#he used to give great and funny interviews

[thelostgirl21]

Anya zoning out, after Joey decides that Hugh Skinner would be the best co-star to be stuck in a lift with for 24 hours.

[magentagalaxies]

vent incoming:

got my grades back for my courses last semester and most of it was to be expected, mostly A's, maybe an A-, etc. but i honestly can't get over the fact that my independent study (the buddy cole documentary) was for some reason given a B. like sure getting a B isn't bad per se, I usually get at least one B every semester and i honestly don't really care about what my exact gpa is as long as i can graduate, but come on. this school put me through months of psychological torment over this project and didn't even have the nerve to give me a B+??? i'm still coping with the self-doubt they forced on me and this bullshit is not helping!!

[madrone33]

Number 1 Rule of adapting the Odyssey into EPIC is: if it can be more dramatic, it will be more dramatic.

The Greeks decide to throw the infant Trojan prince from the walls because they're scared he'll try to avenge his family? No, Zeus comes down to personally give Odysseus a vision of being killed and says his family WILL die. Kill the baby that reminds you of your son right now, it's the gods will.

Odysseus goes to greet the inhabitants of an island and gets trapped in a cave for two days by the cyclops that's eating his men one by one? Nope, we got BOSS BATTLE 30v1 in the Ithacans' favour until BAM fourteen pancakes are made by Polyphemus' club and oh shit Polites is DEAD-

Athena is just vaugely absent for the whole journey until the end? We got emotionally charged platonic breakups instead, with yelling and insults and "well I'm breaking up with you FIRST!"

Smooth sailing to Ithaca? STOOOORM-

Odysseus' great-great-great-grandfather giving him a speed boost to help him on his way home? Get ready for trickster wind gods, mischievous winions, and a game that was rigged from the start.

Random-ass suspicious and greedy crew mates open the bag? It's Eurylochus, his second in command, his brother-in-law, the man he trusted, Eurylochus WHYYY

Parking in the wrong harbour and getting boulders thrown at the fleet by angry man-eating giants while Odysseus backs away veeery slowly? Nah Poseidon himself pulls up to dunk on them, and Odysseus has to make a last minute getaway using the power of STOOORM to avoid being curbstomped like his fleet.

Odysseus gets some stronger drugs from a god to make him immune to the other drugs of a goddess? Well these drugs actually give him magic powers which he uses to engage in a Pokémon/Yu-Gi-Oh style BOSS BATTLE!

Get some closure with dead loved ones and acquaintances, and be the first interviewer of the fallen heroes of past ages? Nope, we just got TRAUMA and a whole boatload of guilt!

A neat outline of what the rest of the journey will look like, a warning against an island of cows that will slow him down, and the way to appease Poseidon? This Tiresias just says "Y'know there used to be a world where you made it home, BUT I DON'T SEE IT NO MORE. IT'S GONE. IT'S OVER. Also, your palace is fucked."

Sailing past the sirens while getting to be the first mortal to hear their song and live? M U R D E R

Sailing past Scylla to avoid Charybdis and accidentally getting six men eaten because he thought he could totally take Scylla, even though Circe said he couldn't, and then he realised he, in fact, cannot take Scylla? ... Eurylochus, light up six torches.

Eurylochus waits till Odysseus is out hunting and then goes behind his back to mutinously rally the crew and feast on some sacred cattle? Betrayal on both sides, stabby stab, K.O., and then Odysseus helplessly watches them make the greatest mistake of their lives as they ignore his pleas.

Quick clean and easy lightning-strike to the ship, leaving Odysseus to cling to some driftwood and paddle away? Zeus himself appears to the mortals, monologues, makes Odysseus be the one to choose, and then smites the whole ship leaving Odysseus to nearly drown anyway.

Telemachus gets advice from a disguised Athena to yell at the suitors and then sail away to look for news of his missing father? Telemachus gets into a full on beatdown with the suitors and gets FIGHT CLUB TRAINING from Athena!

Athena goes "dad I want my favourite mortal back? Did you forget about him? I think you forgot about him" and Zeus instantly replies "nonsense. How could I have forgotten that funny little mortal? Of course you can have him back my sweet favoured child <3" and then Athena skips off to Ithaca? "Father please-" "LIGHTNING BOLT! ANOTHER LIGHTNING BOLT! LIGHTNING BOLT TO THE FACE HOW DARE YOU ASK ME OF SUCH A THING!"

Poseidon does a double take "wait they let him go?? Oh hell nah!" and then sends a giant fuck off storm for Odysseus to swim through until he reaches the Phaeacians? No, Poseidon's just been there on Ithaca's shores, waiting for eight years, now get in the water BITCH- except Odysseus is just like "oh yeah? Fucking FIGHT ME"

You thought the suitors in the Odyssey were bad? Jorge really just said "dial that shit up to ELEVEN"

[licensedproldier]

highlights from the brennan hank interview (aka taking notes on things that i liked or didn't know)

HE STARTED ATTENDING COLLEGE WHEN HE WAS 14?????

immediate jump off topic from hank to ask him about d20 (this happened while fhjy was airing)

"and the greatest project of all, my wonderful family with my wife isabella roland"

bonding over their children

brennan and hank's son both corrected their father's bedtime stories 💀

many elaine lee shoutouts

"his dad met my mom and fell in love" "you did that" "we did that, parent-trapped them"

was pulled out of school in 4th grade for homeschooling because the bullying was so bad....

started a company when they (he and his brother) were fifteen?? called Bootleg Adventures

hank's little awed hiss of "what" to the above piece of information

GOT PART OWNERSHIP OF THE WAYFINDER COMPANY AT 15

"knowledge is something that, when you share it, there's just more. there's no scarcity"

hank staring off into space slightly looking like brennan just blew his mind (we're 11 minutes in)

"we were 14 year old philosophy majors, if you can imagine anything more normal than that"

brennan unable to resist doing fun voices for the people he talks about

he wouldve loved to work at wayfinder full time and said back then hey maybe ill become a famous internet comedian or something and that's how i can help camp. now he's got texts from the staff saying how a bunch of dimension 20 fans have joined and its been a huge boon for them that way 🥺

"it's funny when a really bad plan works. dont make that plan."

"every new community-- is this too sad? no its true" THOSE THINGS ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE

anyway "for every new community i start with the presupposition that someone is going to pick me up and put me in the trash can" 😭

hank sniping him through the duplex door with "[when you do that] you kind of imagine yourself to be the value you're delivering rather than yourself, or that your value is in what you deliver and not who you are" and brennan going 😐 "that's a great point man"

both of them turning to do pained smiles at the camera 😭

"i think the value is in who you are" "that's really sweet i appreciate that" "but i also love that you deliver"

brennan quoting mary oliver

im starting to feel a little called out guys

robert mckee "stories are not about their premises they're about their conclusions"

brennan also staring off into space slightly thinking about what hank said

the REAL college advice brennan is giving is reportedly "put an egg in your ramen" because thats how you stop your eyes from going "matte finish"

shoutout to vanessa's dumplings for keeping this man alive

"i am ozymandias nerd of nerds, gaze upon my banner and despair"

the moment he felt like something changed was walking into C2E2 and seeing that the biggest hanging banner in the convention hall was of fantasy high. or, as brennan put it, "my dumb face"

"my friends moved in with their partners, the apartment i had with them scattered to the wind, the woman i was dating dumped me after three weeks, and i won a bunch of money on Who Wants to Be a Millionare" "wh- what???"

he taught emily, murph, siobhan, and zac how to play dnd 🥺 and was running a home game for lou at the same time

got hired at um, actually because his name was getting around for being a big dork

zac stepped down from troopers and sam liked brennan's character from a previous casting call (tim curry eating pizza) so he brought him in

its very charming the detail with which brennan remembers these important moments in his life

became a full time cast member in the same week he started dating izzy! "hard to beat week gang!"

"they told us they were launching dropout and everyone had to make a show, which, if you're been trying to make a show your whole life, that's like saying 'bad news guys, there's 24 birthday cakes in the break room and everyone has to eat a whole birthday cake'."

brennan was making a document for a market pitch on an actual-play show when he was called into office and THEY pitched HIM the idea of an actual-play show

"i guess i have tumbled through life to end up here ready to do this"

truly like. one of the guys of all time.

