#tiniest little thing youve ever seen

[0vergrowngraveyard]

i feel like it was only a matter of time before i did something with de-aged tails

[oswald-privileges]

Loudmouth

(I wrote some statement fic. It’s been a heck of a while since I wrote anything for fandom.)

Statement of Ulla Ness, regarding, um... a peculiar transformation. Original statement given March 14th, 1999. Audio recording by Christopher Peake, in an… unprofessional capacity. Statement begins.

I still don’t see why I had to come to you. I know you have an email address, so wouldn’t it have been easier to just scan the form and send it to me? Hell, I would have taken a physical copy sent to me in the post. It would have been slower, but it would have meant I could have stayed at home. But no. I asked, and you just gave me a lot of waffle about how you have ‘strict acquisition policies’, alongside directions that had been copied from google maps. Which I know, because I checked.

It’s not that I’m lazy, you understand, far from it. I used to have what I regarded as quite the active social life. But recently that’s become impossible for me to maintain, for a number of reasons. Which are also the reasons that I’ve come to talk to you.

I used to be quite a religious person. Still am, I suppose. I’m not entirely sure. I was a member of the congregation of Saint Mary’s, a small anglican church in a small, anglican village up in Lincolnshire. Not everybody there was particularly devout, but it wasn’t one of those places where it especially mattered. It was more about the sense of community we had. Catching up with each other after communion on Thursdays, singing in the choir, arranging cake sales or coffee mornings as fundraisers for whatever bit of the building had fallen off now. I’ve been attending since I was little, and more or less grew up with the congregation.

I miss it quite badly, if I’m being honest. I’ve always been the sort to need other people, but I didn’t realise quite how much losing them would affect me. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone and all that, I suppose.

It started with another fundraiser, a jumble sale this time. I had volunteered to help manage the event, so I was in charge of sorting through the items that people had brought in for us to sell. Like I said, not everyone there was strictly devout, and didn’t always take care with what they decided to donate. Some people seemed to use it as more of an excuse to toss legitimate junk in our direction and call it a good deed.

This was definitely the case with Mister Ashley. He attended purely because his mother was too old to walk by herself, and I rather think that she insisted that he stay with her throughout the service. It was definitely at her behest that he took part in any communal activities. She would always announce that he would be happy to run stalls or make tea or some other menial duty, while he sat by her side, stony-faced, and saying nothing at all.

The only time I remember him giving any sort of reaction was when when his mother announced that her Jamie would be happy to donate some of his shop’s excess stock for the jumble sale. I remember, he turned to her with the strangest look on his face. At the time, I thought it was one of badly suppressed outrage. I assumed that she had simply gone a bit too far in volunteering his services; Mister Ashley was a second hand book seller, and owned the Jabberwock Bookshop just off from Memorial Square. It can’t have been all that easy to turn a profit. Thinking back on it now, though, and I wonder if his expression was something sharper than just anger. If it could have been alarmed, almost panicked. But I believe that is likely be nothing more than hindsight colouring my memories. If he had had some way of knowing, had been frightened of something like that which came to pass, then… well. I cannot honestly say I ever truly liked James Ashley, but neither can I believe that he would be as cruel or as cowardly as to not have said or done anything.

As it was, he brought the books to the side room the next day, where I was going through the donations and sorting the sellable items from those things too broken, torn, stained, or just plain unusable. I had just set aside yet another jigsaw- this one with almost two thirds of the pieces obviously missing- when he knocked on the outer door. In spite of the heavy rain, he wasn’t wearing a coat, hat, or boots. He didn’t say a word to me when I opened it, just shouldered his way in, dropped a heavy cardboard box on the floor by the unsorted donations, and walked out again. He did this three more times, leaving the door swinging behind him, letting in strong gusts of wind and rain, and reinscribing a damp trail of rainwater on the carpeted floor. Then he was gone as abruptly as he had arrived.

Ashley had taken better care to protect the books from the rain than himself. The cardboard was soaked through, but the books inside had been wrapped in several layers of plastic sheeting. They were stacked upright, and had been fitted in without any attempt to force too many into a single space. They were all, without exception, worn, faded, and almost completely without interest. Paperback romances long since out of print, old text books, children’s encyclopedias. It was rather a relief, if I’m honest. I could just reach into the boxes, grab a book, give it a flick through, and place it on the “for sale” pile.

