience would allow, in a warm car with a hot laptop in his lap steadily heating the inside to new heights. He looked up, his eyes burning with tiredness from the long night coupled with staring at the old military documentation and new articles on a sixteen-inch screen.

Where was Y/N? She was only supposed to be gone for a bit, collecting a few things. Sam became worried so he called Cas.

“Cas, I can’t find Y/N. They must have taken her while she was shopping…. Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Y/N woke to cold.

Confusion whirled, and she coughed softly. She wasn’t freezing, nothing like that. But she felt so chilled. As if she’d run to check her mail in the fall, wearing only her pajamas.

Lights flickered, it was calming yet eerie. She couldn’t stay awake, and she felt as if she were moving. She was too lost to make sense of that. It was just odd. A slight squeaking, as if wheels turning, hummed in her head. She curled her toes and was surprised to find she wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. That helped to wake her a little from that numbing senselessness.

The motion of stopping jolted her fully awake. She looked around the room. Cement walls, very few lights making the room just a bit dim. A man in a white coat and the blue surgical mask came into view.

“W-what … who are you?” Y/N tried to keep the terror from her voice, but she could see the glint of a scalpel in his gloved hand.

The man - she thought he might have been a man - did not look at her. She could feel him probing her inner arm with a thumb.

“What’s going on?” Y/N tried again. Her gaze shot around the room, panic like poison in her blood. The mechanical beeping on an EKG over her head accelerated. Mirrors and blindingly bright lights spotlit her body. She couldn’t see anything past that, but the man with the mask and an impression of bodies moving about made her think she was surrounded.

“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N. Good to have you with us, you’ll make a great candidate, just like your husband. Shall we get started?” His tone was chipper. At the mention of Dean, Y/N struggled from the chains that bound her to the gurney, causing a chuckle from the doctor.

He turned, grabbing a differently sized scalpel, and took a deep breath. “It’s time.”

Ice crystallized around Y/N’s heart. She was terrified, the doctor moved closer, inch by inch, until the scalpel dragged along her skin. Blood welled up from the deep slice, trickling off her arm to trickle onto the metal table. Her screams bouncing around the room.

He stopped long enough to set down the tool, only to turn and dig his gloved fingers into her arm, searching for something. Her breathing slowed from the shock, but she held on. Y/N gritted her teeth struggling to stay awake.

“Done. Now that wasn’t so bad.” the doctor grinned darkly.

“Fuck you.” Y/N retorted through the blur of tears.

A woman stepped in the room. “Nurse, would you kindly take Mrs. Y/L/N to her room?” the nurse only nodded to his request and grabbed the arm that wasn’t bleeding. When she stood the room turned upside down, causing her to fall before the nurse held her up.

She was strong for her tiny size.

The nurse set Y/N on her bed and left quietly. All she could do was pass out from the shock of the events.

#Dean x Reader #Dean Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #spn fandom #spn fanfic #Spn au #winter soldier!au #Winter Soldier!dean #dean Winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #Castiel #castiel novak

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cairobserver · 7 years

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Against Nostalgia: Ways of Seeing Alexandria

Berit Schuck

Everybody knows that Alexandria will most probably drown and disappear in the near future due to rising sea levels. Fewer people give it a thought that the drowning might eventually be caused by those who speak and write about the city with a deep sense of nostalgia. Waves of stories about Alexandria's past overshadow every contemporary discourse. The predominant belief that there is “nothing to see” and a lost sense of ownership in regards to both Alexandria's Ottoman, Belle Époque and modernist architecture leave little space for the few who are trying to enact a future, especially when they are dreaming of something more complex than reanimating a once famous café, republishing earlier descriptions of the city or reintroducing the culture of the flaneur. In his talk at MASS Alexandria in the spring of 2016, entitled “The City as Heavy Stage”, the artist Mahmoud Khaled suggested that Alexandria's future lies with those who go looking for new urban narratives and find a way to share them widely through art works, films or writings. For example a road movie combined with a piece of advertisement that speaks the language of late-night workers, the re-enactment of an on-going conversation with someone living abroad or the secret occupation of a symbolic place in plain sight (as opposed to self-immersive flanerie) may enable us sooner to experience and see the complexity of this city than reconnecting with one version of its past.