"some of the things that didn't make sense about you make more sense now" hank talking indirectly about how amazing he found all the moving parts of mentopolis and now getting to hear about how long and how many time he's done storytelling it makes sense

"yeah its the one skill"

"i wanted to tell stories before i was anything else"

🎉anti-capitalist rant🎉

"people used to say 'is ucb a cult' and i'd say 'in a cult, somebody is making money'"

HIGH FIVE!!!

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got’cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

[tinycoffeeroom]

lover boy | daniel ricciardo

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

pairing: daniel ricciardo x f!reader

requested: congrats on 1k!!!! can i order a macchiato with daniel where theyre like a little bit secret and they super joky with each other? maybe they decide to go official and kiss in front of fans?? 100 shots of fluff too please! thank u!!!

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Private not secret. That’s how you could describe your relationship with Daniel to some extent. He would gush about his “loving girlfriend” in interviews and on social media but he’d never revealed who the girl who stole his heart was. 

It worked for the both of you. He got to keep you all to himself, and you got to live some sense of normality outside of being flown all over the country to support him on race days. 

The two of you were huddled in hospitality, enjoying the kiss of cold air the building provided against the blistering Bahrain heat. Clad in a VCARB shirt and linen trousers, any fan currently floating around the paddock would simply think you were an employee, and given how Daniel liked to make everyone around him laugh, seeing the two of you giggling in the corner wouldn’t raise too many questions. 

Nudging you with his shoulder, he throws his head back in a loud laugh as you crack another terrible dad joke, your eyes unable to pull away from the length of his throat, the way his Adam's apple bobbed deeply with every guffaw. 

“Why do I keep you around?” He speaks through ebbing chuckles, a hand hidden on the small of your back under the shirt. 

Shrugging, you swipe your hair back playfully. “Because I’m smart, funny and have a great rack.”

You track Daniel’s eyes as they draw down to the V of your shirt. Since he had a few inches on you, he had an unobstructed view to what he crudely describes as his favourite stress relievers. 

Glancing back up to meet your eyes, he grins at the way you jokingly raise an eyebrow at him. “You sure do, it’s a shame I haven’t seen them properly in so long.”

Rolling your eyes, you tap a finger under his chin, lifting his head from where it had dipped to glance down your shirt again. “You saw them this morning, drama queen.”

He presses a hand to his forehead, head rolling back as if he were a damsel in distress. “It’s been 84 years…”

Using your hand still in the air, you smack his hand off his forehead softly, scoffing lightheartedly. Hand darting out to capture yours, he pulls it down to where it’s hidden between the two of you, thumb stroking absentmindedly across the back of your hand. 

“Give me a peek?”

Squeezing his hand, you glance left to right as if considering it. Fighting the smirk on your face as his eyes light up at the possibility. “Dan, I’m not getting my boobs out in the middle of hospitality. If you can wait until the hotel tonight however…”

Trailing off, you raise your other hand to rest gently against his chest, fingers tapping along to the thump of his heart underneath. 

He groans, body twisting from side to side slightly like a child about to throw a tantrum. “Babe, it’s hot as balls out there. I’m gonna be so tired tonight.”

Patting his chest, you grin cheekily up at him. “So I’ll be doing all the work, like most race weekends.”

Gasping dramatically, he rests a hand over yours, pout on full display. “You wound me.”

Before you get a chance to rebut, one of the media managers pops her head around the corner, spotting the two of you. “Daniel, we have to be at the pre-race press conference in 20 minutes. Chop chop!”

She throws a friendly smile your way, head nodding once as a greeting. Waving back at her, your attention is dragged back to your boyfriend as he huffs softly, giving the woman a thumbs up as he drops his hand back to the small of your back to guide you to the entrance. 

Before he steps outside, he turns to face you, lips puckered. Raising a hand, you pat his lips once, huffing as he tries to nip at one of your fingers. “Nuh-uh, big ol’ windows right there lover boy, anyone could see.” 

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, eyes wide and softly following the lines of your face. “Let them, I’m tired of hiding you.”

“Don’t use those cow eyes on me, that’s evil.” Sighing, you can’t stop your lips from matching his wide smile, the two of you locked in a silent conversation through eye contact. 

It’s been a long 3 years, sneaking around, going outside for dates separately and hiding in the back corners of restaurants. Wearing whichever teams shirt he’s racing under to use as an excuse to be there. You think about how it could be, the way it would feel to hold his hand in the paddock and give him a good luck kiss before he goes off to race. 

He sees right through you, able to read you like an open book. “So?”

Reaching behind you, you pull his hand from your back, linking your fingers together. “I’m tired of hiding too.” Heart racing at the way his smile turns fond, you pull yourself closer to him. “Need to let everyone know I bagged a hot Aussie.” 

A voice calls from beside you. “Didn’t know you were dating Oscar?”

Looking across, a smirking Lando meets your eyes as he leans against the doorway, the door propped open behind him. 

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny, short arse.” Daniel uses your linked hands to drag you next to him, hand leaving yours to smoothly slide along your back and rest on your hip. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

“I’m on the pre-race conference with you, thought we could walk down together.” 

You coo at the pair, hands clasping in front of you. “Landan reunited, how cute!”

You can almost feel how hard Lando rolls his eyes, mimicking your words back to you in a high pitched tone. Swatting at his shoulder, he holds his hand up in surrender, backing out of the doorway. 

“Daniel, 10 minutes! We’re gonna have to speedwalk!” The media manager breezes past the pair of you, clapping Daniel on the back as she passes. 

You grab his collar, pulling him in to drop 3 kisses against his lips. Feeling his other hand come to rest on your hip, you smile against his lips. Pulling away minutely, you let your eyes roam over the way his have crinkled at the sides, bright grin on display for all to see. “Go, you’ve got business to do. I’m gonna go get a piece of that cheesecake we were eyeing in catering.”

His hands squeeze your hips gently before he pulls away fully, stepping through the open door to join Lando and the media manager. 

Watching him leave, you laugh as he shoves Lando playfully, the two of them bickering as they walk down the paddock. 

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The media manager is too engrossed in her phone to care what Daniel and Lando are talking about, the two of them discussing the upcoming race quietly. 

“Oh yeah, look at you, all official and shit. Only took you 3 bloody years! Did nearly throw up at the three kisses thing though, a nod to your race number?”

Daniel hums, beaming as he thinks back to when you’d first started the official unofficial pre-race ritual. 

[FLASHBACK]

It had been a hard 2021, filled with highs and lows in his papaya car. Just after missing out on points in Zandvoort, you had come to find him in his drivers room before Monza. 

A long spiel of a pep talk later and a short pre-race nap later, he’d been about to leave, race suit hanging from his hips. Slipping your hands under his fireproofs, you leaned up, talking through kisses. 

“You.” Kiss. “Got”. Kiss. “This.” Kiss. 

On the final kiss, he’d grabbed your face, thumbs skimming across your cheeks, suspending you in that moment until the need to breathe outweighed his need to kiss you. Pulling away, he dropped a final kiss to the bridge of your nose, the smile you always loved to see plastered across his face. 

“I love you.” At that point, you’d only been together a few months but it felt like the perfect moment. Watching as you grinned back at him, flushed cheeks hot under his hands, he was sure he’d gotten it right.

[FLASHBACK]

He shoves Lando jokingly as he points out the way he was flushed from his cheeks all the way down his neck. “Partially, and it’s also a way of saying I love you.” 

Lando fake gags, narrowing his eyes at the lovesick expression on Daniel’s face. “I miss when you were single.”

Raising an eyebrow as he turns to face the younger man, his eyes flicker up briefly to make sure they were in the right spot for the conference. “Because I was lonely like you?” 

Lando scoffs, opening the door for the media manager to step through, eyes still glued to her phone. “Rude. But yeah.” 

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a/n: the first of the 1k celebrations and we're kicking it off with danny ric!! reqs for this event are open til july 18th so request while you can (or even after, my inbox is always open <3)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

what's the one harry potter pairing u like that u mentioned in the tags of your hinny post?

Anonymous: Can I ask who that minor character you ship with Harry is? For some absurd reason my mind jumped to Stan Shunpike lol but it's probably not him.... Or is it?

Okay, so this is kind of a funny story. Like, my pipeline through hp pairings was a weird one. Like, I used to read a lot of Harry pairings, still do on occasion (some make more sense than others). None of them were ones I would point at and say: "that should've happened in the books"

One day, I was innocently writing a fic (canon divergence of GoF), and it was just for me, for funnsies, never posted it anywhere and not planning to. And I planned to pair Harry with someone there (honestly, I don't remember who because I didn't write the plan down) but when writing, Harry ended up with a different character. And it was so strange to me because that never happened.