I was about halfway through the last box when my fingers brushed something that did not feel at all like paper. It was dense and yielding, and ever so slightly damp. I recoiled, shock and disgust crawling their prickling way up my arm. My fingers looked clean, but the ghost feeling of something sticky still clung to them.

My first thought that it was some nasty practical joke. That Ashley, stung by his mother’s willingness to give away his stock, had put something disgusting in there by way of relieving his feelings. But that would have been ridiculous- he was a grown man, for goodness sakes, not a slighted child. It was more likely that the plastic keeping the books wrapped up had slipped, and allowed the rain to seep in through the sides. That was the more likely explanation.

It seemed as though I was right when I looked into the box properly, and saw nothing there but more books. But when I reached in again, all I felt was rough, dry paper. Confused, I went through the contents more slowly, looking where I placed my hand and at the books I chose.

I didn’t feel it again until the fifth book I picked up, that same almost-damp feeling. It was broad and set in landscape, almost like a sketchbook. It was dense with pages all jammed together- dense and heavy. It flopped bonelessly in my hand, and I needed to support it from underneath before I could read the title.

Hymnal, it read. The gold letters gleamed wetly on the slick cover.

It appeared to be full of sheet music. No titles or lyrics, just scratched staves and notes that meandered up and down the lines as though drunk. The smell that rose from the pages as I turned them was odd and unpleasant. I wondered if the leather binding them hadn’t been properly cured. Those areas of page that weren’t covered in music were full of sketches, but so dense and overlapping that I couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be. And, I realised with an unpleasant start, the cover beneath my hands was warm, as though I was touching a live thing.

Suddenly, I’d had enough. I was sitting here, working myself up over an old, graffitied book for no good reason. I shut the thing hurriedly, and it snapped closed with a heavy slithering of pages. I caught the soft part of my forefinger on one of them, and a tiny bead of scarlet began to well from the wound. The stinging was welcome- it gave me something to focus on, mundane annoyance drowning out the confusion that had been threatening to become fear.

I dropped the book onto the discard pile. I couldn’t sell something like that, that much was obvious. Then I picked it up again, and dashed through the rain to the rubbish bins outside. I tossed it in, and followed it up with as much of the discard pile as I could bag up in one go, burying the thing underneath threadbare scarves, broken plastic dolls, and half used art supplies.

I felt a little better when it was done, but not much. Whatever those hymns were praising, I don’t think it was Our Lord.

The cut on my finger didn’t heal like it should. It stopped bleeding without any trouble, but the edges became raised, reddened and sensitive to the touch. I dabbed at it with antiseptic and did my best to put it out of my mind. I succeeded at first. I had plenty to keep me busy, both at church and at my workplace, and for a day or two, I completely forgot about it.

At least until it opened up again.

I don’t remember what caused it, or if anything caused it at all. Just that I was reaching for something, and there was the feeling of… unpeeling, almost, the cold feeling of fresh air on wet skin. I checked to see if the cut was bleeding again.

Instead of a cut, I found myself looking at a tiny, fully formed mouth.

The raised, reddened edges I had thought were a sign of infection had become minute lips. They were slightly parted, and behind them I could see the tiniest slivers of white. And behind that, a dark space where something wet shifted.

I didn’t look at it for long. Already I was reaching for the first aid kit, hastily covering the cut- the mouth- with a plaster. I was already convincing myself that what I’d just seen was some kind of infection I was too squeamish to look at, and that since I couldn’t feel any pain, I should probably go to the doctors, in case it was nerve damage or something. The impression of having seen a mouth rather than a cut was an unpleasant trick my mind had played on me, and one I didn’t feel like closely examining. I told myself I had imagined it.

I hadn’t, though. I could taste the soft fabric patch on the plaster.

I really did mean to go to the doctors. Mouth or no mouth, whatever was happening to the cut on my finger worried me. I even got as far as making an appointment. But the next day I went into work, and there was an accident involving a slippery patch of floor and a very, very sharp knife that I was carrying at the time. I ended up with a nasty slice parallel with the underside of my ribcage.

This time, it was obvious how quickly it stopped bleeding, how it was practically dry before I even changed the gauze once. How the scabs began to flake before I even touched them, leaving nothing but those raised, reddening edges around the cut itself.

I didn’t go to that doctor’s appointment. I don’t think it would have helped me if I had.

