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agentnico · 2 months

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Dune: Part Two (2024) review

I’m fully aware that the Dune sequel has been hit by acclaim from both critics and audiences, and I shall share my own thoughts in due course, but also whilst presenting itself as a serious and sophisticated piece of artsy science fiction tackling challenging themes of religion and politics, from a marketing standpoint this film has been a major farcical meme. From the popcorn buckets shaped like suggestive sand worms (or more so accurately as deformed buttholes) to the viral TikTok video of an unnamed man riding a makeshift sand worm around a cinema lobby on his way to Arrakis, or more likely to one of the gazillion screenings of Dune: Part Two. But yes, absolutely mad bonkers advertising techniques, and not at all reflective of how seriously and straight faced the actual film plays. Anyway, let’s talk Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuneee…..

Plot: Paul Atreides unites with Chani and the Fremen while seeking revenge against the conspirators who destroyed his family. Facing a choice between the love of his life and the fate of the universe, he must prevent a terrible future only he can foresee.

Controversial opinion - I was not a fan of the first Dune. I thought it was all spectacle and no substance, and even then in regards to said spectacle, it was just sand. Lots of sand and bland dark visuals. I understand that the first movie acts as a massive exposition piece with lots of world building and introductions of all the characters and various political families and the spice trade and all that sweet jazz, but honestly it all felt so dragged out. Also a lot of narrative choices felt really immature and I did not buy it. In fact, the only memorable part for me was that female voice screaming on the music score every time something crazy happened, and my does that woman have some strong vocal pipe work! Like damn, her screams…. I really felt them!

Going into Dune: Part Two, I was very much of two mindsets. One was more so a feeling of obligation to watch it, as I wasted 3 hours of my life watching the first one that I felt I deserved some kind of closure for my efforts. The other being Denis Villeneuve. Aside from the first Dune, he’s a director that has constantly impressed me with his unique vision and style. Simply look at his past filmography! Prisoners. Enemy. Arrival. Sicario. All impressive pieces of genre filmmaking. Then there’s Blade Runner 2049, that took the classic Ridley Scott movie and managed to improve on it and become one of the most thrilling science fiction epics of the last decade. Also the trailers looked appropriately exciting, and it seemed like the second movie was actually gonna deal with some serious shit finally. Again, my problem with the first Dune wasn’t that it was slow. I mean, I can happily watch Paris, Texas any day of the week and be mesmerised by the empty yet beautiful takes of the American desert. It’s more-so that the first Dune felt aimless and messy. As for Dune: Part Two?

Well, if we’re going to use The Lord of the Rings terminology, and boy am I happy to refer to the dear-to-my-heart Middle Earth whenever I have the chance, then Dune: Part Two holds the scale of The Two Towers. I may not agree with all of it, and there are still some moments that drag, though The Two Towers is also guilty of that - I’m looking at you Treebeard! But overall this is one hell of a cinematic experience and achievement. Visually for one this is eye-candy. And yes, yet again there’s lots of sand, but this time around Villeneuve manages to find very creative ways to add/take away colour to make many sequences truly impressive. There’s an early scene where the Fremen are fighting Harkonnen goons in the desert and the entire thing is seeped in this blood orange palette, reminiscent of the Martian Chronicles, and then there’s the part where we are introduced to the Harkonnen home planet where the entire screen is drenched in hardcore intense black-and-white due to their sun only giving out white and black light, and instead of fireworks there are these watercolour stroked exploding in the sky, to of course the much talked about eye-dropping sand worm riding into battle scene that had the feel of the giant elephants appearing in The Return of the King, and yes that was another most delightful reference to Lord of the Rings! As I was saying though, the entire movie visually is certainly something to be in awe of.

Also Hans Zimmer’s score!! Of course the man’s a genius, having composed so many of cinema’s greatest musical compositions. I can recommend his Live in Prague performance! Hit after hit, and I find myself spinning it on my record player a good few times. Hans Zimmer’s Dune: Part Two soundtrack feels like a thunderously bombastic continuation and expansion of the first film’s more quiet and moody opener, and that shift in tone allows for some truly spectacular weaving of the composer’s thematic tapestry for Dune – with the finest new thread being the absolutely gorgeous love theme for Paul and Chani. A truly beautiful piece that echoes the heartbreaking tragic nature of the central romance of the film. Needless to say I’ve already pre-ordered the limited edition coloured vinyl of Dune 2’s soundtrack from Mutant (the new Mondo).

As for the narrative, as that is where I felt the first film faltered the most in my humble opinion (which I share so publicly online). I really do feel like the sequel is a major set up, for since the first one focused more on the endless word building and set-ups, this movie is all about the character developments. The scope is still big with the various political and religious elements that are tackled and explored throughout, however at the same time Dune: Part Two manages to feel more intimate compared to its predecessor, with the unravelling of the romance between Paul and Chani, but more so the inner struggles of Paul Atreides, as he tries to balance his emotions of revenge with the feeling of wanting to belong somewhere, as well as his denial of being called the so-called Messiah to the Fremen people. Look, the idea of the chosen one has been a concept that has been done over and over again, however I felt here they managed to really make it feel unique and different, with Paul choosing not to take this major responsibility due to visions of the future where he sees this choice result in darkness and dread, yet at the same time realising he has no choice but to follow his destiny and calling. It’s powerful stuff.

The cast list is stacked in this one. Timothee Chalamet is a rising star, having previously excelled his dramatic chops in Call Me by Your Name and his charismatic whimsy in last year’s Wonka, but this is by far his most impressive acting feat. You truly feel his character turning from boy to man, and it’s a real and raw performance. Zendaya shares great chemistry with him, but also in her own right gives a strong turn as a warrior Fremen conflicted with what she sees and thinks. Javier Bardem’s Stilgar adds a slice of surprising humour to the mix, being so obsessed with Paul being part of the prophecy that anything he’d do, Stilgar would find that to be part of what has been foretold. Paul Atreides could literally fart and Stilgar would observe in wonder proclaiming “as it was written”. There’s also a tiny No Country for Old Men reunion with Bardem being joined by Josh Brolin, who’s alright by the way, though it’s a typical Brolin brute role. Charlotte Rampling as the Reverend Mother continues being truly despicable and honestly that wench deserves to be put in her place - the movie’s ending is very satisfying in this regard. There’s also some newcomers to the Dune world too. Florence Pugh as the Princess reminded me a lot of Padme from Star Wars, and Christopher Walken I felt was tad miscast as the Emperor. Don’t get me wrong, Walken is a great actor, but his way of speech has been impersonated and overdone so many times that it is difficult to take him seriously in a role like this. Minus a couple of strong deliveries Walken felt really lazy here. You know who wasn’t lazy though? Austin Butler! This guy understood the assignment, playing the psychotic nutter Feyd-Rautha and he’s truly unrecognisable. Even his voice is different. Gone is Elvis and in cometh his Skarsgard impression! He’s brutal and maniacal and was honestly superb, and I wish there was more of him in this movie.

Again, it’s far from a perfect movie. There are parts still that drag, and certain times where things feel surprisingly rushed, but overall this is an experience through and through, and unlike my feelings after the first film, here I find myself really looking forward to the inevitable third part. In fact f*ck it, who am I kidding - this movie is bloody incredible!! Like I can’t even - it’s abso-fricking-lutely spectacular!! And by the way I read a bit about the Frank Herbert Dune books now and the future sequels are gonna be mad, just saying. Paul’s son becomes this half-man half-worm known as the God Emperor! Things are gonna get weird! Anyway, Dune: Part Two - go see it if you haven’t already. And in Austin Butler’s voice: “may thy knife chip and shatter”.

Overall score: 9/10

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sirianasims · 2 months

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After the main course, Paul went to the kitchen to get the dessert ready before midnight. I excused myself and said I needed some fresh air.

I had been to Del Sol Valley a few times when I was little, visiting my grandparents, but I didn’t remember much about the city itself.

The back of Paul’s mansion was the only thing not surrounded by fences, and the view was both breathtaking and terrifying. Bright lights as far as the eye could see, occasional premature fireworks going off, faint background noise from traffic that never stopped.

It felt like we were gilded birds in a cage up here, always on display yet forever out of reach.

I couldn’t imagine anything further from Copperdale and the quiet, snow-covered forests around it.

I wondered if Paul would expect me to move in with him at some point. I didn’t see how he’d be able to work from anywhere else. I could work wherever, but could I live here? Surrounded by fences and cameras and security guards in a huge, empty house?

I pushed the thought away as I heard the clacking of heels behind me.

“Julia, can I talk to you for a moment?”, Sierra asked softly. “I would really like to apologise for what I said earlier. It was never my intention to insult you.”

“I know you didn’t mean it like that, but I still can’t help feeling that you don’t like me very much. Or maybe you just don’t think I’m good enough for Paul?”

Sierra bit her lip.

“I shouldn’t have brought up his exes, especially not in front of you. The thing is, they rarely lasted long enough for the media to catch on – half the time I didn’t even get to meet them before he ended things. So when Paul first told us about you, I got worried. I saw him falling harder and faster than ever before, but you’re so much younger than him and I was struggling to see how it could possibly end well.”

“Right. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just being honest with you. I tend to be, perhaps, overly protective of Paul. He was even younger than you when we met, we shared a shitty apartment with a few other aspiring actors, all trying to break through. We cheered each other on, audition after audition, practicing lines, commiserating over rejection letters… And then he got the call for Llama Man, and I ended up as an extra in a cop series which later got me the lead in Cop & Llama, but I’ve fought hard to escape that, branch out to other roles, and Paul just… didn’t even try.”

“But he says he prefers the voice acting, though. If you’re his friend, why do you keep pushing him if he’s perfectly happy?”

“Because I’m his friend. Sure, he says he’s happy. Maybe he even believes it. But Paul was always the best of us, and he never took his talent seriously. He’s a great voice actor, but it always felt like he secretly wanted more, he’s just scared. What if he sucked? The media would have a field day, writing about how he should just stick to his cartoons. You’ve seen what they’re like, you just had your first front page. Which, by the way, must be rough. I’m sorry for adding to the stress you must be under right now. Can we maybe start over?”

“Apology accepted, I’m too much of a fangirl to be mad at you anyway. And I’m managing, but I must say, being on the cover of a magazine is a lot less fun than advertised.”

“Trust me, it depends heavily on the kind of magazine. But being hung out to dry by some gossip rag is a rite of passage in this business. You should have seen the frenzy when rumours about me and Dave started circulating. It was wild. I once walked out of an interview because they asked me if the llama costume stayed on during sex!”

“Well? Did it ever?”

Sierra grinned.

“No way – do you have any idea how heavy and warm that costume is? It’s not exactly a sexy superhero muscle suit, it’s a full size sports mascot.”

“True. Although I’m not sure I’d appreciate it if Paul kept his costume on either.”

We both laughed, and I barely registered the steps behind me before I felt Pauls arms around me, his warm hands covering my eyes.

“Guess who.”

I heard Sierra chuckle. “Actually, Paul, we were kinda busy out here, bonding over the trials of dating men in llama costumes. It’s a very exclusive club.”

“I guess Dave and I have to start our own club then. But it's almost midnight and I would like to borrow my girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine, you can have her back. I’ll just go get myself one of those fruit tarts before Lee and Dave eat them all.”

She walked back inside without waiting for a response.

She wouldn’t have gotten one anyway.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #julia duchelli #paul romeo #sierra moss

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whatsnewalycat · 7 months

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Passenger / Chapter 5

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter Five: Wyoming (Part Two)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ][ Spotify Playlist ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie and Din test the waters.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.8k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, horny thoughts, anger problems, crying, food mention, handcuffs, hi yes the only one bed trope is alive and well, unlike the Titanic (it's relevant I promise), small town, lying, fictional town, sorry to Wyoming-ites if I got WY all wrong, (Bernie Sanders voice) I am once again talking about The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Notes: Howdy, howdy. We are balls deep in the yearning with this one, folks. Thank you @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the literal best, I appreciate you endlessly.

Just like Paul promised, The Jackalope Motel is conveniently located straight across the county road from Giddyup Auto.

The single-story, L-shaped motel, whose faded roadside sign advertises low weekly rates and color TV, shares a gravel parking lot with a two-pump gas station. Its brick exterior is painted a pallid shade of yellow, all ten room doors varnished with this glossy teal finish.

Nestled into the elbow of the building sits a white screen door with the words MOTEL OFFICE printed on the front.