Like, how do you write a ship accidentally?

But I did. I wrote Harry into a ship by accident. So I went back to the books to try and figure out why the hell would my subconscious decide that's the way to go.

I'll also preface it by all this being my subjective opinion and I do read other Harry ships in fics, this one just quickly became my favorite to write (and the only one I write). Also, I don't actually think this is a pairing that should've happened in the books, it's place is in fic and that's where I like it.

So, the character I accidentally shipped with Harry is... *drumroll*

Stan Shunpike!

Not really, it's:

Theodore Nott

Now, you might look at the name and go: "Who the fuck is that?"

And you'll be correct. Theo has 0 speaking lines in the entire book series. His name appears twice. He, himself, as a person, only appeared on page, like, 3 times in the background. The scene that gives the most information about him is other characters talking about him. He isn't even present.

That being said, I'm very good at extrapolating a lot of information from very little evidence. So allow me, to walk you through who is Theodore Nott and why I ship him with Harry.

Basic Information

So, let's start with the most basic overview before I pull out the quotes and go any deeper.

We know Theo is a Slytherin student in Harry's year. So he likely shares a dorm with Draco, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Theo's father is both at the graveyard at the end of GoF and in the Department of Mysteries at the end of OotP, so we know he is a Death Eater. We also know Thoe's father was one of the first and closest Death Eaters to Voldemort, who waited for him during his interview with Dumbledore in 1967:

“Then if I were to go to the Hog’s Head tonight, I would not find a group of them — Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, Dolohov — awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed...”

(HBP, page 444)

We also know the Nott family is "as pure-blooded as the Malfoys" according to JKR in an interview. We also know Theo's great-grandfather (maybe? the family relation isn't clear), Cantankerus Nott, is suspected to be the one who wrote the Pure-Blood Dictionary, the book that coined the term "Sacred 28" and made that list (which the Nott family are on).

The name Nott is potentially to be derived from the name Nótt, which is the personification of the night in Norse Mythology. So it has been theorized the Nott family have a Nordic origin. Possible, but it doesn't really matter for this post.

What does, is that he comes from a dark, Death Eater, blood-purist family similar to the Malfoys. Even so, Theo never took the Dark Mark and never joined Voldemort in the books.

Now, that we have the basic information out of the way, let's look at Theodore as a person.

All the details I could gather from the books

Alright, now we get to the fun part. That is, me going through all the relevant scenes that mention Theodore Nott and actually creating a character psychoanalysis out of basically nothing.

So, the quotes aren't organized in a particular order. I'm just going to explain Theo and then explain why all this makes me ship him with Harry.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste. Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or —” “I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” said Zabini. “He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.” Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh.

(HBP, page 150)

This is a part of the conversation between Draco, Pansy, and Blaise, Harry overhears when he is hiding in their compartment at the beginning of HBP. I have a few things to note regarding this scene.

Firstly, throughout this conversation, Pansy, Blaise, and Draco all call each other by their first name. This shows closeness, they are all friendly and familiar enough to use their first names with each other. Theo, though, is referred to as "Nott" by all three in the compartment.

He doesn't actually sit in their compartment which is in itself a sign about how he isn't really friendly with Draco's group. Considering the group is most of his year from his house, Theo is likely very lonely, and it will be apparent from other scenes I bring up later.

Secondly, Theo's father is in Azkaban. We know Draco is bothered about his own father's predicament. He mentions it to Harry and bothers him over it, Theo doesn't though. Theo doesn't seem to be bothered by Harry or his father's incarceration.

The only conclusion I can draw from this is that the relationship between Theo and his father is not a good one.

(I know some fics like to have Lucius be abusive towards Draco, for some reason. But the books really don't back this up. Lucius loves Draco and Draco adores his father)

Theo, though, Theo seems to be the one with a very strained relationship with his father. Strained enough that he isn't bothered the man is in Azkaban. What I'm saying is that Theo's father likely abuses or mistreats him in some capacity.

If anything more was needed to complete Harry’s happiness, it was Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s reactions. He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library, together with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked around at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment, and Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Harry knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: He had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters

(OotP, page 583)

This is a scene at the end of OotP after Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Theo's fathers were caught at the ministry and sent to Azkaban because they are Death Eaters. There are a few important notes about this scene.

The first, Hermione knows Theo, while Harry and Ron don't really. This means she likely knows him from the classes she takes and Harry and Ron don't — Arithmancy and/or Ancient Runes.

The second, he is sitting with other Death Eater children, but I don't think it's by choice. I mentioned in the previous quote how he isn't close to Draco and his crew. He sits with them here mostly because he doesn't have another choice. Theo doesn't seem to really have any friends, so he sits with the closest people he has to friends — kids he has known since he was young because their fathers were in the same circle.

The other note about this is that Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco are all mentioned as being threatening and malicious towards Harry because they don't like that their fathers are in Azkaban. Theo, though, Theo doesn't threaten Harry, he isn't part of their whisperings. As I mentioned above, he's likely happy his father is in Azkaban.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes were growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck, and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness. It looked around at the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs. A great wave of relief broke over Harry. Here at last was proof that he had not imagined these creatures, that they were real: Hagrid knew about them too. He looked eagerly at Ron, but Ron was still staring around into the trees and after a few seconds he whispered, “Why doesn’t Hagrid call again?” Most of the rest of the class were wearing expressions as confused and nervously expectant as Ron’s and were still gazing everywhere but at the horse standing feet from them. There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face, and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail.

(OotP, page 445)

“The only people who can see thestrals,” she said, “are people who have seen death.”

(OotP, page 446)

The stringy Slytherin boy mentioned here is Theo. This scene proves that:

He takes Care of Magical Creatures

He saw someone die

Let's explore the second one for a moment. The fact Theo can see Thestrals means he watched someone die and was old enough to comprehend what he was seeing. We also know Theo's mother is dead. So it's likely the person he watched die was his mother.

I also want to draw attention to Theo's distaste towards Thestrals. He could likely see them carrying the carriages every year since 2nd year, it's not his first time seeing them. But it doesn't stop his displeasure with their sight from showing. Which says something about him. It means he likely recalls his mother and her death whenever he looks at the Thestrals. and these are memories Theo rather not experience.

We don't know how his mother died, but I'd hazard a guess it wasn't natural. After all, wizards have long life spans, they are more durable to illness and injury, and don't usually die from accidents unless very extreme or magical. And there was no epidemic of dragonpox (a disease that does tend to kill wizards) in the time since 1980 and the books. So, she was more likely killed at some point between 1985(ish) and 1991.

“No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.” Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

(HBP, pages 185-186)

First, Theo is an O student in potions since he is in the potions NEWT class, and was probably meant to be there even if Snape was the teacher.

Second, again, Theo doesn't really have friends. He sits next to Draco as the only other Slytherin in the class. Also, they share the circumstances of being sons of Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. Although both of them seem to deal with it quite differently.

Third, Theo joins Draco in making fun of Hermione's blood status, but he does not initiate it. Considering the environment he was raised in and is in, it makes sense he would make fun of it. Whether he's a blood-purist or not, he would want to keep his image considering he doesn't have many allies. Hanging out with Draco is survival, not friendship. They aren't even on a first-name basis with each other.

“Amortentia doesn’t really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes,” he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. “When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. . . .

(HBP, page 186)

The final quote I have about Theo is from the same potions class as above. Both he and Draco are portrayed here as underestimating amortentia and its potential damage. It makes sense for their upbringing in the Wizarding World, which has no real laws or regulations regarding love potions that are seen as harmless fun more often than not.

I'll add Theo likely didn't witness a healthy romantic relationship. Considering his father is a Death Eater who is likely abusive and may or may not have killed his mother. With this as his reference to a marriage, it's clear why he'd look down on love and love potions.

Why I think Theo and Harry have potential

Okay, so now that we know who Theodore Nott is, let's talk about why I ship him with Harry.

I think Harry, in general, would get along best with a clever partner with the ability to be ruthless (Slytherins or Ron fall into this category). Because Harry isn't some golden savior; he casts unforgivables, and is very willing to poison Umbridge or Crocio Snape if he could get away with it. He needs a partner that won't be horrified by these thoughts.

Also, Theo literally never speaks on page. Even when spoken to, his reactions are silent. I think this quiet and no need to talk, the ability to be comfortable in silence, is something that would be comfortable for Harry. Harry in the books finds himself annoyed with Ron and Hermione's constant banter on occasion, so I think it fits well.

