#FANNING MYSELF LIKE AN OLD BRITISH LADY OVER HERE

[doinadigitaldnazing]

AGHHUH SLAY KING, SLAYYYYYY

YIKES!!

It's been a fat minute since I posted art here, yeh?

Well, we're changing that! I have something I'd like to shareee

Tis a new Welcome Home au, and it's very near and dear to my hear

THAT'S RIGHT IT'S A VOCALOID AU

Now, the designs will take some inspiration from certain Vocaloids in a way, but I'm trying to think more specifically about representing from different companies

Because obviously everyone knows Miku and Co.

But there's a hell of a lot out there most people I meet don't know about!

So this'll be my way to fiddle with that and show it off ^^

Anyways, we've started with the poster child himself, and I hope you all like him!

[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (4/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of underage drinking 

Part Summary: Sam hosts a party and Y/N makes a not-so-great acquaintance of a certain rock star.

Masterlist

Sam’s house is filled with people. I know the majority of the partiers, the rest I can recognize from whatever field of entertainment they’re in. The music is blasting over the speakers and the voices fill the remaining space.

I search around for him. I manage to find him in the family room on the couch. He’s chatting with a group of people, including Penelope. I make my way over, shuffling between bodies. When I appear out from within the crowd, Sam gleams.

“You made it!”

“I did!” I giggle.

We hug and he introduces me to the girl beside him. “Y/N, this is Cara.”

As if I don't know who Cara Delevigne is, I may be busy but I don't live on Mars. I smile at her kindly. “Nice to meet you!”

“You too! I’m a huge fan of your work on TSL!” She gushes, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

The Seasons of Life is often shortened to TSL, just a side note.

Cara’s accent is so pretty! She’s already a model then she has to have a British accent as if she wasn’t perfect enough!

“Aw, thank you so much!”

Sam slips by me. “I’m going to go get us a drink!”

"Oh wait, Sam!"

“I know what to do!” He shouts back without stopping. I should know better. With how much time we spend together, he would know my order.

“That kid,” I sigh to Penelope and Cara.

The two giggle and we go on to talk about this and that. Fun enough, Cara leaves for Paris tomorrow for a fashion show. Must be exciting to travel so often and to wear the most amazing clothes. She’s quite funny. Her personality is so vibrant and warm. I can see us being good friends.

A loud voice echoes through the house and the three of us look toward the archway to see who it’s coming from. Bodies block the view so I turn my attention back to the girls. Penelope and I discuss the photoshoot in two days and Cara talks about her experiences with Vanity Fair.

“Hey, Cara!” A voice greets behind me.

I don't turn around, but I can feel their energy hovering over me. They shuffle to stand right beside me. I glance up, but can't recognize them.

Cara stands up to hug them. “Good to see you! How are you?” She keeps him in an embrace.

“Great, great!” The guy, who’s back is to me for some reason seems familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“You know Sam?” She questions as they part.

“Not really, I came with a few friends.”

I look over at Penelope for a hint as to who it could be. She shrugs and watches the two interact.

“Speaking of, have you seen him? I should say hi.” The man asks.

“He went to the kitchen to get a drink for him and Y/N.”

The man turns around and he peers down at me on the couch. I should’ve guessed it… MGK. The hair and a million tattoos should've been a dead giveaway. That bright blonde mess of a hairstyle.

“Colson, this is Y/N Voss,” Cara introduces us.

He glances down at me with a smile. “We’ve met actually,” he claims.

My head tilts, I can’t recall when we've met properly.

“Today after I performed on James’s show,” he describes, towering over me.

“Oh! Awesome!” Cara sits back down next to me.

All I can do is stare at Colson in confusion. “If you count glancing at one another from across the room once as meeting,” I reply a bit snarky.

He gives me a toothy grin and eases down onto the cushion ottoman right across from me. “It was more than one glance,” he argues.

“You would know, you’re the one that never looked away," I fire back.

Cara and Penelope exchange a glance, snicker, then leave the scene together. They offer their goodbye before giggling away. They're smart.

Colson seems to have not noticed or at least doesn’t care. He moves to take Cara's spot on the cushion next to me. “You would’ve had to been looking to have noticed that I never looked away.”

My head rolls back, with a mocking laugh. “Well aren’t you a genius!”

He rests his arm on the back of the couch behind me. “I like to think so.”

“One vodka tonic.” Sam interrupts, holding out my drink.

I take it bitterly. "Thanks."

“Sam huh?” Colson stands up and the two shake hands. “I’m Colson, nice to officially meet you, man!”

Sam treats him like an old friend which annoys the heck out of me. Colson so far has only shown his arrogance to me. “You too! Great seeing you today at the show. Your performance was amazing.”

“Thanks, your interview was hilarious!” Colson fakes charming better than some actors.

“You watched?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I stuck around just off-camera. You two are great!”

Watching these two talk each other up is a bromance waiting to happen.

Sam gestures to me with his glass. “Y/N here is the real comedian. There’s never a dull moment with her."

“I'm sure.” Colson peers down at me with a bright smile. "We’ve only just met and she’s already sparked a debate with me.”

I narrow my eyes at Colson, what’s he trying to start?

Sam settles down on the ottoman where Colson was. “What about?” He is all for the conversation and is jumping headfirst into the tiff between us.

Colson smiles but I see the mischief in his eyes.

“It wasn’t a debate” I rise to my feet in front of the boys. “If you would excuse.” I step away from the couch a little irked.

“Oh come on now Baby, I’m only joking,” Colson calls not bothered.

“Oh no,” Sam laughs behind me. “Best not call her that or any pet names for that matter. She hates them!”

I don’t even acknowledge them on my walk out of the room. Cocky, annoying, ugh! It’s been maybe five minutes and he’s already managed to irritate me. Maybe all the things they write in the tabloids about him are true. A spoiled, arrogant, womanizing jerk. A piece of the worst parts of the industry. I'm going to go find the girls and stay far away from Colson Baker.

________________________________________

On the set of the Vanity Fair shoot, the atmosphere is lively and carefree. The theme is an 80’s vintage style and since it’s coming back the magazine is mixing old with the new. Sam and I are in an old-fashioned record store and it’s wicked! The walls are teal and remind me of an old Taco Bell. There are rows and rows of just vinyl records. My hair is teased in an 80’s rock band kind of hairstyle. 80s music has been playing on set all morning to set the mood. I'm living for it!

A lady approaches me with a huge light wash denim jacket.

“No way! I get to wear this!” I gush.

She helps me put it on and I’m dying from how awesome this shoot is.

I immediately go to Sam's trailer. “Sam! I’m rocking the denim on denim look!” I show off my high-waisted light wash denim shorts with a black bulky leather belt around my waist.

He laughs. “I appreciate the denim on denim but I have to say my favorite part is the old Bon Jovi T.”

The photographer, Adam, comes up with this brilliant idea for me to stand on the crates of records. Where the two rows in the middle of the store meet, there’s enough room for me to stand. Once I’m up there and I can find the balance in these red heels, they have Sam join me.

“Sam, grab her leg and look up at her as though you’re keeping an eye on her,” Adam instructs.

The camera flashes and between snaps, I change my facial features.

“Good! Good! Let’s get some shots from the counter!”

Sam helps me down from the crates and I hop down. We get a shot of me laying across the counter with a red sucker in my hand and Sam hovering over me. This shoot is incredibly fun and I can’t wait to see the finished product.

Sam and I change outfits and Adam asks if he can get a video for the website and YouTube channel. Of course, we said yes. It’ll be a montage of an interview of us individually and then of us just messing around throughout the store with 80’s music playing in the background. Adam has me sit on an 80’s style floral couch they set up in front of a backdrop in the back room. The whole setup is very comfortable and intimate. Only us, a few lights and a camera with the radio playing. Sam is in makeup and dress for the part of the video of us being candid.

“You can sit however you like!” Adam instructs, meaning I’m sitting too formal with my posture straight and legs crossed. “Act like we’re just hanging out or something.”

I adjust myself and crisscross my legs, slouching a bit.

“Much better!” he compliments, staring down at the camera. He hits up on a stool and positions his camera on the stand. “What’s it like to be on the cover of Vanity Fair?”

“The whole experience is unreal! I remember having a subscription to Teen Vogue growing up. My friends and I loved them!”

“Would you describe your style as modern or classic?”

“Classic for sure!” I gush.

Adam snickers. “What’s your favorite decade for fashion?”

I laugh and gesture down at my outfit. “The 80’s.”

“Does anyone from the 80’s inspire your style in particular?”

I tap the tips of my fingers together and hum. “That’s a toughy! I guess I would have to say Demi Moore for the hair. Specifically, her haircut from About Last Night… that’s where I got the style for my hair actually. Another big one would be Cindy Crawford, such a fashion icon!” I could talk about fashion all day and the icons idolize.

“Heels or sneakers?”

“Depends on the occasion. Sneakers for everyday things, I could never live without my trusty Converse. Yet, I would wear heels if I’m dressing it up a bit.”

"Are you more of a girly-girl or tomboy?”

“People who know me well would say I’m a girly-girl but I also don’t mind downplaying it from time to time. I’ve gotten better lately at relaxing and no being so “on” all the time.”

“Hair up or down?”

“Half up, half down,” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully looking into the camera.

Adam chuckles behind the camera. He changes topics. “You’re from South Carolina originally...”

My heart sinks a little at the mention of home, but I hide behind a smile. “That I am.”

“You haven’t been back in almost a year, do you miss it?”

I play with the ends of my hair, examining my lap. Avoiding the camera lens. I look at anywhere but there. “If I were to miss anything about South Carolina, it would be the gorgeous landscape and southern food."

“You have three siblings, correct?” Adam asks next.

“I do, an older brother and sister, then a younger brother.” I list.

“What do they think about the show and your career?”

I nod. “They support me but the distance is hard. As you said, we haven’t all been together in almost a year.”

“Do you have any plans to go visit home soon?”

I sigh, “sadly no, my work keeps me quite busy.”

The interview goes on and we discuss how my style has evolved since I was a teen starting out in the business. I’ll admit, the topics about home and family sucked. Work and personal life are two separate jobs, my worlds can’t collide. I never bring South Carolina into it.

______________________________________________

After the shoot, I received a call from Cara when we were finishing up the photoshoot. Last night, Cara, Penelope, and I had a blast! I completely forgot about the whole tiff with Colson once I reached them in the kitchen. Since then, we’ve been three peas in a pod. While we were talking on the phone, she invited Sam and me to dinner at The Ivy.

“A small gathering of friends,” she told me and asked for us to be there by seven.

Jump ahead to now and Sam is parallel parking the car. I hop out and wait on the sidewalk for Sam to walk around. Our hands' interlock and the paparazzi take notice of us when people on the sidewalk pull out their phones.

“Y/N! SAM! SAM! OVER HERE!”

“HOW’S FILMING GOING?”

“It’s good to be back on set!” I cover my eyes with my clutch.

“YOUR INTERVIEW WITH JAMES CORDEN WAS GREAT!”

“SOCIAL BLEW UP AFTER THE INTERVIEW!”

Sam asks for the guys to make a path so we can get through without issues. He releases my hand and presses his palm to my lower back protectively.

“WE’VE ALREADY SEEN Cara AND PENELOPE GO IN!”

“A FEW PEOPLE ACTUALLY!”

“ARE YOU ALL MEETING UP?”

“Maybe, maybe not!” I look into one of the video cameras and wink.

The guy behind it gets a hoot out of my expression.

Sam and I reach the restaurant and the men let us go in unbothered.

“WE’LL LEAVE YOU ALONE TO YOUR DINNER!”

“Thanks guys, see you later!” I wave to them and their cameras shoot rapidly.

The noise dies down when we go back further into the restaurant. Sam spots Cara in the back and guides me back there. Tables are lined up in a long row and the majority of the seats are filled.

Cara, cool as a cucumber pulls me into a hug. “Hey Y/N! So glad you two could come!” She sits Sam and me across from each other near the middle. She insisted that I sit by her so we could chat. We get to talking about the Vanity Fair shoot today then she’s pulled away when another guest arrives.

The waitress comes up behind me and requests my drink order.

“I’ll have a sweet tea please.”

“We only serve unsweetened.”

I hate it when they say that. “That’s fine, thank you!” Sam eyes me and I pout about having no sweet tea.

“You realize there’s sugar right here.” He slides me the packets of sugar.

“Yes but it’s not the same. There’s sweet tea at every restaurant where I’m from and I come here boom! Sweet tea is nonexistent!”

"What’s the drink that’s carbonated?” He’s asking to be annoying because the west coast and the midwest disagree on the name.

“Pop!” I glare at him.

“That’s right! Pop! Sounds like you’re saying pot every time.” He laughs at his own joke, finding himself humorous.

“It’s soda by the way," he corrects.

“Uh uh,” I refuse to change my ways, “it’s pop.”

The empty chair next to me slides back and when I glance up to see who’s doing it, an instant headache hits my brain.

Sam greets Colson warmly with a handshake. I shoot Sam another glare. He’s acting neutral but that shouldn’t be a choice in this case. He was my friend first!

Colson removes black Ray-Bans from his face and positions them on top of his head.

“Hello Y/N.” Colson sends me one of his charming grins so many teen girls swoon over.

“Hi,” I reply, not attempting to hide my disinterest. I curve my body away from him and towards Cara, legitly giving him the cold shoulder.

The dinner goes on without a hitch surprisingly, considering the circumstances. Penelope leans down over the back of my chair to say our goodbyes.

I turn around in my chair to face her. “See ya tomorrow.”

“See ya,” she rubs her hand up and down my arm.

She and I exchange kisses on the cheek. “Love you!” We say in unison as we part.

“Later Sam!” She wiggles her fingers at him in a wave.

Sam and I stick around a while longer since Cara and I have gotten into a deep conversation about our shared love for vintage things. A conversation about our collections of records alone went on for twenty minutes. I hadn't noticed that it was just four of us now. Sam and Colson have been talking most of the dinner.

A pair of hands rest on my shoulders and steal my attention away from Cara. “Y/N, you ready to go?” Sam asks.

“We’ll head out too!” Cara announces with her sights directed behind me.

I look over my shoulder and Colson is standing beside Sam. The four of us walking out together�� how convenient.

I grab my clutch, sticking close to Sam to dodge Colson.

The four of us walk toward the front of the restaurant and right when we reach the steps leading outside, Cara announces that she forgot her purse.

“I’ll be right back!” She urges us to go on without her.

The cameras waited for us as I assumed they would. They’re capturing every minute of us waiting for Cara.

I place my hand on Sam’s shoulder, “would you go help her?”

“You sure?” His eyes flicker between me and Colson.

“I’ll be fine,” I assure him and he promises he’ll only be a second.

“Go to the car so you aren’t bothered,” he refers to the paparazzi.

“I’ll walk her,” Colson offers.

Sam gives him the go-ahead as he goes off to help in the search for the purse.

I’m left with the one guy I was avoiding. I grip the keys in my hand and walk down the brick steps to the sidewalk. I hear Colson behind me and stop to address him. “I can walk myself to the car.”

He raises his arms mocking a surrender. “I don’t doubt your ability to walk, just helping out.”

“I don’t need your help,” I scoff, starting to walk again.

“I never said you did,” Colson sassily replies.

*Click* *Click* *Click*

A man runs around me to get a photo of me straight on.

“Y/N! Y/N! WALKING IN WITH SAM AND LEAVING WITH MGK, ANY EXPLANATION?”

I pause for a moment, making eye contact with the man behind the camera. Is he honestly trying to start drama? What lies are he going to sell? I’m only going to the car because Sam requested. The only reason Colson is even near me is that he’s so freaking persistent.

I push back the aggravation and force my lips into a kind smile. I can’t have a single moment of weakness. I can’t give in to my emotions like others. “Sam is helping Cara with something inside. Colson was kind enough to walk me to the car.”

“HOW LONG HAVE YOU GUYS KNOWN EACH OTHER?”

I purposefully answer quickly so Colson doesn’t even have the chance to think of a response. “Not long, we met the other day backstage at The Late Late Show. We have a lot of the same friends and had no idea!” I peek over at Colson and he gives me a knowing look. I dismiss it and go on with my charade. I will not let this jerk mess with my career.

“ANY CHANCE OF HAVING COLSON GUEST STAR ON THE SHOW?”

“That would be great!” I lie my butt off, “having more friends on set would be fun!”

“COLSON, HOW’S YOUR NEW ALBUM COMING ALONG?!”

“We’re in the recording stage right now. Should be released sometime this summer," he answers.

“FOLLOWING UP WITH A TOUR?”

“Of course!” he chuckles.

I unlock the car and move around the guys to reach the door.

“WE’LL LET YOU GUYS GO ON. ENJOY THE REST OF YOUR NIGHT!” One of them departs.

“Thank you! You too!” I wave goodbye.

Some stick behind to get a few last pictures but for the most part, they all disburse. The ones remaining, however, keep their distance.

I yank on the handle of the door and Colson holds it for me. As if he's a gentleman. I begin to climb in, prepared to yank it shut in his face.

“Friends huh?” Colson chuckles.

I turn around abruptly and check around the general area of the sidewalk for any cameras. Seems the remainder of the guys have left. I shut the door and Colson removes his hand in a rush.

“No, not friends! I only said that to please the public," I huff.

“Ouch!” he acts offended, placing his hand on his heart. “I did find it interesting that you claimed we met backstage the other day so I was right!” He chuckles, believing he caught me.

“No, no, no, no!" I shut that thought down quickly. "The only reason I made that up was that it’s not good for my image if I admit I was at a party. People tend to assume that heavy drinking and drugs occur at parties. I can’t be associate with that scene!”

“Oh, so it’s alright to lie?” He crosses his arms and snickers, glancing down the street toward the restaurant.

I roll my eyes, of course, he doesn’t understand, why would he? “You don’t get it” I scoff, dismissing him. I turn and reach for the car handle again.

“So what if you were at a party? People drink, if some have a problem with that, that’s their problem. Oh! I forgot! You're America's Sweetheart! The perfect angel princess with a spotless record,” he mocks.

I slam the car door shut, having hit my limit. I keep my voice hush. “It’s not that simple! I'm not like you! I can't be caught partying! If the country, the world, sees the truth then my image is ruined! I've been doing this since I was a teenager! I worked way too hard for far too long to lose everything over a stupid mistake!”

Colson’s face falters from his usual carefree expression to one of seriousness.

“Found it! Let’s go!” Sam announces loudly to the whole block.

I toss him the keys and glance back to Colson who stands there in a stillness I have yet to see from me. His stare makes me want to hide. I feel as though I’m under a microscope being studied.

“Toodaloo Y/N! ‘Till next time my pals!” Cara strolls down the sidewalk.

It’s evident she’s had a couple of drinks. She sways further down the sidewalk and comes to a stop once she notices Colson isn’t following.

“Later Cara!” Sam shouts over the top of the car behind me.

Colson and I stare at each other I’m guessing for different reasons. He appears lost in thought and I’m desperately trying to figure out why. If I look away, I fear he’ll break to pieces or something.

Cara pauses. “Colson? You coming?”

He holds out for a moment but finally breaks eye contact with me. "Yeah."

When I’m no longer staring into those black works of art I regain my ability to move. I hurry into the car and Sam says his goodbyes again over the top of the car. I buckle my seatbelt when he climbs in. Watching strangers walk up and down the sidewalk, I’m perfectly aware of Sam starring me down.

He pulls onto the street. “Are we gonna talk about it or are we doing silence?”

I reach over and turn up the radio.

“Of course you make your own option.” Sam watches me, waiting for some sort of explanation.

We come in at the end of a song and the next one is oh too recognizable. The classic rock sound that is a part of all of Colson’s music plays through the car speakers. His vocals enter the soundwave and I groan loudly over the music before turning off the radio.

"No music then!" I snap.

__________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @canyoubuymetoast @bri-3530 @asil1652 @andstilltryingtofindmyself @nadia2021 @olafsidehoe @mgkobsessed @fairywriting101 @ferrell-cat @naylanae-0308 @tonystarkswife10 @alexsa5 @brocksbabyyy @stormrider505 @magnificenthumancopangel @sarcasticfangirlus @lilramencup95beech @missyviolet123 @skeleton-gxr @glitterybearllamaflap @margaritaville20 @amoresix @thysagclub

[carriagelamp]

Art of Aardman

I found myself a cheap copy of the Shaun the Sheep movie, so I was rewatching a bunch of Aardman films earlier this month and decided to hunt down some books too. For anyone that doesn’t know, Aardman is a British stop-motion studio that does fantastic work like Wallace and Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, Chicken Run, Early Man… tons of cool stuff. They’re always quirky and funny and warm-hearted. This was just a very nice art book for anyone that’s a fan of Aardman stop motion and wants to see a bit extra; it shows some cool concept art and blows up the neat details in Aardman work, especially in their intricate stuff like The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists!