Din departs from your side to hold the door open, an action you assure yourself is rooted less in chivalry than it is him not wanting to turn his back to you. A loud creak sounds from the battered door and announces your arrival. The dog charges through the threshold, pulling his leash taut in your grip as you step inside the cramped, wood-paneled office.

An elderly woman perks up on her barstool behind the front desk. She stubs out her lit cigarette in a nearby ashtray and calls in a husky voice, “Howdy, howdy.”

“Hi there,” you smile, glancing back at Din to determine who will take the lead in this interaction.

He does, taking three wide strides past you to the counter. As he moves through the room, a thick sea of smoke parts for him, churning and dancing in his wake.

“We need a room. Two nights for now.”

The gray-haired woman pulls the glasses hanging on a chain around her neck onto the bridge of her nose, “Let me see here…”

At your feet, the dog sniffs his surroundings. He follows an invisible trail to a tattered plaid couch. You follow, listening to Din and the motel manager discuss lodging arrangements.

“I got a couple two three rooms open, I can stick you in one away from the rabble rousers. Somethin’ more private,” she winks at him.

His back straightens and he holds up a hand, “Do you have anything with two beds?”

The mischievous look on her face flattens and she raises her eyebrows, looking down at her books with a frown, “‘Fraid I don’t.”

Din looks over at you, his face blank, eyes inscrutable behind his aviators, then turns back to the woman and gives her a nod, “Anything you have is fine, then.”

He takes out his wallet as she starts getting paperwork together. You gravitate towards a wall of faded, dusty brochures that advertise Western Wyoming’s finest tourist traps, including, but not limited to: a cowboy-themed amusement park, guided tours of mountain ranges and caves, horseback riding expeditions, and hot springs.

“What brings y’all to town?”

When you turn to Din, he gives you a mild, one-shouldered shrug, so you tell her, “His rig broke down about an hour from here. Paul—do you know Paul?”

She chuckles and nods, “I’ve known Paul since he was in diapers. Used to watch him for his momma while she was at work.”

“No kidding?” you approach the tall front desk, propping your elbows up on the counter, “He’s fixing the truck. Really nice guy, referred us to this place ‘cuz we don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Can I get your ID, hun?” she asks Din, who complies without comment, then she glances up at you while jotting down your companion’s information, “He’ll get y’all fixed up good. We got a few things to do ‘round here if you get tireda bein’ holed up here. A few parks, some trails. There’s a fella that has a ranch just on the outskirts of town, he does horseback riding, if that squeezes your lemon. Downtown, we got some bars, coupla places to eat ‘n’ all that,” she hands the ID back to Din, sighing, “Nothin’ fancy, but better ‘n nothin’ at all.”

“We don’t need fancy,” you grin at Din, who does not return the sentiment, then ask the motel manager, “What’s your name?”

“Annie.”

“I love that name,” you smile, “Annie Get Your Gun.”

She smiles, too, toothy and wide, revealing her too-perfect teeth–obviously dentures–and says, “You know, I was actually named after her. Annie Oakley.”

“That’s awesome. A fantastic namesake, she was a true badass.”

“She sure was,” Annie nods and takes the glasses off her face, letting them drop around her neck from the glasses chain, “Well, the room comes to $59 per night, plus taxes and fees, ends up runnin’ closerta $75. Do you wanna settle the tab for two nights now, or see if you needta tack on more and take care of it at checkout?”

You look over at Din, who answers, “We can settle at checkout.”

“Fine with me,” she swivels on her little stool and stands to grab a key off the wall behind her, “We got an ice maker and vending machine outside the door here, don’t be too loud, and pick up after yer dog. Any questions?”

She slides a key across the counter, whose big turquoise keychain reads 10 in metallic gold, and glances between you and Din. He grabs it, and you respond, “No ma’am.”

“Alright, well, let me know if y’all need anything.”

“Will do, thank you, Annie,” you give her a polite wave before following Din outside, pulling the dog along behind you.

The room smells of bleach and water damage.

Much like the office, its walls are all wood-paneled with a dull oak finish. A framed painting of a bunny with deer antlers hangs above the queen sized bed. As you try to untangle the leash from your guitar and backpack, you nod at the painting and chuckle, “A jackalope.”

Din grunts in response. He tosses his backpack on the bed, then turns to the dog, crouching down to unclip his leash from the collar. The dog reacts like he’s hit with a cattle-prod and goes zooming around the motel room in a lop-sided oval.

You start giggling as he tears over the bed, to the bathroom door where he makes a U-turn and speeds past the dresser, then your feet, then Din’s, then does it again, around and around until he runs out of steam. He comes to rest on the fireproof, floral bedspread, circa 1984, and leans back on his haunches, panting and out of breath, tongue hanging out of his jowls, glancing between you and his person.

“Feel better?” Din asks him, and he sneezes.

You go to the window, pulling the top pane down to let crisp October air spill into the room, carrying with it the earthy scent of organic decay. When you close your eyes and inhale, you see piles of raked-up maple leaves, those big mosaics of orange and red and yellow and brown, hiding rot underneath. It reminds you of home.

You turn to your captor, who seems to be inspecting the bathroom. He flicks the bathroom light on and peeks inside while you release an exaggerated sigh, “So, Din.”

He brings his attention to you and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, raising his eyebrows in question.

“That is your name, right?”

“It is.”

A smile spreads across your face.

The fact that you’re able to put a name to this man, brings you a surprising amount of joy. He seems less like a force now, and more like a person. Which, you suppose, is probably why he didn’t formally introduce himself before shoving your face into a trailer door and abducting you.

“Great, well—Din, it’s nice to actually meet you,” you cross the room and extend your hand to him. All he does for a moment is stare at it, until you tease, “Aw, come on. I don’t bite.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your lips part and you blink at him. When the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk, your face transforms into a heater. This whole situation would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so handsome.

RULE #3: Keep your wits about you.

“Funny guy,” you snort, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance, but continue to hold your hand out to him.

He takes it and gives it a firm shake. His palm is warm and calloused and his grip seems to swallow yours. Even though he’s wearing those stupid sunglasses, you can tell when his eyes meet yours because a jolt shoots through the middle of you. Your throat tightens and your cheeks get even hotter.

Before he can tell how flustered you are, you take your hand back and retreat to the bed, plopping down to scratch the dog as you ask, “What now? Do you wanna go explore this podunk town?”

“No. We’re staying here. The less we’re seen, the better.”

You groan and throw yourself back onto the bed. There’s a yellow-tinged water stain on the ceiling that almost looks like a face if you squint and tilt your head a little. It brings to mind this short story of a woman slowly losing her sanity while on “rest cure” to treat her depression. She’s forced to do absolutely nothing, and starts to see figures in the yellow wallpaper of her bedroom.

Granted, your situation is much different than the one Charlotte Perkins Gilman penned, but you still feel a sense of solidarity with her protagonist’s captivity. You feel antsy. Cooped up. The thick layer of grime on your skin becomes hard to ignore, and you remember it’s been a week since you last bathed.

“Can I at least shower?”

When he hesitates to respond, you can’t stop yourself from sitting up and scowling at him, “Seriously?”

“There’s a window in the bathroom.”

You stare at him blankly, “So, what, you think I’m going to—”

“Yes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you get to your feet and stomp past him into the very retro, very pink bathroom, yanking the shower curtain open to inspect the window.

In all fairness, you could climb out of it if you really wanted to, but you still roll your eyes and tell him, “Probably can’t even fit through there.”

He just stares at you, unmoved.

Frustration simmers in your stomach. All that’s standing between you and the sweet relief of a shower is his lack of trust. There has to be a middle ground.

“What if—” your mouth clamps shut. You shift your weight from one leg, to the other, then shrug, “Would it make you feel better if you were in here while I showered?”

Din’s lips part, stunned for a moment before he carefully says, “Better isn’t the right word—”

“Ok, well, feel free to substitute ‘better’ with ‘more secure,’ or ‘reassured,’ or whatever. You know what I mean.”

He studies the window for a moment, the muscles in his jaw wiggling as he considers the compromise, then looks back at you and nods, “Sure.”

“How long will this take?”

From behind him, Din hears you wrestle clothing off your body into a pile on the floor as you say, “Five minutes, tops.”

The faucet squeaks, then the water comes to life with a stuttering hiss. Twin metallic swooshes signal the shower curtain being pulled open, then shut, then you moan, “Fuuuuck that’s so good.”

His imagination bucks out of his control, and for a moment the only image in his mind can conjure is his body pressed up against yours, skin on skin. How soft and warm you must be. How those words would taste on your lips. All the ways he could make you utter them again and again.

He thinks of your stubbornness, your defiance, and wonders what it would be like to break you. Would you like it?

I am not a good man.

Din squeezes his eyes shut and tries to flush out the deviant thoughts, reminding himself of the handsome bounty he’ll collect when he turns you over. The peace that financial security will bring him. He won’t have to live job-to-job with a white-knuckle grip on existence. He’ll have room to breathe. Maybe he’ll even be able to live a little.

Your honeyed voice pulls him out of his tail-spin.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly…”

Din opens his eyes and stares at the bathroom door, shaking his head in amusement, thinking, Of course you sing in the shower.

It’s sort of nice, though. He doesn’t mind it. In fact, he kind of likes it.

Grogu, obviously feeling left out, scratches at the other side of the door, then lets out a disgruntled whine.

You stop singing and ask, “Is that the pup?”

“Yeah.”

The shower curtain rings squeak, then your voice is right next to him, “Let him in.”

Without thinking, he turns to you and scoffs, “No.”

Water drips off the ends of your sudsy white-blonde hair onto his boot. Your features pinch into a scowl, dark eyes searching his face, “What, why not?”

His gaze flicks to the blur of skin barely concealed behind the shower curtain, then to the pink tiled floor as heat rises to his face, “He’s just gonna jump in there and get wet.”

“So?”

“He’ll stink up the room.”

You snort, “You’re already doing that.“

Din goes to glare at you, but corrects himself and glares at the ceiling instead, “Sure that’s not you?”

You let out an exaggerated gasp that quickly dissolves into laughter, “You asshole.”

He looks down at the doorknob and shakes his head, stifling a chuckle.

“So rude,” you tease as you slide the curtain closed and step back into the steaming shower stream, “Come on, big guy, let the pup come in. He can’t possibly stink more than I did.”

Grogu scratches at the door again, this time letting out a sharp bark instead of a whine.

“Awww, listen to him,” you say, the pout evident in your voice, “So lonely, he just wants to be with us.”

Din rolls his eyes and twists the doorknob to let him in. The dog barrels into the room, skittering across the shiny, bubblegum pink ceramic into the empty garbage can. It goes toppling over, and he uses it like a bumper to correct his course towards the tub. He stands on his hind legs and peaks behind the shower curtain, then woofs for your attention.

“Hello handsome boy!”

Grogu starts panting with excitement, his nails clacking on the floor and the porcelain tub.

“Oh my goodness, do you want to come in here with me?”

He barks.

Din protests, “Don’t—”

“Ok, ready, here we go.”

Both you and the dog groan a little when you lift him, then Din hears clattering and splashing as he lands in the tub and starts flailing around in the water. A sharp giggle pierces his eardrums, making him wince, but there’s such an abundance of joy in your laughter and the dog’s playful growls, Din catches it secondhand and ends up smiling like an idiot.

“Look at you, happy pup! You love the water, don’t you?!”

Grogu lets out a low bow-wow and sneezes, which you respond to with a squeal of delight. Something tender and warm blooms in Din’s chest. Just as soon as he realizes its fragility, he stomps it out, snipping over his shoulder, “Are you almost done?”

The water shuts off with a loud clunk from the faucet and you respond, “Yep.”

Din ends up trying to dry off the wet, rowdy dog while you dig through your backpack.

“Do you think there’s a laundromat here?”

He glances up at you, eyes briefly trailing along the outline of your body beneath the fluffy white towel before he clears his throat, then says, “I don’t know.”

You sniff one of the sweatshirts from your backpack, shrug, and toss it onto the dresser.

“We should check. Everything in here is fucking rank,” you mutter while inspecting a pair of dark pants.

The dog zooms past, drawing Din’s attention, and he manages to scoop him up into a towel, “Gotcha!”

Whining and throwing his weight around like a fish out of water, Grogu tries to escape as Din dries him off. You turn and snort at the dog, “Good luck, I’ve been trying to do that for days,” then pad across the faded, low-rise carpet to the bathroom.

Din glances up at the oval-shaped mirror mounted to the wall, catching a glimpse of your reflection as you drop your towel. Stunned, he fumbles the task at hand and the dog flies from his grip like a bat out of hell.