Theo would also be comfortable around Harry without a need to play a certain part. Because Harry wouldn't care about that. He would honestly rather Theo forgo the pure-blood Slytherin act.

I feel like Harry and Theo, have a good potential to understand each other. Theo lost his mother and likely experiences abuse from his father. It makes them very likely to trauma bond over their crap life and shared experience. Two out of three only ones who could see the Thestrals in the entire class.

The other thing I feel they could connect over is being lonely. Harry spent all his childhood until Hogwarts basically being on his own. Theo stayed on his own. Draco at least has his parents, he has other students he's closer to, not that he shares everything with them, but he has some support network. Theo has none. And this is something Harry knows well.

Theo, I think, wouldn't expect anything specific from Harry. He doesn't even interact with him, not to mock him, and not to idolize him, he doesn't care at all. And we know how much Harry appreciates being thought of as Harry and not as the Boy-Who-Lived. Theo would allow Harry to be himself without some mold he wants him to fit in.

The fact Theo never becomes a Death Eater, even though he was in Draco's year and his father was a Death Eater before Lucius (and in better standing than Lucius with Voldemort) is so interesting. It's somewhat surprising Theo wasn't marked. It means he didn't want to be. It means that Theo Nott didn't want to torture and kill muggleborns or blood traitors, or anyone really. And he didn't want to swear his allegiance to Voldemort. This is just a fascinating fact to me and something I enjoy considering. What life experience made him come to that conclusion? Was it just his dislike of his father that pushed him away? Could he have been another Sirius Black (Gryffindor in a Slytherin family) under slightly different circumstances? I mean, Voldemort likely wouldn't force him to become a Death Eater, but would his father? I don't know what at all went down there, but I like that potential story.

We also know he wasn't part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, even though some minor Slytherins were mentioned to be part of it. He just seems to be an actually decent guy (I don't care what Cursed Child says about him, I know he's there but I avoided almost anything to do with Cursed Child so I barely know the plot).

Finally, this is a character Harry doesn't have as much drama to get over with. Yes, sometimes I want to read overcoming drama between characters before it becomes a romance, but sometimes I want something chiller than that. And Theo is a really chill, safe, Slytherin option for Harry.

[just-some-random-blogger]

im sorry babes but im begging you. Can we have a pedro pascal x reader fic where she's like a vlogger/lawyer and its like a fanmade video of them on yt of them being crackheads and being all lovey-dovey. like libra x aries vibes they balance each other out sm. you don't have to really but i genuinely feel like you're the only person who can pull this off.

Talk To My Lawyer

Every time Pedro gets asked something he can't answer, he always says the same thing.

Pedro Pascal x Lawyer!Reader | 600< | cw: gender neutral!reader, fluff, crack, rpf, typos, etc.

A/N: i didnt use and pronouns for yn besides you so anyone can read! ALSO this took forever, but im glad I finally did it. I hope you enjoy this nonnie! it's not exactly like the request but its pretty funny lmao

Tagging: @sloanexx @amis-love-bugs @top1bbgloak @sunfairyy @djarinsstuff @mooniesyubi @pedropascalgirly @mmmmandoz @multifandom-fangirl4

X - (Formerly Twitter) - verse

@hotnewsoutlet: Pedro Pascal announces marriage to Civil Rights Lawyer with heartfelt Instagram post. @gigigogold1: PEDRO IS MARRIED? @linmanuzel: PEDRO IS MARRIED? (2) @HOTdigitidawg: PEDRO IS MARRIED? (3) @103840582duh: ??????????????????????????????????? QUE @pedropascaldad: TO A MOTHER FUCKING LAWYER 💀💀💀✋✋✋ @pedropascaldad: OF COURSE THE LAWYER LOOKS LIKE A SUPERMODEL TOO HAHAHAHAHHAAHAHA *jumps off a plane*

@papipascalyuh: ok but if pedro was gonna get married ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ hell yeah itd be someone who looks like THAT holy fuck

@80pascal: ?????????????????????????????????????? UR TELLING ME THIS LAYWER IS NOT ONLY HOT BUT SMART AND FUNNY TOO????? [article link attached] @biwohla: 💀💀💀💀💀 NO CUZ THE LEVEL OF UNHINGED??? FROM A LAWYER???? INFUCKINGSANE @marvelwhorebb: "... I made sure to wear the Pedro Pascal T-shirt I made when we first announced our relationship. Gotta let the people know I'm one of them and simply got lucky." @atrediessucker: T-SHIRT *I MADE* SCREAMING WHATTTTTT

@djinssdjarrinn: OK IT HURTS BUT FUCK HES SO WHIPPED [video attached]

"How are you today?" asks the interviewer.

Pedro smiles and nods, "good, how are you?"

"I'm great, now that I got to see you," she says, making the man curl his head into his shoulder and grin.

Pedro waves a hand, "oh stapit"

She grins back, "I was excited when I saw you arrive with the internet's favorite lawyer."

His expression shifts, he brightens up. He places a hand on his chest, "me too! I'm so happy to have a date today. I always end up beggin' for some time, and now I got it-" fist pump "-y'know, not that I'm complainin'."

"Yeah, I was gonna sa-"

"I like begging." *Pedro smile.*

The interviewer doesn't quite catch it, "-y, the both of you are always booked and busy. How do you find time for each other?"

Pedro thinks, but is distracted when you walk up from behind him. He looks back when you place a hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he's forgotten all about the question and dotes on you. He brushes a hand on your cheek, asking you if you're okay. You whisper something but then catch the camera. You give a bashful smile, "oh, sorry to interrupt."

The interviewer immediately waves a hand, "oh, don't worry about it."

Pedro mutters something and kisses your hand. He holds it as he looks back to the interviewer. He opens his mouth then shakes his head, "sorry, what was the question?" Pedro laughs.

The woman chuckles then moves closer to you, "you know what, I'm sure people are dying to know, what's something you newlyweds like to do together?"

Pedro instantly turns to you.

You purse your lips in thought.

"I-"

"Watching movies," you say.

"I-" Pedro starts again, looking back to the interviewer, "I don't think we can say what we like to do."

*crickets*

Pedro looks at you, expression mischievous.

You stare back at him, eyes like daggers.

He holds back a laugh and leans into the mic, turning to the camera, "I can't say it. Talk to my lawyer."

The interviewer laughs and so do you, begrudingly.

"Talk to my lawyer," Pedro repeats proudly, breaking into a wide mouthed smile.

"Ok," you mutter, "pack it up, Pascal."

@alexielover: SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP BASHING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL WHAT THE FUCK @600MILK: MF SAID TALK TO MY LAWYER 🙄✋ SOBBING @oscarisaaacsz: watch him use that for everythingggggg 😭 @pedrogrill: LORD I HAVE SEEN WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS @starwazfr: *sips clorox cutely* @emeryslala: and im supposed to sha la la baby after this? FOUL @pascpedro: respectfully, id pay to be their third @probelmaskt: PACK IT UP PASCAL???????????????????

[justlemmeadoreyou]

love, love, love your work.

could you maybe write a piece where it's harry that's a bit insecure because the reader wants to keep their relationship very private and not tell people about it?

and i love love love you!! thank you for reading my work and sending this request! ❤️

Insecure

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: kissing, fluff, a bit of dirty talk

my masterlist! | ask box

"Just 10 more minutes, please, H?" you pouted, snaking your arms tightly around his chest, to try and keep him in bed. Unfortunately, he had an interview to go to.

"Y/n, baby, you know I have to leave soon. And I haven't even taken a bath."

"So leave without taking a bath. You smell so good anyways" you slid up and kissed his pecs, looking up at him with doe eyes.

"That's it. I'm getting out." he gently picked up your arms and kept it on the bedding beneath, and quickly jumped off the bed.

"Nooo" you whined, and crossed your arms over your chest.

"Okay. If I hadn't gotten out, you would've found another way to make me stay." He bent over and picked up his clothes, strewn across the floor from the night before.

"Nice ass" you remarked, making one last attempt at making him stay.

"Not gonna work" he replied, and finally picking up his clothes. He made his way to the bathroom, and closed the door.

You sighed, and slumped back on the bed, pulling the blanket to cover your body, you closed your eyes, waiting for him to come back.

He came back about half an hour later, and you'd already fallen back to sleep. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he slowly made his way over to your sleeping form, and climbed on the bed. He leaned over, and shook his wet hair over your face.