Asterix and the Picts (Asterix and the Chariot Race, and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion)

I decided to try a couple of the new Asterix comics that were done by the new team, just to see if they stand up to the old ones (that and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion cause I’d never read that one before). They were pretty decent! Asterix and the Picts was my favourite of the two though I wouldn’t say either are going to contest for my favourite Asterix comic... but still! The art looks good and the stories felt like what I would expect, they made for a pleasant couple evenings of reading especially since it’s been so long since I’ve read a new Asterix comic. If you’ve never read Asterix it’s one of the biggest name French comic series in North America, as far as I know and very worth the read. It’s about a single Gaulish village that’s holding out against the invading Romans through sheer force of will, slapstick hijinks, and a magical super-strength potion brewed by their druid. Lots of fantastic visuals and cute wordplay, even in the English translations.

Bear

I found out about this bastion of Canadian literature via tumblr post that was losing its collective mind over the fact that some bizarre bear-based erotica novella somehow won the most prestigious literary prize available in Canada. Since I too found this hilarious and unspeakably bizarre I had to give it a read, obviously. And yes, the flat surface level summary is... a librarian moves out into rural Ontario and falls in love with a literal for-real not-supernatural-not-a-joke bear. And I have to say… it is actually worthy of an award, which I was not expecting given that I was there for a laugh. It has beautiful writing, and the subtextual story is pretty interesting… it kind of makes me think of The Haunting of Hill House actually in terms of themes. (Womanhood, personhood, independence, autonomy partially achieved through escaping the male gaze by claiming non-human lovers... listen if I were still in university I would right a paper comparing the two novels).

I dunno man, it’s fucking weird. Actually a well-written book, but sure is about a woman falling in love with a literal bear. Give it a read if you want something bonkers but like… high-brow bonkers.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

Best book I have read in like… a while. A long while. I am not a fast reader, and I consumed 90% of this book over a weekend. It’s not at all like Terry Pratchett, but at the same time it scratched an itch for me that I haven’t had satisfied since Pratchett’s death. A very clever, hilariously funny poly romance between a disabled werewolf, an anxious vampire lord, and an incredibly powerful woman, with heaps of social satire, political commentary, and sinister undertones. The whole thing reads a bit like fanfiction and I say that in the most flattering way possible -- it is so easy to jump right in and be immediately taken over by the characters and the world and the plot, you never feel like you’re fighting to engage even though the world-building is fascinating and expansive. It welcomes you in right away, it was the book equivalent of a quilt and a hug which is something I sorely needed with all this pandemic bullshit. If you read any of the books on this list, go read that one while I sit here in pain waiting for the sequel.

Kid Paddle

I watched the cartoon of Kid Paddle as a kid and was thinking about it recently, so I decided to hunt down some of the original comics online. They’re fun and weird, with a cute art style and fantastic monsters designs. (My favourites are always about Kid either daydreaming or playing games that involve Midam’s weird warty troll creatures. It’s like a cross between Calvin and Hobbes and Foxtrot with the fun sort of quirks that I love in Belgian comics. Unfortunately, unlike Asterix, I’ve only come across these ones in French, but if you can read French it’s totally worth popping over to The Internet Archive and reading the ones they have available.

The Last Firehawk: The Golden Temple

The lastest Firehawk book. Despite being written for quite young readers, I did enjoy the early books in this series quite a bit. They’re about a young owl and squirrel who found an egg for a magical species that was believed to be extinct. With the newly hatched firehawk, the three of them head off on a mission to find an ancient firehawk magic that could save the entire forest. Very basic adventure story but a good intro to the tropes for children. Unfortunately the quality really feels like it drops with each subsequent book; this will probably be the last one I bother reading.

Lumberjanes: The Moon Is Up

I honestly think I enjoy these Lumberjanes novels even more than the comics just because it really gives time to delve into each story and examine how the camper are really thinking and feeling about everything. (Also I’m always weak for novelizations of anything.) The Moon Is Up is a book that focuses more on Jo, and takes place during the camp’s much anticipated Galaxy Wars, a competition between cabins that goes over several days. While the campers prepare for these challenges though, they also run into a strange little creature with a penchant for cheese and theft. Roanoke cabin needs to keep ahead in Galaxy Wars and somehow deal with the fearsome Moon Pirates that a closing in...

Lumberjanes v4 (Out Of Time)

One of the Lumberjanes comics, a cool, girl-focused, queer comic series. Honestly, this is just a fun series that I never got as into as I should have. My advice is honestly to skip book one because it gets better as it continues, and I’ve really been enjoying the later books now that I’ve given it another go. It follows five campers at Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady Types (Jo, April, Molly, Mal, and Ripley) as they handle all sorts of challenges, from friendship to crushes, camp activities to supernatural horrors, getting badges to not being brutally killed. Great if you liked the vibe of Gravity Falls but want it to be queer-er.

Mooncakes

Another queer graphic novel, but unfortunately not a very good one. It really looked appealing and I had high hopes, but the book itself really didn’t hold up… I actually couldn’t even finish it, the plot was just too… non-existent. The art is fairly mediocre once you actually look at it, especially backgrounds, and it feels very… placid. Not much conflict or excitement or even a very compelling reason to keep reading. If you just want a soft queer supernatural you may get more mileage out of it than me, but it didn’t really do it for me. There’s better queer graphic novels out there.

New Boy In Town

One of the worst books I have ever read. My girlfriend had ordered a very different book online but through a frankly stupendous error was sent this 1980s pulp romance instead. Absolutely nauseating on levels I couldn’t even begin to enumerate here. Naturally we read the whole thing out loud. Probably took us 10 times longer to finish than it warranted because I had to stop every two sentences to lose my mind. If you like bad decisions, baffling hetero courting rituals, built-in cultural Christianity without actually calling it that, and gold panning then boy howdy is this the book for you.

(seriously, you better have patience for gold-panning if you attempt this one, because I sure learn that I don’t)

Piggies

This was a picture book I enjoyed as a kid and had a reason to reread recently. Honestly it’s just very cute and simple, and the art is completely mesmerizing. Wonderful if you know a young child that would enjoy a simple goofy boardbook.

Shaun the Sheep: Tales From Mossy Bottom

Related to my Aardman fascination earlier this month. I tried reading a varieties of Shaun the Sheep books — most of which are mediocre at best — but the Tales From Mossy Bottom Farm series is genuinely good. Just chapter books, of course, but the illustrations match the series’ concept art and each story feels like it could have jumped directly out of an episode. They’re just cute and feel-good! Kinda like Footrot Flats but more for kids, and from the sheep’s perspective moreso than the dog’s.

[parkersbliss]

Press Week | T. Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland X Famous!Actress!Reader

Warnings: no-no words maybe?? sexual innuendo, lots of fluff, lost of dialogue, a lot of 1D references but you probably won’t see them

WC; 3K

synopsis: just three times you and Tom were too adorable during press week

a/n: I had too much fun with this, tbh these are all based of actual interviews so don’t come for me

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

"I'm Tom Holland."

"That does not sound like me!" Tom protests, mock offense displayed on his face.

"You're right, you're right, my bad. Okay, let me try again," You said, coughing you slap your chest a few times. "I'm Tom Holland!" You said using your best British accent and high pitched voice.

Tom smacks his lips together, rolling his eyes, "And I'm (Y/N) (L/N)!" He said, making sure to do an over the top impression of you.

"And we're answering the internet!" You announced, lifting a jar full of paper slips to the camera. You pull out the first piece of paper, reading it over yourself, thinking over an answer before saying it out loud, "What's your guy's go-to date night?"

You and Tom both look at each other before turning back toward the camera, "Netflix and cuddles."

"Not chill," You clarified, "this is a family-friendly show, Netflix and cuddles."

"Although," Tom objects, "sometimes we chill," he winks at the camera. You slap his arm for the comment and he yelps in pain, "Kidding!"

"Moving on." You hand the jar to Tom and he rummages around a bit before pulling out a random slip of paper.

"What's the worse feeling in the world?"

You pause, tapping your chin as you think. "Oh! Do you know when you're like really excited to get an apple and you go and get it and you're expecting it to be all crisp, juicy and sweet and instead you bite into it and it's kind of soft and a bit dry?"

Tom bursts out laughing next to you, burying his head in his hands as his body shakes with laughter, "oh my god, I love you," He spoke.

"I love you too?" You said although it came as more of a question. You weren't quite sure why Tom was laughing so hard, you were being serious.

He gathers his composure, wiping a few tears from his eyes, "Okay, so now that my girlfriend gave her ridiculous answer."

"It's not ridiculous! You asked and I answered," You interrupted, crossing your arms. Tom rolls his eyes, patting your knee gently.

"The worse feeling in the world for me does not have to do with food," He makes sure to give you the side-eye at the comment, "It’s when (Y/N) gets mad and I'll tell her to 'calm down, baby' I made that mistake once and I never will again."

You nod your head, giving the camera a serious look and pointing a finger, "Seriously don't tell your girlfriend or boyfriend that or they will strangle you."

"I've experienced it firsthand," Tom backs you up, "It's not my preferred method to be choked."

The whole room goes silent and you can feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment at his comment, of all the things that come out of his mouth he had to say that? Tom glances at you, scratching the back of his neck, he mumbles a sorry and quickly hands you the jar of paper. You’re quick to pull out another question to change topics, "I simp for Tom's biceps any day."

Tom wiggled his eyebrows, flexing his muscles at the camera and you giggle, wrapping an arm around the muscle, "Honestly, me too."

Tom smirks, flexing a bit more and you gasp, making dramatic camera motions as he goes.

"What's the next question, lovie?" he asked.

You dig into the jar pulling out a slip, "How can I die for Tom Holland without being dramatic?"

Tom blushes, letting out a soft chuckle, before looking down at his converse and back toward the camera, "I don't know, maybe just don't die for me?"

You pat Tom's shoulder, flashing an apologetic smile at the camera, "Sorry, he gets flustered easily."

Tom scoffs, swatting your hand away, "do not."

You quirk an eyebrow at him, but say no more and read the next question to yourself, laughing.

Tom looks over your shoulder, before you fold the paper up again, "What? What is it?"

"How can I be (Y/N)'s new boyfriend?"

"Absolutely not!" Tom screams, ripping the paper from your hand, crushing it as you laugh, almost falling off your seat.

"She is perfectly happy with me!" He huffed, chucking the piece of paper offset as you continue to giggle next to him.

"Position already filled," You told the camera, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Tom's cheek.

"I think I’ll be picking the next question." Tom takes the jar from you and pulls out the next one, "If you guys could date anyone else in the world, without offending the other, who would it be?"

"Louis Tomlinson," You said, not missing a beat. At the same time, Tom says, "I wouldn't."

"oh shit," You giggle, biting your lip as you look to Tom.

His mouth falls open as he tosses the paper aside, "Of all the people and you pick my favorite member of One Direction?"

"Well, he's your favorite for a reason, no?" You counter.

"The man's got great hair, I won't lie. He's funny as hell, but I'd like to think my girlfriend prefers me than an ex-boy band member."

"It was a hypothetical question," You reassure him before adding, "but Louis if you're watching this my number is-"

Tom slaps a hand over your mouth, "Don't even think about it."

You stare at Tom, looking back down at his hand and he catches on quickly, "babe," he warns.

You giggle before licking his hand and he retracts it quickly, wiping it down, "Babe," He whines as you laugh.

"We're very professional," You point toward the camera, smirking as Tom continues to wipe his hand on his jeans.

"That's why they put us in this interview together," Tom said, still wiping his hand.

"Anyway," You take the jar back from Tom. "While my boyfriends freaking out because I licked his hand and I literally kissed him this morning, let's move on to the next question." You slip your hand in the jar, mixing up the paper a bit before picking out a random one, "PLEASE bring back the bed selfies."

Tom laughs, "See here's the thing, I would, truly, but (Y/N) doesn't like when I post myself shirtless and I quote, 'looking like perfect boyfriend material.'"

You scoff, "Priorities, Tom, Priorities. I'll let you post them when I get to be cuddled in your chest as well."

Tom shrugs, looking into the camera, "that can be arranged."

...

"We have some very special guests here with us today," The host said, causing all the fans to clap and cheer. "You might know him as the fishbowl man, but ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Jake Gyllenhaal!"

The crowd claps as Jake jogs onto the stage, he stands arms open as he accepts their applause. He makes a more motion with his hands, to which the fans obey. He laughs, taking a bow as he takes his seat on the far end of the table.

"Next up we have the man, the legend, the one who plays your favorite sixteen year old from Queens, Mr. Tom Holland!!"

The crowd loses their mind as Tom strolls onto the stage, he stands, blushing, mouthing thank you as he bows repeatedly, blowing a kiss to the crowd while flexing a muscle. He takes his place next to Jake, tapping his microphone, "I'd like everyone to give a warm welcome to our other new member, you may know her as Eva Rose, but to us, we call her (Y/N) (L/N) or as I like to say, my lovely girlfriend," he winks.

The fans cheer, clapping and screaming as you take the stage. You smile, waving back at them and blowing a kiss, doing a little shimmy to your seat, where Tom pulls you down for an innocent kiss that makes the fan scream.

"I'd like to welcome our next guest, my best friend, and a walking goddess Zendaya!" You said into the mic. She struts onto stage, doing a little twirl as the fans cheer. She waves, grinning as she bows and takes her place next to you.

"And finally, we have, everyone's favorite, the only reason you want to see this movie, Jacob Batalon!" Tom grinned, waving his best mate on stage. Jacob runs on, fanning himself in mock excitement, laughing as he takes the last seat.

"Hey, guys! How is everyone?" The interviewer asks.

"We're good!" Tom said, waving to all the fans, "happy to be here."

"So this your second movie and obviously the cast has changed a bit, can you tell us what it was like working with them?"

Tom nods his head, looking toward Zendaya and Jacob, "Um, I think it was a really cool experience working with (Y/N) and Jake. It was kind of surreal to be working with such big names in the business, ya know? I met the love of my life on set too, so that was kind of a big plus."

You shrug, leaning into the mic, "it was just a big plus, that's all it was."

"Trust me, you didn't want to be on set when (Y/N) wasn't around. All Tom would do is gush about her for hours on end. I thought my ears were going to fall off," Zendaya pipes up, laughing as Tom goes red in the face.

"He got the girl, didn't he?" Jake asked.

You nod your head, "I think he did, not quite sure."

Tom swings his arm over your shoulder, "No I definitely did."

You look up at him, taking the chance to press a quick kiss to his lips and he hugs you a bit closer. Jake rolls his eyes as Jacob and Zendaya fake gag.

"You should've seen them on set, it was horrific."

The interviewer laughs, "I assume that means you guys have some embarrassing stories to tell?"

"Plenty."

The interviewer goes around asking questions about the movie-making process, filming, stories from the set, and questions from fans. You unscrewed the lid to your water bottle, taking a sip and Tom uses the opportunity to gently tilt it upwards, causing more water to come out. You cough, wiping down the water that drips down your chin as you glare at Tom. He smirks, giving you a coy smile and you have to resist the urge to slap it right off his face. A few fans had noticed the interaction and were pointing to you two, giggling. You lean over, whispering in Tom's ear, "I'm going to get you back for that."

He turns toward you, covering his mic, "I'd like to see you try."

"If you could play any other character, who would you want to play?" The interviewer asks.

Tom uncovers his mic, leaning in to answer, "Um, I think I'd like to play-"

You poke him in his cheek and he turns his head toward you, "yes?"

"Nothing carry on."

"As I was saying I think I'd like-"

You poke him again.

"Babe."

"Nothing."

He continues speaking and this time you let him go a bit longer before yet again, poking him in his cheek, this time he continues, swatting your hand away, only restoring in you poking him more as he continues to try and speak.

"I'm sorry," Tom said, "My girlfriend is making it very hard to answer."

You smile sweetly, "No one cares what you have to say anyway. I'd love to play MJ."

Zendaya laughs, "I'd like to play maybe... Shuri could be a lot of fun."

The interviewer moves on to some fan questions, handing them mics so they could talk to you.

"Hi my name is Isaac," One of them said.

"Hi, Isaac!" You all chorused.

"I'd like to first say I love you, (Y/N)."

You place a hand on your hear, "I love you more."

Isaac laughs, cheeks tinted a fair shade of pink.

"Seriously," You add.

Tom sits beside you, pointing to himself, giving the audience a quizzical look, "look like she's moved on already," He pouts.

You roll your eyes, "I'm sorry, Isaac. Tom's quite clingy."

Tom grabs your hand in his as if to prove your point. He kisses your hand softly.

Isaac chuckles, "my question is, do you ever get jealous of Tom and Jake's marriage?"

Jake bursts out laughing, slamming his fist down on the table as he regains his composure, "That was the best question ever."

"Um, no, no, I don't get jealous. It's hard to when you're just the side chick," You replied.

Tom's head is buried in his hands as he and Jake laugh.

"See what I mean? There was never a competition, Jake already won."

...

Tom held a small bin in his hand, full of tiny slips of paper, "So it's like charades, but with words?"

The interviewer nods, "Right, so there's something on the paper and you have to describe it without saying anything on the card, you have five minutes."

"I can do that," Tom muses, "can we start?"

The interviewer nods and Tom pulls out the first piece of paper, reading it to himself, Your first date.

"Um, it was you and me," Tom starts, "we were on set, in my trailer and we ordered some crappy pizza-"

"Our first date?" You asked. Tom nods throwing the paper away.

"I thought the pizza was quite nice," You mumbled.

Tessa

Tom makes a barking noise, not even looking up from the paper as you immediately said, Tessa.

Tom breaking his nose

"Okay, this happened to me once on set this year. It has to do with my facial structure, it happens more often then I'd like."

"Face fillers!" You said.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. I've done this about three times, it normally involves blood and bruises, the directors hate when it happens..."

You think about it for a bit, staring at Tom's face, "Oh, you breaking your nose!"

He nods, grabbing the next paper. (Y/N)'s iconic premiere look.

"You do break it a lot, your poor nose."

He shrugs, "'s fine now, hospitals work magic."

"It's actually my kisses that heal his nose," You corrected.

Tom nods his head, smiling up at you, "Okay, um, my girlfriend, she went to a thing and was dressed in like a-"

"My red carpet look?"

He crushes the paper, "You did look gorgeous, lovie."

"I know."

"I don't know why I even bother with compliments."

First kiss

Tom thinks about it for a bit, before tapping his lips gently and holding up his pointer finger. You tilt your head to the side, before leaning in to kiss him softly. You pull back only for Tom to grab the back of your neck and bring your lips against his again.

"Wasn't asking for a kiss, baby, but I won't complain."

"What is it then?"

He taps his lips again, "We were on set, having a funny face competition and you made a duck face and I thought you wanted to do a thing and so I did a thing."

You burst out laughing, "our first kiss?"

Tom grins, cheeks dusted pink, "yeah."

He grabs another piece of paper, Tom spoiling movies.

"Marvel hates me because of this."

"You spoiling movies."

(Y/N)'s strange love for apples

"We were in an interview and I asked a question and you immediately replied with the most ridiculous answer ever-"

"Apples."

When (Y/N) stepped on a snake

Tom laughs, taking a minute to calm down as he remembers the vivid memory, "We were in Australia, on our way back from the beach and there was an ssssss."

You stare at Tom as he does an impression of a snake, making a hissing noise and moving his hands and head in a (what you assumed) was a slithering motion. If you were being honest, you knew exactly what the card said but you quite liked Tom doing an impression of a snake, "when I stepped on a snake."

He snaps his fingers, "yes!"

"In my defense, the snake was the same color as the sidewalk and It didn't make any noise, but uh, it was pretty scary, it hissed and I ran."

"I've never seen her run so fast in her life," Tom added, "I almost couldn't keep up with her."

Tom's fear of spiders

"It's ironic, I'm terrified of what I am."

"Your fear of spiders."

He pulls the next card, "You for some reason think this guy is better than me-"

"Shawn Mendes? Harrison? Niall Horan? Dylan O'Brien?" You list off on your fingers.

Tom hides his face in his hands, "oh my god."

"Oh! It's Jacob!"

"I don't know why I bother with you."

You giggle, grabbing one of his hands to hold, squeezing it gently, "Is it Louis Tomlinson?"

He tosses the paper to the side and you kiss his cheek, "I only think he's hotter."

"Gee thanks, babe."

"I love you," You whispered, making a kissy face. He sighs, leaning in to press your lips together, noses brushing.