So, the question is: How to escape the virus of nostalgia when you happen to live and work in Alexandria or come for a visit? Let's try to find an answer by looking at three attempts that seem to deal with this question without saying it directly. The first one is Mahmoud Khaled’s two-day happening ‘Postponed Dates on a Disappearing Coast’ co-commissioned by Omar Kholeif and Christodoulos Panayiotou for the Cyprus Pavilion of the 56th Venice Biennial. It was realised in Alexandria in collaboration with the writer Magda Magdy, and consisted of a series of collective readings at iconic sites of the city, among them the Antoniades Garden and the shipyards in Bahary. Both places are easy to love but difficult to see without thinking of Alexandria's cosmopolitan past. However, what Khaled achieved through the staging of informal gatherings is remarkable. By transforming the historical sites into places for ephemeral public performances, he created a public space that every city needs to be able to breathe.

["When Sirens Go Unnoticed" by Sara Moustafa, End of Year Exhibition 2016, MASS Alexandria (c) Fathi Hawas]

["Disappearing Pedestrians" by Ash Moniz, End of Year Exhibition 2016, MASS Alexandria (c) Fathi Hawas]

In January, the city saw a different proposition on how to interrupt the dominating Alexandrian discourse. Founded in 2010 by the artist Wael Shawky, the 500 square meter studio of MASS Alexandria is located in the eastern neighbourhood Miami. It reopened in 2016 after a two-year hiatus with the launch of a new studio and study programme that included a series of workshops, lectures and talks that specifically addressed the situation of the city today. The fellows were asked, for example, to do walks across the shopping streets of Manshiyya and the fish market in Anfoushy in the tradition of Guy Debord, to follow a workshop on the ideology of the public sculptures and historic monuments with the Beirut-based artist Ahmad Ghossein (Relocating the Past: Ruins for the Future”, Oslo 2013), to visit Alexandria's Amphitheatre, Catacombs and Manuscripts Department with the artist and curator Haig Aivazian, to attend a research seminar on the ideological framework of Egyptian modernist architecture with the architect Mohamed Elshahed, and a workshop about the form of knowledge and the forming of knowledge at institutions like the city's art museum and the Alexandria University led by the artist and co-founder of the Anti-University of Copenhagen Jakob Jakobsen. Of course the attention paid to the various spaces of Alexandria not only informed the discussions at MASS Alexandria, but also the work of the fellows. The study programme culminated in an exhibition that transformed the studio of MASS Alexandria into a temporary gallery. Many of the works created by fellows discussed what defines Alexandria today.

["Emergency Room" by Yasmine El-Meleegy, End of Year Exhibition 2016, MASS Alexandria (c) Fathi Hawas]

Yet another strategy to change the ways of seeing Alexandria was employed by Alia Mossallam, a researcher with a special interest in social movements, contemporary artistic practices and a PhD in Philosophy from the London School of Economics. Mossalam co-organised in collaboration with makers, artists and performers a weeklong workshop on the anarchist movement of Alexandria. The event was held at Wekalet Behna in Manshiyya, between the two ports of the city where most of the 'characters' worked. The idea of the workshop was to look at Alexandria as a meeting point for a number of movements between 1880 and 1920 among them a theatre movement spurred by Syrian artists and the above mentioned anarchist movement spurred by Italian workers. It brought out a digital publication and an alternative map that visualises the central meeting points of the movement from the workers' theatres to the Free Popular University of Egypt.

Berit Schuck is an independent curator and researcher, and the Programme Director of MASS Alexandria.

*This text was commissioned for an upcoming publication, City Guide to Alexandria, edited by Cairobserver’s Mohamed Elshahed.

#alexandria

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pussymagicuniverse · 5 years

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A Change is as Good as a Rest: Learning Little Lessons From Mercury

As I write this, yet another Mercury retrograde is coming to an end. When this is published, our speedy little space friend should be stationing direct, leaving varying degrees of chaos – or, as we’ll see, solved problems – in his wake. But I like the opportunities Mercury brings, even when he’s backtracking, so I thought I’d share a poem about an experience my son had during a past Mercury retrograde, and my views about how the whole mess can be helpful.

My eldest son – let’s call him C – is a quadruple Gemini (one of two signs ruled by Mercury, the other is Virgo). His natal sun, Mercury, Venus, and ascendant are all in Gemini and his chart is Mercury dominant by many miles. My second son – E – is a triple Gemini (sun, Mercury, Venus) with Virgo rising and is also Mercury dominant, but Mercury retrograde always affects C much more obviously than it affects E.