The tiny water droplets showered on your face, and you immediately pushed him away, and he fell on the bed. He started to laugh hysterically, holding his stomach.

"Not funny" you said, wiping off the water. Giving him an angry look, you turned to the other side.

"Hey, I was just playing."

"Sure you were"

"So listen, how about we go to dinner after I come back? You be ready and I'll pick you up?"

"Oh…"

"Think about it, text me before 4. We'll go to that fancy italian place y’like.”

“But-there'll be paparazzi, right?”

“Yeah. Obviously” he chuckled “So?”

“I don’t know, Harry, it’s just–I don’t want people to know yet, like, officially.”

He frowned, his heart sinking a bit.”But there's already pictures of us outside the gym from last week-and that actually means something, right? And, we both wear promise rings. One close up and they’ll figure it out” he said, pulling up his pants he had laid out the night before.

“Yeah, but that’s kinda–different? I don't know. Going to gym together dosen’t really do what going to dinner together does. Please, Harry?”

“Mmm, okay.” he buttoned up his shirt, and pulled on a loose cardigan, and went into the closet to choose footwear.

“So, that would mean I have to say I’m single when they ask me that today?”

You thought, and felt a bit sad. You wanted to go to the tallest building in the world and yell, “I’m dating Harry Styles, bitches!”. But, you couldn’t. At least, not yet.

“Yes?” you murmured, hoping Harry would hear. You also hoped he wouldn’t be sad, or feel bad.

“Yeah, alright.” He walked out wearing white vans, that complemented his blue jeans.

“How do I look?”

“Great” you replied.

“Quick, give me a hug and a kiss before I leave” he walked to the corner of the bed, while you peeled yourself off, and walked on your knees to the edge, the blanket still draped over your body.

He leaned down and kissed you, and you snaked his arms around his neck. He pulled away quickly, and put your back down. He smiled, turning back and waving at you as he left.

As soon as he got out of the room, his sile turned into a frown. He sighed, as the guilt and sadness took over him. Why did you not want anyone to know? Like, both of your friends knew, and people would find out eventually, but still.

Why?

He respected your decision, and would never go against it. He wouldn’t tell people till you were ready. But, what if you won’t be ready? Ever?

Taking his shades and keys, he left the house.

. . .

The interview went great, as he had expected. Better, actually. Whenever he was asked a question about a significant other, he brushed it off charmingly, and thankfully, they didn’t ask any more nosy or follow up questions. He loved interviewers like that.

On his drive back to his shared home with his “girlfriend”, his mind was clouded with thoughts. Why did you not want anyone to know? Were you ashamed? Did you not want your family to know, so they wouldn’t judge you? Maybe your parents didn’t approve you dating a famous person? Maybe you didn’t want to be seen with him like that? Was he that bad?

These things, and some much worse clouded his mind, against his better judgement. Harry wasn’t perfect per-se, but he tried. He knew he could be a bit too much at times, but he worked on that.

Turning over to the last turn towards your house, he took deep breaths, and wiped a few tears off his cheek with the back of his cardigan. He stayed in the car for a few minutes, to let the rednes in his eyes and sadness on his face fade away.

Walking up the path to the main door, he didn’t want to go inside. If you didn’t want to be seen with him, why were you even with him in the first place?

He rung the doorbell, and felt the patter of feet of you making your way to the dor. The door clicked open, and then there you were, with a the soft, glowy face and a lovely smile, holding a spatula. he took a step in, and leaned in to kiss you. You held his neck with the other hand and kissed him back. He snuck an arm around your waist, as the other one closed the door shut behind him.

The kiss wan’t just a quick peck, and you wanted more. Your hand travelled up from his neck to his hair, gently tugging at it. Harry released a filthy moan into your hot mouth, and that was it for both of you. You dropped the spatula on the floor and held onto his shoulders, as he gripped your hips and lifted your up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, he made his way to your bedroom.

“You smell so fucking good” you said, peppering kisses over his cheek. Travelling down to his neck, where you bit his earlobe and kissed his neck. Harry was getting impatient, and he quickly jogged the last few steps, finally reaching your bedroom.

He went straight to your shared bed, throwing you into the centre. You fell with a soft thud, your hair bouncing and framing your little face perfectly. He climbed on the bed too, hovering over your body. Your lips intertwined again, but this time, it was hot tongues and moans into each other's mouths.

Harry wrapped his hand around your throat, and pushed you down. His tongue made its way into your mouth, tasting you. You moaned, as his tongue glided with yours. You had been impatient since the morning, and he was finally giving you what you wanted,

His hand travelled down, pulling the loose string of your sweats. You lifted your hips up, and he slid them off your legs, throwing them away. He was still so much fully dressed, and you wanted to get him naked. Touch his chest and pepper kisses all over it.

You pushed him off to the side, and quickly climbed on him, perching your hips on his waist. You could see his jeans thickening, and you pulled off the cardigan, throwing it on the bed.

Harry wanted to do this. To have sex with you. Eat you out. But, his mind wasn’t letting him. He still kept thinking everything he was while driving, and if he didn’t talk to you about it soon, he would go mad.

He grabbed your wrists when you tried to unbutton his shirt. He sat up, holding your waist so you wouldn’t topple over. Your eyes widened at the sudden halt, and you gave him a confused look.

“H-what–?”

“Can we talk?”

“Right now?” you saw the look on his face. He looked desperate, and…sad. “Okay. What happened? Tell me.” you held his hand in yours, gently kissing his knuckles.

“It’s just–I keep thinking about why you-you don’t want to tell everyone we are dating. It’s driving me mad. Is it me? Am I not worth telling everybody? Is there something wrong with me?”

Your heart broke into a million pieces when he said that. He looked so sad and broken, because of you.

“What? No! Jesus! Harry, why would you even think tha?”

“I’m sorry. This-nobody has ever asked me to keep our relationship a secret and I–I can’t just stomach it. I need to know why?”

“Hey, don’t apologise. Alright? It’s not your fault. “

“Then why?”

“Ok. Here it goes. The reason why I don’t want to tell everyone yet is because-It’s probably stupid.” you slumped, now feeling embarrassed at your reason for all this.

“No, it’s not. Tell me.”

“It’s me. I just think that I can’t compare to anyone–literally anyone you’ve dated before, and it makes me really sad. And when everyone–your fans, your family–they find out, they will think low of me, and that you are probably doing me a favour by dating me. And I know it’s hella stupid, but I am not ready for all the judgement and comments and paps and–”

“Hey! It’s okay. Don’t panic. And I get you, okay. Dating someone like me can be a bit…overwhelming? at times. I am so used to everything that I just don’t realise that you could feel burdened by everthing. And I know how my fans can get sometimes. I love them, more than anything in the world. It’s just–they get defensive and often judge-y of the person I date.”

“I know! And I’m sorry if I made you feel bad about yourself.”

“No, it’s okay. I just wished you could’ve talked to me about it sooner. And hey, don’t ever feel like you’re not enough. There’s a reason why I’m not dating anyone else but you. I love you and I want to be with you. And don’t worry about my family. They are great people. They don’t judge the people I date. They are really, really good people.” he lifted your hands with his, kissing your hand and knuckles, like you had kissed his.

Your eyes were wide, and your mouth fell open. It was the first time he had said I love you.

“What–happened?” he asked, a bit concerned.

“You–you love me?” you replied, eyes welling up with tears.

Now, his face mirrored yours.

“I–I don’t-I didn’t–You don’t have to say it back.”

“Of course I do. I love you too, H.” a tear rolled down your eyes, and you quickly got up and kissed him.

He kissed you back, wiping the tear off your cheek.

“I love you so much. So, so much.” you told him, kissing both his cheeks.

“I love you too, baby. And we don’t have to tell people if you don’t want to. We will, whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you. You are the best. I don’t deserve you” you turned, sitting down on his lap.

“Sure you do. Now, what are we eating tonight? I’m hungry.”

“I made pasta. The spatula—I threw it on the door” you laughed, and he started to laugh with you.

“God.” he shook his head, and you looked up at him.

“C’mon, get up. I need to freshen up.”

“But this–” you looked down between your thighs, where your panties had soaked through from your activities earlier.

“What? Oh! My baby got wet, didn’t she?” you nodded, looking at him with doe eyes, hoping he’ll do something.