"M'kay, sure you do," He mumbled, grabbing the last few pieces of paper.

"You guys have five seconds left," The interviewer announces, startling you both.

Tom blinks, looking down at the few pieces of paper in his hands, "I shouldn't even bother, should I?"

You shake your head no and he looks to the interviewer who gives him a thumbs up to keep going.

"My best mate, he went to go get us something and he came back and managed to make a mess."

"That's extremely vague, but I'm guessing when Harrison spilled coffee all over himself?" You inquired, Tom tosses the paper in which you take a sign that you were right.

Tom nods, grabbing the last piece of paper. He gets down on one knee, gently taking your hand in his.

"Oh! You and Jake’s marriage."

He nods, getting back up and sitting next to you. He tosses the now empty bin behind him.

“Man, you’re so lucky to be married to such an amazing guy.”

Tom shrugs, smirk playing on his lips, “I guess he’s alright, would’ve preferred someone else though.”

You gasp, bringing a hand in front of your mouth, clearly displaying the diamond ring on your finger. Tom looks at it, shrugging as he turns to face the camera. You wink, blowing a kiss, making sure the diamond reflected in the light, “oh really, who’s the lucky person?"

Tom winks, holding up your interlocked hands, two rings set on each, "Who knows?"

— End —

🏷 Tom Holland Taglist: @honeybittersweet @cams-lynn @runway-to-my-aid @peterspideyy @yoinkyourheart @t-monosapiens-h @hollandsamor @quaksonhehe @imanativeofswlondondahling @jillanaholland @keenmarvellover @lexysclubhouse

strike through- can’t tag you

[tsarisfanfiction]

A Little Fall Of Rain

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, John

Here is my contribution to @tagminibang!  My artist was the absolutely fantastic @chenria and you can find her accompanying art over here.  Something nice and family friendly from us here (please don’t mind the title, it has nothing to do with a certain musical song), and of course some good old Scott&John because who doesn’t love that?

John’s pulled one of his disappearing acts again, and Scott can’t relax until he knows where he’s gone.

People.  There were people everywhere, all dressed to the nines and peacocking around.  Nothing particularly unusual for an event hosted by Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, where no-one in attendance was worth less than at least ten million dollars apiece and appearing to be the poorest in the room would make you a target for the vampires of the elite.

It was a gauntlet Scott would have gladly accepted, not particularly bothered by how others perceived him and his wealth, except the problem with being a Tracy was that his status of multi-billionaireness was well known, and he was actually richer than most of the aristocracy in attendance, even if there were a few Old Money families that looked down their noses at the Tracys for being New Money.

Still, the buffer of their wealth was, at least, sparing his brother from being preyed upon as the poor, charity case invited to look good.  Scott wasn’t sure who the actual poorest person in the room was, but anything to keep at least some of the pressure of the occasion off of John was always worth it.

It was a well known fact that John despised this sort of event.  Too many people, too much noise and gravity, too many expected conversations and a lot of interest in the elusive Tracy.  Scott still wasn’t sure why Lady Penelope insisted he attend these things, and knew that John was going to hide himself up on Thunderbird Five for at least a month and come down for absolutely nothing or no-one as soon as he escaped the party.  She called it good for him, and a breath of fresh air, and Scott only let it slide because John never actually said no.

Speaking of his brother, he’d once again lost sight of the distinctive ginger hair amongst the vibrant colours of the event.  Hopefully, that meant that John was just in hiding, rather than the chance he’d been dragged into a conversation out of Scott’s current sight.  He glanced around the room again, just to be sure, and when no flash of ginger caught his eye, set his shoulders and beelined for their host.

Resplendent in a stunning light pink ballgown, elegant hands covered with equally elegant white gloves and hair coiffed into something gravity-defying yet somehow not at all outrageous, Lady Penelope was entertaining an elderly woman who Scott had been briefly introduced to earlier in the event, some hours ago, as the Duchess of Royston.  As far as the British aristocrats seemed to go, she seemed quite amicable, so Scott had no qualms about stepping in as their conversation paused.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but have you seen John recently?”

“Have you lost him?” Lady Penelope asked, sounding the faintest bit amused.  If it was anyone else, Scott would have been annoyed at that, but a longstanding friendship with the Lady told him there was no malice or judgement behind it.  It was the amusement of someone who knew how much John hated crowds, and how much Scott could, according to his brothers, hover.  “I’m afraid I haven’t seen him recently.”

The answer wasn’t surprising, but it was a little disappointing.

“The redheaded young man?” the Duchess asked, and Scott turned to her.  “I do believe I saw him heading for the doors earlier.”  She gestured to the small side door that led out of the ballroom and, if Scott’s memory served, towards the gardens.

John was likely hiding, then.

Scott smiled at both women.  “Thank you,” he said, inclining his head a little towards the older of the two.  “I’ll leave you to your conversation.  Sorry again for the interruption.”

“What a charming young man,” he heard as he walked away.  “Penelope, I know it’s not my place to say, but you could do far worse than a man like that.”

Scott picked up the pace a little, determined to get out of earshot of whatever reply to that Lady Penelope would make, and making a note to never let Gordon know.

The rich like to talk to the rich, and although Scott was on a mission to find and check on his brother, he was waylaid by at least three other people all wanting to discuss all manner of things from International Rescue to, disconcertingly, his ongoing bachelorship before he was able to slip through the door and head down the corridor.

Soundproofing cut off the hubbub of conversation the moment the door clicked shut behind him, proving an excellent argument for why John would come this way, and Scott followed the hallway until he found a bay window that overlooked one of the many gardens in the Creighton-Ward estate.

John was perched on the window sill, although window seat was probably a more accurate term, looking out at the gentle rain falling from the sky.  Raindrops raced each other down the panes of glass, and Scott silently settled next to him, waiting to be acknowledged.

It didn’t take long.  “I’m fine,” his brother said quietly, still looking out the window rather than turning to face him.  Scott hadn’t expected him to.  “You can go back.”

Scott let out a wry chuckle.  “The hot topic right now seems to be how eligible a bachelor I am,” he said, leaning forwards on his knees and watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.  “If you don’t mind, I think I’d quite like to stay here until they move on to other things.”

His brother let out a hmm, sounding thoroughly amused at that, and Scott rolled his eyes.  He knew full well that John was more than happy for him to be the target of that particular type of conversation, because it meant most of them would forget to ask him the same questions.  Sibling solidarity only went so far, and perhaps even more so than the rest of his brothers, John was all too willing to throw him under the bus to evade the limelight himself.

“If they follow you here, I am leaving,” John threatened mildly.  “And then you will not be welcome to follow me.”  It wasn’t an empty threat, but that didn’t matter because Scott would always use himself as bait if it meant a brother could escape a bad situation.  Besides, John knew Lady Penelope’s manor far better than he did, and Scott knew if John really wanted to hide, even he wouldn’t be able to find him until the ginger was ready to be found.

It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.  John had never been a fan of social situations and had mastered the art of disappearing young.  Scott had many memories of running around frantically, trying in vain to find where his brother had got to after taking his eye off of him for two seconds.  For someone with such vibrant natural colouring, John was unfairly good at the vanishing act.

He sighed and settled back against the window pane more comfortably.  At least John was old enough now to look after himself if he did vanish, and would always come home eventually - even if it was only a necessary stop on his way back to Thunderbird Five and the stars while he recuperated from socialising.  It was a marked improvement from when he’d vanish as a child and leave everyone in a panic until he reappeared hours later.

Scott had never quite shaken the instinct to panic when he vanished, no matter how old and self-sufficient his brother was now.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” John said suddenly, and Scott glanced up at him again.  He was still watching the rain out the window, seemingly disinterested in paying any attention to his older brother - aside from the comment, which made it perfectly clear that John was, in fact, keeping track of him with at least part of that big brain of his.  “I told you I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” he assured him, feeling the cool of the glass seep towards his scalp from where he was resting his head against the window.

John gave a considering hum.  “In that case, I’ll assume you’re working yourself into a panic unnecessarily.”

Scott huffed, unwilling to concede the point.  “I am not working myself into a panic,” he retorted, a little defensively.

His brother finally turned his head away from the window slightly, enough for one turquoise eye to come into view.  The accompanying ginger eyebrow rose in challenging disbelief and Scott scowled in response.

“I was just thinking about all the vanishing acts you tend to pull at things like this,” he admitted after a moment.  The visible turquoise eye rolled at him before John turned back to face the window.  He didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t need to; his body language broadcasted perfectly well that he thought Scott was being an idiot.

Scott was used to that attitude - none of his brothers ever seemed to fully appreciate what it was like to be their big brother, after all.  Gordon might proudly claim that his grey hairs were all down to his fish of a brother, but the truth of the matter was that they’d all contributed.

Still, Scott wouldn’t change any of them for the world.

Raindrops raced down the large window, merging and lingering and swallowing smaller ones before darting several inches further down in a blink of an eye.  It was a mesmerising sight; no wonder John was so captivated by the weather.

Then again, he didn’t get rain in space.

Scott was on his feet before his mind caught up.  His movement caught John’s attention, judging by the way the single, turquoise eye reappeared to regard him once more.

“Going back already?” his brother asked.  “I thought you were hiding from the discussions about your eligible bachelorship.”  There was no sympathy at all in John’s voice, just an undercurrent of amusement.  Scott suspected he wouldn’t be hearing the end of it for a while.

“No,” he said truthfully, which was apparently unexpected enough for John to look away from the window completely.

“Then where are you going?” his brother asked.  John was normally far too perceptive for Scott’s liking, and he probably shouldn’t be relishing catching him out as much as he was.

“Come on,” Scott invited in answer, tilting his head towards the window.  “Let’s go.”

John glanced back towards the window, raising an eyebrow at the rain still falling.  “You want to go outside?”

“Why not?” Scott shrugged.  “No-one’s going to chase us out there.”

“Because their clothes would get ruined,” John pointed out.  “Like ours will.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  He wasn’t so attached to the suit he was currently wearing that he’d mourn the loss, and he knew John felt similarly about his own formal clothes.

“They’re replaceable,” he pointed out.  “So, are you coming?”

John’s arguments didn’t fool him one bit - one thing his brother truly missed when he was amongst the stars was the cool sensation of rain on his skin, and Scott suspected that the only reason he’d been sat in the bay window instead of somewhere in the Creighton-Ward’s impressive grounds was because he’d known Scott would come looking for him sooner or later, and would have panicked if he couldn’t find him.

Sure enough, with one last sigh that was entirely put-upon, John extended his long legs and made his way to his feet.  “Lead the way.”

Scott wasn’t as familiar with the manor as his brother, but he had a pretty good idea where most of the external doors were.  John stayed at his shoulder as they passed through the hallways, bereft of any of the other guests, who were all no doubt still gossiping in the ballroom, and found a door that led outside.

The rain wasn’t a monsoon, but it was steady, leaving the sky heavy and grey, and misting out the trees on the far edge of the lawn.  Scott lingered in the threshold of the door for a moment, watching the weather, but his brother had no such hesitation.

A little brother he might be, but John had never needed Scott to lead the way.  With the assurance that Scott now knew where he was, and wouldn’t be hunting him down frantically, he strode out past him, the fabric covering his shoulder just brushing Scott’s, and out into the rain.

Scott lingered a moment longer, watching the way John tilted his face up slightly to greet the rain, the ginger curl of his bangs losing some of its volume as it dampened.  John didn’t beam like their brothers when he was happy, but there was a relaxation in his face and a draining of tension in his body that told Scott that he’d got it right.  John really had wanted to go out in the rain.

When his brother’s vibrant eyes slid closed, he took the final step outside himself, feeling the cool raindrops caressing his own skin and seeping into his hair.  His hair gel was going to wash out if he stayed out here for too long, but that was a small price to pay to see John enjoying himself down on Earth.

So was the suit.  The already black fabric of his jacket darkened even further with water almost immediately, and he knew that by the time John was ready to go inside again, it would be completely ruined.  As he’d said to his brother, though, the suits were replaceable.

John’s happiness was not.  Scott would ruin a hundred jackets if it meant seeing John so relaxed and content.

Jacketless, his brother’s shirt was quickly becoming soaked through, the white material clinging to his body - the same way his vibrant hair was starting to plaster to his scalp - gaining hints of translucency, and the thought crossed Scott’s mind that he’d have to make sure John didn’t get sick later.  The astronaut didn’t seem to care about that, though, standing stock still for several minutes with his hands loosely hanging by his side and his face tilted upwards.

Scott hung back, several paces away but still outside in the rain himself.  Cool droplets trickled down the back of his neck, originating somewhere around his hairline, and he could tell even without raising a hand to check that his own hair was plastering itself to his scalp in much the same way as John’s.  One droplet ran down from his forehead and caught the corner of his eye, tangled up in eyelashes, and Scott blinked twice to clear it.  Reluctantly it got the message and carried on down his face, running over his cheek and trailing down towards his chin.

They didn’t get rain like this at home.  English rain was strange, and definitely nothing like the tropical rains Tracy Island witnessed.  Even Kansas weather had been different to this.  The water was cool and refreshing on his skin, and after several moments Scott took another couple of steps forwards, towards his brother.

He didn’t enter his personal space, though.  If John wanted him there, he would make it clear - most likely by moving himself until he was within arm’s reach of Scott.  As they’d come out here to escape the crowds, however, Scott deemed that unlikely.  Instead, he wandered past him, away from the manor and large ballroom windows.  If the wrong person looked out and saw them, their little rainy peace would be broken by someone else who cared less for their clothes than chasing Tracys.

Scott made sure to keep John in view, not prepared to hunt his brother down if the ginger pulled another disappearing act, even as he found a lone tree standing proud in the middle of the manicured lawn and slipped around it, allowing the trunk to conceal him from anyone glancing outside.

Exactly what type of tree it was, he didn’t know, but it was large and broad, boughs extending out above his head and providing a meagre shelter from the rain.  It was the same as the trees that made up the woodland at the far edge of the lawn - also large and proud, but with enough space between some of them to hide a Thunderbird.  His own ‘bird lurked inside, concealed from view and waiting to carry the two of them back home the next morning.

Tonight, Lady Penelope had insisted, they would stay with her, and Scott had no reason to decline.  He did, however, hope that it was an invitation that hadn’t been extended to any of the other guests.  Evading their apparent fixation with his marriage status - or lack thereof - was not something he wanted to have to spend all night and breakfast doing as well.

No matter how amused John might be at the whole affair.

Speaking of John, his brother appeared to have noticed that he’d moved, because he’d opened his eyes and started moving forwards himself.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one hiding from the party,” the ginger commented, his voice dry and at odds with the wet shirt he was wearing.  The white had gone well and truly translucent now, clinging to his body in a way that Scott knew from experience would get John hounded by half the party the next time they saw him.

He made a mental note to sacrifice his jacket in John’s direction before they went back in.  It wouldn’t be a perfect fit, but it would at least keep the attention off of him long enough for John to scrounge up a change of clothes.

“Yeah, well,” he replied, shrugging.  “It wouldn’t matter which of us was hiding if they spotted the other, would it?”

John let out a small chuckle in response, rounding the tree in its entirety and therefore putting himself out of sight as well.  “Are you sure it’s not just because you don’t want them badgering you about being single?”

He huffed in response, crossing his arms and leaning back against the trunk.  The bark rubbed against the back of his jacket, but he ignored it.  The rain had already done enough damage - what was a little more?

“My relationship status is none of their business,” he grumbled, shooting his younger brother a considering look.  “Wait until they start on you.”

The smirk he got in return didn’t make him feel any better.

“They won’t give me a second glance while you’re around, big brother,” John pointed out with the air of someone who knew exactly what was up, and was quietly smug about it.  “No-one’s interested in the spare Tracy.”

Scott rolled his eyes.  “You know, technically you’re my heir,” he reminded him.  It did nothing to douse the smug smirk his brother was sending his way.

“They don’t think like that,” John shrugged confidently.  He was still out from underneath the protection of the boughs, rain falling on his skin and leaving trails of water across it.  Scott watched a raindrop run right to the tip of his nose and hang there; the astronaut didn’t even seem to notice, even though it made Scott’s own nose twitch empathetically.  “The only heirs they’re interested in are the unborn ones you don’t have because you’re still an eligible bachelor.”

Urgh.  Scott pulled a face.  “Did you have to put it like that?”

John’s ongoing smirk confirmed that yes, he did have to phrase it like that.  Little brothers - who wanted them?

Scott refused to give John any satisfaction by saying that out loud, although he suspected that didn’t actually matter.  If there was anyone who had mastered the art of mind-reading, Scott would put John right at the top of the suspect list.

“Well,” John said after a moment, shifting his weight.  “I’m going to go for a walk.  Are you coming, or would you rather hide under the tree?”

“I’m sheltering,” Scott corrected.  John made an uh huh noise in the back of his throat which he purposefully ignored.  Still, if John was offering company, instead of retreating into his own personal space, then Scott wasn’t going to turn that down.  The problem with John living in space was that he just didn’t get to see this particular little brother in person as much as he’d like.

He pushed off from the tree, straightening up and shoving his hands in his pockets as he took the couple of short steps back out into the rain.  John hadn’t bothered to wait for him, and he had to jog a couple more paces before he was at his brother’s side.

It felt like the rain had got heavier, but the droplets were still cool and refreshing on his face, even if he could feel his hair wilting under the weight.  Beside him, John’s hair had all but lost its usual curl, vibrant strands of ginger instead plastered to his forehead.  His brother didn’t seem to care at all.

Despite inviting him along, John didn’t seem particularly inclined towards conversation as he picked his way across the expansive grounds of the Creighton-Ward manor.  It was clear that this was far from his brother’s first time doing so; while Scott started getting a little turned around by all the identically pruned bushes and perfect flowerbeds, John continued unerringly as though it was his ridiculously large garden.

Not that Scott could really comment on the size of the Creighton-Ward estate when his own home consisted of an entire volcano.  Both the ranch and the Kansas farm spanned equally large acreage; the Tracys had never been a stranger to calling huge swathes of land home.

John had easily spent enough time in this manor during his Oxford days to have the entire estate mapped out in that impressive brain of his.  Scott resolved to never play hide and seek with him here.

The silence that hung between them was a comfortable one.  On some levels, it was more touching and heartfelt than if John had wanted to talk - John was a huge fan of personal space, and being invited to share it, trusted to share it, when he had so clearly hit his socialising quota already was akin to an honour.

Rain continued to fall, Scott’s jacket feeling more and more sodden by the minute, but John never headed for anything remotely resembling shelter.  The weather wasn’t particularly warm, either.  By English standards it might have been passable, but being used to the tropics meant that Scott found it decidedly on the cool side.

John seemed unaffected, but then again John spent most of his time in a rigidly controlled environment and hated the heat.  Scott still hoped he’d be able to persuade Parker to get them both a hot drink when they re-entered the manor building.  Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the older man to bundle them straight to their rooms with layers of blankets and disapproving mumbles.  The former crook liked to pretend he was as tough as nails - and in some respects he was - but he was also quick to fuss over the few friends he had.

Being counted amongst that number was almost as high an honour as being invited to share John’s personal bubble.

Sunbeams poked out from behind the grey clouds as they were strolling through one of several rose gardens - or maybe it was the same one and John had led them around in circles a few times.  In answer, the rain faded away into nothing and the world hung, heavy and still.  John stopped walking, and Scott followed suit.

Above them, the clouds were dispersing.  It seemed that the rain was over, at least for now, although the world around them shimmered a little like crystal as sun caught beads of water clinging to the flowers, the grass, the trees.  John glistened as well, his hair transformed into a burning halo as the sun caught the water plastering it to his scalp.

Hands in his pockets and face once again tilted to the sky, Scott’s little brother appeared to be considering something.  What, there was no point asking.  If John wanted him to be part of the decision making process, he’d say so.  Scott suspected he was debating if he wanted to stay outside or duck inside the manor to escape the reappearing sun.

John missed the rain on Thunderbird Five.  He did not miss the sunburn.

Sure enough, after a moment his brother turned to face him.

“I’m heading back inside,” John said.  “Are you done hiding from your eligible bachelorness yet or are you going to stay out here?”

Scott huffed at him, narrowing his eyes in displeasure at the jab.  John really wasn’t going to be letting that go any time soon.

“They’ll have moved topics by now,” he replied, a lot more confidently than he felt.  In all honesty, he had no idea how long it would be the hot topic for, but if he stayed out later than John he’d never live it down.

“That topic won’t be dropped until you’re married with kids,” his brother pointed out.  Scott scowled.  “But if you’re sure you’re ready to go back in…”  He trailed off meaningfully and, without waiting for Scott, started striding back towards the manor.