“Shit,” he mutters, propping his hands on his hips, watching the little white dog torpedo from one end of the room to the other.

“This probably feels like wide open spaces to him after being cooped up in the truck, huh?” you chuckle from the bathroom.

His eyes betray him, flicking to your reflection again. At least you have pants on this time, the waistband of tight black leggings nestled into the dip of your waist. He studies the curve of your spine up to a compass tattooed between your shoulder blades. You pull a baggy maroon sweater over your head and spin around before he can look away. Shame creeps hot up his neck and makes him drop his gaze.

If you caught him staring, it doesn’t show. You just trot past him and throw yourself onto the old, squeaky mattress, stacking one foot atop the other as you stretch out.

Grogu breaks out of his orbit to hop up onto the bed and climb in your lap, tongue hanging from one side of his mouth. A giggle chirps up your throat, and you scratch between his ears, “Do you two have a home base, or just the truck?”

“Just the truck,” Din answers, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“Oooh a coupla rubber tramps,” you grin, “It’s fun, right? Nomad life?”

He tilts his head at you.

Is that why you do this? Because you think living on the road is fun?

His lack of response tugs at the arch of your brow. You look around the room, releasing a sigh through slack lips, making a pfpfpfpf sound, then ask, “Well, whaddya wanna do?”

Din pushes off the wall and starts towards an armoire that looks heirloom or at least second-hand, swinging open its solid oak doors to reveal an old tube TV. A shelf at the top of the cabinet stores a VCR and a few tapes.

“Finding anything fun?”

He reads movie titles off the faded VHS sleeves, “The Wedding Singer, Titanic, Pocahontas, Men in Black.”

“Anything you like?”

“I’m not much of a movie person,” he admits in a murmur, and casts a glance over his shoulder, “Do you have a preference?”

“Not really,” you shrug, “I’m not much of a movie person, either. You pick.”

Din swings his gaze back to the armoire, wrinkling his nose at the options, then pulls out the double-barreled VHS of Titanic and pops in the first tape.

After feeding the movie into the VCR, your captor goes to the little two-person dining room table in the corner of the room and grabs one of the chairs, carrying it over to the opposite side of the bed. You watch him the whole way, eyebrows raised, blinking with annoyance when he sits in the chair and kicks his feet up onto the bed.

“You’re really gonna watch a movie like that?”

He glances over at you, crossing his arms over his chest, “Like what?”

“With your whole,” you circle your wrist around your ear, “Incognito thing. Plus, boots? You can like… be comfortable, did you know that?”

His mouth flattens into a line. A few awkward seconds go by before it clicks and you nod in understanding, “But you can’t be comfortable around me, can you?”

He doesn’t answer. Not that you expect him to.

You grab the remote control off the nightstand and turn up the volume. With previews still running on the TV, you sigh and pull a pillow out from the cheap bedspread, plumping it up and adjusting yourself into a more relaxing position.

“I get it,” you mumble at the screen, “You think that in order for you to maintain this power dynamic, you can’t show belly.”

“Is that what I think?”

When you look over at him, he seems to be studying you through the tint of his aviators. You ask, “Isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer. Probably because he doesn’t want to admit you’re right. Better than him giving you some bullshit contrarian retort, you suppose, but his silence still burrows gritty between the layers of your skin.

“Whatever, man,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “If you wanna sit way over there in your stupid getup, that’s your decision, but it seems pretty fucking miserable for no good reason.”

His jaw gnashes back and forth a bit before he sits up and takes off his hat, tossing it onto the nightstand, then his sunglasses. His dark eyes meet yours, “Better?”

You look at his black leather boots.

He sighs and drops his feet to the ground, bending over to remove the boots one at a time. When he returns to his previous position, arms crossed over his broad chest, socked feet propped up on the bed, you suppress a grin and turn back to the movie.

"I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay."

Beneath the thick, curved glass of the TV, the first VHS runs out of tape. Out of the corner of his eye, Din sees you sit up and throw your legs off the bed. Grogu croaks out a sleepy sound from beside you, rolling onto his back. You rise to your feet, asking, “Can we get something to eat before starting the second tape?”

Din glances down at his watch. 4:30. His stomach rumbles. Given the unpredictable twist this day has taken, food has largely remained at the back of his mind until now.

“We could walk further into town and see what we find. I bet the pup has to go potty, anyway. We could take him with us. Maybe Annie can give us a recommendation—”

He looks over at you to respond, but finds himself momentarily tongue-tied. You stretch your clasped hands skyward, pulling the hem of your sweater up to expose a generous slice of your midriff. You’re still distracted as rambling he stares, unable to stop his thoughts from returning to how soft and warm you must be.

His hungry skin aches, deep and throbbing, down to the marrow. An infection festering for years. Or longer. Decades, really.

He tries to recall how long it’s been since he felt the heat of another person. It was snowing, he remembers that much. She was one of those women that made her way around truck stops selling pleasure to lonely guys like him. Lot lizards, some of the truckers called them.

Was he in Colorado? Or was it Ohio?

He remembers the excruciating quiet as she stripped off her snow-clotted outer layers, revealing a petite brunette with wary eyes and a businesslike attitude. Not that he holds those things against her. It’s understandable. Advisable, even, given her line of work and clientele.

Her company didn’t do much to quell his hollow yearning for intimacy, but it was a release nonetheless.

“—So, what do you think?”

Din snaps out of the trance and meets your eyes, all warm and hopeful.

Goddamnit.

“You stay right next to me the whole time.”

“Do I get a treat if I’m good?” you smirk, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

The question bubbles hot at the base of his spine. He tries to keep his countenance neutral when he says, “We’ll see how you do.”

Grogu waddles over to the side of the bed closest to him and yowls for attention. Thankful for the diversion, Din reaches over and scratches the dog between his big ears, “Both of you.”

The dog sniffs the sidewalk a few feet ahead of you and Din, tethered to his owner by a leash. He zig-zags back and forth, completely engulfed in the sights and smells of this brand new world.

You find yourself in a similar state of awe and appreciation. Tilting your face up to the big cotton candy sky, you inhale two lungfuls of the most refreshingly crisp air you may have ever been blessed to receive. Yellow Seed was built in a valley, and it seems like everywhere you look there are mountains in the distance, dark and evergreen and ominous. A stark contrast to whatever magic is happening in the atmosphere.

The world feels so infinite and beautiful that if you let yourself, you could cry about it.

Too caught up in the moment to pay attention to your gait, you knock hands with Din. The impact makes your heart jump. You hear yourself stammer out an overreaction, “Oh shit—sorry, I um, didn’t mean to—”

“Might help if you stop daydreaming.”

“What’re you, my mother?” you scoff under your breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What’s that?”

You glance over at him.

His smug smirk draws your attention briefly before you shake your head and change the subject, “Have you seen Titanic before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“What made you pick it?”

He shrugs, “Long run time.”

“Shut up, that’s not the only reason, is it?” you laugh, “It’s not because you get to see Kate Winslet’s tits or anything, right?”

His head jerks back a little and his ears turn all red, “What? No—”

“I’m just giving you shit,” you snort.

He exhales an airy chuckle, and a few seconds go by before he asks, “What about you? Have you watched it before?”

His cadence is halting and rusty. Out of practice. You can tell he doesn’t make conversation often, but he’s trying and that’s… sort of sweet, actually.

“I have, but it’s been years. I think I was a kid, maybe six or seven, when I watched it with my grandma at her house,” you smile fondly at the memory, kicking a rock along the sidewalk, “She made me cover my eyes during the nudity and sex and stuff, but I totally peeked.”

“So you’ve always been a troublemaker.”

“I guess so, huh?” you chuckle.

The conversation dies a natural death, and for a while, the two of you just walk alongside each other, following the sidewalk further into Yellow Seed.

The houses you pass, like motel, auto shop, and gas station, all seem to have been built in the 1950’s with few updates since the 1990’s. Mid-century ramblers outfitted in white trim and chipped pastel paint—so much canary yellow. Neat lawns and landscaping and tattered American flags flapping in the wind. As the sidewalk brings you closer to the heart of the town, structures get older, more homes with front porches and earth-toned exteriors.

Downtown Yellow Seed barely occupies two city blocks. The businesses stand shoulder-to-shoulder, all of them constructed of brick or lumber, none of them within the last century. When you turn down the main drag, you squint and blur your vision so that the pickup trucks look like buggies, and you can picture exactly what it looked like when the roads were dirt paths carved out by wagon wheels and horse hooves.

“Outlaw Saloon,” you nod to the sign on an upcoming building and grin at Din, “Sounds like the place for us.”

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, stepping up onto the sagging floorboards of the porch and starting towards the door.

The dog follows his suggestion, suddenly very interested in this change of direction, his ears perking up into high-alert. Din plucks him off the ground, then pulls the squeaky door open for you to enter, releasing a cacophony of noise: country music and clinking glass and the low murmur of conversation.

As you walk past him into the establishment, you tell Din, “That’s your problem, big guy, you know that? You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not.”

All you hear in response is a grumble, then the jarring crack of the spring-loaded door slamming shut behind him. When he saddles up to your side, you feel his hand press into the small of your back.

It surprises you a little. Both the action itself, and the way your pulse jumps in response.

You don’t move, but look over at him and find you’re close enough to see his eyes behind his aviators. They flick around the bar as if searching for potential danger in the two dozen locals occupying the saloon. He holds the dog firm and close to his chest and he doesn’t move his hand and you realize that he is protecting you both. Subconsciously, probably, but he’s doing it nonetheless.

Something happens inside you.

A brief but sudden free-fall that flips your stomach and gelatinizes the cartilage in your joints. Your throat struggles to swallow around your thudding heart.

RULE #9: Do not get attached.

Ignoring the warning, you bring yourself closer to him. Just an inch or so, intending to be subtle, so that maybe he won’t notice. You don’t want him to think you like or need his protection, because you don’t.

Need it, that is.

Liking it, however…

If you can glean anything from the steady thrum of heat between your thighs, it’s that you do like it. That is, unfortunately, too blunt a force for you to ignore.

An unamused looking waitress approaches your little trio, grinding a wad of gum between her molars, “No dogs.”

“Oh—he’s an emotional support dog,” you tell her, softening your features into a non-threatening, winsome expression. You put your hand on Din’s arm and explain, “My friend has horrible agoraphobia. The only way I can get him to go out is if we have the dog with us.”

Her eyebrow raises and she blinks at Din, “That true?”

He nods once, “It is.”

She glances between the two of you for a moment, eyes flicking in time with the smack smack smack of her chewing gum, then shrugs, “Alright, come with me.”

As you follow the waitress, he stays by your side, with his warm, wide palm held flush to your spine.

He’s just making sure you don’t bolt. It doesn’t mean anything.

This little voice inside your head makes you feel so foolish, your cheeks start to flush. She’s right, though. You’re making something out of nothing.

But then his thumb moves. Only slightly, and just once, this gentle wiper blade motion—a fucking caress if you’ve ever felt it.

Your face heats even more.

The waitress stops at a wooden, high-back booth and pulls two menus from her apron, placing one on each side of the table. Only when you slide into the booth does his hand depart your body. He sits across from you, placing the dog down beside him.

“Can I get y’all somethin’ to drink?”

“Could I get a water, please?” you ask, flashing her a polite smile.

She nods, then looks at Din.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Two waters, anything else?”

You glance up at Din, trying hard not to drop your gaze when you feel his eyes meet yours. He shakes his head slightly, and you tell her, “No, I think that’s good for now, thank you.”

“Be right back.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Din asks, “Agoraphobia?”

“Pretty slick, huh?” you grin.

He smirks and shakes his head, looking down at the menu. The dog wriggles his way under his owner’s arm. Din allows it, absentmindedly petting him while evaluating food options.

Letting out a sigh, you turn your attention to the menu, too. Burgers, chicken, basic sandwiches, fried food. Standard bar fare. It doesn’t take you long to decide on a grilled cheese, leaving you to study the innards of the Outlaw Saloon.

The place is cavernous. Tin ceiling tiles two stories above the ground stretch much further back than you expected. Everything else, from the walls to the furniture to the floors, all appears to be made from the same dark, lacquered wood.

Predictably, the décor is an homage to cowboy lore. Taxidermized livestock, paintings of horses, and antique farm equipment have been mounted on the walls. Among them hang wanted posters of infamous Wild West gunslingers, such as Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid. Sort of camp, but in an endearing way.