“Well, you’ll have to wait till after dinner. Then, I’ll carry you back here like I did before. Lay you down sweetly on the bed. Then spread those pretty thighs of yours, and eat your pretty pussy out. Till you’re begging me to stop. The, I’ll fuck you, and make you look into my eyes, while I tell you how perfect you are. And I that I love you, every time you come around my cock.”

You pressed your thighs together, while he described everything he was going to do to you.

“You’re not helping”

“Wasn’t planning on, love”

. . .

might do a part 2!! 😚

if you like it, please like and reblog!! any feedback is much, much appreciated!!

taglist:

@freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrlrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry

let me know if you wanna be added or removed!!!

[kisses4tom]

ᡣ𐭩 DATING TOM

───────────────

He would kiss you/make out with you anywhere

Sits you on his laps

Neck kisses

Dirty talk in public 🫢

Long comforting hugs

He would look for you in the crowd during concerts

He would look at you while playing "Leb Die Sekunde" (iykyk 😉🎸)

Flirts with you 24/7

Is always on the move because of tour so you're almost never together, but he would Skype you at any chance he gets (I remember you we're in the 2000's!)

Fill you with compliments everytime

He would give you his jacket if you're cold

Soft silly spot just for you (😩)

He would flip off the paparazzi if he catches them say something mean to or about you

He would remind you everyday not to listen to the obsessed fans who give you hate for being his girlfriend

He would do the thumb thingy when holding hands or cuddling

He loves having you wrapped in his arms

Always checking you out

He would let you borrow anything you want

Would praise you during interviews or when talking with the band out of the blue

You both would have special pet names for eachother (nothing too corny)

Frequent sex 🫣

Would bring you on tour with him whenever he can

Dates are not very frequent, but you do love watching movies while cuddling in bed

If you have exes, he hates all of them 🥰 simple as that

At times he would joke about how he's so much better than your exes (bro that's no joke that's the truth)

He would kiss you before every concert as a good luck ritual

Would ask you to reward him after a concert or award show etc

Random car rides in the middle of the night with no final destination as you're listening to music and laughing

Not excessively, but he's a jealous guy (he said it himself in an interview 🤭)

Would smirk at you a lot

He would kiss you while you're on his laps

Dirty whispers in public to tease you

He would disapprove of your outfit if it's too revealing even if he loves it

He would get nervous when making eye contact

He's actually kind of shy at times but likes to throw himself out there

He's the big spoon

He loves exchanging nudes (ofc)

If he sees you with a baby he wouldn't stop smiling and saying you would be a great mommy

(idrk about this one but I thought about it and now I can't stop laughing 😭) he would say "smash" everytime you change clothing 😭

He would teach you guitar

Let's you style his hair in funny ways

He would warm your hands if they're cold (spoiler alert: he would put them in his pants or pockets)

He would randomly chase you around 'cause why not

Always tickling you

We would pick you up bride style whenever you're tired of walking or mention the slightest of fatigue

You both use sarcasm and dark humor to communicate a lot

He would smack your ass when you're going up the stairs or whenever he has the chance with no shame whatsoever

He would buy you lingerie to wear 🫣

Eye fucking you a lot

He would put his hand oh your tight when driving or sitting at a table

He would make fun of your height

He would let you win at arcade games or board games just to see you happy

He'd do anything to get lucky. And I mean ANYTHING

He would do anything to see you happy

find me a man like Tom Kaulitz

[sweetiepoison]

Famous Baby (Social Media Blurb)

Note: a little sneak peek into the next part 🫣

Liked by yourusername and others

latenightseth: @yourusername and I sat down to recap our day drinking that led to (y/n) having to be carried out. You don’t want to miss it!

Load more comments…

Fan#1: I love how progressively unhinged (y/n) gets during the day drinking segment

Yourusername: Thanks for having me and letting me embarrass myself all over again!

Fan#2: This isn’t an interview, this is two besties debriefing after a wild time out and I’m here for it

Fan#3: The way they have two totally different pov’s. (y/n)’s like “yeah I was fine and then I woke up in my bed” and Seth was like “No you got hammered and had to be carried out.”

Fan#4: The way she talks about her boyfriend, you can tell home girl is in love 😍

Fan#5: Let’s not skip over the fact it was Auston who carried her out of the bar

->Fan#6: And it not being the first time!

->Fan#7: Auston doesn’t even need to workout, carrying (y/n) around is his workout

->Fan#8: You know he stays tossing her around

->Fan#9: Yoo thats crazy to say

->Fan#10: nah it’s valid

Fan#11: Can we circle back around to @yourbff#1 totally calling them out and everyone on set just thinking they were hooking up in the bathroom

->Fan#12: my jaw dropped when Seth threw that in

->Fan#13: and you can tell (y/n) was not expecting that, girly got real giggly

->Fan#14: If Auston was my boyfriend I would be acting the same way

Fan#12: Seth sneaking in all the leafs content, he’s really out here doing God’s work

Fan#13: @yourusername thanks for being like the rest of us and honest. You embraced the embarrassment and totally owned it!

Fan#14: (y/n) casually dropping @stephmarner’s name

Fan#15: on a serious note I just want to say how much I love and respect Seth meyers. He obviously has met her boyfriend and knows who he is, but doesn’t name drop once. This is a hot topic right now so being the first to “find out” and report it would be big, but he isn’t doing that. There were a few suggestive questions, but that kept the segment light and funny! Also he didn’t give out the reason why the interview ended so abruptly and just said (y/n) needed to go home. He allowed her to lead the conversation and share as much or little about both the situation and her boyfriend. All around great conversation with two great people!

->yourusername: THIS ^^^^

Fan#16: THE AIRPLANE QUESTION👀

->fan#17: I nearly choked when he asked that

->Fan#18: So did (y/n)

->Fan#19: LMAO Seth had our girl stressing with some of these questions

Fan#20: I would sell one of my kidney’s to get drunk with @yourusername

->Fan#21: You might need to sell it to her after that segment 💀

Yourbff#1: I’m gonna watch that segment anytime I get hangxiety to feel better about myself

->Yourusername: no need to rewatch it, I’ll reenact it for you in real time

Yourbff#2: (y/n) 🤝 the bar bathroom floor

->Yourusername: I’m screaming stfu😭 my home away from home

Fan#22: Ahh I love (y/n) she’s so unserious

Fan#23: No ones roasting her as much as she’s roasting herself

->Yourbff#2: nah her boyfriend is probs chirping her the hardest

->yourusername: I can confirm he is

->Fan#22: I love this relationship 💙

[storiesbyjes2g]

👀

What is this about you say? Stay tuned!

Thanks to @trumpets0ng and @ladybugsimblr for letting me use your sims' credentials lol. Walker Pearson from Jett Studios (trumpet) was the photographer, and Alex Greene (LB) was the author. He also wrote Bailey Kay's article.

(transcript under the cut)

A well-dressed man walked into the studio, swaggy and confident, with more drip than a coffee pot. His perfectly tailored suit glimmered under the stage lights, looking just as expensive as one would imagine it to be. My initial thought upon seeing this cat with a larger than life personality was, “Oh, great. Here comes another industry brat.” Then, he walked up to my assistant, smiled, extended his hand, and said, “Hi! I’m Orange.” That’s when I knew I’d been completely wrong about him.

I started off slow.

ALEX: How’ve you been? How’s life treating you?

ORANGE: Life is wonderful, thanks for asking.

I’m excited about my baby sister being back on the west coast! She wanted to spread her wings and moved east; that’s where she met and married her guy. But she’s a mom now, and my parents are getting old, so she’s back. I can’t wait to spend time with my nephew and get to know my brother-in-law better.

ALEX: Wow, okay. It’s always nice to have the family close. So where have you been all this time, my man?

He leaned back into the sofa with a huge sigh and a smile.

ORANGE: Where have I been… I’ve been everywhere, man!

ALEX: Oh word?

ORANGE: Yeah, man. I pride myself on not being a prideful person…which is probably the most proud thing I could say.

He laughs at his own joke, wiping fake sweat away from his brow. And all at once, he had me. I was sucked into his energy.

ORANGE: I appreciate everything my parents did for me, but I was never interested in following in their footsteps.

ALEX: Never?

ORANGE: Not really. I was kinda artsy as a kid. I can sing, but I never had a passion for it. Don’t get me wrong…I’m a gregarious kind of guy, so I wanted to be in the public. Just not doing what my parents did.

ALEX: So what did you do?

ORANGE: Whatever I could. I didn’t want it said of me that my life was handed to me, so I moved out, got a crappy apartment, and worked as a barista for a while. People told me I was funny, so I started writing sketches and going to the comedy clubs.