Not wanting to let his brother out of his sight, and maybe a little unsure of the paths back, Scott lengthened his stride to catch up with him again.  Turquoise eyes glanced sideways at him, and John’s face settled into subtle amusement.

Scott decided it was best for his pride if he didn’t ask what was funny.

He glanced up at the sky as they walked.  The shimmer of moisture in the air was fading as the sun grew stronger and the clouds continued on their merry way to deposit rain on some other part of the English countryside.  It wouldn’t be raining again just yet.

His foot caught something hard and he stumbled.  Instantly a vice-like grip appeared on his arm, yanking him back upright and steadying him.

“And you call me the clumsy one,” John commented lightly.  “Watch where you’re walking.”

Scott glared down at the flowerbed border he’d apparently walked into before switching targets to his brother.  John, as always, seemed completely unperturbed at the look.  Turquoise eyes looked him up and down, clearly making sure he hadn’t somehow hurt himself with his stumble, before the grip on his arm vanished and John continued down the path.

Sending another glare at the border, Scott followed.

Being behind John quickly brought back the reason why he’d been checking the sky.  While the rain had stopped, the white shirt his brother was wearing was still very soaked through, with the consequences of that on full display.  Scott shrugged out of his own, soaking wet, jacket.

“John,” he called, lengthening his strides to catch up.  His brother paused and turned back to look at him quizzically, jumping as Scott draped the waterlogged jacket over his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” the astronaut asked, making to shrug the fabric off.  “Carry your own jacket, Scott.”

Scott caught the fabric before it could fall to the ground.  “John, you’re wearing a white shirt.”

A single eyebrow raised.  “Your observational skills are unparalleled.”

Little brothers.  Scott huffed.  “And yours are lacking,” he retorted.  “You wore a white shirt in the rain.”

John looked at him, puzzled, for a moment, before comprehension dawned across his face.  A quick glance down had his pale skin reddening slightly.

“Oh.”

Scott shook his head fondly and draped the jacket around his brother’s shoulders again.  This time it was gratefully accepted.  They weren’t quite the same size, but Scott’s shoulders were the broader of the two, so while the fabric bunched a little oddly when John threaded his arms through the sleeves and fumbled the buttons until it was concealing as much of the wet white shirt as possible, it did at least fit.  Scott was grateful it wasn’t Virgil.

“You might want to go and get changed into something dry,” he suggested.  “Get out of those clothes.”

“I didn’t bring a spare suit,” John reminded him.  “I don’t have anything else with me suitable for Lady P’s party.”

Scott rolled his eyes and started walking again.  “Then just don’t come back to the party,” he said bluntly.  “That’s not exactly a tragedy for you.  You can see Lady Penelope again once it’s over - she won’t care what you’re wearing.”

“She will care,” John corrected, catching up to him.  “She’ll judge my outfit and everything.”  Despite the words being ones of apparent complaint, he didn’t actually seem that bothered about it.  Then again, he had survived going to university with the woman.  Their friendship was on a completely different level compared to the one the rest of the Tracys shared with her.

“Just go and get yourself out of those wet clothes and make yourself comfortable for the rest of the evening,” Scott sighed.  “I’ll make your excuses.”

“If I need to get changed, why don’t you?” John challenged.  Scott grinned at him and tapped his own shirt.

“Not white,” he pointed out.  Well, admittedly, he would call it white, but according to Virgil it was cream, and according to the weather that combined with the covering jacket meant that it hadn’t gone the same way as John’s white shirt.  “Ergo, still appropriate for polite company.”

John scrutinised him for several moments as they walked, as though he was trying to find an excuse why Scott’s outfit wasn’t appropriate any more.

“You’ll get sick if you stay in wet clothes too long,” he said eventually.  “Make sure you come up and get changed soon.”

“I don’t have a spare suit, either,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll be fine.”  It couldn’t be that many more hours before the end of the party, surely…

“If you’re not up in half an hour I’m sending Parker to extract you,” John said firmly.  “Virgil will have both our hides if you go home sick.”

“Half an hour?” Scott repeated.  “I’ll be lucky to talk to Lady Penelope by then.  You’ll have to give me longer than that.”  There was no point telling John not to enlist Parker at all - his brother would hum non-committedly then do it anyway the instant he was out of earshot.

John scoffed.  “You’ll find a way,” he said confidently.  “Just flirt your way through the crowds like you normally do.  Half an hour, then Parker will get involved.”

They’d arrived back at the manor itself, and John sent him one last smug grin before vanishing up what had to be a servant’s staircase before Scott could try another attempt to bargain for more time.  With a quiet groan, Scott adjusted his damp tie and headed back towards the ballroom.

His wet - and likely bedraggled - appearance caused a stir when he re-entered the room.  Conversations stopped, eyes stared, and then the whispering started.  Well, he’d take them talking about him over attempts to restart the conversations about his relationship status.

He scanned the room for the tell-tale flash of pink, locating Lady Penelope just before she came to a stop in front of him.

“I was under the impression you were looking for John, not trying to impersonate a drowned rat,” the Lady commented lightly.  “You also appear to have misplaced your jacket, Scott.”

He shrugged lazily.  “John wanted to go outside.”

“I see.”  From the fond look that flickered in her eyes, she probably did get it.  The British aristocrat was the closest thing John had to a best friend, after all.  “And where is John now?”

“Retiring for the evening,” Scott explained.  “Or at least until the party’s over and the stars are out.”

Lady Penelope laughed a little at that.  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she agreed.  “And what about you?  I notice today’s main topic of discussion isn’t to your liking.”  There was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes that was entirely too similar to John’s reaction.

Scott decided the best thing to do was ignore it.

“I should get changed,” he admitted.  “I’ll see you after the party’s over?”

“I dare say you should,” Lady Penelope agreed, “before you turn my ballroom into a swimming pool.  Very well, I’ll see you boys later.”  She turned away, and immediately got caught in another conversation with a guest.

Scott took the opportunity to duck back out of the room, evading anyone who might want to corner him for further conversations that he really didn’t care for.

Parker was standing just outside the door.

“Ah, there you h’are,” the butler said as Scott narrowly avoided walking into him.  “h’I h’understand you’re done for the h’evening?”

Scott checked his watch.  “There’s no way it’s been half an hour already,” he said suspiciously.

“‘alf h’an hour since when?” Parker asked innocently.  “Master John said nothing h’about h’a time limit.”  No, of course John didn’t.  Pesky little brother.  “Well, h’as you h’appear to be trying to turn h’into a drowned rat, h’I’d say you need a nice warm drink h’and a change h’of clothes.”

“That’s the plan,” Scott admitted.  “I’ll see you later, Parker.”

“That you will,” the older man agreed, and Scott paused with his foot on the bottom step of the staircase.  “h’I’ll be bringing h’up some ‘ot chocolate for the pair h’of you in a few minutes.  ‘Onestly, what were you thinking, going h’out h’in the rain like that?”

Scott shrugged.  “John wanted to,” he said, before resuming his ascent of the staircase, knowing that Parker would make good on his promise and be up soon with the drinks.

The Creighton-Ward manor was huge, and the guest suites were equally so.  There was no sharing of bedrooms when they stayed overnight, but as Scott entered the room designated as his, he discovered a brother lounging on his bed, tablet in hand.  Ginger hair was ruffled and sticking up all over the place - a clear victim of a towel drying - and the soaked suit had been replaced by a much less formal shirt and jeans.

“Don’t you have your own room?” he asked, not breaking his stride as he headed for his overnight bag and pulled out a change of clothes.

“Parker’s bringing the drinks here,” John replied, not looking up from whatever it was he was reading.  “It makes more sense for me to be here.”  Scott huffed and worked his tie loose from around his neck.

“You just wanted to make sure I didn’t stay in the party,” he accused.

John didn’t deny it, and Scott rolled his eyes before heading into the ensuite to dry off and get changed into his more casual clothes.  No more formal suit and tie for him tonight.

When he re-emerged several minutes later, his own hair rivalling John’s for towel-dried mess and begging for another round of brushing and hair gel, Parker had arrived with the promised steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

“Drink up, the both of you,” the man demanded.  “Going h’out in the rain like that, I h’ask you.”  He shook his head despairingly.  “What will your Gran say h’if you go and get yourself sick?”

“We won’t get sick, Parker,” Scott said confidently, accepting his mug and letting the warmth seep from the ceramic into his fingers.  “We didn’t get that wet.”

“Don’t h’underestimate the English weather,” Parker warned.  “Drink that h’up and wrap h’up warm.”

John appeared silently at his elbow and claimed his own mug before retreating back to the bed.  Scott watched him burrow his bare feet under the covers and huffed.

“That’s my bed, you know,” he complained.  John lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“So?”

“So, leave some room for me.”  Mug in hand, Scott settled himself next to his brother, nudging him over gently.  John obliged, and after a few moments of shifting around, the pair of them were sat shoulder to shoulder with their feet under the covers.

Parker eyed them approvingly, and then tossed a blanket over their laps as well.

“h’I’ll be back once the party’s h’over,” he told them.  “Keep warm.”

“We’ll be fine,” Scott assured him.  “You don’t need to worry about us.”

Blue eyes surveyed him suspiciously.  “h’I know some people that’d disagree with that h’assessment, Mr Scott.  But duty calls, h’I suppose.”

Parker was clearly reluctant to leave them for some reason, but he did begrudgingly go out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two brothers to their drinks.

The hot chocolate was, unsurprisingly, good, and Scott found himself draining the mug in record time.  Beside him, John was almost as fast, and they set the mugs down on the bedside tables almost in unison.

“Parker makes the best hot chocolate,” John commented, and Scott couldn’t help but agree.

“He does,” he agreed.  “I could go for another.”

“Well, then, I’m glad I finished mine before you got it into your head to steal it,” John said dryly.  “You can ask him for another one later.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.  “I might do that.  This might all be overkill-” he gestured at the warm mugs and the blanket, subtly tucking them in the bed “-but even if we’re not going to get sick, that chocolate is worth it.”

The sneeze came out of nowhere.  As did the second, and the third.

The fourth sneeze came from his brother, and Scott glanced over at him with a sinking feeling.  Bright turquoise met his eyes, and John gave a wane smile before sneezing again.

“I think,” his brother said, before being interrupted by another sneeze, “that maybe this wasn’t so overkill after all.”

Scott buried his face in his hands.  It did nothing to stop the next sneeze, and he groaned.

“You might be right,” he admitted.  “Dammit.  Virgil’s going to- achoo -kill us.”

John groaned.

[pleasereadmeok]

Can you help me please? I'm sure you had an English translation of Matthew's interview with Style Italia (2017?) on your blog however I can't find it. Can you help? Thank you. A Goode fan x

Hi Anon - yes of course. This one right? ⬇️

It's such a great interview with some lovely personal details from Matthew. @di-elle kindly did a translation for the matthew-goode.net press archive a few years ago so that follows ⬇️. Enjoy. : -

Matthew Goode is one of the most recognizable British actors of his generation. 38 years old, tall, slender, handsome, with a face composed of classic proportions and precise features that lends itself to both modern settings and period dramas.A look that’s allowed him to dive immediately into the world of Match Point, Brideshead Revisited, The Imitation Game, and A Single Man. In the last season of Downton Abbey, he was one of the most beloved characters as Lady Mary’s husband, a role that brought him popularity with the television audience. Now he appears with Brad Pitt and Marion Cotillard in Allied.Skill,talent, determination and a bit of luck (essential in this business) have made Goode a sought-after and versatile actor, without affecting his overwhelming pleasantness and playfulness onset and off that serve as useful talents as well.In the penthouse of the London hotel where he is being photographed, he strokes the oval marble bathtub sitting in the middle of the room (‘So cool!’), gets enthusiastic by touching the clothes, the collars of the shirts, and the wool of the jackets.

Do you like design?I love it, even if it is my wife who has the eye for it.In front of the mirror, in the barber’s and makeup artist’s hands, he is a bundle of energy.  He is worried about Brexit (‘What’s happened? Where are we going?’) but happy to be able to buy a house. He is a little anxious, too, about the last phone call from his bank: ‘Being an actor means  living day by day. Banks don’t like it.’

Psychologically what does it entail?During dry spells you can lose confidence and believe that you will never work again. It’s not easy.

However you are not lacking jobs. How  was working  on Allied?Movies are strange beasts. You come, you spend two days on the set, you shoot your own scenes and you go. Despite this it was electrifying as it can be a film of these proportions. There was an atmosphere of great professionalism and harmony. Brad Pitt is a great person. He welcomed me fondly, as did Marion Cotillard. I had already met them both, but they are always like that, even with those they don’t know.

Is variety important to you?It’s the essence of life, isn’t it? At the end  the face and the voice are always those and if you specialize in a genre, it’s not easy to come out of it. It’s hard for me to resist period movies, it’s a great temptation. Costumes and interiors have a very strong charm.

Your name was made for the Bond role…I’ve sabotaged myself. Barbara Broccoli  (the film producer) called me and I didn’t realize it was an audition. I thought it was just a chat. She asked me what I thought of Bond. I was honest , I told her that the way it is today doesn’t work. They need to scale down the budget, and make the character more complicated, go back to the origin from the books: a dark, difficult, incomprehensible man. At the end she said goodbye and I didn’t hear from her again. Maybe sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut.

Do you like going to movies?There’s a little bit of jealousy to overcome but generally yes. I’d like to see Tom Ford’s new movie, Nocturnal Animals. He is a genius, he has an eye like no other. A Single Man should have won more awards. Ford was born as a stylist but he is a real artist.

Are you not tempted to move to the USA?I have three children and I want them to grow up here. I don’t like to go too far away. I told my agent I don’t want to work in the US for a year.

Is Matthew Goode a good father?It depends on the days. The noise stresses me. If there are two children crying, or screaming, I panic. In those cases, my wife takes care of it.

What do you do at home?I cook. It’s less tiring than playing with a one-year-old child… I can do a little of everything: my father taught me the first recipes when I was about to start university. Over the years I have made a leap in quality, from scrambled eggs to stews.

Your best recipe?Beef and Guinness stew. Two or three parsnips, a couple of carrots, two onions, some mushrooms. Two pounds of meat, a little flour. Mix it up, then slap it in the pot. Salt, pepper, some herbs and some beer. I love it. You put it on, you go get the kids from school, and when you come back, the house smells of dinner.

The role you’ve always wanted.Sherlock Holmes. Damn it, Benedict Cumberbatch has stolen it from me! Joking aside, it’s Jeffrey Bernard in the comedy Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell, by Keith Waterhouse. Many years ago I saw Peter O’Toole in it and I’ve never forgotten. But you need to be 50 or 60 years old for it, so I’ll have to wait a little longer.

Did you want to be an actor as a child?My mother would say yes. Actually I discovered my path later in life. For a while I wanted to be an archaeologist, because my father was a geologist. One day one of my university mates went to audition for an acting school and I said: Why not, I should try it too. Finding an agent was a stroke of luck. Then the fight for survival began. It’s a slow and complicated road.

From the outside you look like someone who made it.(It may look that way) now, but like with everything when you start you are at the first step, you look up and say: I’ll never get there.

What’s your secret to overcome difficult moments?I have stopped watching the films I make. This has helped me a lot. You can’t control how they cut and edit your character. You can only control the experience, what you give and what gives to you. The result is almost insignificant. After a few years it can be fun watching yourself because you seem very young.

Do you practice sport a lot?I go to the gym in the morning, to start the day well. Twice a week I go out for lunch with my wife: and since I like to eat, and occasionally even drink, the gym is imperative. I also play golf but it takes time, it’s not an activity that fits well with a big family.

Your ideal holiday?I have fond memories of my childhood, camping with my father, the fishing rod, the green. I’d like to take my children. My wife resists for now.

What do you read?I hate to admit it, but I read very little. By the time I go to bed, I’m too tired.

A luxury?We’re planning how to sort out the house. If I could afford it I’d buy one of those enormous american washing machines with a tumble dryer.  It’s not what you’d expect from a star, is it?

[celiamae99]

Sparks Fly -- L.G.

Falling in love with my best friend was never the plan. I mean a girl from the South Side who was just trying to get a two year degree and ignoring the fact that her parents were never coming back, falling for the man who was a recovering alcoholic who had an addict and alcoholic father an a bipolar mother who had the potential to get a degree from any college he wanted?

What could possibly go wrong?

“Come on, get in, I’ll drive you the the bar for work.” Lip told me getting up from the couch, as I was getting ready to walk to work.

“You just got back from work,” I reminded him. I knew that after his shift at the garage he would want to sleep, but he ignored my comment and slipped his coat on an a hat over my head.

“It’s negative ten degrees out,” he commented. “The fuck you’re walking to the bar from here.”

“But—“ I tried to protest but it was useless.

“Get your ass in the car, Lily.”

I never thought the passenger seat of lips old car would ever be as inviting as it was, but as we listened to music and he smoked, I realized I was in love with Lip. Fuck.

The worst part was, and I knew it, was that everybody basically knew that I liked Lip, besides Lip. He was the only consistent person in my life besides Fiona and Ian, and the only true person to care about me in a way that was more special than Ian and Fiona did. I loved my Gallagher’s like they were my own, but Lip was different.

He could smile at me and I would forget how to breathe. He could hold me in bed and I would forget all my problems. He punched a kid at a party who tried to roofie me and I swear in that moment I had never felt more loved.

He held me the whole night as I cried for hours because my mom was never coming back home, never once getting upset even though he had brought it up before.

He held me two days after I got raped and I refused to leave Carl’s bed. He slid in behind me as I faced the wall and held me for hours and hours. He didn’t make me talk, he didn’t make me cry, he didn’t have me look at him. He held me until I was able to to turn around and face him and the truth of what had happened.

He was there when my dad had died. He came to the funeral, he held my hand, he made small talk with my grandma and everything. He sat with me while I sat by the grave and cried after everybody had left.

He was there when nobody else was.

“It’s just so hard at night,” he commented as he flicked his smoke. “That’s when it all sets in and I can only thinking about alcohol.”

“How do you not drink?” I asked. “I mean you come to the bar and hangout with me, V, and Kev, and then you go home and everybody but me and Debby drink. I just don’t know how you do it.” I commented, pulling my leg to my chest.

“Honestly? It’s why I sneak into yours and Liam’s room.” I stared at him and waited for him to continue. “Liam’s basically my child. And sometimes just watching you both so peacefully is enough to get me through the night.”

“What about when Liam sleeps with Carl or Debby because I work late?” That was the real question. Lip ended up in my room almost every night, whether Liam was there or not. Most nights, because I worked the bar until closing, Liam slept in Debby’s room or with Carl. That didn’t stop Lip from climbing into bed with me.

He scratched the back of his neck, his nervous tick. “I think you’re my light in a dark place.” He muttered. “You stood by me through it all, ya know? Karen, Fiona, Frank, Marcia, the stuff with school, Ian, Debby having a baby, rehab, twice. You were just always there. The one consistent thing in my life.” He focused solely on the road and I smiled to myself. “And even when you’re sleeping, I know it’s enough to keep me from stopping to drink.”

I grabbed his hand lightly and threaded our fingers together, and kissed his cheek. “Stay at the bar until I close?” I asked quietly. Lip kissed the back of my hand and my cheeks flamed rosy red.

“Don’t I always?” It was true, when I worked at the bar, Lip stayed and had one to many cokes and scared off the spiteful men that tried to get in my pants.

“Sometimes you you go off with a girl,” I muttered bashfully. I did not want Lip to know the sinking feeling I got in my stomach when I knew he was with a girl.

“Haven’t since I got out of rehab.” He breathed lowly. I thought back on it. Had it been that long? Really? “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

I gave an embarrassing smile. “Are you saying I’m only cute when I’m jealous of other girls?”

Lip didn’t miss a beat. “You’re always cute. You’re cute when you cling yourself to me even though half the bed is yours. You’re cute when you try to reason with Carl and you scrunch your nose up. You’re cute when you and Liam dance in the kitchen to Johnny Cash. You’re cute when you get angry at your chemistry homework. Scratch that, you’re hot when you’re angry. You’re cute when you come home from work and just drop into bed after changing into my shirt. You’re cute when you blush. You’re cute when you wake up in the morning. You’re cute when I come downstairs and you’re making breakfast in my shirt and boxers. I think that’s when I find you the cutest.” I stared at Lip as he pulled into the bar. “What?” He asked as he felt my stare on him.

“You -- you,” I stumbled for words. “How the hell am I suppose to go to work for seven hours with all I want to do is kiss you?” 

Lip barked out a laugh. “Well, princess, I guess you’ll just have to wait until after the ball for you prince charming to kiss you.”