It took longer for the second cut to open, but when it did, I could stand in front of the mirror to properly see the flat, white, human teeth, and the tongue that moved behind them.

It didn’t feel alien. That’s what surprised me most. I was scared, of course I was scared, I was growing new bits, opening up in places that I shouldn’t- but that was just it. It was my body doing this, not some… weird infection or surgery. Whatever was happening, it felt like an extension of myself.

I could move them, I found. Not as consciously as I could my original mouth, the one in its proper position on my face, but sort of like moving a limb after it’s fallen asleep. It took concentration, like I was working through partial numbness. Like I needed to focus to wake them up.

I didn’t spend very long doing that, though. I would realise with a start that what I was doing wasn’t normal, it wasn’t sane. I would pull my shirt back down or re-plaster my finger with a feeling almost like shame. I wasn’t as scared as I should have been, and that in itself was somehow a lot more frightening.

I’m not clumsy. I can’t be, considering the sharp tools I have to handle at work. But I started to accumulate injuries. Innocuous things at first. Paper cuts from the prayer books during mass, scrapes from the edges of the metal benches at work. And then other things. Pushing down a door-handle would lay my palm open as though I’d been struck with a metal ruler. The pressure of my jacket across my shoulders would tear the skin. I woke in bed one morning to discover that the folded sheets around me had left cuts going from my hip to my collar bone.

Every single one of them bled, reddened, and opened.

The mouths started to become restless as their number grew. They tried to chew on the clothes I wore to cover them, and if I didn’t focus, they would let out soft, but audible moans or sighs. I tried to quiet them. I even tried feeding them, though I only did that once. It seemed to help, but the mangled sensation of swallowing with a throat that seemed to be lodged under my right kidney was so disorienting I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.

I hadn’t stopped going out altogether. I left the house less, certainly, but as uncertain and uncomfortable as my changing existence was, I didn’t want to give up the company of other people altogether. I get lonely easily.

So, one Friday, when when there was so little skin left under my clothes and gloves that no new mouths could easily form, I patched my face and neck with gauze, and went to take my place in the choir again.

Nobody really seemed to notice anything different about me. I had all the right stories lined up for when I was asked about what had happened to my face, but almost nobody did. A few condolences, a few jokes, and that was it. People apparently preferred to gossip about the death of Mrs Ashley, and how her James had stopped coming to church now, and how they had known his heart wasn’t in it all along.

It felt awful. There I was, standing in the middle of them, skin to skin almost, with the most fragile disguise imaginable hiding a secret that would ruin their perception of the world for good- and they were too wrapped up in their own smug assurance of their own piety to notice. I offered up a brief prayer for patience, but like all my prayers lately, I don’t think I was offering it to the God whose praises we’d all gathered to sing.

And when we raised our voices together for All Things Bright And Beautiful, and I opened my mouth to join in, and then opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again- I wasn’t singing praises to that God either.

I didn’t realise that the others had stopped at first. It wasn’t until I glanced to one side, and saw Julie Wright staring at me with her powerless mouth open and unmoving, that I realised I was singing in harmony with myself.

I broke off, suddenly embarrassed and frightened by the way that they were all looking at me. There was something like awe in their expressions, but there was something else there too. Something that shuddered and recoiled. I desperately tried to remember the words I’d been singing, if I had gotten them right. I had the horrible sense that I might have subverted something holy.

Adam Bromley was the one to break the silence.

“Well now. You never told us you were getting private training!”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The unexpressed disgust sank back beneath their faces, and the others took up the idea almost with relief. A beautiful voice, they told me, what trick did they teach me to make it resonate like that? I forced a smile and said something non-committal and when we took up the tune again, I was careful to sing only the words that were on the page in front of me.

My own relief was short-lived. When I got home, I found the skin I had left was being pulled apart by the restless movements of the mouths. Blood stained the underside of my shirt, and I couldn’t stop the moans and hissings any more than I could have controlled a spasm or a muscular tic.

I didn’t sleep that night, and called in sick to work the next day. I lay on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying very hard not to move.

It wasn’t any use. My skin had become so fragile that even getting up and walking to the kitchen caused it to split, the blood barely having time to dry before the wound began to twitch and whisper. All my fascination was gone now, as were all my attempts to ignore what was happening. All I did was lie on the bed, and let myself slowly drown in my own body. I lived like that for a week.

When next Friday evening came, my entire body burst into song.