The bar bustles with activity, much busier than you thought it would be. In a small town like this, you weren’t expecting to see more than a handful of regulars out on a Wednesday evening, but there are at least 20, maybe 30, other patrons scattered about the venue.

As you look around at the strangers, you think to yourself, “Not one of these people would look out of place at a rodeo,” which is to say that the crowd looks to be a mix of ranchers and other working class folks. At least half are strapped with a handgun, which isn’t particularly alarming, especially in a rural Western town like this, but always good to note. Occasionally, people mutter to each other while shooting dirty looks at your table. Probably because you’re out-of-towners who had the audacity to bring a dog into their beloved saloon.

“Damn, if we were carrying, I bet we’d fit in a little better,” you comment mildly.

“Who says I’m not?”

You look over at him and tilt your head, “Are you?”

“I am.”

This interests you. You fold your legs up into a pretzel and lean your elbows onto the table, “Whaddya have?”

With his expressive eyes concealed, it’s hard to read what his silence means, but you guess trying to determine your question’s intent.

Before either of you can say anything else, the waitress approaches your table carrying two glasses of water. As she slides one in front of you, then the other in front of Din, you ask her, “Do you guys ever have live music here?”

“Sure,” she shrugs and plants one hand on her hip, “Nothing this weekend, though.”

You glance over at Din, who’s shaking his head slowly, as if to say, “Don’t you fucking dare,” but ignore it and ask, “Do you want live music this weekend?”

“I take it I do not get a treat?”

Din clenches his jaw, glaring up at you from his crouched position as he unhooks Grogu’s leash. He hasn’t said anything to you since you coaxed your way into a gig at the Outlaw Saloon, blatantly disregarding his wishes to lay low in this town.

If he wasn’t so goddamn hungry, and if it wouldn’t have roused the attention of the already suspicious locals, he would have hauled you out of the restaurant the second you inquired with the waitress about live music.

You must have felt the anger radiating off him in waves, because your attempts at conversation since have been few and far in between.

For that, he’s grateful.

The red glowering beneath his skin feels unpredictable. That familiar loathsome beast. Something he believed extinct inside him, eradicated through years of training, now awake and growling.

He rises to a standing position and starts pacing, trying to keep calm.

Meanwhile, you take your doodle-ridden acoustic guitar, plop down on the bed, and start strumming a tune.

Heat wells up in his chest.

“It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Gives us something to do,” you tell him, watching your own fingertips move skillfully along the neck of the instrument, “Plus, I could rake in a decent amount of money, which could help us—”

“Stop it.”

The music cuts immediately.

He takes off his hat and sunglasses, tossing them onto the chest of drawers, then turns to face you, meeting your doe-eyed gaze with too much vitriol.

“There is not an us. This is not a team. I do not want or need your help.”

Your shoulders sag. You furrow your brow, searching his face, and your lips part to protest, but he cuts you off hard.

“You are nothing to me but a payload. An annoying, entitled payload. Do you understand?”

You react as if he slapped you across the face. Your head jerks back and you drop your gaze to the floor, face getting all red.

He stares at you, awaiting your counterattack, but all you do is let out a choked sob.

The sharp tip of this noise pierces the over-inflated balloon of his anger, bursting it instantly. In its sudden absence, an ache starts in his chest. He looks back at the situation from this calmer state of mind, cleared of red haze, and feels ashamed of himself.

Grogu jumps onto the bed to sit at your side, and whines up at you. Inhaling a wobbly breath, you reach out and scratch his head, then mumble a damp, “It’s ok, pup.”

Some time goes by with only your quiet sniffles to break the silence, then you ask, “Where am I sleeping?”

As soon as the mention of sleep hits him, his bones turn to lead, heavy with exhaustion. How long has it been since he’s slept? It feels like days. Nothing last night, barely a few hours the night before that.

“You have options,” he responds. At this, you let out a sad, soft chuckle that he ignores, continuing, “There’s the bathroom, your sleeping bag, or the bed.”

“I assume I would be restrained in each of these scenarios?”

He folds his arms over his chest and nods, “In the bathroom, I would cuff you to the toilet. The other two, I…” he grimaces, “It would be to me.”

“Wow, ok,” you take the guitar out of your lap and prop it up on the nightstand, “A toilet or the man who thinks I’m a piece of shit.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.”

He meets your gaze, holding it steady for a few seconds before saying, “Charlie, I…”

The apology gets all tangled in his throat. You wait a while for him to finish the thought. When he doesn’t, you move past it, your voice void of emotion.

“Do you have a preference?”

“No.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sleep in the bed.”

Din nods in acknowledgment. He glances down at his watch, finds it’s barely past 6, and asks, “Are you tired now?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

As if to confirm, you suck in a shaky breath and yawn, stretching your hands above your head. It spreads to him.

“Give me a few minutes,” he tells you.

In response, you tug at the bedspread and wriggle your way between the sheets. Grogu grumbles for a moment at the adjustment, then turns in a few circles and plops down beside you with a hmph.

You’re probably exhausted, too, given the ups and downs of this week. Being taken captive. Sleeping in the same room as Din when you cannot trust him. Spending all your time with someone whose explicit intent is to turn you in for a pretty penny.

It must take an emotional toll, even if you don’t let it show most of the time. Even if you have that rule to… how did you put it?

Live in the now.

To your credit, you have been trying your damnedest to follow that rule. By getting to know people whose paths cross yours, bonding with Grogu, writing and drawing in your notebook, playing music, suggesting ways to squeeze as much experience as possible out of what little time you have left.

Din likes that about you. Your relentless optimism. It’s admirable.

He likes a lot of things about you, he realizes. Your cunning, and your curiosity, and your ferocity. Your gap-toothed smile. The skillful way you play the guitar. How you curled into him ever-so-slightly when he placed his hand on your back earlier.

It occurs to him then that you may feel it, too. That gooey electric current when he touches you, or when his eyes meet yours for longer than a second.

His own words echo back to him: “You are nothing to me but a payload.”

He wants to take it back.

It’s not even true, he just wishes it was. He wishes he looked at you and saw a bad person who’s going to get what she deserves. The truth couldn’t be more contrary.

While your captor goes about his nighttime routine, you sulk.

It’s all you can do, really, since he’s made it abundantly clear your presence is a nuisance. Worse than that, even. You are nothing but an asset to him.

Ironically, it makes you feel worthless.

You think about how pathetic your burgeoning crush on him is. Were you imagining the chemistry between you?

Of course you were.

You were making things up—“Living in LaLa Land,” as your mother used to say.

Din pulls back the covers on the opposite side of the bed. The mattress shifts under his weight, and he groans as he stretches out. Every nerve ending in your body lights up when you feel the heat of him. The distance between you is exactly the width of a French Bulldog.

“Hey, kid,” he murmurs.

His voice is low and syrupy. Warm.

Your throat works in a slow bob before you roll on your back to look at him. Your eyes meet his, and your stomach flips. When whoever said that thing about the eyes being the window to the soul, they must have been talking about him. You can see it all right there, written in bold print: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.

Or maybe that’s just what you want to see. Fuck, but why? Why do you even care?

You should fucking know better.

This is only temporary. Din. His dog. The truck. This room. Tonight. Life, really, if you wanted to get existential about it.

“Do you want to watch the rest of that movie?”

You frown as you consider this for a moment, then nod.

He gets out of bed and walks over to the big armoire. As he pops in the second Titanic VHS tape, you study the broad span of his shoulders and biceps stretching his t-shirt taut.

God, he looks solid and strong and just so fucking good.

This guy robbed you of your dignity and all you can think about right now is what his lips would feel like on yours. If he would be a greedy lover, or a generous one, or both. Would he be intuitive or clumsy with your body? Would he be rough?

He would be with me.

Heat blossoms on your cheeks and deep in your center. You don’t know how you know, but you do. He just seems… pressurized. Combustible. Especially towards you.

On his way back to bed, while the tape rewinds, Din rummages through his backpack and piles some of its contents into one arm. He sits down at the edge of the mattress and hands you a bottle of water, then holds out two candy bars and says, “Pick one.”

“Is this an apology?”

“No, it’s chocolate.”

You blink at him and cross your arms.

His features soften. He shakes his head, “What I said was not kind. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you agree, keeping your gaze stern, “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.”

You search his face. There’s such earnestness there, you believe him.

A mechanical click sounds from the VCR, then the TV lights up as Titanic starts where it left off.

Your gaze drops to the candy bars, and you pluck one from his hand. The one that advertises a peanut-buttery crunch. Peeling off its yellow wrapper, you smirk, “Apology accepted.”

Din climbs all the way into bed, stuffing the flat hotel pillows behind his back, then opens the shiny silver wrapper of his candy bar. For a while, it’s quiet except for the warbled audio from the TV and the crunch of your chewing.

You get that feeling again like sunshine on your skin or God or whatever, and you laugh out loud.

“What?” Din asks.

“It’s probably really weird that I’m happy right now, right?”

“Are you?”

You peek over at him and chuckle, “Yeah, I mean… I’m eating my favorite candy and watching a good movie. Laying in a bed with a cute dog and…yeah,” you shrug, turning back to the TV, “I don’t know. I like it.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then asks, “Do you have your knife?”

“Why, you gonna take it from me so I don’t kill you in your sleep?” You let the question hang in the air for one whole second before continuing, “I’ll be real up close and personal, wouldn’t even have to sneak, just,” you drag your thumb across your throat, “Blech, dead.”

“I’m not taking it from you,” he tells you, pulling out his handcuffs, “But if you want to get it or use the bathroom, now’s your chance.”

You take the opportunity to relieve your bladder and change into your comfiest (and least offensive smelling) clothes.

Before tucking your pocket knife into your sleeve, you stare at it for a minute and consider actually using it to get the fuck out of here. Something you’ve considered dozens of times, if you’re being honest, but this time the idea weighs a million pounds.

When you open the bathroom door and step into the motel room, Din looks up at you from the bed. His gaze wanders briefly down your body as you climb into bed, then correct its course back to your eyes, “All set?”

You nod and hold your right arm out to him.

His touch is gentle when he closes the cuff around your wrist. Clicks sound from the apparatus until it’s clear your hand won’t be capable of wiggling free.

He secures the other cuff around his left wrist, settles his arm next to yours, and asks, “How is that?”

“It’s fine,” you nod, your voice too high, then swallow hard and chuckle, “Well, I guess as fine as being handcuffed in a bed can be. Probably not the best it could be, but not the worst, um, either.”

You wince at yourself and look at the TV, where Rose is wading through thigh-high water, carrying an ax. Thankfully, he doesn’t respond, but turns off the light on his nightstand. You do the same with yours. Aside from the TV, only a faint glow comes in through the window. Daylight’s last gasping breath.

You close your eyes and fondle the cool metal of your pocket knife in your left hand.

RULE #8: Take care of yourself.

Din shifts a little, and the back of his hand butts up against yours. Neither of you go to move. Warmth branches out from the spot, expanding and taking root deep in your belly.

RULE #2: Listen to your gut.

With this, you tuck the pocket knife under your pillow and roll onto your side facing him. You think about how nice it would be to rest your head on him, but resist the urge. The edges of consciousness start to fold in on themselves, and you murmur, “Sweet dreams, big guy.”

“Goodnight.”

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #passenger

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scotianostra · 4 months

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The Pirate station, Radio Scotland began broadcasting in the dying embers of Hogmanay, 1965.

Radio Scotland was a Scottish pirate radio station which broadcast at various points off the Scottish coast between 1965 and 1967, with a mix of pop music and programmes of Scottish interest. It was conceived of and run by publicity and advertising executive Tommy Shields onboard a former Irish lightship, built on the Clyde, named The Comet. Radio Scotland's first broadcast was at 11:50pm on Hogmanay, 31st December 1965, on 1241 kilohertz, 242 metres.

After refitting for her new role in the Channel Islands she had been towed to a position four miles off Dunbar, in the Firth of Forth. Because of delays during the journey north, the ship didn't arrive at the anchorage until early on 30th December, giving the engineers only a few hours to set up the equipment. It was a frantic race against time but the station just made it on air before midnight, albeit at reduced power and with no opportunity to run tests. The first voice on the new station belonged to DJ Paul Young a former presenter of Scottish Television's Roundup programme who welcomed the listeners. He introduced the managing director Tommy Shields, who went on to detail their plans. Radio Scotland was on the air and open for business. The station also broadcast from water near Troon and Northern Ireland over its one-and-a-half years.