I scoffed, and swung myself over the console, straight on to Lip’s lap.

“Not even a kiss for the girl who’s sitting on your lap?” I leaned my head to one side and let my hair fall around us like a blanket.

“If I’m going to kiss you,” He breathed into my ear making me shiver, “It’s going to be my moment. This,” He gestured between us. “Is extremely hot, don’t get me wrong, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more turned on, and you better believe we are going to do it in the car, but our first moment will not be here.”

“Okay,” I muttered, trying to ignore the bile in my stomach from rejection and tried to think of the possibilities that would happen when I left work.

“Hey,” He gripped my thighs tightly. “I want this badly, baby. Just not like this. You deserve special. And this isn’t special.” My heart fluttered, he knew I had never been with anyone or done anything, that I was waiting for the right person. I didn’t want what happened with my parents to ever happen with me.

“Okay,” I said more bashfully, now shy at my forwardness, biting my lip.

“Don’t do that,” Lip said, gripping my thighs tighter. 

“Don’t do what?” I muttered, confused.

“You bite your lip.” I stared at him, very confused.

“Yeah, so? I do it all the time,” I muttered off handedly, failing to notice the problem.

“It’s hot.” Blushed bright red for what felt like the hundredth time today.

“It’s hot when I do that, but yet you don’t want to kiss me?” I quirked my eye at the 23 year old. 

“Come here,” He muttered. He pulled me to his chest and I shifted to get comfortable. That’s when I felt it. He was hard. “Yeah, that,” He muttered softly. “Is from you. And it’s probably going to stay that way until we get back to the house.”

“I should get to work,” I muttered, my hot breath making goosebumps arise on his neck.

“And Liam is sleeping with somebody else tonight. The only person who gets you tonight is me.” I kissed his pulse point softly before scrambling out of the car, looking at a flustered Lip.

“Are you coming?” I asked, looking back at him, finally noticing how flustered he was. “Awe, are you the one that’s all hot and bothered now?” I giggled.

He glared at me before hopping quickly out of the car and dashing towards me. I shrieked and made a mad dash for the bar. I quickly ran in and ran behind Kev. “Save me,” I pleaded as Lip came in flying behind me. 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you for the pretty lady.” Lip said with a fake, horrible, British accent. I squealed and ran into the back.

Kev laughed, “Y’all are idiots!” Kev called after us as Lip chased me.

“I got you,” he slammed me against the door of the girls bathroom and I took a deep breath as his hot breath fanned my face and his arms went above my head.

“Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it mister. As far as we’re concerned nothing’s happening until after my shift.” I said in the brattiest voice I could muster.

“Don’t be a brat just because you’re not getting your way,” he threaded his fingers through my hair and tugged harshly. I gulped. I knew this was what I wanted.

“Right,” I nodded slowly. “But I am a brat, so what are you going to do about it?” I taunted, pushing my chest forward, knowing how to use my assets.

Lip took a deep breath as his eyes glanced between my eyes and my chest.

“You’re going to go to work and then when we get home,” He moved so his hands were set just below my breasts and he rubbed the underside of them. My breath hitched in my throat. “Then, we will have fun, you brat.”

I’ll admit, him calling me a brat turned me on more than I wanted to admit. “Okay, I mumbled.”

“Now go work before Kev comes and yells at you.” Lip muttered, kissing my forehead firmly. I pranced out to the bar, knowing full well that Lip was watching my ass.

Throughout my shift, I knew Lip was watching me. I laughed with Veronica throughout the whole shift.

“V!” I giggled as she made another joke about Kev. “You can’t say that about your husband!”

“Lip’s looking at you again,” She wiggled her eyebrows and gave me a knowing look. My cheeks flamed bright red. “You finally admit that you guys like each other?” 

“Kinda,” I muttered. “We’re not gonna define it, I don’t think.” I said softly. “The last thing he needs is me going crazy on him trying to define something when we don’t even know what it is.”

“Girl, you trippin’ if you don’t see how he looks at you.” I stared at her blankly. “I mean, you both have had eyes on each other for years.”

“Yeah, maybe me, but no way for him.” I mumbled wiping a glass. “He had Karen, and then he had Mandy. Then he had that thing with his professor and then quickly moved on to Sierra. And I look nothing like them. Plus I have all my scars and that’s a lot of trauma.”

“Look at me.” She said softly. “It doesn’t matter that you don’t look like them, baby. He loves you and that’s what matters. Your trauma is also his, he’s been there through it all. Also, you’ve been with him through all the things too. He loves you girl, don’t doubt that.” V told me honestly. “Plus, you’re hot as fuck girl.”

After my shift, V told me that she would lock everything up with Kev. I smiled as Lip pulled me into his side. 

“You ready to go home?” He asked, glancing down at me as I nervously fidgeted.

“Yeah, but,” I hesitated briefly, “Can we take it slow?” I whispered, nervously.

“Yeah,” He muttered, pressing his lips to forehead. “Whatever you want.” 

My heart warmed at his sweetness and I hugged him tightly as we made our way to Lip’s car. I gnawed my lip as he opened my car door. I was in for a long night.

[keanureevesisbae]

Caught in a Blizzard - Part 2

Summary: Luna wakes up in Chris Evans’ hotel room and can’t leave, because of a blizzard. What starts as a therapy session, talking about the disbandment of Brave Elegance, ends in something a little more spicier. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Luna Hwang (Asian OFC)

Warnings: There is sex in this. Like lots of it: oral, body fluids and all. 

Wordcount: 6k

A/N: if you want to be on the taglist, just let me know! Also, I love to read your guys’ thoughts and feedback xx

Masterlist // Part 1 // Part 3 

Fuck, this must be the worst hangover I’ve experienced in years and I didn’t even had that much to drink. My head is pounding like crazy and when I open my eyes, I’m practically blinded by the brightness of the sun that is coming through the thin white curtains. When my eyes are finally used to the lights, I try to figure out where the fuck I am, because this sure does not look anything like my bedroom back in New York.

Oh shit, wait, I’m not in New York, I’m in London. I push myself up and stare around the room. This can’t be my hotel room, because my bedroom had pink walls.

Hold up… Those are male clothes in the corner and spilling out of the open suitcase.

I had sex last night? Oh my God, I really don’t remember anything at all. I remember talking to a bartender, after I went on Graham Norton. Oh fuck, Chris Evans was on the show as well. I bet he thinks less of me…

Though, he was ready to become a Fairy he told Graham and after my performance, he was the first to stand. I think I have gained a fan.

But who did I have sex with? It has been more than a year ago since I did something even remotely sexual with another person present, so I’d like to remember the occasion. I look around and see my over knee boots in the corner of the bedroom, neatly put away.

Oh, the guy was a gentleman too.

Wait a second, I’m still wearing my dress. That is weird, because usually after sex, I’m just naked and if I’m wearing anything at all, it’s the guys’ shirt.

Hm, this is strange.

I should investigate this. I manage to push myself out of bed, but the second I’m standing on my feet, I stumble against the wall. Geez, I’m a fucking klutz, especially when I’m hungover. I open the door and try to get myself to the kitchen for a glass of water, but I’m out of breath by the time I reached a cupboard two feet away from me. I place my hand on the surface and pinch myself in my side.

Maybe I’m getting too old to get wasted like this. I’m just twenty three years old, so I’m not even close to thirty. But I don’t think I can handle alcohol that well, especially not this type of vodka.

‘You’re up,’ I hear someone say. His voice does sound pretty familiar though, but I can’t really figure out where I know it from.

‘Barely,’ I answer groggily, looking around me, not seeing anyone. ‘Where are you?’

‘In the kitchen.’

Desperate to see the man I spend the night with, I force myself to walk to the kitchen. He doesn’t sound British though, so maybe he is a tourist? I stare at someones back and from the looks of it, he has broad shoulders and shorter darkish blonde, brown hair. His butt is beautifully shaped.

Not too shabby, Luna.

‘Tea?’

The man turns around and I gasp, my eyes widening in the process. I’m with Chris Evans? Holy shit. What did I do last night? ‘Goodness motherfucking gracious,’ I mutter. ‘What am I doing here?’ I don’t even wait for his answer, because I add in absolute terror: ‘Oh shit, did we have sex last night?’

He starts to laugh, pouring some hot water in a mug. He places it in front of me on the bar, together with four teabags for me to choose from. That’s so considerate, I think to myself.  He is even cuter in real life. ‘No, we didn’t have sex.’

‘Thank the stars. Because if I’ve had sex with Captain America, I’d like to remember it.’ What the fuck are you talking about? ‘Wait, no, forget that I said that.’ My entire face is on fire and I wish I could just disappear right now. ‘I’m so sorry, Chris.’

‘Well, if we had sex, I’d like to make it a little bit more memorable, if I’m being honest with you.’ He chuckles and gestures I should take a seat on the stool. Oh my God, I think I’m gonna die because of that comment, but I pull myself together like the mature woman I am and take place on the high stool.

He looks more approachable with this nice knitted sweater in a dark green color. I bet I look like a Julia Roberts Pretty Woman lookalike, but I failed miserably. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks me.

‘Like shit. I really don’t remember anything of last night. Did I embarrass myself?’

‘Well,’ Chris says with a smile and that can’t be anything good, ‘you kept me pretty entertained.’

‘Oh fuck, I’m so sorry.’ I place my elbows on the hard surface of the bar, hiding my face in my hands. ‘I probably ruined your entire night.’

‘You really didn’t.’

That causes me to look back at him again. ‘I didn’t? I was drunk.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, honestly, you didn’t. I actually really liked your company. You are truly the funniest woman I’ve ever met.’

‘Do I want to know what I did?’

Chris shrugs. ‘It’s nothing too bad. You complimented me about my face, my thighs and my hands.’

I open a teabag and let it sink into the hot water. ‘Oh no, I didn’t just compliment you. Spill, what did I say?’

‘You said I had a pretty face,’ Chris starts and I thank the universe that I was in that type of drunken state. ‘But that it was that pretty that you could just lick it and not regret it.’

Fuck, this is terrible.

‘You said something about chicks loving to ride my thighs and how I have lovely hands. You wanted to know if I had spanked someone with them, causing you to confess that you’d never been spanked.’ How can he say that with a straight face?

I want to die. I clear my throat, hoping I can figure out what to say to him now. Normally with people, I honestly don’t care what I said to them in a drunk state, but this… To this gorgeous human being… ‘Right,’ I say. ‘You know, I should probably go.’

‘You can’t.’

‘Oh, you’re holding me hostage now, mister Evans?’ I ask him, cocking an eyebrow. I wouldn’t complain, but I don’t want to take up more of his time. Also, I don’t want to continue embarrassing myself.

He chuckles. ‘No, there is a blizzard and we are ordered not to leave the hotel or our room for that matter.’

I stare at the window, only to see that the entirety of what I can see of London is covered with a thick layer of snow. ‘No, no, no,’ I whine. ‘I’m so sorry, I look like an actual escort and you probably want to spend time by yourself and not me.’

Chris shrugs. ‘I actually like some company. Don’t really like being alone,’ he admits. ‘You know, how about you take a shower and I’ll see if I have some clothes for you here.’

‘You’ve got lady clothes laying around?’ I ask him, cocking an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t peck you for that, Chris Evans, but you know, to each their own.’

‘Some clothes of mine that you might fit.’

‘Oh no,’ I chuckle, ‘you are actually blind. Have you seen you and me? I’m probably at least thirty centimeters smaller than you and a whole load of kilos lighter than you. You think I could fit in your clothes?’

He smiles, before he winks at me. ‘Let’s find out.’

✘ ✘ ✘

After a long shower, I see that Chris has placed some neatly folded clothes in front of the bathroom door. I have scrubbed off all of my left over make-up from my face and I stare at my brighter skin for a second. I look better now than I did with make-up smeared all over my face and neck. I see Chris has some moisturizer laying around on the bathroom sink. I open the jar and take a sniff.

I remember this exact smell from yesterday. Apparently I was pretty close to him.

I take a bit out of the jar, before I smear it on my face. After I patted the moisturizer into my skin, I walk out of the bathroom in a sweatpants that is way to big for me, some thick socks and a sweater of his. It feels so domestic, something I never experienced. Before I auditioned on the X-Factor, I never fell in love and ever since that, I never had time to date.

Rosie had her brief relationship with Justin Bieber (but we all know how that ended) and Daliah is still dating Michal B. Jordan. He was around a lot when we were still a group and he is nice, always bringing flowers for Daliah, but also for the rest of us, so we didn’t feel left out.

From the five of us, I was the one that never wanted a relationship. I just wanted a life that completely existed of music. But this feeling, wearing someones clothes that smell like said person, it makes me feel oddly loved and taken care of.

Chris is sitting in front of the television, leaned back against the cushions. I see he placed some snacks in front of him on the coffee table and even two mugs filled coffee. This man has been so insanely thoughtful ever since I woke up and I feel like he was thoughtful the night before.

‘There you are,’ he says with a wide smile once he notices me.

I highly doubt anyone has ever looked at me like that before and was this happy to see me.

‘Well, you look even better in my clothes than I thought you would. Come on, take a seat,’ he tells me, patting the spot right next to him on the couch.

My cheeks are a bit flushed, as I plop down next to him and grab the mug filled with coffee. ‘How come I’m actually in your hotel room?’ I ask.

‘Well, I saw you in a bar and you were pretty hammered, so I figured I’d take you to your hotel, but you couldn’t remember where you were staying. I felt like it would be better if I took you to my place. No worries, every advantage you tried to take of me, I politely declined.’

I shake my head because I can’t believe myself. ‘Oh no, oh no. What advantages?’

‘One, you tried to pull me on your lap when we got in the cab. Two, you tried to strip tease when we got here. Three, you wanted to give me a lap dance, but fell on the floor.’

I wonder on what floor we are on, so I can throw myself out of this window. I don’t want to be here ‘I’m sorry,’ I apologize again. ‘This is so fucking embarrassing.’

‘Like I said before,’ Chris laughs, ‘you kept me pretty entertained.’

He continues to watch some television, while I check my phone. It’s weird not to see any messages from my band members. Ever since we broke up a few months ago, we barely spoken. Well, I haven’t spoken to anyone, I have no idea what they are doing, maybe they are talking to one another. I kind of wished that I could open our groups chat again, so I could tell them about where I’m at right now.

I sigh deeply, as the realization hits me that I don’t have anyone anymore. It’s just me. I mean, I like Gia with all my heart, but she has her own life and she is just my manager. Not my friend. Not my soulmate.

‘Are you okay?’ Chris asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

‘Yeah, I’m okay.’

‘You don’t look okay.’

‘I’m hungover, Chris,’ I tell him. ‘I usually look like shit then.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he says. ‘You look sad. You can talk to me, you know? I think we are going to be stuck here for quite some time.’ He smiles and I feel oddly safe, like I can spill my thoughts here and not be judged.

After much consideration, I ask: ‘What is it like? Having a family?’

He frowns deeply. ‘Why do you ask?’

I should just stop talking right now. ‘I don’t have anyone anymore,’ I instead whisper. ‘I was just wondering what it would be like to have one. To be part of a real family, one that loves you no matter what.’

Chris sighs and says: ‘Being part of a family has been the greatest blessing and privilege of my life.’

Leave it to him to make it all poetic and shit. I want to hate this guy, but I can’t for obvious reasons. I watched so many interviews with him and he seems like such a likable and pleasant guy to be around. I like being with him already.

‘I heard something about your family situation,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry you had to go through that.’

People tell me that a lot. Everyone is always so sorry, but it never felt so sincere as it does when Chris Evans says it. I shrug. ‘Well,’ I mumble, ‘it taught me a lot.’

‘What did it teach you?’

I look to the side, to this beautiful man, who is only a few months away from being forty. It’s weird that I feel so at ease with someone who is almost seventeen years older than me.  It’s actually really strange that I feel at ease with anyone for that matter. It took me weeks before I was comfortable around my members. ‘That I shouldn’t get attached to people,’ I say. ‘That’s not really healthy or anything, so I should stop that, but… I can’t stop it.’

‘It isn’t, you’re right,’ he says in a soft voice. ‘I’m not going to tell you what you can and cannot do, but it’s healthy for people to attach.’

‘I did,’ I whisper. ‘I got attached to my girls, though I barely showed it. For six years we were always together. We shared every hit, we shared every birthday. They were my family, you know. I could tell them anything.’

Chris nods. ‘Then why did you guys break up?’

This hurts. I never said it out loud. Not to Gia, not to someone else in my new record label. ‘Because they were jealous,’ I say. ‘I got attached, but I didn’t tell them how much I cared about them. There were clips online, where people would make a compilation of the things I did for them. It were the things like, opening a water bottle and shoving that in their hands without looking at them or pulling them behind me when people got too close for my liking. But I never told them. Instead, I started to work extra hard, so the record label, our managers, producers and our fans would like me more and I actually hoped they would get jealous. I had this desperate need to prove that I was better than they all were.’

Chris is clearly thinking about what he should say to me. ‘Why?’

‘So other people would finally notice me.’ I look up and let out a shaky breath. ‘I’m sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about my sad sob story.’

‘I do,’ he says, placing a caring hand on my knee. ‘It’s not a sad sob story, it’s your life story. It shaped you to who you are today. Remember, Luna, there will be other people that’ll care about you.’

This is bizarre. I’m meeting up with someone for the first time, after thirsting over them for years and now it turned into a full on therapy session, that I actually don’t mind. For years I’ve sat through the forced therapy sessions I had back when I was in foster care, watching the time go by as I kept quiet.

And now I just spill the details and I don’t necessarily feel any regret.

‘You know,’ I say. ‘I remember the day I found out my parents died in that car accident. I was standing outside of the school, with my teacher at the age of four. Everyone was already at home, but my parents didn’t arrive. I didn't want to miss them, so I sat outside for three hours. After that I was forced into the system.’ I look to the side and whisper: ‘I was in sixteen different families and I moved around so many times. All I wanted was being loved and that was when I was with my band members.’

Chris nods. I don’t know what is so damn special about him that I just spill out all my worries, my fears and feelings. ‘There is still time, Luna,’ he says. ‘It’s not too late.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I said, there will be other band members. There will be other people that can care about you. You just have to let them in.’

I think about that for a second, before I stand up. ‘I’m starving,’ I say to him. ‘You want something?’

Chris Evans nods, though he looks a bit taken aback from my sudden change of subject. ‘Sure, let me help you.’

He gets up from the couch, towering over me. His large frame, his handsome face, the way he looks so huggable in that sweater. I bite my lip.

Don’t even think about that, Luna. It’s definitely not going to happen.

✘ ✘ ✘

We prepare some food together and being all domestic with Chris Evans, was something I never thought I could have in life, even if it’s only for a short amount of time. We laugh as he nearly cuts off his finger, he pinches my cheek with his pesto covered fingers and for the first time in many months, I feel accepted and part of something again.

Being with the girls day in day out was tough, but I was never alone. It is nice not to be alone again. All of my foster parents never cared, back in high school I never had a lot of friends, since I moved a lot. Being with four wonderful girls for that long, gave me a certain security.

But I lost that. Now I have nobody, while they are back home with their families, their loved ones, probably still mad at me.

Being stuck with Chris Evans is so nice, though it’s forced since we can’t leave this room. While we eat our food, we talk about his upcoming movies. He is so enthusiastic, to a point where I have to stop him from talking about it more, because he is going to spoil the entire movie, that I so desperately want to see now.

Chris looks at me, like no one has ever looked at me before. I always thought that when I  would meet Chris Evans, I would stare at him with a look solely consisting of lust. I always wondered what he would be like in bed, between my thighs. Of course I still wonder about that, but I actually like him a lot now, as a person.

He makes me feel like I matter and feeling like that, is something so unexpected.

‘This is so unfair,’ I say, throwing the cards on the little coffee table in front of him. ‘You are such a cheater.’

‘I’m a cheater?’ he laughs, his voice a bit higher out of disbelieve. ‘You peeked at my cards, miss Luna and you still managed to lose!’ He pokes my side with his finger, causing me to squeal. ‘You are a disaster.’

‘I’m not a disaster. You are just stupid. I don’t like playing card games with you and I hate you.’

His mouth is formed in a perfect o shape, before he launches forward to tickle my sides.

‘No, Chris, stop it!’ I laugh, as I try to push him off of me, but he is too strong.

Of course he is too strong.

He pushes me deeper in the couch, his hands on my side, as he halts his tickles. He is right in between my legs. This shouldn’t make me horny, this shouldn’t make me horny. ‘I never knew you were such a sore loser.’