I writhed and moaned and hummed without will, without choice, throwing out snatches of hymn before discarding them as not what I wanted, not right. And for the first time, the indistinct murmurs and whispers grew louder, began to form words. Prayers that had been chewed out of shape, pleas for more, more mouths, more brothers and sisters, to come out of hiding and join the great curdling of flesh.

This went on for the entire night.

That was when I decided that I needed to do something. I’d let… whatever this was go on for too long, long beyond the point of saving myself. But I wanted to tell someone first. So I dragged myself to my computer, and searched as best I could. It’s difficult to type with only a confusion of tongues.

And that’s where you came in. You aren’t special. You were just the closest place that didn’t either ignore my emails, or reply with not so gentle suggestions that I see a psychologist.

I don’t think I’ll be leaving my home again, once I get back. I doubt I’ll even bother uncovering, although there’s no-one there to see me. For all that I wanted to let someone know, I don’t want to be seen.

The cupboard below the stairs locks from the inside. I can push the key out from underneath the crack in the door.

Whatever is happening to me, I won’t allow it come to fruition.

Post-statement follow-up: There wasn’t anyone under the stairs when I went to check. The lock on cupboard door was broken, and so was the one on the back door. Either Ms Ness was, um… successful in her attempts to… halt her transformation, and a housebreaker with some seriously questionable motives took what was- what was left of her. Or she wasn’t. And her resolve either waned or the situation was, um. Taken out of her hands. Or. Whatever she had instead of hands.

I wasn’t… going to record this. It’s not my job, strictly speaking, but I was reading some of the old statements, and this one just… sort of caught my eye. And I’ve seen the Archivist and some of the others do recordings, and it just looked so… I wanted to try it out. I’ll be taking the tape with me, though. None of the others need to know about this.

[homocorn]

i think one of the wildest things ive been witness to in the past year was at work we had a new hire and she was the tiniest pastiest little blond girl youve ever seen BUT she was from south africa so inevitably she was asked Constantly why she was white ect ect and i was talking to her abt that one day and we were joking abt it and she was SO exasperated like "my ancestors were colonizers !!!!! doesnt anyone here learn about slavery !!!!!!!" and i had to be the unfortunate bearer of bad news and tell her that no, not really

[fiftyshadesofseoul]

galsaek piano // min yoongi

       paring: yoongi x reader        warnings: maybe a little angsty?

summary: you never really liked working at your parents music store until 5 months ago a boy with the strongest love for the piano youve ever seen started coming by every week to play the brown old piano in the middle of the store. as each week passed you started falling for the mysterious boy you barley even knew.