One such incident was in Summer 2017: while visiting friends in Llandudno (North Wales), I co-hosted a poetry event, and we held the readings at the end of the pier. Mercury had just started moving backwards that day, or maybe the day before. C was 14 at the time, my other sons 12 and 13, my older daughter was just a year old, and I was four months pregnant with my younger daughter. My sons were all in the arcade right next to where we were reading when C decided to wander off while the other two were playing games. It’s worth mentioning C is autistic and so am I, and while C is a mega Gemini, my own chart is Virgo dominant despite my natal sun and Mercury being in Cancer (the short explanation is: I have three planets in Virgo – Mars, Jupiter, Saturn). A minor state of emergency ensued, with poets splitting off in different directions to look for C. It turned out he’d walked all the way back up the pier to the beach. On purpose, yes, but without telling anyone where he was going. There are always a few sides to a story, and this was no exception. Several months later, I wrote the following poem, which explains our two sides to the best of my ability.

•

Mercurial

The younger ones ask where the eldest has gone, say it’s been half an hour since they saw him— in this moment the pier is ten miles long instead of just over one.

He’s the child who refuses a phone, and in this moment all bad things are possible; it’s like he wants to disappear. In this moment you almost hate the sea you love, because you know if he jumped in, he’d never make it. That’s a fine fate you’d keep for yourself, but not your children.

Everyone separates, leaves you to the vacuum of your headspace— you wander through murk of candy- floss, choking on doo-wop pumped through loudspeakers, the buzz of 2p slot machines. The sea is serene and you think it is waiting, or sated…

then someone’s calling, someone’s found him, on dry land, solid pavement beneath his feet. Your son lopes back down the pier to you, you look up to his his face, tell him how it scares you when he goes missing—his eyes clear, curious: to him you speak a dead tongue—he insists he knew where he was all along.

*reprinted from my chapbook Land and Sea and Turning (CWP Collective Press, 2018)

•

It’s interesting how Mercury retrograde played out for both of us that day in equal but opposite ways. We are both autistic, we are both heavily influenced by this mischievous planet – so while C went his own way, following his natural Gemini butterfly curiosity, it felt like everything he’d detached from – the noise, the lights, the smells, the caring about his own personal safety… – overwhelmed me instead. But there’s no point to astrological insight if we don’t allow it to teach us something. I learned to trust more in my son because of this experience – the older my boys get, the more I learn that letting them go their own way is gradual, not something that happens when they turn a specific age or leave home – and he learned to be more careful about communicating with his family.

Thankfully this most recent Mercury retrograde has been tame (though there’s still some hours left, so we’ll see how it goes). C had some misunderstandings with friends, but nothing too troublesome. It’s been a little stressful for me where communication is concerned, and deliveries have been slow, muddled, or non-existent. But I’ve used the time for quietly working on poetry projects, domestic organising (a never-ending task for a family of seven, and this Mercury has been transiting my 4th house of home and family!), and as usual, setting some things right that went a bit wrong previously – including preparing an anthology for publication after a nine month delay. I also finished my allocated therapy sessions for cptsd, complete with practical spellcraft to help me stay on track.

I’ve learned over the years that when I’m being guided to slow my pace, I better do it – and ironically fast-moving Mercury is the number one teacher for me where that’s concerned, surprisingly more often than my chart’s own slow-but-steady dominant planet, Saturn. Even the poetry reading I did this month – a guest spot at an event I was supposed to do over two years ago but had to postpone (see what I mean about setting things right?) – was in a relaxed environment.

Because it’s tinged with chaos and drama – always fun for everyone – Mercury retrograde has become well known outside of astrological or witchy circles, but it is somewhat misunderstood. I’m only a witch with my head in the stars (plus one foot on the ground and the other in the water) not a professional astrologer, but in my experience it’s not worse than anything else the planets and the zodiac throw at us – it’s a party compared to what some planets can do (yes I’m looking at you again, Saturn). And even when it isn’t fun, it’s all energy to be harnessed and used in specific ways. I always feel like the most important thing Mercury can teach us is how to change and adapt when necessary – and it can be especially effective when he’s the reason we need to do it in the first place.

Born in Southern Ohio, but settled in the UK since 1999, Kate is a writer, witch, editor and mother of five. She is the author of several poetry pamphlets, and the founding editor of four web journals and a micropress.

Her witchcraft is a blend of her great-grandmother's Appalachian ways and the Anglo-Celtic craft of the country she now calls home – though she incorporates tarot, astrology, and her ancestors, plus music, film, books, and many other things into her practice. Her spiritual life is best described as queer Christopagan with emphasis on the feminine and the natural world. She believes magic is everywhere.