‘I’m not a sore loser,’ I manage to choke out, still trying to catch my breath. I can almost cut the tension between us with a knife. His face is so close, his hot breath against my lips. I could just kiss him right now. He smells so lovely and his large hands in my sides…

‘Luna,’ he says, pulling me out of my thoughts, ‘you are an amazing singer, but you suck at card games.’

I slap his chest. ‘Not everyone can be perfect like Chris Evans.’

He took off his sweater about half an hour ago and this shirt is totally accentuating his strong arms and his shoulders, his perfectly shaped upper body. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks me, not moving an inch.

How can I be okay, when I’m in a position like this with you? My cheeks turn red. ‘I’m fine,’ I choke out.

‘Are you sure?’ He places a hand on my forehead. ‘You feel kinda hot.’

‘I am.’ No, no, no! Luna Hwang, why did you say that? Don’t say something like that.

‘How come?’

Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute. I spot his sly smile on his face, his chest slowly more pressed against mine. He is doing this on purpose. I never thought this man would do something like that.

Sneaky bastard. He looks so innocent with those beautiful eyes, those long lashes, but meanwhile he is just as horny as I am probably.

‘Well,’ I say, finally gaining back some confidence, ‘you in this black shirt isn’t helping the situation at all.’

Chris smiles. ‘Figured. Took you long enough to react.’

‘So you did do it on purpose,’ I say, cocking an eyebrow as I chuckle.

‘Well,’ he whispers, his hand cupping my face as his thumb grazes over my bottom lip, ‘don’t you think for a second I didn’t notice every single thing you have been doing. Biting your lips, stretching out so I can see some of your skin. You did that on purpose too.’

I almost think that he can hear my heartbeat and I swallow hard.

‘If you don’t want to do this,’ he whispers, ‘we don’t have to do this. Just tell me.’

He should stop being so considerate. ‘Chris, Chris, Chris,’ I say, placing my hands on his strong chest, ‘you honestly thought we’d get through this blizzard without us having sex.’ I start to smile. ‘I honestly feel like you underestimated me.’

He chuckles and says: ‘Tell me, what did you have in mind?’

Is he giving me the ability to give matters into my own hands? That has never happened before. ‘Well,’ I say, as he buries his face in the nape of my neck, slowly pressing soft kisses on the delicate skin. ‘I’ve thought about you between my thighs.’

‘Can be arranged.’

‘And I didn’t lie yesterday: I bet girls love to ride to ride your thighs.’

‘No one has ever done that,’ he admits, something I find very hard to believe. No one has rode these thighs before? Those lovely thighs? His large hand slip underneath my sweater, as his calloused fingers touch my bare skin. ‘But I’d love for you to be the first. Take off your clothes, Luna,’ he whispers. ‘All of it.’

Shivers run down my spine, as I watch him sitting up straight, positioning himself on the couch with a smile.

‘You wanted to do a striptease yesterday,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘What’s stopping you now, Luna?’

‘No alcohol.’

I shred myself from his sweater, the sweatpants and socks, as I run my fingers through my hair.

‘All of it, baby,’ he tells me.

I take a deep breath. Seeing him fully clothed and me slowly becoming more naked every second passing. I undo my bra and I hook my fingers around the waistband of my underwear. Chris lets his lip go over his bottom lip.

‘You are breathtaking.’ He pulls me on his lap, on one of his thighs, his hands roaming my body, until one of them gets intertwined in my hair as he pulls me in for a kiss. Oh shit, I’m kissing Chris Evans. The Chris Evans.

My wet core is pressed against the fabric of his jeans. I’m so desperate for some friction between my legs. I grind my hips back and forth, causing me to moan against his mouth. ‘Very good,’ he mumbles, placing his hands on my hips, to help me set the pace that he desires.

His kisses are nothing with what I expected them to be. I thought he was sweet and considerate, just like everything he has done for me today, but these kisses are nothing like that. He is dominant and demanding. He takes my bottom lip between his teeth, as he forces me to ride his thick thigh faster, flexing his muscles for different kinds of sensation.

‘Oh fuck,’ I moan out.

‘Look at you,’ he whispers with a satisfied grin on his face. ‘You are so sexy, Luna.’ He pulls me in for yet another long kiss, his tongue dancing around mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and I feel the familiar sensation coiling up deep inside of me, causing me to whimper against his plump lips.

And then he forces my hips to stay put.

‘No,’ I whine.

Chris smiles, as he squeezes my ass. I’m sure he is leaving marks on the soft flesh. ‘You soaked my jeans, baby.’

‘That’s your fault. You could’ve not worn them.’

He gently pushes me off his lap, sitting on his knees in front of the couch and he spreads my legs apart. He presses kisses on my inner thighs. ‘Pretty girl,’ he notes. ‘So wet for me already.’ He looks up and smiles. ‘Can I?’

I nod. ‘Please,’ I beg, as I run my fingers through his beautiful locks. ‘Chris, please.’ I gasp when I feel his warm mouth on my aching center. He is fucking skilled with his tongue. He knows exactly what gets me off and he barely even knows me. I wrap my legs around his face. ‘Ri—Oh fuck, right there.’ I lean with my head against the back of the couch, as his tongue invades my tight hole from time to time.

No guy has ever done it like this before and no guy in the world can bring me towards the edge faster than Chris fucking Evans is doing. ‘I’m close, Chris,’ I cry out. For a second I fear he stops now, but this time he doesn’t.

Thank fuck he doesn’t.

He sucks sharply on my clit and it’s followed by the vibrations of his moans. I let out a strangled moan, as I don’t want to tell the entire hotel I’m having sex with Chris Evans.

Yet.

My body starts to shake on the couch as I ride out my high. I push his face away from my aching cunt, to catch my breath. ‘Shit, Chris,’ I chuckle. ‘You sure know what you are doing.’

Chris smugly grins, his beard covered in my juices, before he pushes himself up, so he can give me a long kiss on my lips. I taste myself, something that I normally hate, but right now, I love every single second of it. His lips slowly descend from mine to my jaw and to my neck. He wraps his lips around my hardened nipple and I arch by back in pleasure. The short hairs against prickling against my delicate skin.

He looks up at me with a smile, his eyes a few shades darker. He sits next to me on the couch and he gives me a kiss on my cheek. ‘Open your mouth, baby.’

No one has ever said that to me, but I oblige without thinking about it for a second. He pushes two fingers in my mouth and I run my tongue over them, nearly gagging on them as he sticks them deeper in my mouth. He pulls them out, drool dripping over my lips and chin. ‘Just tell me if you don’t want to do this or want to stop and I’ll stop right away.’

I nod and he dips two fingers inside. I try to push my legs together, but he hooks his ankle around mine, spreading my legs apart. His fingertips rub against the sensitive spot inside of me. His other hand is tangled in my hair, pulling the locks to give him more access to my neck. He continues to finger me at a pace that make my eyes roll back.

‘Come on, Luna,’ he encourages me, ‘you must let me know how you feel.’

‘Fuck,’ I choke out, but it’s followed by a pained moan.

He chuckle, pressing a tender kiss on my neck, before I feel his lips on my temple. ‘That’s a good girl. You are such a good girl for me.’

His thumb grazes over my clit and almost instantly my walls clench around his fingers, but I feel this unfamiliar feeling wash over me. Juices gush passed his fingers and I let out a pained sob as I close my eyes. I think I’m seeing stars. I hold his wrist, so he stops moving and I try to get my breathing a little normal. ‘Fuck, mister Evans,’ I breath out. ‘You are amazing.’

He slowly pulls his fingers out of me, before he kisses me softly.

‘I’ve never done that before,’ I admit, swallowing hard.

‘There is a first time for everything.’ He smiles at me and whispers: ‘You’re doing good, baby.’ He stands up from the couch and takes off his own clothes. I check out his body as his clothes drop to the floor. His perfect hip to shoulder ratio is perfect. I had an idea what he would look like naked, but rest assured: I’m not at all disappointed. His pubic hair is nicely groomed, his cock is thick and pretty long (changes are that I can feel him deep deep inside me).

Mister Chris Evans is very blessed.

‘On your back, baby,’ he whispers. I place my head on the cushion, as I position myself on the soft couch. He spreads my legs as he sits in between them. ‘Want to use a condom?’

‘I don’t,’ I whisper.

‘You still want to do this?’ he asks just in case.

I try to think back to the few bed partners I had and whether or not they ever asked me if I wanted to continue, if I still want to do this. Come to think of it: no one has ever asked me that. I nod. ‘I really do.’

Chris lines his tip with the bead of pre cum near my entrance, checking with me once more before he sinks into me, his thick length stretching me out. He is not even halfway in, when I hastily place my hand on his chest. ‘Oh shit, no stop,’ I say, panic dripping through every word I say. ‘Please, stop, Chris.’

‘I’m stopping, sweetheart. Talk to me. Are you okay?’ he asks, cupping my face with his strong hand.

‘It’s just that you are so big, Chris,’ I choke out. ‘Just give me a minute.’

I can see Chris wants to buff out his chest with pride, but he keeps it in. The burning stretch isn’t that terrible anymore. I give him a silent sign that he can continue and he slides all the way in.

Oh fuck, I spoke too soon, this burns way too much. I feel tears dripping over my cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper.

‘Don’t feel sorry. I’m hurting you, aren’t I? And please be honest with me, baby.’

‘You’re hurting me a little,’ I admit.

He leans in and gives me a kiss on my lips. ‘That is absolutely not my intention. Try to relax,’ he says, as he reaches between us, so his thumb can toy with my sensitive clit. ‘Look at me, beautiful.’

I do as he tells me to do and bite my lip. ‘This feels good, Chris,’ I say in a tiny voice, as pleasure finally takes over again.

He smiles. ‘I can tell. You’re doing such a good job.’

‘You can move now,’ I whisper. I wrap my legs around his hips and he pulls out, before slowing sinking right back in. I tighten around his thick length. I mean, I have my fair share of sex toys and a few partners, but nothing had the girth his length has.

Almost a pornographic moan leaves my lips. I hide my face in my hands, but he pries my fingers away. ‘This is exactly what I want to hear, Luna. Use that pretty voice of yours to let the entire hotel know how good I’m making you feel.’

‘Shit, Chris, I’m gonna—’ I can’t even finish my sentence, as the rush of pleasure jolts through my entire body. I let out a painful cry against his shoulder, as he continues to thrust deep inside me, not slowing down. ‘Chris, I can’t do this anymore.’

No one has ever done this with me. Ever used me like this. Made me cum over and over again.

‘I’m almost there, sweetheart,’ he says, his tone soft. ‘Can you hang in there for me, baby? If not, just say so and I’ll stop.’

His hands are holding my face so gently, his lips pressing tender kisses on my lips, it all causes me to simply nod, though it’s so so sensitive down there.

‘You want me to continue?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘Please.’

‘Such a good girl,’ he says. ‘I’m very close, sweetheart. Where do you want me to cum, baby? Tell me.’

‘Inside,’ I moan out, as tears are dripping over my face. ‘Fuck, I really need it inside.’

His hands push my hips deep in the couch, speeding up his thrusts. I don’t care if anyone can hear us anymore, because I cry out loud. The room is filled with the obscene sounds that consist of how wet I am, skin against skin and his moans and my screams combined. From the way he is groaning, I can tell he is close.

I grab his face, press my lips firmly against his. His hips stutter against mine, as I feel the deep spurts of cum painting me from the inside. Chris rides out his high, placing his head on my chest, lingering inside for a brief moment. ‘Fuck,’ he says.

‘You can say that again,’ I laugh. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ he chuckles. ‘Haven’t done this in a very long time, that’s all. Are you okay? I’m sorry, I let myself go for a moment.’

‘I think I’m going to feel you for days,’ I admit. ‘With the way you used me.’

‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’ he quickly asks. It’s sweet that he sounds so sincerely worried, a full one eighty from how he used me a few seconds ago.

I shake my head. ‘No, you didn’t. Just had to get used to you. I do think I could use a shower, though.’

‘Well, let me join you then.’ He carefully pulls out, a whimper leaving my lips. He pulls me up, but because of the existence of gravity, I feel his cum dripping down my thighs. Chris smiles when he notices it too and lifts me up in his arms, before peppering my face with kisses. ‘So, how about a second round in the shower?’

Taglist: @diegos-butt​

[vulturhythm]

heave her up and away we go

people across the globe have heard of the wolf of the sea. they’ve heard tales of a captain with hair as pale as the moon and eyes as yellow as the gold he seeks, of a brute of a man whose conquests are vicious and leave no survivors.

(no one ever points out that, if there were no survivors, there would be no tales.)

nearly all the coastal cities claim to have been visited by the wolf and his horrific vessel, the mohren. “he took our mayor’s daughter” or “we watched him slay all our finest soldiers...” all stories of bloodshed, of unspeakable acts the likes of which only a true pirate could achieve.

(no one ever points out that no one actually describes having seen the wolf in the wake of such assaults.)

the wolf has earned himself an awful name upon the seven seas, and it is said that he fears no other captain - not one who sails beneath the crown, nor one who hoists the skull and bones high. it is said, in fact, that even blackbeard cowers at his very name.

(no one ever points out that blackbeard has been many years dead and gone.)

and yet...

well.

for such a horrendous reputation, the wolf of the seas is, in fact, little more than a puppy in the shallows.

and who am i to tell you this?

none other than the wolf’s favorite companion, his most trusted friend, his private performer, his lover on the best of days.

i was born julian, but following my recruitment into the pack of the wolf, as it were, i have taken up a multitude of names - jaskier, dandelion, even songbird at times.

(more cruel names, such as bastard, wretch and ship’s rat, at other times. it all depends upon the side of bed upon which the wolf awakens.)

when geralt found me, i was playing for farthings - pence or shillings, on a good day - at a little pub in an even littler port city. some of you may know it, but it is likelier that the rest do not, so i won’t name it. it had been a rough day for tips, and yet still i sang. by the time a great, hulking man with hair as white as snow and eyes as bright as the sun walked inside, my voice was nearly gone, and so i pounced upon the chance to down a drink or ten with a mostly-willing partner.

(geralt is standing above me as i write this, and he says he was less than willing, but i question his memory at times.)

i don’t recall how long we talked that evening before the location of our discussion moved from the pub to the exterior wall, and then, eventually, to the loft of a stable, the owner of which i knew would be drinking until dawn. i caution against taking a man to bed amongst a pile of straw, for a multitude of reasons, but i have no regrets.

well, anyway.

dawn came, and i found myself loath to leave geralt entirely. he mentioned that he had a ship, the night before, and it was this that i repeated to him upon sunrise. “surely,” said i, “my prospects for money would be better in a new town with new ears,” and geralt sighed at me, acting so incredibly put-upon.

“to the next port,” he said, and that was that.

“but, jaskier,” you cry, “you set foot upon the mohren and did not immediately turn tail? such bravery!”

waste not your praise, fair reader, for, i must admit, i had yet to piece together the image of this powerful man with that of the infamous wolf of the sea. it was with foolish joy and a light heart that i strode up the gangway and onto the great black ship. first to strike me was the fact that the only visible crew consisted of a young girl, watching from the crow’s nest.

next was that this was most certainly not of the british crown, nor was it your average fishing vessel.

no, it was a large and sleek thing, meant for speed and endurance.

it was, in short, a pirate vessel, something which i confirmed for myself when i cast my eyes upward to see a black flag overhead.

a black flag that held not the jolly roger, but a massive white wolf skull, vicious teeth bared.

i assure you, dear reader, my heart was in my throat when i whirled to geralt, who had already begun to pull the wooden gangway back onboard.

“you’re the - “

“the wolf of the seas,” he said, and he sounded entirely unaffected, as though this was a daily conversation. “i have no plans to hurt you. like i said, to the next port, and no further.”

it was as i stood there, lute in hands and jaw upon the deck, that geralt stepped toward me, and i take pride in the fact that i didn’t flinch. “you have the song of a lifetime in the making, right here before you, but if you want to go back ashore, i won’t stop you. i’m merely offering transport.”

as i recall it, i was entirely robbed of the ability to speak for those first few seconds, so i was capable of little more than a nod. on the one hand, if i was killed, i could rest assured it would be painless, considering the strength and power geralt had made evident the night before. on the other hand, geralt was entirely correct - if i were to survive, i would have the makings of the finest song known to man.

i would live in luxury!

geralt took to the wheel shortly thereafter, and i followed along, standing near his side to observe.

the wolf of the seas, i can tell you all, is not a fan of idle conversation, so the bulk of our discussions for the next four days consisted of my eloquent monologues, halfhearted grunts, and, well, various other noises.

it was the evening of the second day before i managed to coax anything akin to an explanation from the incredibly silent man, and, once i had begun the process of extracting his story, i found it far more prudent to remain aboard than leave his company at the next port. geralt protested initially, but three years later, he has not yet rid himself of me entirely.

now, i wish to preface this - and all subsequent information - with the following:

all that i am about to relay has been pieced together over many a year of traveling with the wolf of the seas, and the writings in this journal are little more than a traveling musician’s attempts to chronicle the life of one of the kindest men to ever sail the world.

with that out of the way, let us begin.

-

the circumstances of geralt’s birth and early childhood remain a mystery, as any attempt to discuss these things results in a complete and undeniable refusal, so alas, i cannot tell you where the wolf was spawned. i can, however, tell you that his introduction to the sea came about as follows:

as a youth, he trained under a crew of shipwrights, one that built the finest of crafts for the crown - a crew that has, from what i’ve gathered, long since met their ends due to natural causes. geralt’s affinity with the craft paved a natural way for him to join the british royal navy as soon as he was of age.

(watching geralt, it is easy to imagine him upon a warship, and yet, i cannot fathom him in anything but a position of command. he is a leader, through and through.)

he saw few true battles, as my understanding goes, but it seems his frustration with the crown merely grew with each passing day, as he and his crew were sent to dispatch all pirate vessels. in moments of vulnerability, he has shared with me stories of horrific acts committed by the men said to be on the side of the law, of innocent folk harmed in the path of good, of men whose only crime was seeking a living upon the seas slaughtered like beasts for the altar.

to date, geralt hasn’t told me of the final straw.

i know better than to ask.

according to him, it isn’t that difficult to steal a ship from the navy when one is among the most trusted sailors.

i have my doubts.

geralt’s brand of piracy is a unique one, to be sure. i doubt the man is capable of a legitimate attack on another vessel, at least not on one that isn’t telegraphing clear intent to harm. a stark contrast to the brutal portrait painted by civilized society, geralt spends his days patrolling the seas with intent to help, not to harm.

in my time spent at his side, i have witnessed the horrible wolf of the seas escort smaller craft to port, dispatch empty slave vessels and let them sink in splinters, defend others flying beneath the jolly roger from the crown... perhaps most important, however, i have seen him offer men and women alike safe passage or a spot on the crew in exchange for their promise to spread the worst of rumors to those on land.

why?

well, according to geralt, the why should be obvious - no british officer is going to fear a pirate whose reputation is one of kindness.

—

the wolf of the seas travels with a motley crew, to be sure. in all honesty, his crew isn’t much of one to speak of, as the majority of those who travel with him regularly are kept on for... sentiment, as it were. in terms of combatants, he employs those whose luck has failed them elsewhere.

the young lady i’d spotted in the crow’s nest that first day goes by the name of ciri, and she was taken in when the crown left her town decimated in search of a presumed criminal. geralt thinks of her as a daughter, something i determined very quickly. she’s a bright child, although perhaps a tad too perceptive for her own good.

there’s a grown woman aboard, too - a lady with bright red hair and a sharp wit, known as triss. geralt’s interactions with her lead me to believe they were once rather fond of eachother. i bear her no ill will. she’s an interesting sort.

eskel and lambert - two rather formidable men, both of whom i tend to avoid, for little reason apart from their enjoyment of tormenting me. i’ve rescued my beloved instruments from their mischievous hands many times before.

there are others, too, of course, different people of different creeds, all taken aboard to be given a second chance, all useful in some way. i know none of them particularly well, but we live on friendly terms.

geralt makes a point of dropping in on certain towns regularly, to visit old friends - vesemir, yennefer... i never interact with them terribly much, but i have seen the fondness in geralt’s eyes when he returns from his much-needed retreats.

one thing for which i can vouch is that the wolf of the seas has never turned on one of his own. he treats each and every one of us well, and truly, we want for nothing. i, for what it’s worth, have a warm bed and a warmer body to enjoy each and every night, in exchange for little more than song.

i live what is far from a conventional life, to be sure, but i wouldn’t trade it for all the riches and status in the world.

well, the moon rises high, and geralt is calling me to bed. i must set my quill aside for the time being, but rest assured, my tales are far from complete.

until the morrow,

jaskier

—

you have no clue how nervous I am right now - I really, really hope you like this!

to the rest of you, don’t worry, merman!au is nearly done!