all you knew about him was his name. min yoongi. he had told you in the second month after his visits became regular. it had taken you two months to even have the courage to talk to him and ask for his name. you never spoke again. you figured he wasn’t really a man of words. you looked at your watch. 4:30. he should be here any minute, you thought to yourself as he always came around the same time. not really paying attention to anything  you didn’t even hear the door opening. you were taken back into reality in seconds when you heard the beautiful sound of the piano. there he sat again, playing the piano like his life depended on it. you knew it was his own music, sometimes he would be there for hours scribbling tiny musical notes onto an empty sheet of paper. he was truly fascinating. you liked watching him while playing. he was attractive theres no denying in that. he looked unreal. you had drawn him into your sketchbook several times. but what attracted you to him the most was the fact that you had never met anyone with such a passion for this instrument before. even you could feel it. he wasn’t just playing it. he was feeling it, living it, like he became one with the piano.  it had been 5 months since he walked into the store for the first time. you didn’t wanna admit it but you were falling for him. hard. you never thought you could possibly fall in love with somebody you don’t even really know but it was happening and you couldn’t change it. it was obvious. you couldn’t wait to spend your weekends working at the music store anymore. basically seeing and hearing him play was the highlight of your whole week since your life wasn’t exactly exciting. all you really wanted was to be able to lay in his arms or listen to him playing the piano for you everyday. but you couldn’t. because even though he had so much love for the piano, he didn’t seem to have love for anything else. he seemed cold and almost emotionless when you talked to him that one time asking for his name. it intimidated you, which made you keep your mouth shut and admire him from the distance. you weren’t really a talkative person yourself, so you could kind of understand him. but it hurt. waiting the whole week until you could see him for a bit before he disappeared again hurt. you knew you needed to talk to him, or it would kill you inside. there were so many questions to ask, so much you wanted to know about him. you had to dig out the tiniest piece of confidence there was in you and go over to him. so you did. he didn’t even notice you approaching him, he was too lost in the music. “why did you choose this piano?”  the music abruptly stopped and he flinched as your sudden speaking scared him. he looked at you with a questioned look “i mean there are so many in this store. why are you always playing on this one, whats so special about it?” you specified the question. he looked at you for a moment not saying anything before hitting the keys again. you sighed disappointed, it was hopeless. you started turning around and walking away when the music suddenly stopped again. “its like the one i used to have” he spoke almost whispering. you turned around quickly “what did you say?” you asked him as you couldn’t hear him clearly. “the piano.” he started, pointing at it “it looks exactly like the one i used to have when i was younger” you came closer “used to have? what happened with it?” his face quickly changed “its not something i like talking about so id rather not tell” he looked sad “it’s okay, i’m sorry i didn’t want to upset you” you placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. you almost didn’t see it but he smiled at you softly. it was the first time you’d seen him smile in all this time. you removed your hand. this was the longest you’ve ever talked, if he wasn’t gonna say anything more than that you’d be okay with it. baby steps, you thought to yourself. you started walking away again when he suddenly said your name “Y/N” you never turned around faster, you didn’t think he actually remembered your name. you looked at him patiently waiting for him to continue. “why did you never talk to me again after that one time you introduced yourself?” you were shocked, thats not what you expected. “i - uhm - i don’t know. you just seemed so cold so i thought you weren’t interested in talking to me. but today i had to, it was driving me crazy” you blushed, realizing what you just said. “im sorry i made you think that. i’m just not good with words. thats why i love the piano so much, the music helps me express my feelings.” softly and slowly he pressed some keys “thats beautiful, i wish i could play an instrument so well. i’ve never met anyone as passionate as you.” he started laughing as soon as you said those words, you looked at him confused and scared wondering what you just said “why are you laughing?” “i just think its ironic that your parents own a music store and you can’t play an instrument” he told you. now that you thought about it he was right “yeah it is strange, but i guess its because i already found my passion in something else” his eyes were filled with curiosity after those words“and what would that be?” “art. i draw and paint” you told him. he nodded he seemed to be pretty interested in other peoples passions. “well thats pretty amazing too.” you sat next to him on the piano stool and started playing random keys “since you come here every week anyways maybe you could teach me how to play?” you didn’t know where this boost of confidence was coming from but you were glad you had it in you. he chuckled “im not a very good teacher” you nodded sadly. “every week when i walk in here i hope that no one bought it” you knew exactly what he was talking about “yeah i always hope no one buys it either. when someone else is playing it it just doesn’t look right” it was true, so many people sometimes played on it and each time you prayed they would just end up ignoring it. because you were so scared that if the piano would be taken by someone, yoongi would disappear with it. the thought of it made you shiver. “Y/N are you okay?” he asked confused, you grabbed his hand “please don’t leave me” his face changed from worried to confused in an instant “for the past months you’ve been coming in here, playing this piano and then leaving again without saying anything. yet, i still started falling for you. i couldn’t help it. and every week im afraid you won’t walk through this door and ill never see you again. so im asking you now, min yoongi, please don’t leave me.” there was a single tear in the corner of your eye. it was still like a riddle to you, how he could affect you this much. how he could make you feel things you’ve never felt before. but he did. it was scary how you can get attached to someone so fast. to give them the power to be able to hurt you. he cupped your face with his hands and gently removed the tear from your eye with his thumb. he pulled you closer and gave you a soft kiss on your forehead. “im sorry i haven’t talked to you sooner. i didn’t know you felt this way.” he let go of you and started playing a song. it was one of the most beautiful melodies you’ve ever heard. “i always write my songs about things that go through my mind. i’ve been dealing with a lot lately and didn’t really have anyone. the piano always comforted me but i lost my connection with it for a while. so when i walked past this store and saw the piano through the window, it reminded me of how much i loved to play. so i kept coming and im not planning on stopping.” you gave him a hug and weren’t sure if he was slightly sobbing or not “you’re not alone anymore, you have me now” he pulled away and grabbed your hand. “thank you” you smiled. both of you. you felt this deep connection with him in the pit of your stomach and something about the way he looked at you told you, he felt it too…

[hatnews3-blog]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[censorediamond-blog]

And still, theres so much more i want to say...