ALEX: And then sim.TV called.

Laughter erupts, startling everyone on set. It’s loud and hearty and sounds like that uncle at the family barbeque.

ORANGE: It didn’t exactly happen that way, but yes…eventually. I honestly don’t know what happened. I’m guessing someone just happened to be at one of my shows and thought I would be a good fit for this new talk show they were planning.

ALEX: What does this mean for you?

ORANGE: Wow… This means… It’s so validating. I’m middle-aged now, and all my peers are off doing so many amazing things. It was really hard to resist the urge to go to my parents and ask for help. But the thing that kept me going was this moment right here. I knew that if I stayed the course, eventually something would happen, and I would have an immense feeling of pride. And I do.

ALEX: That’s so dope. So, tell us about the show.

ORANGE: It’s called “The Pulse,” and it’s all about keeping you entertained and informed about what’s going on in the entertainment world.

ALEX: So you’re keeping your finger on the pulse of the industry.

ORANGE: You get it. I’m so grateful for the opportunity because it’s so perfect for me. I grew up around it. I know all dirty secrets, but I also recognize and respect the beauty in it.

ALEX: So from your interviews, should we expect to get a different perspective of celebrity life?

ORANGE: I hope so. I don’t want to be just another talk show host, asking the same tired questions. One thing I want to do differently is get the audience involved. Everyone watching has their own reasons for being interested in someone, so if there’s something they want to know, I’d like to give them the answers.

ALEX: Okay! I like that. Kinda like, power to the people.

ORANGE: Exactly.

ALEX: So, why Nick?

ORANGE: Why not Nick? He’s the hottest thing smoking right now, and he’s not even working. I’m trying to get on his level! But seriously though, I think we’d vibe well. We’re similar in our values and ways of working, and I don’t think he’s ever done a TV interview before, so I think it’s fitting that he be my first guest.

ALEX: Best of luck to you, man. Thanks for sitting down with us.

[begebege28]

My thoughts. Please don’t come for me.

Ever since that man is has been introduced back on our screens, and is now kissing Buck, it’s like we aren’t allowed to view Eddie anything other than, straight? It’s so interesting because we all over the years whether or not people shipped buddie, people viewed them as queer coded. Therefore, queer individuals identified and connect to their story. Now, we can’t because…… NOW it matters what’s canon in show? NOW, it matters what the actors say? REALLY NOW? Did we forget throughout the seasons, the SR and Oliver when discussing buck, classified him as straight… because at that time, he was. To buck and BuckTommy fans, you NEVER viewed buck as bi or queer coded DURING his previous relationships when he was CANONICALLY straight or when Oliver and co said he was straight in interviews? how he talked about his relationship with Natalia pre s7. Bi buck wasn’t even supposed to happen this season. So now they are tying to use Ryan’s comments as a “gotcha”…. They love to throw out the term “actual representation”.. but it’s like, you talk about “actual representation” but bi buck was simply a LAST MINUTE decision. They were gonna continue with buck and Natalia. But due to scheduling it fell though. Then it was gonna be buck and Lucy (same thing). Then Eddie and Tommy. AND THEN WE GET to buck and Tommy. They think Tim is master and this “great love story” but if that was the case, they would have planned them from the start. Not a last minute decision as Oliver admitted. Why have these scenes if you want the audience root for them. For example, their first date. Why include Eddie? Why make it awkward for buck. Why did Tommy leave buck stranded on the sidewalk looking like an idiot. It’s NOT Tommy didn’t have a right to leave. What we are saying is the “joke” wasn’t funny. Why even say it? Especially since Tommy is “so confident” Second, if Tommy knew he wasn’t ready, why continue with the date after buck made the “hot chicks” comment. He clearly saw and realized, and buck TELLING HIM. “THIS IS MY FIRST DATE WITH A DUDE, and IM AN ALLY”. Like…. It’s not rocket science. He led him on. Why not show the continuation of the date? They could have easily done that. But they mirror bucks and Natalias where they only showed like 5 minutes. Buck thought they were continuing with the date to go to the movie. Tommy couldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. Especially he KNOWS what buck is going through… Tommy immediately, seconds after coming outside of the restaurant ordered the Uber and WAITED until he opened the door of the car to tell him. That’s fucked up and fuck him for that. Then they had buck apologize because he wasn’t ready to come out? LIKE HUH? Or Tommy’s continuation comments of being jealous of buck, the 118, and the way he belittles buck. “Enjoys while it lasts” after earning his medal? Like do you have to be a POS. WHY WHY for the life of me, have his LI say that if you have the audience to like him. The “daddy joke”. Really? In ANY other context, awesome! But there? I simply can’t. The way I have been watching since s1 and have never seen this much pushback to like a character or couple. None of bucks previous LI had this many “defenders”… AND HE ONLY HAS LIKE 15 minutes of SCREEN TIME. It’s weird.

Now, the plot hole that is 7x04 What stopped buck from reaching out to Tommy after the air hanger. NOTHING? He never called or texted… also, idk if anyone realized buck Tommy knew he was goi he to hang out with Eddie, and YET CONTINUED to invite buck… why show us the last maybe minute before they begin to talk about Eddie and where Eddie is NOW in the frame. Why didn’t they show the beginning where buck comes and meets Tommy? Buck getting upset at Eddie circling the basketball game? Buck grilling Christopher on his thoughts about Tommy? When did he care about Christophers thoughts before about his dads girlfriends or friends? Accusing Tommy of lying to get bonus points with Chris. You think he truly cared which movie is better? Why does he try to make him a bad guy to Maddie? He really didn’t have the time to talk to Eddie to go to the basketball game? Really? You mean to tell he HAD to wait until the gym scene? Or hell… even ask Tommy. When he does talk to Maddie after hurting Eddie, he says “i felt left out”. So that tells me something, he felt left out over not being able to do things with Eddie. the fact that buck didn’t know they were hanging out for 2 weeks? Not that he was trying to get Tommy’s attention

[milaisreading]

I don’t normally make requests so sorry if this sounds stupid but can you do one where the manager is like the biggest fan of Leonardo and Pablo and whenever someone mentions their names their like, Aren’t they so dreamy?

Thanks! Again sorry if this sounds stupid

Author: hope u like this one🩷 thanks for the request 🩷

Warnings ⚠️: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to:Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

"(Y/n), can you please give me that water bottle?" Rin asked, not looking up from his shoes, but all he got was silence from the girl and then he heard a few giggles. The boy looked up at her in confusion, only to find her on the phone.

"What happened?" Rin asked, hoping it wasn't a boy or someone else making her laugh.

"I am sorry, Rin! I will bring you the water bottle, but look! Leonardo Luna posted a video and it's so funny!" At the mention of the blonde Spaniard, Rin grew agitated and nervous.

'Does she like that asshole?!'

"He is so dreamy~ I wish I got an autograph from him and Pablo Cavasoz back when they were her." (Y/n) pouted.

"You are a fan of theirs?!" Rin asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, who wouldn't be? They are so good on the field, handsome and seem like nice people. I wish I didn't avoid them like a plague when I saw them last time."

As (Y/n) continued talking, she didn't notice the way Rin's face turned into a horrified one. Pablo Cavasoz? Sure, he can handle him since he seemed somewhat nice, but Leonardo Luna?! No way will he let that man steal her attention.

"Haaa..." (Y/n) sighed as she read a football magazine Anri bought her. Bachira and Kurons raised their eyebrows and looked down at her in confusion.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, you have been staring at the magazine for 30 minutes." Blushing at how obvious she was and shook her head.

"I am alright! But recently Cavasoz had an interview here in Japan, and the pictures they took of him are so good! Look at him!" The two looked in boredom at the pictures and nodded their heads. Bachira was fighting so hard not to grab the magazine and rip it apart.

'Only I should get this reaction from her! Not this freak!'

'What's so great about him? He is so stoic and boring.' Kurona thought.

"He looks so good! Look at his cheeks!" The two let out silent groans as they saw the awestruck look on (Y/n)'s face.

"What are you two talking about?" (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as her and Hiori sat down with Reo and Nagi to eat lunch.

"Nagi was talking about the time he played against the World 5 team." Reo explained as Nagi nodded his head.

"Yeah, that Adam Blake is really no joke when it comes to his speed. Silva's strategies were very intimidating as well." The albino said as the two nodded their heads.

"Don't forget Loki, that dude is a real beast. Imagine facing him at the World Cup." (Y/n) added in as the other three nodded along.