While navigating and planting the boat, crew had to be careful to avoid territorial waters, primarily due to the strict laws imposed on the pirate stations by the government of the day. Featuring everything from “modern” rock’n’roll to ceilidh favourites, the station soon became a sensation across Scotland as well as Ireland and northern England, where the signal was also picked up.

With its audience of one million listeners a week in its prime, Radio Scotland was very close to realising Shield’s dream of becoming a successful independent Scottish station.

Joining English stations such as Radio Caroline, Radio Scotland was the only pirate radio station to be formed north of the Border, and soon took its place amongst the big six pirate stations.

People could join the membership of the station and become Radio Scotland “Clan Members”. As a reward, the Clan had their own show every Saturday where they could send in requests, which, alongside Jack McLaughlin’s ceilidh slot, was one of the most popular programmes broadcast.

The station even had its own fanzine called “242” – named after its frequency. The 242 magazine featured interviews with the biggest stars of the day, including The Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Tina Turner, but station managers never quite tempted any of the stars on board the infamous boat.

The pirate station’s theme song was a jaunty wee number sung by folk band The Carrick Folk Four. Finishing off the upbeat ditty were the lines: “Oh Radio Scotland’s playing just for you/So beat the ban, and join the Clan, on station 242.”

Although they received many a plaudit, Radio Scotland was plagued with troubles from the very beginning. A poor signal and periods off-air led to a steep decline in advertising revenue and a frustrated fanbase, while fires on board the vessel and the hazardous North Sea conditions did little to help ease its problems.

In a piece in the Edinburgh Weekly just days after the station was laid to rest, Tony Mark wrote: “The death penalty in this country is supposed to have been abolished, yet here we are mourning the execution of what was surely the sound sensation of both 66’ and 67’ as far as Scotland is concerned.”

Although the station had a short life, as is often the case with such ventures, and was taken off the air in the 60s, Radio Scotland inspired a tribute station, which began broadcasting in the mid 70s.

Radio Scotland International, an independently run pirate station broadcasting to Europe from its base in Holland, started in 1975 and has been going ever since.

http://www.radioscotland.nl/

For around 20 months his modest little boat made huge waves and pulled Scotland into the "swinging sixties".

The first pic is Tommy Shields unveiling his pirate ship , the last is the stations first DJ Paul Young then, and as "Shug" in the BBC's Still Game

#scotland #scottish #history #pirate radio #radio

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vintage-tech · 9 months

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Kellogg's 75th Anniversary Fun Book was a coloring and activity book produced in 1980, featuring all of the cereal mascots they had at the time. Since some of these are now considered obscure, let me tell you who these folks are...

The porcupine is Poppy, who supported Corn Pops, taking up the slack after Big Yella rode into the sunset earlier that year.

You all know Tony The Tiger, who thinks that Frosted Flakes are grrr-eat! He has gotten a bit more attractive over the years. FYI, if Tony sounds like he could sing "You're A Mean One, Mister Grinch", it's because he did... Thurl Ravenscroft was the voice of both.

You should also recognise Snap, Crackle, and Pop, who have been shilling Rice Crispies since 1941 and is one of the longest running cereal mascot campaigns in history.

The elephant is Tusk and he advertised Cocoa Krispies. His life is kind of convoluted because he's still used in Mexico, where his name was changed to Melvin and the cereal name is now Choco Krispis -- meanwhile in the States, Tusk the elephant was replaced by Coco the monkey, and then the name was changed to Coco Pops. If Tusk sounds like he's from your favorite Disney cartoon, that's because he was... he was voiced by Paul Winchell.

One of my favorites is Dig 'Em the frog from Sugar Smacks, now known as Honey Smacks. He was an improvement over Smaxie the seal. [Aside: anyone else here remember when Post's Super Golden Crisp was called Sugar Crisp? Sugar Bear got to keep his name!]

The pencil-drawing kids were from Apple Jacks, and I'm not sure if they had names or were ever animated. Here's an ad or two on YouTube where you see them pictured.

You should all know Toucan Sam and his love of the fruit flavors of Froot Loops. He had been voiced by Mel Blanc earlier (thus him sounding like Bugs Bunny) and then when this book came out it was the more sauve sound of his Mel's friend Paul Frees (thus him sounding like the narrator from Bullwinkle).

And finally, Tony the Tiger had a son -- yeah, we don't know who the mama is but he got custody -- Tony Junior, who roared for Frosted Rice. I guess sugar runs in that family's veins like diabetes. He died tragically from a diffferent kind of 'sugar'.

#vintage #cereal #technology #1980 #I worked for an hour on this post

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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year

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Anonymous asked: What’s your favourite piece of classical music that you discovered through a film soundtrack?

What an interesting question to which I have had to really scratch my head and think a little. The main issue is that if you are, like me, one of those kids who was exposed to classical music and some of its canon from an early age then the question becomes harder to answer. Like many other children, I was taught to play musical instruments and have music lessons from about 6 years old onwards. Films, especially the more adult themed ones with a classical score, were something you discovered much later in your teens onwards. So I’m going to cheat a bit here and there. For example I can’t include Milos Forman’s classic movie ‘Amadeus’ because I was already familiar with a range of Mozart’s repertoire before watching it.

Predictably, I’m going have to start with Walt Disney’s classic film ‘Fantasia’ (1940). This was perhaps the first film I was truly exposed to classical music in all its glory. It was Disney’s love letter to classical music and I can still watch it with child-like wonder at the magnificent music set to an incredible animation.

I’m pretty sure that Igor Stravinsky almost certainly wasn't thinking of dinosaurs when he wrote his ballet The Rite of Spring. But Walt Disney and his talented team of animators decided to tell the story of these prehistoric creatures using the dramatic, angular sounds of Stravinsky's masterpiece. And it's become one of the most famous sequences of the 1940s film.

The score was performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra under Leopold Stokowski and was narrated by composer Deems Taylor was awesome. As magnificent was the music that Toccata and Fugue in D minor by J. S. Bach, selections from The Nutcracker Suite by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikowsky, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice by Paul Dukas, Pastoral Symphony (Symphony No. 6) by Ludwig van Beethoven, and the “Dance of the Hours” by Amilcare Ponchielli, it was the last two pieces that left a real impression. Of course I’m talking about Night On Bald Mountain by Modest Moussorgsky, coupled with ‘Ave Maria’ by Franz Schubert.

I’m also going to add Léo Delibes’ Flower Duet (from the opera Lakmé). I used to hear this ad nauseam but not in a movie. This classic piece was the chosen soundtrack for the British Airways advertisement on television and in their departure lounges and flights. The ad - updated often - has been around in one form or another but with the same soundtrack since the 1980s. It was a huge feature of my childhood in the 90s. Whenever I boarded a flight in the Far East or South Asia or the Middle East to fly back home to Britain - because we lived overseas - you would hear this as you strapped yourself in to your seats.

As for my main list (in no particular order):

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Second movement of Beethoven's Symphony No.7 from: The King’s Speech (2010)

The climactic scene where King George VI has to make his speech ‘unto the nations’ was made more powerful by this piece. Like King George VI and his personal battles with his voice, much speculation has taken place over what personal agony the musical piece reflects in Beethoven’s life, especially since sketches for the movement predate the symphony by several years.

One clue is that Beethoven, who conducted the premier in December of 1813 for the veterans of the Battle of Hanau, made an address to these veterans, saying: "We are moved by nothing but pure patriotism and the joyful sacrifice of our powers for those who have sacrificed so much for us." There is every reason to believe that the deep emotion of this movement was founded on anything but what he said it was. His sentiment had existed long before 1813, as had the wars. Napoleon was being repelled, and the symphony is overall joyous.

However, Beethoven was not the kind of man to casually dismiss sacrifice, and the concert was dedicated to veterans. I believe that this movement celebrates those military veterans who made sacrifices for their nation, in much the same way King George VI was asking his subjects in Britain and the Commonwealth in the fight against evil menace of Nazism and Fascism.

Ligeti's Lux Aeterna and Requiem from: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

I hated it. I saw it as a teen and I thought something was wrong with the audio. I still hate the piece but at least I know who Ligeti is. It was way too avant garde for me back then and it remains so today. I think scratching your nails down a chalk board has more melody than a piece by Ligeti. Kubrick clearly loved his work and used it in his other films such as The Shining and Eyes Wide Shut.

Richard Strauss - Also Sprach Zarathustra from 2001: Space Odyssey (1968)

By contrast I loved it. Music can be the difference between a highly memorable scene and one that leaves viewers with an indifferent shrug. It’s hard to believe that this classical piece was used in the main opening scene of the film originally as a temporary place holder by Kubrick whilst he waited for the film composer, Alex North, from the full soundtrack. In the end Kubrick left Strauss in and it made all the difference.

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Franz Schubert’s Piano Trio in E-Flat from: Barry Lyndon (1975)

The Piano Trio No. 2 in E-flat major for piano, violin, and cello, D. 929, was one of the last compositions completed by Franz Schubert in 1827 and one of the last pieces he heard being performed before he died. The track itself has been used in countless of movies over the decades such as The Hunger, Crimson Tide, The Piano Teacher, L'Homme de sa vie, Land of the Blind, Recollections of the Yellow House, The Way He Looks, The Mechanic, Miss Julie, The Congress, and the HBO miniseries John Adams. But I first heard it on Kubrick’s film Barry Lyndon and remember being captivated by the film and the music. I was a teen watching it my parents and the whole scene at the card table was beautifully directed and wonderfully lit. As I learned much later in life, Kubrick and his team invented new kind of film lens to be able to film in candlelight.

Handel's sarabande from: Barry Lyndon (1975)

The sarabande is traditionally the music written for a courtly dance in triple metre. Handel's version was composed for solo harpsichord at some point between 1703 and 1706 and first published in 1733. This classic piece is the 4th movement of the Cette pièce est le quatrième mouvement de la Suite in G minor composed for the harpsichord. Although the Sarabande was originally intended by its composer to be played solo on harpsichord, the orchestral version of the Sarabande is very well known these days thanks to the Barry Lyndon film. Moreover, the Sarabande is beloved by filmmakers and has been adapted several times for various films. It’s one of my favourite pieces and it reminds me of the English countryside for some reason rather than some formal court dance.

Domenico Cimarosa’s Concerto for Oboe in C Moll from: Though the Olive Trees (1994)

Directed by Abbas Kiarostami, this little known Iranian-French film was something I stumbled upon through my Norwegian mother who loved these kind of independent films when we lived in South Asia as an antidote to all the Bollywood films we children enjoyed. Kiarostami’s film traces the trouble arising when the romantic misfortune of one of the actors on a film set - a young man who pines for the woman cast as his wife, even though, in real life, she will have nothing to do with him - leaves the director caught in the middle. In hindsight I can now say it was a metafictional masterpiece. Kiarostami contemplates cinema and its romantic fallacies. The film is gorgeously grounded in Northern Iran’s folk traditions and with a soft focus on its shaken yet convalescent landscape. It’s a warmhearted tale that explores what happens when love goes unrequited - which was surprisingly relevant to a teen with raging hormones at the time.

Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis from: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)

A classical musical masterpiece in a masterful cinematic movie - both epic in every sense of the word. As a former British Army combat pilot it’s the only film that made me have a smidgen of sympathy with the Royal Navy. It was one of the first films I was allowed to go and see at the cinema itself as a teen. The film is almost faultless in terms of acting, directing, cinematography, and authentic detail. It even made me go and read one or two of the books by Patrick O’Brian. How Peter Weir never won an Oscar for directing I shall never know.

Vaughan Williams’s Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis is a 15-minute (or so) work for double string orchestra and string quartet, based on a melody by the 16th century composer Thomas Tallis. The quartet traditionally sits away from the orchestra in performance, to create an atmospheric antiphonal (alternating voices) effect. It is often known simply as the ‘Tallis Fantasia’. The tune is from a setting of Psalm 2 that Tallis wrote in 1567. It originally sets the words ‘Why fumeth in sight: The Gentils spite, In fury raging stout? Why taketh in hond: the people fond, Vayne things to bring about?’ It was in 1910 at a festival that Vaughan Williams himself conducted the London Symphony Orchestra in the first performance, which was followed in the same concert by Elgar conducting his own The Dream of Gerontius. Vaughan Williams, in his late 30s, was already establishing himself as a major name, but the Tallis Fantasia raised his profile even higher, not least because the concept of harking back to the 16th century was a comparatively new one.