This is dumb, both of us know this is dumb and i know nothing i say rn would make you care, cause u dont. never will .but  im going it cause honestly i cant stop thinking about you, its sad and pathetic but true and whoever i tell gets annoyed cause they know im wasting my time, and they know my name never crosses ur mind, but youre on my mind constantly and i hate it cause ur in love with her. and i dont blame you, she's perfect, and u deserve nothing less. and sure u could say  why would i wanna be with someone if it was all fake. But the thing is i really don't believe it was all fake. it couldn't be, i'm not that much of an idiot. And maybe part of me thought "u only dated me for the hook ups" but i find it hard to believe ur that big of a dick and plus me and u both know u could have gotten that without the trouble of dating me. i probably sound dumb to you cause u made it clear that you were over me, plus this happened almost seven months ago and i wanted to believe i would get over you in a short amount of tome. i know its super pathetic,  im super pathetic. i keep thinking about the little moments, every single tiniest detail that has ever happened between us, even the ones i know for a fact you dont even remember way before we even started talking and before the dead sea. but idk u shared too much for it to be all about the hook ups, just you being a part of my life for an amount of time was probably one of the best thing that even happened in my life. it was everything to me and i dont think u get how much i love and care for you. and i regret a lot regarding this topic and although the fact you basically used me when you knew how much that meant to me really hurt. nothing even compared to the hurt that came when i got a glimpse of what we could be, then to drop it like that. cause it gave the need to imagine shit i shouldnt even be thinking about. how things would be different if you were still mine and i was still urs. how happy i would be. but i know im positively sure you are happy, for the most part at least. but ik while i was thinking about you and how i would kill to be with you and spend time together and just be together. you were thinking about her, how you would kill to be with her and spend time with her. I know you're graduating now and this is  the last thing you want to hear now but ive been holding this for such a long time i just want to get it all out of me. But i guess i didnt make u happy and ive accepted that and idk i just missed u i guess, i have seen you in such a long time, until laiths party and i dont know if you realized the second i saw you my heart actually stopped like i dont even think its possible to miss someone that much and then to finally see them, although i know youre with anood now and i would never do anything to sabotage your happiness anwar, as much as it doesnt seem like that, i dont know why im so in love with you, as much as i try to deny it i cant but only admit that is true, i shit you not there has not been one single day, since October 28 that i have not thought about you when i wake up and before i go to sleep, all i do is look at my phone and open ur info on my phone app looking at the picture i have put as your contact and the song i put on for your number so i know the second i hear it, its you and the vibration i put thats only different to yours. Every single time i just randomly hear power trip on shuffle i cant help but think of you and how youre doing. Anwar this is taking so much of my dignity to even think of sending you this even though now i know its all gone and you're probably laughing of how desperate and pathetic i sound, but I couldn't help myself. and i dont want to be friends csuse ik me and ik itll always be torture just being ur friend. even now i always have these little day dreams where were together and u come over all the time and my mom and legit my whole family loves you and loved you ever since that day... my mom talks about you and asks about you every single day because i never had the courage to tell you we broke up such a long time ago and part of me keeps holding on to that one in a million scenario where were back together and u like me just as much as i like u but i know thatll never happen cause id always just be the hook up right.

I know im not gonna achieve anything by telling you this but like seriously what do i have to lose, atleast i can understand i should start living in the moment and not thinking deep far into the future and just doing what i want to do while i still can because we all actually dont know when were not gonna have that chance anymore. This has taught me many things but ever since ive never known how to look at any other guy and think '...but hes not anwar' even though if i ever hooked up with anyone after you but just so you know i have just once, just to try to convince myself that there are other people in this world that i could start thinking of besides you but, obviously, it didnt work.i know youve been over me for such a long time now but you meant everything to me up unto this point and for how long this will last.I know you're probably out having fun with your friends right now, maybe even with her, but im not ashamed of my feelings and i want them to be out and clear in the open. As much as it pains me to say, i love you anwar hinnawi, always have, always will.

anyways idk what the point of this was i just wanted to get it all out of my system. i hope everything in your life right now is the best it could be, i really do genuinely care about you as a person besides all of this and youre the first thing i always wish for every single time i pray, lol that sounds so gay but its true ahah, okay im done now and like thanks if u read all this i guess, maybe i achieved the fact that now you know everything and how ive felt ever since you left me.