Find Kate on twitter and IG - @mskateybelle - and at her website.

#mercury in retrograde #mercury in rx #mercurial #mercury #kate garrett #mercury rx lessons #mercury retrograde lessons #poetry #personal essay #motherhood #gemini #astrology #gemini children

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njawaidofficial · 6 years

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Here’s How Teen Shows Like "Degrassi" Try To Get School Shootings Right

https://styleveryday.com/2018/03/23/heres-how-teen-shows-like-degrassi-try-to-get-school-shootings-right/

Here’s How Teen Shows Like "Degrassi" Try To Get School Shootings Right

Degrassi: Next Class

Netflix

Buffy the Vampire Slayer creator Joss Whedon remembers the day executives at the WB informed him that the third season finale of his wildly popular show, about a vampire hunter and her supernatural friends, would be delayed. It had been four weeks since the 1999 Columbine High School massacre — an attempted bombing and mass shooting that killed 15 — sparked a nationwide debate over gun control and the effects of violent entertainment. The episode’s plot included a school explosion and a scene in which armed students attack the mayor, so out of sympathy for victims and fear of copycat killings, the network broadcast a rerun instead. Another Buffy episode from that season, called “Earshot,” featured a suspected school shooter, and its airdate was also rescheduled.

Whedon understood the decision. “I was like, We shouldn’t say boo about it because of course they should [postpone],” Whedon told BuzzFeed News in a recent interview, recalling the “horror” and “sense of hopelessness” he felt in the aftermath of Columbine.

It wasn’t the last time an episode of a teen series would face controversy following a school shooting. Four months after a gunman opened fire at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012, Glee aired an episode in which students go on lockdown after hearing gunshots. While co-creator Ryan Murphy praised it as “the most powerful, emotional Glee ever,” some Sandy Hook parents criticized the episode for coming “too soon” after the tragedy. (In the wake of the 2017 Las Vegas massacre, Murphy found himself in a similar situation, deciding to tone down the graphic visuals from an episode of his show American Horror Story: Cult that featured a mass shooting scene.)

After last month’s school shooting in Parkland, Florida, the Paramount Network delayed the premiere of Heathers, a television series remake of the 1988 cult film about a pair of teenagers who murder their classmates. “Out of respect for the victims, their families and loved ones, we feel the right thing to do is delay the premiere until later this year,” the cable network said in a statement.

The premiere of the TV show Heathers has been delayed after the school shooting in Parkland, Florida.

Paramount Network

School shootings aren’t going away, and the conversation over how they’re portrayed on television isn’t either. While politicians and cultural critics, including President Trump, have criticized Hollywood for “glorifying violence,” showrunners and directors told BuzzFeed News they think carefully about how they’re depicting shootings.

Whedon, a vocal NRA opponent who says he’ll attend this weekend’s March for Our Lives in Washington, DC, said “actual deadly accessible guns are the issue,” not the entertainment industry. Still, he decided not to prominently feature the use of firearms on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, unless they were in the hands of villains. “When we were making Buffy, we actually had a chance to say, ‘Oh, we can actually take a very hard stance here,’” Whedon said. “It’s not a cop show. We’re not wed to the idea of the shootout in the alley.” Throughout the show, Buffy refuses multiple times to use a gun against her enemies. (“These things? Never helpful!” she says about firearms in a Season 6 episode.)

@joss / Twitter / Via Twitter: @joss

In the aftermath of Columbine, Whedon didn’t think his show would provoke copycat killings, because the weapons were portrayed in a negative light. In the episode “Earshot,” Buffy finds a classmate assembling a rifle in the school’s clock tower. She believes he is going to kill their fellow students, but it turns out “the school shooter angle in the episode was a red herring,” Whedon explained. The boy actually intends to kill himself, but Buffy talks him out of it and immediately dismantles his weapon.

But Whedon acknowledged that viewer reaction is hard to predict. In the 2002 episode “Seeing Red,” Buffy is shot and beloved character Tara Maclay is killed by Warren Mears, a misogynist outcast. At the time, Whedon assumed that a bad guy using a gun couldn’t lead to copycat behavior. “He represented the worst in everything, so I didn’t think people were going to be like, Hey, let’s jump on that bandwagon!” Whedon said. But that was in 2002. Now, given the frequency of mass shootings across the country, he isn’t so sure: “But god knows what I’ve learned lately is that bad examples don’t seem to throw people off.”

Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar) confronts a student with a gun in the episode “Earshot” on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

The WB

Asked what advice he’d give to someone writing a school shooting storyline today, Whedon stressed respect for the characters and for the gravity of the situation: “If you’re in the head of a person who’s trapped in a classroom, if you don’t let genre tropes outweigh the physical and mental experience of the people you’re filming, then you have a shot at saying something useful.”

For Whedon, the Parkland students turned activists call to mind some of the messages he was trying to convey in his work: “I spent most of my career writing about teenagers who would lay down their lives for each other and would stand up to all injustice, and I thought I was writing fantasy.”

Similarly, Linda Schuyler and Stephen Stohn — two of the Canadian showrunners behind Netflix’s Degrassi: Next Class — said they find the Parkland survivors “deeply moving” and plan to incorporate elements of their activism into the forthcoming season of the high school series. The two said it’s “highly likely” they will explore a school shooting, too.

“It’s something that’s happening with greater frequency, and it’s happening to teenagers … and our attitude on the show has always been, whatever is out there affecting our young people, we should be talking about it on Degrassi,” said Schuyler.

The pair previously tackled school shootings in the first season of Degrassi: Next Class and in an episode of Degrassi: The Next Generation. “Time Stands Still,” perhaps the best known episode of the show, saw Jimmy Brooks (played by now-rapper Aubrey “Drake” Graham) shot by a troubled classmate. When crafting the story around that episode, Sohn said they were “very concerned” about the possibility of inciting a “copycat situation,” but pursued the storyline to portray how access to guns, coupled with an environment of bullying, “can be a pressure cooker for some of these kids to explode.”

Jimmy Brooks (played by now-rapper Aubrey “Drake” Graham) is shot by a classmate.

DHX Media

“We do not want to glorify things, and we don’t want to sensationalize them,” Schuyler said. When writing the aforementioned school shooting episodes, the showrunners consulted with Barbara Coloroso, an expert on bullying and an author who published a book on the issue soon after the Columbine massacre. They also spoke directly to teenagers with the goal to write material that would resonate with and accurately reflect their young viewers. “Hopefully as storytellers, we are being respectful enough to all sides of the story,” Schuyler added.

Jimmy Brooks (Drake) is paralyzed after being shot by a classmate on Degrassi: The Next Generation.

CTV

Although Schuyler and Sohn feel it’s their duty to tackle issues that teenagers go through, they have no plans to portray anything “overtly political.”

“The mandate of our show is to sort of take what’s happening in the environment politically and make the political personal,” said Schuyler. “We wouldn’t address gun control per se, but we will look from a particular character’s point of view at how damaging the misuse of guns can be and how damaging it can be when bullying isn’t dealt with at an early stage.”

Some showrunners and producers looking to portray gun violence and mass shootings have turned to the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence, a nonprofit organization that advocates for gun control and often works with television producers and writers to create storylines for shows like ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy and The Good Wife.

Dr. Amelia Shepherd (Caterina Scorsone) consoles a young boy who accidentally shot his playmate on Grey’s Anatomy.

ABC

For Avery Gardiner, copresident of the Brady Campaign, it’s just as important to depict the everyday shootings that occur across the United States — and not just high-profile mass shootings.

While ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy featured a storyline about a mass shooter who murders two of Dr. Meredith Grey’s colleagues, a 2016 episode centers on a young boy who accidentally shoots his playmate after finding the weapon in his mother’s drawer. It was a plotline the Brady Campaign consulted on. And immediately following the episode, actor Ellen Pompeo urged the importance of keeping guns unloaded and properly stored, away from children, in a PSA. The collaboration wasn’t without criticism. The NRA’s Institute for Legislative Action condemned the Grey’s episode and the anti-gun messages “permeating television programming and film,” writing: “Thankfully, the episode was immediately followed by a Brady Center ad, alerting viewers to the fact that the preceding program was intended as propaganda.”

Gardiner also stressed the need for shows that depict the reality of how shootings affect the families of victims. Shows like The Chi, a Showtime drama created by Lena Waithe about life in Chicago’s South Side, for example, portrays the factors that might lead one to turn to guns — and how deaths resulting from gun violence affect victims’ loved ones.

“The realities of that violence and how it tears communities apart is something that Hollywood should be showing on TV,” Gardiner continued. “It’s an American problem that we need to be solving.”

LINK: How One New Netflix Series Shows Teen Gun Violence Is Bigger Than Just Parkland

LINK: Survivors Of The Florida Shooting Will Hold A Nationwide “March For Our Lives” To End School Shootings

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