The piece by Vaughn Williams is what has stayed with me throughout the years. In a nod to Proust, I chiefly identify the piece with reflections of my time on the battlefields of Helmand during my time in Afghanistan and especially seeing wounded friends and comrades long after we got back home from war.

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Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana from: Excalibur (1981)

I was already familiar with bits and pieces from Wagner’s operas - played loudly in our home by my parents - but I must admit this classic piece by Carl Orff I first heard watching John Boorman’s magical and majestical film about King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table. I know this piece has been used endlessly in other films and even gained fame as a men’s aftershave advertisement (so my father says) but I first heard it watching this film.

John Boorman’s 1981 fantastical retelling of Thomas Mallory’s Le Morte d’Arthur is, to quote Nicol Williamson’s Merlin in the film, “A dream to some. A nightmare to others!” It can sometimes come across as an episodic and hammy sword and sorcery tale, but I saw it as clever and satisfying retelling of an evergreen myth. I had read read Mallory’s epic books and so my expectations were unduly high. For the most part they were met and then some. Boorman took an abstract approach that shows us Arthur’s (unnamed) Kingdom, a place out of time, in several stages of transition; from dark to golden age, via loss of innocence, and painfully bloody rebirth. Excalibur arose out of the ashes of Boorman’s earlier attempt to bring J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings to the screen (ironically after trying to get a filmic retelling of the Merlin myth off the ground).

Excalibur is a cautionary tale. The characters are all struggling to find their place in the world, to maintain harmony with nature. Merlin says poignantly of Excalibur to Arthur, “It was forged when the world was young, and bird and beast and flower were one with man, and death was but a dream.” The film is a longing for a golden age, and the struggle to balance the warring natures of honour and goodness with human greed and jealousy. Surely the most rousing image is when Percival has returned the Grail to Arthur who, rejuvenated, also recovers Excalibur from Guinevere (now a nun, to atone for her adultery with Lancelot). She has kept it safe, knowing her once and future king would one day seek its power. Merlin is unfrozen by Arthur, and even Lancelot, a raggedy wild man driven into exile by his own shame, heeds his true king’s call. Arthur rides out with his knights and these fellow warriors through a re-blossoming countryside to do battle with Mordred for the soul of the land, to Carl Orff’s stirring music.

The name of Orff’s piece has Latin roots. 'Carmina' means 'songs', while 'Burana' is the Latinised form of Beuren, the name of the Benedictine monastery of Benediktbeuren in Bavaria. So, Carmina Burana translates as Songs Of Beuren, and refers to a collection of early 13th-century songs and poems that was discovered in Beuren in 1803 - although it has since been established that the collection originated from Seckau Abbey, Austria - and is now housed in the Bavarian State Library. The songs (over 1000 of them) were written in a mix of Latin, German and medieval French by the Goliards, a band of poet-musicians comprising scholars and clerical students, who celebrated with earthy humour the joys of the tavern, nature, love and lust. Although Orff set the original texts, he chose not to use the primitive musical notation that accompanied some of the songs. The collection was first published in Germany in 1847, but it wasn’t until 1934 that Orff came across the texts; a selection had been translated into English and formed part of a publication called Wine, Women And Song. With the help of Michael Hofmann, a law student and Latin scholar, Orff chose 24 songs and set them to music in what he termed a “scenic cantata”.

It was in this form that it was first heard on June 8, 1937, in Frankfurt, under its full title Carmina Burana: Cantiones Profanae Cantoribus Et Choris Cantandae Comitantibus Instrumentis Atque Imaginibus Magicis (Songs Of Beuren: Secular Songs For Singers And Choruses To Be Sung Together With Instruments And Magic Images) Quite a mouthful! After the triumphant premiere of Carmina Burana, Orff, then 41, wrote to his publishers: “Everything I have written to date, and which you have, unfortunately, published, can be destroyed. With Carmina Burana my collected works begin.” However, nothing Orff subsequently wrote ever came close to approaching the popularity of Carmina Burana. Oh dear.

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Richard Wagner’s Siegfried’s Funeral March (from the opera Götterdämmerung) from: Excalibur (1981)

The film almost plays like a screen Opera - it is a heightened reality, a world anew. One where sex, jealousy and pride threaten to undo the mystical balance and ties between the King and the land. A powerful aid to that feeling is the superb score which utilises music such as Siegfried’s Funeral March by Wagner, and O Fortuna, a medieval poem set to music by Carl Orff. Boorman was determined to squeeze as much of the legend into his film’s running time as possible, chopping and condensing characters, and switching acts around. He created a three-act saga - the dark ages and the birth of Arthur, a period of brutality and superstition; the rise of Camelot and its age of reason, law, and dawning of Christianity; and the final descent into chaos and wasteland, where a frail Arthur commands the Round Table knights to seek out the Grail. Arising out of this a final battle commences for the soul of the land and the people, a sense of renewal with a promise of a new age to come. Boorman called it the “past, present and future of humanity.”

Richard Wagner composed his opera Götterdämmerung between 1869 and 1874. It is the last of the four operas that make up Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen cycle, a project that had taken him over 25 years to complete. The opera is much renowned for its orchestral sequences, and these are often performed as concert extracts. Siegfried's Funeral March is taken from Act Three after Siegfried has been murdered by Hagen. Following his murder at the hands of Hagen, the death knell of “Siegfried’s Funeral March” opens with funereal timpani as Siegfried’s body is placed on his shield and carried off by the vassals. The music vacillates from deep mourning and rage-filled outbursts to the majesty of the “Hero” motif, brought out in bold relief at the centre of the movement.The whole opera is made up of musical motives from previous operas that tell of Siegfried's background, including the Volsung theme, Siegmund and Sieglinde's theme, the Sword, Brünnhilde's love theme and the curse of the Ring.

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Richard Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries (Die Walküre) from: Apocalypse Now (1979)

Francis Ford Coppola's Vietnam War phantasmagoria is an epic fresco oozing with madness. It is a madness that manages to escape from the frame and infect the director and his team, turning the film into a legend. It is impossible not to talk about this film without mentioning the Dantesque shooting of the film. A typhoon that destroyed the sets, a heart attack that nearly killed Martin Sheen, a Brando who was more obese and obtuse than ever, who arrived on the set without knowing his lines, and a director at the end of his rope physically and psychologically, on the verge of divorce and suicide. Instead of taking four months to complete, the shoot lasted 15 months. The analogy with the hell of Vietnam is obvious.

The film itself is about Benjamin Willard, a special forces captain, who is given a highly perilous mission: to find and assassinate Colonel Kurtz, a renegade who has set up his headquarters on the Cambodian border. To accomplish his mission, Willard must travel up a river in a small patrol boat with a handful of men. We follow Willard sinking into the madness and insanity of this war, personified by the character of Colonel Kurtz, an obese Buddhist, a true godfather of the Vietnamese jungle. Apocalypse Now is in fact a mirror for the spectator, it plays on our feelings about the Vietnamese conflict, and this is what sets it apart from other great war films. It is a physical and very real journey through Vietnam, but also an inner journey for its hero, Willard, a drug addict and alcoholic, which will allow Coppola to make his denunciation of the war. After watching this movie over several years I’ve come to regard Coppola’s movie as more than just a war movie but also an hallucinatory trip, as anxiety provoking as possible, about the human soul lost inside itself.

For a movie that had two of my greatest loves - combat helicopters and Wagner - the film surprisingly didn’t inform my future career path as a combat pilot for the British Army. I was too young as a teen and caught up with other feminine things girls of my age did. But watching it retrospectively I’m sure it had some unconscious influence on me. I noticed things more with each viewing such as before Jim Morrison's paradoxical and delightful prologue, it is the helicopter blades that open Apocalypse Now. The jerky noise that spatialises this mortifying horizon is a motif that will be the melodic line of the entire film. In crosshatching, it truncates reality and allows the initial confusion of a man in reverse who opens his eyes on an uncertain world. The fan in the hotel room is not the air-conditioned shelter of war. Everything, from then on, is under the sign of duality.

Then of course we have the euphoric scene but no less horrifying than the helicopter attack by Kilgore and his men to lay waste to a village so that they could surf. And all done to the terrifying bombast of Wagner’s Ride of Valkyries. It’s a demented scene but also so visually lyrical. Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries is sadistically perfect. It’s a perfect mythical metaphor of the valkyries who majestically flew in the sky and decided who died in battle from above. Of course the symbolism of Wagner - wrongly tarred with its fascist connotations - as a place holder for Western imperialism over the Vietnamese is not lost on the viewer. It’s a clever piece of juxtaposition.

Armies have of course used music in warfare for millennia. The deployment of musicians - from trumpeters to drummers - in battle was useful in instilling regimentation and rhythmic purpose for soldiers; and in days before radio, in carrying specific orders across the battlefield. As well as unifying an army - it could potentially disorient the enemy, or as Kilgore eruditely elaborates: ‘We use Wagner, it puts the shits up the slopes. My boys love it!’. So what we are seeing is an age old military tactic being given a modern twist. This has already been established by the notion of an air cavalry, trading their horses for helicopters - which gets further embodied by Kilgore’s wearing of a cowboy hat, common to the Western film genre. The symbolism of linking old and new - ancient and modern, history and the present - occurs throughout Apocalypse Now, as it does in the original novella Heart of Darkness. It indicates an uncomfortable continuum, a never ending foreboding cycle. That beneath the fragile veneer of civilisation, humanity is endlessly repeating barbarism - a cycle foreshadowed by helicopter/fan blades at the start of the film which also loops back to become the end of the film - itself a cycle that won’t end.

When I flew combat helicopters over in Afghanistan we were banned from playing music in our cockpit. It’s simply not practical because you need to be aware of all your aural cues of what the hell is going on around you as every mission is task intensive. You’re focused on a mission where the shit can hit the fan such as coming under rocket attack at any second especially if you’re on a night mission. In theory you could, as anyone with some audio equipment and electronics knowledge could wire in a 3.5mm headphone jack and hook up your music into your own helmet. I knew some pilots who broke the ban and did this. They would get their clever avionic ground staff technician crew to put in a some sort of patch cord that could plug through to their helmet ICS - in return you get them a case of beer. I’m not telling where we got the beer from.

Other honourable mentions:

Second movement of Schumann's Piano Quintet from: Fanny and Alexander (1982)

Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor "Il dolce suono" from: The 5th Element (1997)

Rodrigo's Concierto de Aranjuez from: Brassed Off (1996)

Maurice Ravel’s Trio en la mineur pour piano, violon et violoncelle, Sonata for Violin and Cello, Violin Sonata #2 in G, and Berceuse Sur le Nom De Gabriel Fauré from: Un Coeur en Hiver/A Heart in Winter (1992)

Mozart’s Divertimento in D major, K. 136 from: Out of Africa (1985)

Carl Orff - Schulwerk Volume 1: Musica Poëtica - Gassenhauer from Badlands (1973)

Puccini’s O mio babbino caro (aria from the opera Gianni Schicchi) from: A Room with a View (1985)

Verdi’s La forza del destino (the Force of Destiny) overture from: Jean de Florette (1986)

Mozart’s Letter Duet (from The Marriage of Figaro) from : The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

Thanks for your question

#ask #question #music #film #soundtrack #movie #cinema #film soundtrack #composer #classical music #arts #culture #personal

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heavenboy09 · 5 months

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Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You

The Funny Blonde 👱‍♂️ Haired Comedic Actor Of Movies 🎥 Of The 90's

Born On November 18th, 1968

Wilson was born in Dallas, the middle child of three sons of photographer Laura Cunningham Wilson (born 1939) and Robert Andrew Wilson (1941–2017), an advertising executive and operator of a public television station. His brothers Andrew and Luke are also actors. Wilson's parents are of Irish descent. After getting expelled for cheating in geometry, he attended New Mexico Military Institute. He later attended the University of Texas at Austin, where he pursued a Bachelor of Arts degree in English, but did not graduate. While in college, he met and was roommates with director and frequent collaborator Wes Anderson.

He is an American actor. He has had a long association with filmmaker Wes Anderson with whom he shared writing and acting credits for Bottle Rocket (1996), Rushmore (1998), and The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), the last of which earned him a nomination for the Academy Award and BAFTA Award for Best Screenplay. He has also appeared in Anderson's The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004), The Darjeeling Limited (2007), Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009), The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), and The French Dispatch (2021). Wilson also starred in the Woody Allen romantic comedy Midnight in Paris (2011) as unsatisfied screenwriter Gil Pender, a role which earned him a Golden Globe Award nomination. In 2014 he appeared in Paul Thomas Anderson's Inherent Vice, and Peter Bogdanovich's She's Funny That Way.