"What about that Luna and Cavasoz guy? They are pretty scary too?"

"And arrogant, especially the Spaniard." Nagi rolled his eyes and was about to continue speaking, but Hiori interrupted him.

"(Y/n)... re you alright?" The boy asked as Reo waved his hand in front of her eyes. She had that weird, dreamy look in her eyes as she sighed.

"Ahhh~ they are so talented. You can forgive the arrogance honestly." The trio looked at her in shock, knowing that (Y/n) usually doesn't tolerate that behavior from them.

"What? (Y/n), I thought you hate arrogant people." Nagi raised an eyebrow, a little bit annoyed at the look she had.

"It's alright~ they are cute when they act like that." (Y/n) giggled as jealousy started to rise among the trio.

'Are we losing to some assholes now?!' They thought.

"Baro, can you please not argue with Aryu and Chigiri?" (Y/n) raised her eyebrow as he yelled at them for not picking up their hairbrushes.

"No! It's disgusting!" (Y/n) sighed and shook her head as Chigiri poked his tongue out at Baro, all the while he kept hiding behind (Y/n). Her phone rang and (Y/n) turned her attention to it as the three argued.

"Hello?" She answered, expecting either Anri or Ego to be on the phone.

"What?!" She yelled as the three stopped yelling and looked at her in confusion and worry. Her face was all red and she had some weird glint of excitement I'm her eyes as she nodded her head.

"Yes! Yes! Everything is under control! I will go and prepare the bedrooms, Teieri-san! Will they need anything else?! Special food? Extra blankets?"

"Who is she talking about?" Baro wondered.

"I don't know... but why does she look soo..."

"So in love?" Chigiri finished Aryu's sentence as all three cringed at the idea.

Anxiously, the trio saw (Y/n) hang up and jump in excitement.

"What happened?!" Aryu asked nervously as (Y/n) turned to look at them.

"The World 5 team will visit us again! I can now ask for pictures with Luna and Cavasoz! Hopefully they will be alright with it..." (Y/n) said a little nervously as the three froze up.

"What?! Why are you so excited to see them?" Baro asked.

"Have you seen them?! Both are so handsome and talented, who wouldn't freak out!" (Y/n) thought as she was about to cry from happiness.

'Not them! Not those two!' Aryu thought as his eye twitched in annoyance while Chigiri was about to cry.

'What about me?'

[hummingbee-o0o]

Picking Lint off the Sofa

“You’ve been cleaning more than me for the past three days.”

Daniel swipes the microfibre cloth over the spotless table one more time and refuses to accept what Armand’s just said.

“Look, this is important to me,” he says instead, then gives the table another spritz of cleaning liquid.

“I know that,” Armand says from where he’s lounging on the sofa, tablet in his hands, wearing only obscenely expensive silk boxers and an open, plum-violet robe dripping off his body. “Which is why I’m not stepping in, per your request. Also, there’s no need to use detergents with microfibres; the multi-stranded fibre structure—”

“Are you on Wikipedia again?”

“No, Minecraft.” Armand shows off the screen proudly, like a kid with macaroni art.

“Looks great, babe.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve been a shit father, you know that. They deserved so much fucking better, they still do, but they still worry about me. That’s… I can’t waste that, Armand.”

“I’m sure you won’t, beloved.”

Daniel wipes the cleaning liquid off the table, polishes around the edges.

“I mean, we’re gonna officially put me in the ground in a couple years, so I just want to give them at least a few half-decent memories with me, for fuck’s sake! But now they think I’ve got dementia because I’m writing gay vampire erotica and shacking up with a twink who’s a third my age. They also probably think I’m using again, because I definitely act high during interviews. Fuck, I am high, just on human fucking blood instead of crack or heroin. What am I supposed to do here?”

Armand looks at him steadily with those large, amber eyes.

“That’s been clean for the past five minutes.”

---

The sight of Daniel assiduously cleaning is, frankly, disturbing.

Firstly, it’s unnatural: it’s a sign that something is deeply wrong in Daniel Molloy’s world if he suddenly concerns himself with tidiness.

And secondly, he’s terrible at it. Armand loves him unceasingly and rapaciously, but he really thinks no love could be so blind as to claim Daniel is any good at cleaning. Not even his.

Of course, he’s very well aware what’s causing his beloved so much distress: his daughters are supposed to come over for a visit. They’ve reached out, concerned about Daniel’s recent and very public behaviour, and they both agreed to come over to ‘catch up’.

“I think it’s nice,” Armand points out while Daniel rearranges the sofa cushions for the eighth time.

“It’s not nice, Armand, it’s a goddamn wellness check.”

“And your daughters caring about your wellness is not nice because…?”

“Because I’ll have to explain why I’m acting like I’m using or demented or both without making them call an ambulance to give me a stroke eval.”

There’s a game Armand sometimes likes to play: keep prodding and see at which point Daniel will realise he’s being funny on purpose.

“I could easily alter the memories of anyone called to examine you.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not helping.”

Oh, Armand is very well aware of that. He was told not to, wasn’t he. Therefore, he issues another prod.

“This might actually be a good way to assuage your daughters’ concerns.”

“Jesus Christ, please don’t do this.”

Armand is on what he believes people call ‘a roll’ these days.

-

(Read the whole thing on AO3)

[akookminsupporter]

Namjoon gave a good interview to Vogue Spain and in it he said a few things that I thought I'd share with those of you who may not understand Spanish.

This was at the end of the article but I want to write it first:

One thing that needs to be made clear about this album is that, no matter how much the rumour mill is trying to spin it, it is by no means the end of the successful band. "Oh, I'm not leaving BTS. Absolutely not. This is the first time I'm launching a solo project like this, so I'm trying to stand up and take my first steps. But I'm ambitious and I have willpower. So I don't want to miss the opportunity to do both. So I will try my best not to lose control and steer these two ships at the same time. A lot of bands split up and fall apart, but I hope that doesn't happen to BTS. I just love the music, I love my job, I love the band members and I love myself. If I can keep both projects going, I think it can be something legendary in the long run".

Other important parts of the article:

"The k-pop industry hasn't stopped growing since we debuted with BTS [in 2013]. It's become a lot more complex and has brought a lot more people into its structures. I think there are a lot of lights, but also some slippery shadows. Many of us started our careers very early as a group: we slept and lived together as teenagers. We became a real family, which is great, but this culture has also affected me a lot, because sometimes I find it difficult to be treated as an adult who has autonomy in his decisions. I'm perceived as just another cog in the crew, in the context of a mass phenomenon",

Did you ever feel like you were getting completely lost in this delirium of success? "I used to think so, but the funny thing is that I am fully aware that it was my own choice to devote myself to the k-pop industry. Nobody pushed me into it. But yes, I have lost myself at times. Although perhaps saying this is an excess of 'self-empathy'. There is no answer. Except that, if k-pop is about recharging the batteries of a mass audience and I'm responsible for doing that recharging, then I have to keep my feet firmly on the ground. As an adult, as a musician and as a human being. And these ten years of my career have helped me define who I am and learn to love myself. But I'm still in that process, you know? All these internal struggles will be recorded on records and videos," he explains.

"Music is really necessary for the world, but, when it comes to my music, sometimes I feel like I'm producing something unnecessary. If I were to die tonight, I don't think anything would change. It might matter to some people for a while, but a farmer or a street sweeper is more relevant to the functioning of society. When I ask myself about the role of our generation in historical terms, when I look at all the digital platforms and communities out there, I am overcome with confusion. There are a lot of people who don't want to think. They have frenetic lives and turn to music or television to escape, so the last thing they want is someone trying to lecture them from a pedestal. In that context, I wonder how I can make my music matter. I haven't found an answer yet, but I keep trying to bring my own perspective to it.

As to whether he is afraid that the army he has on Instagram (42.4 million followers) might one day turn against him for a silly mistake or a blunder, RM answers bluntly. "Yes, it scares me. It scares me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. When I was younger I tried to come across as a cool guy who doesn't give a shit what other people think, but I don't think that's right anymore. I care about the publicity dimension of my career and the influence I can have on others. It stresses me out, yes, but I think I can handle it. That's why I don't retire or do things like go out and drink the night away and then drive drunk. I'm human, I can make mistakes, but I will do everything in my power to be the best version of myself. One of the keys is to treat this job for what it is: a job. I don't think artists have any special rights or status.

Note: if you would like me to translate another part of the interview, let me know.