@xdandelionxbloomx

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-08-23

More homestuuuuuck

I’m a little tired today so I don’t expect much intelligent analysis out of myself, but if anything classpecty happens I doubt I’ll be able to help myself regardless.

oh, always

(EDITS: added note on horn colors, link to ask on potential Blood powers reference)

> CHAPTER 12. Really Convoluted Metaphorical Horseshit

cuuute

In the bowels of a different ship, at a moment in time that is not pinpointable in either direction from the previous interaction, another Dave raps quietly to himself.

another dave raps quietly to himself.  i am glad that phrase exists it brings me joy

(LATER EDIT: A friend on Discord pointed out that throughout this entire update, Karkat's horns are #FF0000 red. They were normal candy-corn colors in previous glimpses at the ship crew, though they used a dark single-color shortcut typical of old Homestuck at one point... but THIS time it stays STARK red even when we zoom in close later. Is this just artistic liberty? Did Karkat color his horns for fashion? Does this happen to red-bloods like the Sufferer after a certain age? Just how much time has actually passed, here? We might have to wait for the commentary for this one.)

KARKAT: I WAS SAYING I THOUGHT WE MIGHT GO, I DUNNO, ANYWHERE ELSE ON THE ENTIRE SHIP WHILE THE CLOTHES WERE WASHING. KARKAT: SEEING AS THIS DECREPIT MACHINE WE WERE SO BLESSEDLY PROVIDED WITH MAKES A WHIRRING SOUND SO PANCHAFINGLY ARHYTHMIC THAT IT THREATENS TO ERADICATE THE ENTIRE CONCEPT OF TEMPO FROM THE UNIVERSE.

Karkat really has chilled out hasnt he?  like this is surprisingly level for him, and that fact is hilarious.

KARKAT: AND YET SOMEHOW BASICALLY ALL THAT HAS HAPPENED SINCE WE STARTED THE LOAD IS THAT YOU’VE BEEN USING IT AS A FUCKED UP BEAT TO WHISPER TO YOURSELF ABOUT FLOWERS TO.

oh gosh that’s why he’s rapping

> ==>

DAVE: kanaya was telling me this kids story the other day about this dude who didnt cherish a flower enough until it peaced out to do flower stuff idk its not pertinent to the story DAVE: except the flower was a person DAVE: because it was a metaphor

Oh right, coming back to the Little Prince stuff I was too lazy to metaphor-deep-dive into, and literally asking the same questions we were asking about who the Little Prince’s story applies to mapped here if anyone at all, like Dirk and such, or what biases were in the retelling of it and the way Kanaya phrased it.  So now we’re practically mocking it by deep diving it here, hence the last page’s “DAVE: i was just thinking through some really convoluted metaphorical horseshit”, which means we’re both about to further explore AND shit all over the existence of this story metaphor until it doesn’t mean anything and most of the meaning we drew from it earlier is made a joke~

well, not “we”, cause I was too lazy, so... y’all

DAVE: anyway what goes down in the story is that once the flower lady is out of the picture DAVE: the main character goes around making all these connections between her and everything else in the universe until every damn thing feels like a symbol for how much he fucked up and how much he will never see her again KARKAT: THIS SEEMS PRETTY FUCKING INTENSE FOR A KID'S STORY DAVE: yea thats pretty much what i said

Oh holy shit.  That’s yet another way to put it.  Are we doing a whole moral takedown of the Light aspect today?  cause it sounds like we’re taking a dump on the Light aspect and RoboRose getting too obsessed and immersed in it, which would be excellent

DAVE: but i guess its not so much what the story was technically textually about but more like the version of it kanaya internalized and then told me when we were talkin about how she misses rose

exactly

DAVE: so like now im taking the story she told me she was projecting her feelings onto and projecting my feelings on top of that

yes absolutely, you just rephrased it a different way with that exact same bias

DAVE: this is just one big game of emotional projection telephone so feel free to go paraphrase it to roxy later and make it about whatever fuckin thing youre currently missing

perfect. i need an emoji for that Italian thing for when you pinch your thumb and forefinger together and kiss it

ah this’ll do:

its like the expression “choice” but in nonverbal form

[...] whatever fuckin thing youre currently missing KARKAT: YOUR ABILITY TO GET TO THE POINT DAVE: gotem DAVE: anyway you’re not gonna have to miss that skill of mine for long DAVE: get ready for this shit because i am about to slap you with the point so hard youll fall ass first into the washer DAVE: just scrambling around in there getting all sudsy DAVE: but your brain is gonna be so blasted from the mindfreak of a point im about to make that there wont be anything left to clean

Anytime dave is told to get to the point he is contractually obligated to spend at least 20 seconds talking about how he’ll get to the point in a way that is not getting to the point

DAVE: so its genuinely cool that kanaya can go around creating meaning that may or may not be actually present in every little thing DAVE: connecting every feeling she has to the idea of her wife existing out there DAVE: so i told her she should keep that shit up DAVE: but im having the opposite issue where im struggling to find anything to be that kind of tether because every single thing i could possibly consider about what it is were doing just reminds me of yet another thing to be afraid about

Great examples of Light being good and bad!  Attaching strands of connective meaning to everything.  --though, in Dave’s case AND Kanaya’s case you could argue it’s both bad in terms of effects.  That it’s great for Kanaya to care, but that she should be able to divest herself and live on her own terms without idealizing Rose literally everywhere she looks, personal growth which would be useful in helping bring Rose back to her in the first place.  The struggle they’re looking forward to is largely philosophical, not just physical, and until Rosebot acknowledges that she was wrong it’s not over.

DAVE: everything fuckin sucks huge cosmic donkey sack and im terrified KARKAT: OK, SO I FEEL LIKE YOU SKIPPED A COUPLE NECESSARY STEPS IN YOUR POINT CLARIFICATION PROCESS.

Pretty sure Dave was on the same page as most Epilogue and start-of-HS2 readers.  This situation is pretty bleak to dump our heroes into, no matter how much we believe will be resolved in the long run.

DAVE: ok but were you going with sweet or savory please give me that much at least KARKAT: YEAH IT WAS GOING TO BE SUNDAE-BASED. DAVE: nice KARKAT: YEAH. KARKAT: DO YOU WANNA WATCH MORE GBBO AFTER THIS? DAVE: absolutely

--ah, Great British Bake-Off, can’t say I’ve indulged

do they still have that?? did they save it from old Earth?  or did they go where unflooded Britain used to be and say hey, new show reboot

KARKAT: GREAT. ANYWAY, LIKE I WAS SAYING, FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET HUMAN CHRIST, PLEASE BACK UP TO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU’RE ACTUALLY SCARED OF. KARKAT: ALSO COME HERE, IDIOT.

That last line is like, exactly as fucking sweet and awesome as we imagined their relationship to be.  :)

> ==>

OH MY GOD THAT’S ADORABLE

DAVE: ok yeah this is a better position to unleash all my inner fears n anxieties from

indisputably.

DAVE: those times its like my mouth was saying words about the situation wherein our friends are AWOL and maybe dead but my brain wasnt fully letting me experience the emotion that goes along with them DAVE: man its like i cant even start genuinely thinking about how afraid i actually am for rose and john without my brain flippin its wad and whiting out DAVE: like haha fuck i hope theyre ok DAVE: now i better make a fuckin joke before i succumb to the gaping mouth of despair waiting for me to fall in it as soon as i look down and acknowledge that its there ogling how juicy my ass looks as it trembles with terror

I really hope that the writers of HS2 know full well that this feeling? the one Dave is describing here? is what many of us who got way overinvested in the well-being of Homestuck’s surviving characters felt reading the Epilogues and Homestuck^2.  So I really hope they’re working through it in a way that will result in a preponderance of GOOD THINGS happening and hope-filled situations.  Cause that “can’t even think about X” feeling is too familiar, and if they understand it as well as it LOOKS like they’re getting to, I’d really like them to give us a helping hand healing.

I think that’s what they’re going for?  Seems hopeful for me to think so, but they HAVE been doing better as HS2 has been going forward, from an emotional standpoint anyway; definitely better than the Epilogues.  And I’ve worked through some of that stuff with the help of that, because it’s MUCH easier nowadays to think about Homestuck without my gut clenching.

DAVE: i guess im just fucked up about how to worry about dirk and be angry at him at the same time DAVE: because if i get as unholy pissed at him as i sometimes wanna be i also gotta admit to myself that maybe i coulda done something different there

Mhmm, Karkat’s potentially a pretty good person to speak with here since he’s done so much work trying not to feel responsible for everything that’s ever gone wrong.

DAVE: also like DAVE: and this by the way adds a whole other layer of guilt on there that i dont really know how to fuckin reckon with but DAVE: even with all the shit hes pulled and the fact that we are more or less heading toward having to take him down DAVE: whatever that is gonna mean and whether or not he planned it like that DAVE: i just DAVE: me and him had come so far with each other and it was really cool for a while to have him and i DAVE: ugh DAVE: i dont WANT to hate him

Yeah, Dirk and Jane’s heel-turns were really shitty for anyone who was a fan of them in the fanbase, as well.

KARKAT: WELL THEN QUIT FUCKING PICKING AT THE SEAM ON MY SHORTS AND SPIT IT OUT. THEY'RE BARELY HANGING ON TO THE DEFINITION OF "SHORTS" AS IT IS.

That is an adorably real boyfriend-laying-in-boyfriend’s-lap thing to do

DAVE: the part i mentioned before about how we really have no goddamn clue how long this trip is even gonna take DAVE: i cant help but feel like its barely getting revved up DAVE: and for me and roxy and jade and callie and kan thats normal shit at best and boring at worst but we all have our immortality to thank for that DAVE: we can just dick around in space for near-eternity waiting to catch up to our friends who may or may not be our enemies now and itll be fine DAVE: i mean no itll be categorically miserable DAVE: but well survive it KARKAT: HOLD THE FUCK ON. DAVE: but you KARKAT: DAVE. DAVE: no lemme say this

Oh god damnit.  Karkat’s limited lifespan.  As if we hadn’t ALREADY covered a nauseatingly extensive gamut of disheartening topics of conversation.  We really have to confront every shred of misery in their past, present and future one after the other after the other in the Epilogues and HS2, don’t we?  >:(

I guess it had to be discussed, though.

DAVE: we dont talk about it much and i got shit to say about it DAVE: its not like i never thought about how youre mortal before but i just thought wed be able to figure it out before it mattered DAVE: come up with some kind of plan DAVE: i was just distracted being happy with you i fucking guess and so i didnt think up a way to fix it DAVE: and now thanks to dirk we have to work it out right the fuck now DAVE: because i cant spend this trip just sitting around watching you get old and die

Jesus.  I mean, WE know(?) that it’s not gonna be THAT many years, but THEY don’t know that.

Unless it really IS going to be that many years and HS2 is going to shamelessly take a fucking sledgehammer to our feelings for no goddamn good reason.  Which it won’t!  Right???  >:T

> ==>

Dishwasher ding

> Dave: Grapple with the clean, soggy consequences of the passage of time.

Hey, don’t make it a metaphor here. --though, fuck.  I suppose we are dealing with everyones dirty laundry.  God damnit.  SURE, deal with it all story but then GET IT OUT OF THE WAY AND PUT SOME SERIOUS FUN AND LAUGHS IN HERE so we don’t feel like we’re wading through an entire garbage dump!!!  *click*

Karkat’s eyebrows-only mouthless frown is really cute.

> ==>

okay Karkat explain the nope you’re lodging

> ==>

*put*

> ==>

*foot*

> ==>

DAVE: ok go on

I mean I at least appreciate the time investment in adorable boyfriends.  That’s definitely something of SOME good value they’re giving us in exchange for this misery

> ==>

That Karkat image makes me wanna do that red-shaky-gif-thing with it

KARKAT: IT'S NOT LIKE I'M NEW TO THE PARTICULAR MOOBEAST WRANGLING EVENT OF SOMEONE I PREVIOUSLY LOVED BRUTALLY TURNING ON ME AND LEAVING ME TO TRY AND CRAM MY FEELINGS ABOUT THE SITUATION BACK TOGETHER ALL ON MY OWN.

True

KARKAT: HE DID THAT ON HIS OWN. AND WE MADE THE CHOICE TO GO AFTER HIM ON OUR OWN.

Yes, and you’ll possibly convince him more of that over time, though not in this short conversation

KARKAT: I WAS FOLLOWING YOUR LITTLE TRAIL OF COOKIE CRUMB FEARS UNTIL IT LEAD TO THE BIG SNACK FINALE OF WORRY ABOUT MY FRAGILE MORTAL MEATSACK. KARKAT: IF I HAVE SOMEHOW NOT BEEN CLEAR ABOUT THIS WITH YOU YET, LET ME GO AHEAD AND RECTIFY THE SITUATION RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. KARKAT: HANGING OUT WITH YOU ON THIS LONG TRIP TO WHO THE SHITTING FUCK KNOWS WHERE IS QUITE LITERALLY THE HAPPIEST I HAVE EVER BEEN IN MY ENTIRE MEAGER EXISTENCE. KARKAT: I'M SO ABSOLUTELY BLISSED THE FUCK OUT OF MY MIND TO BE ABLE TO LOOK AT YOUR STUPID IMMORTALLY SMOOTH HUMAN FACE SKIN EVERY DAY AND NOT HAVE A COMPLEX ABOUT IT.

D’AWWW

And with that darkly angry expression too, that’s PERFECT

I mean it’s true.  What exactly would they be doing DIFFERENTLY on Earth C other than enjoying each other like this?  It’s pretty fucking great.

...hm.  Isn’t this journey-not-the-destination stuff pretty Breathy?  Karkat’s proving more balanced by the moment.

KARKAT: AND I'LL BE STRAIGHT WITH YOU. IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN EXPERIENCING SOME COMPLICATED GUILT, MYSELF. KARKAT: THE FACT THAT I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE JUST FUCKING CHILLAXING AND BEING IN LOVE IN SPACE IS A CLEARLY INCONGRUOUS WITH THE REASON I'M ACTUALLY HERE CHILLAXING TO BEGIN WITH, AND I'M NOT LETTING MYSELF FORGET THAT, EITHER.

Pff.  He feels guilty for ENJOYING IT so much.  <3

KARKAT: BUT I RESENT THE IMPLICATION THAT MY HAPPINESS IS REGISTERING FOR YOU AS YOU HAVING TO JUST "SIT AROUND AND WATCH ME GET OLD," BECAUSE I KNOW YOU KNOW IT'S MORE THAN THAT.

I’m glad Karkat knows that DAVE knows somewhere in him that it’s more than that, because yeah, if Karkat thought he DIDN’T know that at some level that’d be a reason to take MUCH MORE SERIOUS offense.

KARKAT: LIKE, JESUS, DAVE. YOU KNOW I'M AFRAID FOR YOU, TOO, RIGHT? KARKAT: OR DID YOU FORGET THE WHOLE HEROIC DEATH THING? KARKAT: I WORRY ABOUT LOSING YOU FAIRLY FUCKING REGULARLY.

Hah!!!  Point taken.  Karkat must view Dave as practically more fragile than HIM.

KARKAT: ONE: WE'VE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH HELLACIOUS PANWARPING TRAUMA THAT I REFUSE TO NOT ENJOY THIS SHIT WHEN I FINALLY FUCKING GET IT, NO MATTER HOW LONG IT MAY OR MAY NOT LAST. KARKAT: TWO: IT'S NOT LIKE WE'RE DOING NOTHING. WE’RE MOVING. WE’RE WORKING. WE’RE HEADED SPECIFICALLY TO A PLACE WHERE WE WILL UNDOUBTLEDLY ENDURE YET MORE FUCKING HELLACIOUS PANWARPING TRAUMA. KARKAT: AND THREE: WE'RE DOING THAT BECAUSE WE HAVE FRIENDS WHO WE CARE ABOUT THAT NEED US. THAT IS OUR FOCUS, HERE. NOT OUR FEAR. IT'S ABOUT THE PEOPLE WE HAVE TO SAVE. KARKAT: SO DON'T FUCKING WORRY ABOUT ME, DAVE. I'M FINE.

Okay, this is great and wholesome.  I am now retroactively GLAD that this topic got brought up.  :)

> ==>

Dave is still afraid. There is a part of him that will always be, he thinks. He has accepted this about himself. There is another feeling coursing through him too, though. It’s something he's felt before, though never quite so intensely. He looks up at Karkat and understands, viscerally, the simple power his words have. They pump through Dave’s own body, alive and warm and true.

He wonders if Karkat realizes it, or if he’s just, as always, saying what he feels as he feels it. Dave doesn’t attempt to dissect it further. There will be time for that later.

Every really loving moment like this is sort of undercut by the fact that it’s also, in some senses, part of alt!Calliope’s narration and, by extension, her fanfiction.

EDIT 2: There's also either a hint to potential Blood powers or even an explicit Blood power use here that I didn't recognize. I'm leaning towards it's-laying-the-groundwork-for-future-use-of-Blood-powers-but-isnt-magical-in-this-case.

> ==>

Smooooch!

That was nice.  Still gonna wait on doing any commentary til next time or a Bonus update or two, cause I’m beat.  See y’all next time!

[bartholomewmacmillan]

You'll need a boutonniere. Actress Kathryn Harrold is 66.

You'll need a boutonniere. Actress Kathryn Harrold is 66. That ended when the tigers tried to swallow Tyrosh. A few service members are called into a room, where they are connected virtually to their family members who are at the game.. And Jetlines will stick to one model of aircraft to streamline maintenance costs, cutting the company costs by another 2.5 per cent. When he hears his wife’s ‘bused, ‘t an’t like as how it is when he sees it. Benson and Arts each had specific projects for renovating different parts of the icebreaker. In fact, improving our breathing could help to lower blood pressure, decrease stress, improve athletic performance, and maybe even increase brain size.. Bells sang in his hair. He took her to Mexico, emancipated and married her. At his command, Quentyn Martell had been laid out in the queen’s own bed. These might not hurt too much in asia but will hurt on away tours to aus nz eng sa. She sent to Charleston, and bought a quadroon girl, very nearly white, for her son. There's still more: A third vehicle can be stored in a carport open at both front and back, and a second floor porch off the studio capitalizes on the mountain view. I believe I’ll—”. A component that is sometimes overlooked is what you should wear. “OPEN THE GATES,” bellowed Ser Clayton Suggs, in a voice as deep as a warhorn. Arun Gosain at Rainbow Babies Children's Hospital.. Dogs do like me, anyway. Dany gave her wild children one last lingering look. Newsweek writes:. Johns was defended by I. “My father did not send me here to amuse the queen in the bedchamber. So, he won the advantage, but really I won the advantage because it was exactly the theme I would have picked for myself . Tuesday, March 29, at the Alternative Cafe. This is something I trying to learn and put into practice.. All things considered, it's probably safest to abide by the recommended PSU length.In the top chamber, you'll find a motherboard tray with integrated standoffs, the included 120 mm exhaust fan, and. When you see your image reflected back at you in kit that you look and feel good in, you will certainly want to get out there and run. Victarion did not doubt that the Crow’s Eye had bedded her as well. Two or three of the older slaves were standing around their little mistress, and one of them, putting a whip into her Mens ADIDAS ORIGINALS hand, said, “There, Misse, whip ‘em well; make ‘em go,—they’re all your niggers.”. We brought gold with us when we set sail, but it would have been hard to conceal once we joined the company, so we gave it over to the banks. Aerobics could help in pumping more oxygen into the blood vessels, chanel ágynemű which can increase metabolism and burn more fat and calories. Ferragamo silk ties are truly incredible.. Coarse grey stubble, going white in patches, covered his cheeks and chin. Those within then attempted to capitulate, but were refused with curses by the mob, who threatened to legjobb kutyaruha esőkabát burn the store, and shoot them as they came out. Even if he had wanted to resist, he did not have the strength. She got caught up with the wrong people at the wrong time who thought it was a game to drag her down with them. “You do it. When the flames had papuci de casa din pasla licked at Rattleshirt, the ruby at her throat had grown so hot that she had feared her own flesh might start to smoke and blacken. And Elizabeth Crozier, Fort Campbell, Ky. Sweet, sad, hilarious and propulsive with its narrative, it the story of Sin Dee (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez), who on being released from prison is told by her best friend that her boyfriend is cheating. The airplane being here in Paris, debuting at the Air Show, flying circuits every afternoon, it generated more interest. She adidas eqt rose gold didn’t tell me directly, as though she were afraid even of me, but biciclete rusesti vechi I guessed it from some words, Natasha, darling! How delighted she would be with you if she could see you! And what a kind heart she has! One is so at home with her! You are created to be sisters and to love one another. Now, although mechanics, by setting, up their shops in the South, could save all these freights and profits, yet so it is that Northern mechanics will not settle in the South, and the Southern mechanics are undersold by their Northern competitors.. Depending on how quick the partly sunny sky conditions set up, temperatures should max out in the upper 90s. In Wilmington. adidas stan smith j white tactile blue oakley m frame puma red bull racing evo cat ii ice iridium ‘You’ve spent all your money,’ says he, ‘and your debts you can never pay. Friends may visit French Mortuary, 1111 University Blvd. He speaks of a part of Georgia where as much attention had been paid to the comfort of the negro as in any part of the United States. This is why I say that they are the most amazing and most accomplished class.". The three surviving fiery fingers had not been sold yet, but they were chattels of the Lord of Light and could count on being bought back by some red temple. “Escort our guests to the baths, that they may refresh themselves, and bring them food and drink.”. They are studying. A horno teka hc 610 me blanco long time Boeing customer, British Airways ordered 59 Airbus A320 family aircraft in August 1998. Some of its people have made significant contributions to the country and to the world.". Our correspondent, whose letter bears date the 13th inst., says:. If you leave early, you might be able to fulfill all your personal responsibilities. Ysilla had the tiller.. 891 4336.. External industry factors affecting small businesses, such as competition, legislation and changes in technology, influences the enterprise's decision criteria. Spoke, I suppose, some half an hour, and dismissed. "It's only a blessing from God Almighty that I have this opportunity, Rod, to go see the pope and be in the same room with the president and the pope and all the dignitaries of the United States," said Ortner, who is a Dunkerton native. Men would break up all ranks of society, and throw all property into a common stock; but Christ would inspire the higher class with that Divine Spirit by which all the wealth and means and advantages of their position are used for the good of the lower.. The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most successful, was that of making friends of all the little white boys whom I met in the street. Game for the Hoppers, who will play Kannapolis for the 21st and final time this season.. I have said already that as soon as the old man sat down in his chair he would fix his eye on something and not remove it the whole evening. And what’s the use of the high-flown stuff? I shouldn’t have understood it myself. In short, shoppers heralded the new store as a victory for Virginia gun owners. There's a single 120 mm fan on the back panel and a couple of hose grommets for custom water cooling loops. On cloudy days it looked to be white rock. This 25 years old lady showed an expansile, osteolytic, trabeculated lesion involving the epiphysis and metaphysis of the distal end of the radius, with a narrow zone of transition, the lesion extending upto the articular surface (Figs. In the first place it happens to suit me, and secondly I am not at home, but out with you . Unlike most artists who visit the Garden stage as an opener, Springsteen's refusal to open for other artists (after disastrous experiences doing so) meant he'd only been there once before, as an opener for Chicago in 1973, before he'd put his policy into effect.