Wilson is also known for his career as a comedic actor and member of the Frat Pack, which included starring roles in such comedies as Shanghai Noon (2000), Zoolander (2001), Starsky & Hutch (2004), Wedding Crashers (2005), You, Me and Dupree (2006), How Do You Know (2010), The Big Year (2011), and The Internship (2013). He is also known for the family films Marley and Me (2008), and the Night at the Museum film series (2006–2014). He voices Lightning McQueen in the Cars film series (2006–present), the title character in Marmaduke (2010) and Reggie in Free Birds (2013). He stars as Mobius M. Mobius in the Marvel Cinematic Universe series Loki (2021–present) streaming on Disney+.

Please Wish This Iconic Funny Blond 👱‍♂️ Haired Actor Of The 90's Cinema 🎥,

A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

YOU KNOW HIM

YOU LOVE HIM & YOU CANT RESIST HIS HUMOROUS ACTING

THE 1 & ONLY

MR. OWEN CUNNINGHAM WILSON 👱‍♂️

HAPPY 55TH BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 TO YOU MR. WILSON & HERE'S TO MANY MORE YEARS TO COME

#OwenWilson

#Owen Wilson #Spotify

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madaboutmathers · 2 years

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Change in the Air

Request : Y/N and Marshall being colleagues or friends that are very flirtatious with each other until at some point things get sexual. @i-am-one-of-those-crazy-girls.

NSFW. Smut content.

A/N ~ First time writing for Eminem so I hope it’s okay for you x

It was coming up to two years since you had started working with Marshall after moving into town from a disastrous relationship and you hadn’t touched another since. He needed help with the social media and advertising aspect because he was such an old man. It had shocked you how easily you became friends with him; even to the point of none stop flirting with him.

Not that anything came of it and at the start; you hadn’t wanted anything. But if you were honest with yourself; that had changed so long ago.

Thankfully, it seemed Marshall hadn’t noticed any change and today was no different. You had taken the first steps on a dating site; something your friend had whispered into your ear. You had been nervous at the start and even more so when you had accepted to meet someone.

“Hey, Y/N.” Paul greeted you as you moved through the studio; the Detroit summer was surprisingly warm and allowed you to wear some summer dress that had been forgotten about in the back of the wardrobe. “Morning.” You waved back; holding your folders and a cup of coffee to help you with the early start. It wasn’t long before you found the room he was in with a few people you recognized and some you didn’t. “Morning peaches.” Marshall looked up; his body always sensed when you were in the room.

The nickname had you blushing for a moment as you ducked your head and moved into the room. It had come from your scent that he had found delicious on your first day; not that he had told you the reason so early on. He kept you guessing. “Morning.” You moved to sit on the chair beside him; curling up with a soft yawn escaping you. “Late night?” He winked teasingly whilst leaning back into his own seat. “No..not like that anyway.” You babbled and shook your head with a soft laugh escaping you. You missed the looks being passed in the room with the new people being completely confused. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” You hummed and moved to stand; grabbing your bag to place around your shoulder.

You had only just closed the door behind you when you heard your name being talked about. And you were too curious for your own good not to walk away. “Yo, what the fuck was that?” “What?” You heard Marshall respond. “She’s a friend. Don’t read too much into it.” He continued. You hated to admit how the words affected you and it was at that moment you decided to go ahead with the date.

Time seemed to move by more quickly than you would have liked as you became more and more concerned with the meeting with Marshall. For the first time; you weren’t looking forward to spending more time with him. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch onto the change in your attitude as you scolded yourself for thinking it could be anything more than just friends.

“Hey Y/N.” His voice nearly had you jumping after you lost yourself in those thoughts. Marshall raised an eyebrow with a smirk tugging on his lips. He shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did, he thought to himself whilst stepping closer. “Oh, I didn’t realise it was that time.” You babbled; softly blushing as you moved to stand and clear your desk of the papers.

“Distracted?” He hummed as he looked down; you had always thought the size difference was delicious. “Hmm, by you? Maybe.” You teased with a wink; the flirtatious nature of you both too easy to fall back into. Marshall only smirked as his eyes moved over your body whilst you moved to tie your hair up.

“Going anywhere special?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Hmm?” You looked up at him in confusion before realising the change of clothes and the more makeup on your face now. “Oh, I have a date later. That's why I’m leaving early.” The words left your mouth without any real fight as you distracted yourself with the documents in front of you.

The silence was hard to escape from as your heart softly skipped a beat at those eyes moving over you. “I didn’t know you were dating.” Marshall finally said. “Oh, no, just recently..this stupid dating site.” You began to babble; blushing ever so sweetly as you finally locked eyes with him. “Who put that idea in your pretty little head?” He whispered; the space between you both only became smaller as he gently placed a lock of your hair around your ear. “Nobody..” You hated how breathless you were as you moved to step away; only to be stopped by his hold on your hip.

“What if I said I didn’t want you to go?” He didn’t know where this confidence was coming from but the blush returning to your face made it all worth it. “What do you mean, I thought we were just friends?” The words from only a couple of hours ago moved through your mind; taunting you. “I thought so too.” Marshall whispered as his hand moved to gently cup your face; his thumb stroking your soft cheek. Your eyes fluttered if only for a moment as you tried to stay focused, which was harder than you’d think with him so close.

“So where does that leave us?” You nibbled on your plump, bottom lip whilst you tried to clear your mind. “Wherever you want.” Marshall whispered his reply as his thumb moved over your bottom lip before he leaned in. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation as you leaned in to meet him; your soft lips moving against his. Your hands moved onto his head as you deepened the kiss. “I guess that answers my question.” He whispered into your ear as his hands moved down your sides. His next actions were fast but still gentle; something you hadn’t expected from him for some reason as he placed you on the desk. A soft gasp escaped you as his only response was to smirk and move his hands up and down your inner thighs.

“Is this what you want?” Marshall asked as he slowly moved your dress to bunch around your waist. “Yes…” Goosebumps spread across your soft skin as he moved to cup your now soaked, black thong. “Dressing up for him?” He teasingly whispered into your ear as he moved to hotly mouth at your neck.

You shook your head whilst trying to keep the sounds of pleasure from escaping you. You were far too sensitive for your own good after such a long period without a lover. His thumb began to circle your clit as he moved to hold the back of your neck; bringing you in for another soft, sensual kiss that had you finally moaning. He took advantage of your opening mouth to move his tongue to yours. “Fuck.” You whispered as his fingers finally touched where you needed it; two of them slipped inside as his thumb continued to stroke your clit. His blues never left yours as your head fell back against the desk.

“Pretty girl.” He hummed and his movements began to quicken. Your wetness sounded out around the office as his palm hit your clit again and again. “Marshall..” You softly moaned out as your stomach began to tighten. “Yeah?” He smirked and brushed your noses together as he added a third finger for a delicious stretch. “Don’t tease.” You nearly pouted as he moved to tug your dress further down; your breasts bouncing out freely. “Oh, you’ve not seen anything yet.” Marshall whispered and captured your lips once more as your climax pushed you over the edge and had you squirting around his fingers.

Not that he stopped when you did as your hand instantly moved onto his; trying to hide from the intense pleasure. “Hmm, another time.” Marshall promised as he pinched your clit that nearly had you crying out. You watch as he moves his soaked fingers into his mouth to suck on; your own eyes darkening in desire as you move to stand. Your legs shaking for a moment as you moved to your knees. You fought against the nerves making their way through your body as you tugged on his pants. You’d heard the rumours and his own prideful comments in his music to not be so shocked when his large cock moved out. His hands moved into your hair; creating a makeshift ponytail as you leaned closer.

“You know, I’ve pictured this since we first met.” Marshall admitted as he watched you lick up and down his length before taking in his head. You moaned around him, sending vibrations as you looked up under your lashes. You were nearly the picture of innocence. “Sometimes I just wanted to take you from behind over your desk.” He continued to speak as you took in what you could and your hands moved over what you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop the arousal soaking your inner thighs as your mind flashed with those images. You looked back up to see the smirk on Marshalls’ face as he watched you and moved your head to take him deeper. “I’ll keep that in mind then.” He winked as a soft groan escaped him.

Your own movements began to quicken now as you took him further down; sucking and hollowing your cheeks before teasing his head. Your hands moved around his back as you took him all in. Your eyes flashed up at him as he used you for his pleasure. It wasn’t long before he was cumming and all you could do was take it; and enjoy it.

You wondered for a moment if this was a one time deal - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

#eminem x reader #marshall mathers #request #marshall mathers x reader

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mariacallous · 10 months

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To understand how the American media landscape fractured, one must first understand the brands that forged it. According to Faris Yakob, cofounder of creative consultancy Genius Steals and author of Paid Attention, advertisers created the neutral “view from nowhere” voice in media. In the 19th and 20th centuries, national brands looking to grow customers wouldn’t partner with biased publications. But everything changed when ad tech arrived.

“People started tagging their digital media buys so it wouldn’t appear next to topics like homosexuality, or Covid, to avoid getting into clusters,” Yakob says. “But that means that the news isn’t being funded. If you can pick and choose what topics to fund in news, you can distort what is being reported on, to some degree.”

That distortion, like the US Federal Communications Commission’s abolition of the fairness doctrine in 1987, is part of how America got into this mess. Similar to content recommendation algorithms, audience profiles in digital marketing created micro-targeted ads. Those ads are more valuable on multiple screens. Media executive Euan McLeod recalls growing up when “there was no choice” but to watch what his parents were watching. Now each person in a household might be watching something wildly different, and the shared experience has dissolved. Isolated artists are creating for isolated audiences. Is it any wonder that generative AI seems poised to tailor entertainment to audiences of one?

In this world, we can all be George Lucas, using technology to create special editions. Rick gets on the plane with Ilsa. Jack fits on the door with Rose. Ben Solo lives. As Marvel Comics writer Anthony Oliveira says, Andy Warhol was fascinated by the fact that people everywhere drank the same Coke. But the allure of AI content generation, he says, is the same as the Coca-Cola Freestyle: filling your own cup with someone else’s flavors.

But when everyone can just request the narrative path they want, opportunities to hear other people’s stories greatly diminish. “That is a very sad world to live in, because how else are we gonna be conveying our deepest hopes and wishes, what we think should be a vision of the world we want to live in, what we should worry about?" Yang says. "This is what story and art is for.”

Using AI to sanitize content in regions where certain subjects are banned is already possible, especially if actors yield likeness rights. Generative AI means that studios could edit or change the content of some films without consulting the people who signed a contract based on a script, and the only thing stopping them is the possibility of a defamation suit. It sounds unlikely, until you remember that multiple versions of Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse appeared in cinemas.

And animation is an apt comparison: Most changes to entertainment production have made film and TV more like animation or video game development, not less. With current technology, actors can be little more than action figures smashing together, as weightless as they are sexless. With AI, the actors need never leave the trailer. Or exist.

“[Studios will] say it’s for the insurance,” says production designer Blass, suggesting a “Paul Walker scenario” in which a deceased actor’s performance needs generating, because that performance is one of the terms of the film’s business insurance. But in reality, these likenesses could be used to do things that actors would rather not—whether it’s a dangerous stunt or a sex scene.

Generative AI could also be used to edit films in real time, responsive to data-brokered preferences, with algorithms running A/B tests on how much nudity you want based on the customer profile you most closely match.

If this sounds familiar, that’s because it is: In the 1990s, Blockbuster Video refused to stock films like Natural Born Killers and The Last Temptation of Christ. But that tradition goes back even further. Otherwise known as the Hays Code, the Production Code was an industry standard of self-censorship guidelines for major US studios from 1930 to 1968, when it was replaced by the movie ratings system. The Code influenced everything from the Comics Code to parental advisory warnings to video game ratings. It’s why titles from major studios during that period don’t depict graphic violence. It’s also why they lack out-and-proud queer and interracial relationships. But today, a revived Production Code might have very different guidelines. For example, the Pentagon recently announced it would no longer offer technical support to filmmakers who censor their films for the Chinese market.

When I ask McLeod if he thinks America will ever re-adopt the Production Code, he’s unequivocal: “Absolutely. Everything goes in cycles.”

Hollywood’s Future Belongs to People—Not Machines

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psychomachia-collab · 11 months

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ANIMATORS NEEDED

Hello!

Though you may have heard, since we've been advertising it constantly for the past while, we are working on an original cartoon project called Psychomachia!

A few things you need to know: first of all, this project is UNPAID. While we understand this can make it seem unappealing to someone more experienced, we hope that this can be an opportunity to learn and grow, and especially to have fun!

So far, we have a writer, a storyboard artist, two colorists, and six voice actors for the main cast! Unfortunately, animating is a process with a lot of moving parts (literally), so we're going to need some more people for that.

Before we get into that, we want to show you a bit of what we've been working on, so you can get a feel for the project!

Here's a bit of the storyboard, done by the wonderful @Aspen67!

Very cool, right? :D

So, if you clicked "keep reading," we can assume that means your interest is piqued. Good!

Now, let me tell you a little about what the story is about.

Our story follows Israel; A Nephalem born of an angel and a demon, a.k.a., his parents: Paul and Persephone.

In the afterlife, there are multiple jobs to chose from, but the toughest and most fulfilling is the role of an Id or Superego (working titles). Their job is to guide the person they're assigned to to a path of righteousness...

Or a path of deviance...

Being a Nephalem, Israel has a tough time getting a job--- and when he finally does, he's assigned to a very not good little girl named Rebecca.

Sound fun?

If you made it this far, we can assume you're at least somewhat interested, right?

While we're also looking for people to work on music and sound design, our main focus right now is animation. There are a few specific roles that need filling that we'd like to focus on for now.

For all

It would be good if you have:

experience with digital drawing (it doesn’t have to be much – you hold a pen in your hand a few times – you’re good!)

a program that that allows you to save images in png. format

discord for communication

AND a passion for animation combined with good vibes only :D

And for specific roles...

LINEARTIST

Your part in the project:

You'll receive an animatic with keyframes and rough in-betweens. Your job will be to make the lineart of all moving parts (mostly people).

It would be good if you have:

- smooth, consistent lines

- the ability to maintain a consistent art style between frames

- and the ability to imitate other styles (you don't have to be a copy machine!)

BACKGROUND ARTIST

Your part in the project:

You’ll get sketches of a BG and your job will be to turn them into a rendered BG art piece, that can by used directly in the final animation.

It would be good if you have:

a basic understanding of perspective, light and shadow and colors

different parts of BG on separate layers/images saved (so we can move them in post if needed ^^)

COLORIST (SHADING)

Your part in the project:

You’ll get colored drawings with a BG and your job will be to set characters in the scene by placing shadows and reflections in the right places.

It would be good if you have:

a basic understanding of shadows and lights

the ability to feel the mood of each shot and transfer it into the animation

REVISIONIST

Your part in the project:

You’ll be shown the animatic and then the final animation; and what we want you to do is to look for mistakes – in consistency between the frames, in perspective, and other things, etc – and then suggest options on how to fix them.

It would be good if you have:

some experience in animation and a basic understanding of every part of it (so you know how it basically works)

the ability to make clear notes about mistakes you’ve found

enough confidence to share your opinion on things!

Wowza!

Of course, there can be more than one person for each role, one person dabbling in multiple roles, etc. We need people and will fit them where we can, if you choose to join.

If you ARE interested, you can contact us at any one of these places:

[email protected]

Casting Call Club

Or Tumblr DMs!

We hope to see you soon! :)

#psychomachia #cartoon #cartoon project #animation #2d animation #animators needed #casting call #storyboard #animatic #Lineartist #revisionist #background artist #colorist #help wanted #unpaid collaboration #original project

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nethervoice · 2 years

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IS GOD THE ULTIMATE CASTING DIRECTOR?

If you don’t want to ruffle any feathers, there are three topics you are not supposed to talk about: politics, money, and religion. Why? Because people tend to have strong beliefs around these topics, and you don’t want to mess with these beliefs. But you know me. I can’t keep my big mouth shut, so you have heard me discuss rates and money on this blog. I usually preface those blog posts with a…

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#God as casting director #Nethervoice #Paul Strikwerda #religion and self-promotion #self-promotion #three topics you should never talk about #use of religion in advertising #voice-over #voice-over blog #voiceover

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lolipop-eevee · 11 months

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Pokemon Lumiose Academy

Chapter 4

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

(Your pov)

Excuse me, what?! I was going to be with Ash?! The guy Misty and Serena had been crushing on since second grade? I hope they'd be ok with this.

I went over to the empty desk beside Ash. He smiled at me and I blushed. What? No! Stupid self! Stop thinking like that!

"Ok, the rest of class will be a study time to work on your project. You can start" our teacher sat back down behind the desk and all the partners started talking.

"Ash turned in his chair to face me "So what pokemon do you want to do it on?" he asked.

"What?"

"Our project"

"Oh, right. Well how about...... um........ I don't know, you pick" I said.

He thought for a bit "How about Reshiram" he suggested.

"Sure, sounds good" I said.

We studied for the rest of class until the professor stood up.

"Ok class, that's it for today. From now on you will be sitting in the seat beside your partner so you can move your stuff over to your current desk. Remember you have to have your assignments done in two weeks, class dismissed"

Everyone started leaving and going back to they're desks to grab they're things.

"So Y/n, do you want to meet in my dorm tonight to study? If we do it every other night we should probably get a good grade" Ash said.

"I'm busy tonight, but how about tomorrow" I suggested.

"Sounds good" he said before getting up and leaving.

"Someone's got a boyfriend!" said a voice behind me making me jump and turn around.

"Dawn! You can't sneak up on me like that!" I said a little annoyed.

"Sorry" She giggled "Couldn't resist. You're finally getting close to a boy, and he was pretty cute" she waggled her eyebrows at me.

I sighed. "That was Ash, you know, the boy Serena and Misty like. If I started going out with him they'd kill me"

"Aww, too bad, I thought I was finally getting somewhere" Dawn pouted.

"What about you? How's Paul?" I asked.

"He's a bit moody, but I think he's nice" she smiled.

Then Serena and Misty came up to us, they were yelling at each other.

"I am NOT doing a project on Diance, I told you I want to do Suicune!" Misty was saying.

"Suicune is boring, we'd get a much better grade if we did Diance" Serena argued.

Me and Dawn sighed, this was not going to end well. I pulled out my phone and texted May asking her if she still wanted to come to my dorm tonight, she said she'd be there and asked if she could bring any friends, I said she could and she sent me a thumbs up. I smiled and put my phone in my pocket.

We were in my dorm when Serena pulled me to the side.

"What is it?" I said.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"You just did" I pointed out "But sure, ask away"

"I was wondering if you could convince Ash to go out with me" Serena said.

That was not what I was excepting. I was so confused I had completely forgot to answer.

Serena must have sensed my confusion because she kept talking "You know, since you're doing a project with him, I thought you could maybe put in a good word for me every now and then, but be subtle about it" Serena elaborated.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not the smoothest person. If I tried that it would probably sound like an advertisement or something" I confessed.

"Could you at least try?" Serena practically begged.

"What about Misty?" I asked.

"What about her?" Serena huffed.

"Shouldn't I help her to?"

"Who cares about Misty"

"I care, and if I help you then I'm going to help her to!"

"Ugh, fine, whatever" Serena sighed.

"Great. Now in order for this to work, you're going to have to talk to him to, I can't just say good things about you and then he'll magically go out with you, that's not how it works. You have to do a little bit to" I said.

"I'll try" Serena promised.

"Great, then I'll try my best!" I said.

"Thank you so much! You're the best friend ever!" Serena exclaimed.

Just then there was a knock on the door.

"Come in" Dawn said.

May slowly creaked open the door and peeked inside, she smiled when she saw me "Y/n, so this is the right dorm" she said opening the door all the way.

"Yep, you're in the right place" I said "Glad you came!"

"Thanks for inviting me! Oh, these are my friends Lillie and Iris" said May opening the door a little wider revealing her two friends. "Can we come in?"

"Of course!" I nodded.

Misty came over to me after they were in my dorm. "I don't want to be rude, but who are they?" she asked.

"That's May and her friends, I met May at lunch and we decided to get to know each other a bit better" I explained.

Misty nodded, but she didn't leave.

"Is May not the reason you came over?" I asked.

"I saw you talking with Serena earlier, what was that about?" she sounded a bit offended.

"Oh, that, I was promising to help her with Ash, since we have a project together, you know?" I said. "Don't worry, I said I'd help you to if you want it, but I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Misty. You're going to have to talk to him yourself, I can't do all the work on my own"

"Ok, I will talk to him. Thanks for the help Y/n" she said before walking off.

We spent the rest of the night getting to know May and her friends better. Iris and Lillie were really nice, but they mostly talked about the dance with the other girls, leaving me and May to entertain ourselves.

"See what I mean about pushy friends?" May asked playing with her torchic.

"Yeah, who knew all of them were so obsessed with the dance" I said cuddling Pikachu.

May nodded "Sometimes it feels like we're the only girls in the whole school who aren't completely crazy over it"

"I know, it makes you feel very.... Oh, I don't know......" I trailed off.

"Sane?" May offered and we laughed.

"That's one way to put it" I said.

"So what were yo talking about with, um, what was her name? The red haired girl?" May snapped her fingers trying to remember.

"Misty?"

"Yeah, that's the one! What were you talking about with her earlier?"

"Oh, it was nothing, really. Don't worry about it" I said. Me and May were friends, but some things I just didn't feel confident sharing. May didn't push.

"Um, random question, are you any good at battling?" I asked.

"I'm ok" May shrugged "I never got that into it or anything like some of the other people here. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious"

"Doesn't it suck that we have to do a project on the first week of school?" May said.

"Yeah, it really does. I mean, they barley gave us any time to settle in and then suddenly: BOOM! Random surprise project!" I banged my hand on the floor with the 'boom' for affect.

"No consideration for us students at all" May huffed.

"Hey, are you guys talking about the school project that prof J gave us?" Iris asked. We nodded.

"Doesn't it suck that we didn't get to choose our partners? I'm stuck working with a complete stranger for the next couple weeks" Lillie complained.

"Yeah, me to" said Dawn.

"Really? What's they're name?" Lillie asked.

"Paul"

"Hey, we know a Paul don't we?" Lillie asked Iris.

Iris nodded "Yup. Is he moody all the time and has purple hair?"

"Yeah, that's him"

"Yeah, we know him" May said.

"Cool, maybe I'm not with a total compete stranger after all!" said Dawn, she sounded really excited.

"Unlike me. Unless any of you know somebody named Hau?" we shook our heads.

"Great." Lillie sighed.

"Bye May, Lillie, Iris, see you tomorrow!" I waved goodbye to them as they walked down the hallway. "We should probably get to bed now, what time is it?"

Dawn checked her phone "Holy crap, 11 o' clock?!" she exclaimed.

"What's the problem?" Serena asked.

"It's so late!" Dawn said.

"No it's not, we go to bed at 1" said Misty.

"1?! How do you get enough sleep?!" Dawn said disbelievingly.

They shrugged.

"Hey, you two are finally getting along!" I said happily.

At this they both huffed and turned away from each other, me and Dawn laughed so hard we fell on my bed.

We said goodbye to our friends and got into our PJ's brushed our teeth etc.

"So Y/n, want to have May and her friends over again tomorrow?" Dawn asked.

"Sorry, I already promised Ash I would work on our project with him" I apologized.

"We just got the project today, you don't have to study yet" Dawn brushed it off.

"Well some people want to get good grades" I grumbled.

"I know, but don't you think it's overkill to study the day after you get the project?" Dawn said.

"He wanted to study today" I informed her.

"What?! On the day you got the project?! That's insane! Unless...." Dawn said getting that sneaky look on her face.

"What?" I asked.

"He just wants to spend time with you~" she teased.

"Dawn! how many time do I have to tell you Ash is off limits?!" I exclaimed.

"I know, but that doesn't mean he can't have a crush on you~" Dawn said.

"Dawn!! Is it really so hard to come to terms with the fact that somebody just wants a good grade?" I sighed.

"I don't know, he was awfully close to you in class today~" Dawn continued.

"I give up, you are truly hopeless" I surrendered, throwing my hands in the air.

"Ha ha! Yes! I win!" Dawn danced around our dorm.

"This doesn't mean I agree with you, I just want to get some sleep at some point tonight" I told her.

"So that you can see—"

"Don't" I said before she could finish.

She sighed.

The craziest part about the whole thing, was that I found when I got into bed, Dawn might for one be just a tiny bit right.

#pokemon #pokemon x reader #Ash Ketchum #ash ketchum x reader #Ash Pokemon #dawn pokemon #serena pokemon #misty pokemon #reader insert #high school #high school au #romance #fluff #getting together #may pokemon #pokemon lumiose academy #chapter 4

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