[liam-93-productions]

Nearly five years ago, I saw One Direction live. Twice, on consecutive nights – on the first two dates of their On the Road Again world tour. Once was for work, to review the show. The other was for the sheer, heady, sugar-rush pleasure.

I was, I’ll admit, a little on the old side for a Directioner, even then. Most of the 45,000-odd crowd was much younger – not that that you would necessarily be able to tell from the saucy suggestions on their homemade signs. “I don’t want to draw attention to them,” Liam Payne had said fussilyon stage.

It was an on-brand comment for the then-21-year-old Payne, who, had the harried, slightly anxious energy of a father-of-four at Disneyland. And no wonder: it was clear, even to me, that Zayn Malik had checked out, barely bothering to conceal his rolling eyes. He would be gone within the month, marking the beginning of the end (or “indefinite hiatus”) for the biggest boy band in the world.

“It was a point where every day, you didn’t know whether it was going to be the end,” says Payne, sitting in the offices of his PR company in central London. “It was so touch and go, at every single show. I was slowly losing the plot.”

Now 26 and almost totally tattooed, Payne has a new album on which he raps about getting rowdy on Bacardi and being “free” from 1D. At the same time his very-nearly-naked form is plastered on buses and train stations in a provocative ad campaign for Hugo Boss.

Yet Payne is as polite and agreeable as if he were talking to his best friend’s mother. He is tired he says after an energetic early morning music video shoot. “There was a trampoline involved,” he says, sucking on his silver Juul. “It was hell – but it will look great.”

Gym beast and sex symbol are relatively new tags. His role as the diplomat of the group was established from the time they were first assembled from five solo applicants on The X Factor in 2010.

Payne auditioned when he was just 14, but was told by Simon Cowell to “come back in two years”. He did – and, eyes serious beneath his enormous fringe, blew the judges away with a brassy rendition of Cry Me a River.

Growing up in Wolverhampton, he had been a talented cross-country runner – making the reserve list for the British Olympics team. But a fan of Usher, Justin Timberlake and Chris Brown, he was drawn to singing as “the thing that made my parents proudest”. His backup plan, had he not got through on X Factor, was to follow his father into an aircraft fitting factory.

Once grouped in One Direction it took the five boys, then between 16 and 19, to pull together. “At the start we couldn’t get past our own egos,” says Payne. There would be fights over who got to sing what part, and even personal style. “Everybody had their own little thing – it was like having four older brothers.”

Payne went on to write songs for the group, contributing to two-thirds of their 2014 album Four (arguably their best) and even earning a production credit on 2015’s Made in the AM. But in the early days he would be the one to sing the opening part because, he was told at the time, he “used to settle everybody”.

Payne says he was a more experienced performer than the other boys, and a “bit more mature” – which he puts down to spending more time with his dad than his peers, and being so focused on a career in showbusiness. “I’d lived a different lifestyle from 14 to 16. Most kids try alcohol and experiment – I never did any of that because I thought there’s a chance that I might make it.”

Management took advantage of this, he says, telling him his “very specific role” in the group was to keep the rest in line. “I was like, that’s great, innit – because then everyone in the band thinks I’m a dick.” He remembers one of the band’s first hotel stays. “We’ve got plates being thrown out the window, mattresses being ridden down the stairs, and I’m getting calls from the manager saying: ‘You need to sort it out’.”

It wasn’t lost on the fans. Where Malik and Styles were the heartthrobs, Payne says he was classed as Mr Boring. “When you’re at the stadium, and if you get the least screams, it’s like: ‘For fuck’s sake.’”

After a year playing 1D-Dad he gave up and learned to have fun. “If you can’t beat them, join them” – at which point, he notes wryly, the band’s public image became more cheeky and carefree. “And the more fun we had, the more successful it got.”

He recalls performing to sold-out stadiums night after night, seeing “hundreds” of iPhones being thrown onstage in the vain hopes of their being returned with a selfie. “It’s like the kids just lost their minds.”

“There were parts of it that were a bit shit, like there is with anything,” he says, “and there were parts of it that was just euphoria.”

He recalls seeing 15,000 fans camped outside his hotel room in Lima, Peru. Security had advised them to stay inside all day, and because “they were the adults, we thought they were in charge. Then over time we started to figure out that they weren’t, and that’s when we used to run off.”

Yet the adrenaline peaks of performing, followed by long troughs of tedium, were akin to a drug addiction, says Payne. He turned to alcohol. “Doing a show to however many thousands of people, then being stuck by yourself in a country where you can’t go out anywhere – what else are you going to do? The minibar is always there. ”

For a time, he was also taking an epilepsy drug as a mood stabiliser that he says affected his cognitive functioning under certain lights. Payne says he had been well advised to take it, to counter the “erratic highs and lows” he was experiencing – “I just needed a little bit of help to keep me stable” – “but under certain lights on stage or during interviews, I wouldn’t be able to tell them my name”.

The day we meet, Payne has made headlines for telling Ant Middleton on the pair’s Sky One show that the loneliness of fame had “almost nearly killed” him. When Middleton asked Payne if he had ever wanted to act on those feelings, Payne said that he had: “100%”.

He is not inclined to discuss this today, “because it’s a bit dark,” he says, a touch brusquely – “but yeah, it was very touch and go at times”. This was both in 1D and afterwards, he clarifies. As One Direction got bigger and bigger, he says, “I was like: ‘I don’t really know how to deal with this’. Once you start, you can’t really press the stop button.”

The “indefinite hiatus” button, though, was easier – in mid-2015, four months after Malik’s departure, the band made the decision together. “It was a little bit dark and twisted towards the end of it,” says Payne, “but the last few shows were really beautiful moments because the pressure cooker had been let off.

“It was almost like counting down to holiday – we were going to wake up that Monday morning with no schedule.” Afterwards Payne was in therapy for two years, and took six months off. “It was difficult at the start, because I didn’t really know anything about myself. It was a bit of a numb feeling.”

(...)

That schedule is about to get busier, with Payne’s debut album as a solo artist finally out this Friday. Laden with chart-friendly trop house, trap and Latin pop influences, LP 1 plays like a water cannon aimed at commercial radio – there is even a Christmas song.

It has been a long lead-up: the first single, Strip That Down, was released nearly two years ago and established Payne as the 1D member most influenced by contemporary hip-hop – perhaps too much so. A picture he posted to Instagram of himself in February 2018 wearing a chain necklace, flipping the bird and bragging about travelling by private jet was quietly deleted following ridicule.

Amid the success of Strip That Down, which was streamed over 1bn times, Payne was also still “struggling” with alcohol: “I just hid it very well.” He went on to spend an entire year sober – a necessary if boring step. “My social life completely plummeted. I always feel like you never get past the awkward first 10 minutes at a party, when everyone’s like: ‘Do we get up and dance, or do we just sit here?’ I don’t know whether it made me happier, but it was definitely needed.”

His more recent stint of self-discipline was to prepare for his nude photo shoot with model Stella Maxwell for Hugo Boss. In the lead-up, he was in the gym between “five and eight times a week, sometimes twice a day” and eating mostly chicken and vegetables – with no carbohydrates after 2pm and nothing at all after 8pm. For the last “stripping” phase, he ate nothing but porridge and white fish for a month. “It was horrible – but it definitely works.”

The shoot had been his idea, inspired by campaigns featuring David Beckham and Mark Wahlberg – Payne’s role models, whose cross-disciplinary celebrity shapes his own career goals. Last year he auditioned in front of Steven Spielberg for a part in next year’s West Side Story remake, and has been submitting audition tapes irregularly since. “It’s just trying to manage the time in between (...), singer, model and whatever.”

Between the trap beats, tighty-whities and tattoos is he attempting to put across a new, more grown-up image? “Oh yeah, definitely.”

In One Direction, he was “Mr Vanilla – no one wanted to know a thing”. Then, with the “chain and rapper phase … I didn’t really know what I was aiming for, but it was actually exactly where we are right now. I just needed to find the right keys to make me feel like the man I wanted to be.”

Which is, he jokes, is “like a really English Magic Mike”. Do you like being objectified, I ask? “I think it’s quite funny,” says Payne, clearly delighted. The other day, he says, someone sent him a picture of an old lady walking past an enormous blown-up poster of him in his pants. Not bad for Mr Vanilla, I say. “Exactly.”

Liam Payne’s debut album LP1 is out on Friday 6 December

[britishchick09]

sherlock s2 ep 1 livewatch

welcome to a new (cumber)batch of eps! i’m excited to see all the iconic moments in this one :D

i haven’t even played the dvd yet and it’s glorious :’)

ooh it starts with a ‘previously’!!!

JIM MOIARTY HIIII!!!! :D

moiarty is amazing (and this recap is so dramatic!)

OMG SHERLOCK NECK FRECKLE! :o

also seeing the old channel 8 logo in the corner is so cool! :D

HOLD UP why is bee gees playing

IS MOIARTY A BEE GEES FAN???

‘staying alive’ lol funny since he’s about to get shot :D

moiarty: “SAY THAT AGAIN!!!!!” say that again QUIETER MOIARTY GEEZ

and he just walks away!!!

shoe sherlock cool

sherlock 2 NOW

oh no it’s irene alder...

masterpiece INTRO YAAAASSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

me watching sherlock be like:

the masterpiece trust is just rich people cool

omg the viking river cruises spon is the same as today! :D

woah they’re playing a movie trailer! :o

it’s a british movie obviously and i’ve never heard of it OBVIOUSLY

the scottish host guy is talking and i love it :D

host: “his mind has more apps than an iphone” lol

“a series of his three most famous cases begins! are you ready?” HECK YEAH LET’S GOOOO!!!!!!

YAS the blog scene!

sherlock: “what are you typing?” john: “a blog... about us”

lady: “i think my husband is having an affair.” sherlock: “yes”

sherlock thinks cases are boring except

sherlock ‘cases don’t need titles’ holmes

WOAH SHERLOCK JUST TOLD A LITTLE GIRL THAT DEAD PEOPLE BURN :o

lestrade: “any ideas?” john: “eight so far” wowza :o

sherlock ‘don’t mention the unsolved cases’ holmes

glasseslock!!!!! :D

eyyyyyyyy ;D

people want pics of sherlock and john do johnlockers exist in this universe? :o

lol :D

irene is seductively putting her hand on lockie’s newspaper pic ewww :(

mrs. hudson hates the fridge

THUMBS IN THE FRIDGE FRIDGE THUMBS

mrs. hudson: “BOYS YOU’VE GOT ANOTHER ONE!!!’ *insert meme here*

ooh it spins into a flashback!

OMG JOHNLOCK VID CHAT!!!!

sherlock’s in the sheet! :o

*phone rings* sherlock: SHUT. UP!!!!” lol :D

john’s holding his laptop around lol :D

john: ‘there’s a mute button and i will use it” aka the 2020 president debates

woah some random guys are in lockie’s house and john needs a helicopter what’s up with that????

BUCKINGHAM PALACE YAAAASSS!!!!!!!

john looks under...

giggly!!!!!

♥

mycroft is the queen now

BOI LOCKIE’S LIKE ‘what for?’ TO PUT PANTS ON OMMGGGGGGG

john smol be like :o

guy: “mr holmes the younger”

LOCK BUTT LOCK BUTT NOOOOOOO

john be like o///o ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

o lockie’s’s in clothes again :/

mycroft doesn’t trust the secret service welcome to america

:(

i don’t like irene not because there’s apparently a thing between her and sherlock but because she’s a bit creepy!

THERE LIKE THAT!

sherlock: “photographs of whom?” ooh how fancy

sherlock: “laters!!” lol! :D

irene’s friend is named kate like channel 8 being called ‘kaet’! :D

fashionista! :o

yes this is ‘the right armor’ lockie

john: “you didn’t even change your clothes!” lol :D

sherlock: “go on punch me in the face” lol :D

watson: “i always hear ‘punch me in the face’ when you’re speaking in subtext” ...wut o_O

WORST BATTLE DRESS EVER NNNOPE IMMA HEAD OUT

are sherlock and irene being shipped because they were naked in the same up

irene: “i could cut myself slapping your face” louise belcher wants your number

bi john when he sees irene: o///o “...i’ve missed something haven’t i?”

sherlock isn’t affected by naked irene thus i headcanon him as aro/ace (or even demi/ace in john’s case like my own holmes character) thank you and good night

irene just sits her bare butt on the chair why

JOHN SISTER NANI???? :o

also this font is so basic WHY LOCKIE

irene: “somebody loves you” *glances at john* ok i like her a tad she gets it ;)

john: “put something on, please. like.. a napkin?” lol :D

irene’s like ‘why’ JUS LIKE SHERLOCK BUT I SHALL NOT SHIP THIS SHIP THE SHOW IS TRYING TO SHIP

also john giggles at naked sherlock and is like ‘plz no’ with naked irene (although i would be too that lady is OUT THERE)

ooh antiques roadshow! :D

also she’s dressed like lockie NO

irene: “brainy is the new sexy” plz no :(

she took her clothes off ‘to make an impression’ yep

WAIT  they were just outside now they’re back in wut???

irene was born in the 80s cool :D

WOAH why are there more guy with guns?

and *le gasp* AN AMERICAN????

DON’T SHOOT JOHN AMERICAN!!!

ooh what was the code? :o

EPIC SLOW MO FIGHT YOOOOOO

DANNNNG IRENE JUS GUN SMACKED A GUY

sherlock just flipped a phone LIKE A FLIP PHONE OHHHH

irene is number 1 sherlock fan besides john confirmed

at first i thought it was a fandom phrase but it’s not! :o

WHY DID IRENE JUST PUNCH SHERLOCK

SHE’S WHIPPING HIM????

this reminds me of a certain sw ship... :(

yeah i don’t ship them AT ALLLLLL NOW

the key code is irene’s measurements DOES SHE MEAN...

the camera’s spinning FLASHBACK???

woah are they in the case?? this could be sherlock’s mind palace!

irene: “you got that just from one look? definitely the new sexy” NONONONONOO

outside bed

awww sweet bby ;)

did john tuck him in?

CRAP it was ireneeeeee >:(

the way she says ‘hush now it’s ok...’ is like count olaf in the hostile hospital when he drugs violet :o

LOCKIE’S FIRST WORDS WHEN WAKING UP WHERE JOHN awwww :D

OMG DID JOHN REALLY TUCK HIM IN awwww!!!!!!! ♥

lestrade filmed loopy sherlock lol :D

john: “ahhh back to bed!” awww :)

sherlock: “iiii’m fine i’m absolutely fine!!!’ drugged sherlock is a treasure ♥

sherlock: ”why would i need you?” john: “no reason at all” :)

ew was that an irene phone moan gross

DID SHERLOCK CHANGE HIS TEXT NOTIF TO THAT???

mrs. hudson: “family is all we have in the end, mycroft holmes!” mycroft: “oh shut up, mrs. hudson!” john: “my-“ sherlock: “MYCROFT!!!!” lol :D

mrs. hudson: “it’s a bit rude that noise isn’t it?” indeed!!

sherlock: “you can follow her on twitter” TWITTER IN THE HOLMESVERSE????

sherlock: “there’s more! much more” but wait... THERE’S MORE!

LOCKIE VIOLIN!!!!! :D

THE CHRISTMAS THING WASN’T A FAN MANIP HOLY YAS!!!!!!!! :D

cool sweater john!!! :D

:D

molly: ‘having christmas drinkies then?” wallace wants walkies thank you very much

john: “she’s off the booze!” sherlock: “nnnope” john: “shut up sherlock” lol

john to sherlock: ‘take a day off” lockie doesn’t know the concept mr doc

DID SHERLOCK NAME MOLLY CRY???? :o

HE KISSED HER????

sherlock still has the irene moan after all this time WHY

finding irene on christmas coolio :D

molly: “how did sherlock recognize her by... without her face?” ;)

sherlock smoking bad >:(

WOAH IS IRENE DEAD?????

VIOLIN YAS!!!! :D

smiley smiley :)

awww sherlock plucked a bit :)

OH CRAP IRENE’S BACC

john: “you flirted with sherlock holmes? “someone jellyyyy ;)

OOHH THIS IS THE IRENE JOHNLOCK SCEEENE!!!!!!! :D

irene: “you jealous?” john: “we’re not a couple!” irene: “yes you are.” ;)

john: “i’m not actually gay” irene: “well i am” IRENE LESBIAN GOOD!!!!

irene: “look at us both” (or perhaps bi like john could be...?)

biiiiiig door creak

UGH american... >:(

someone comfort mrs. hudson!! :(

sherlock: “take away your boys. it makes up for too much stupid in the room” he’s surrounded by idiots...

OMG SHERLOCK PEPPER SPRAYYY

awww he’s comforting mrs. hudson :)

john comfort! ♥

the guy’s tied up like the foody moody in bob’s burgers cool :D

awww mrs. hudson’s in shock :(

sherlock: “mrs. hudson leaving baker street? england would fall!” awww! :D

john says ‘alive’ like an irish guy :D

OMG IT’S NEW YEAR!!!!

happy violin new year! :D

sherlock’s xraying a phone lol

john said ‘in your bedroom’ BUT IT’S HIS AND SHERLOCK’S

and irene’s! :o

sherlock: “who wants to kill you?” irene: “killers” lol :D

sherlock said ‘the strand’!!!! :D

irene looks better without lipstick :)

the code is ‘i am SHERlocked’ HOW DO THEY NOT KNOW???

random john middle name reveal lol :D

FOR BABY NAMES NOOOO

john’s is hamish and eugene’s (from tangled) is hoarace... it’s the weird h middle name club! :D

sesame street time :D

...what in the world did sherlock just spout

john said ‘flight double o 7′ JAMES BOND REFERENCE????

MYCROFT IS SAYING ‘BOND ERE IS GO’ yep that’s bond!!!

sherlock didn’t notice john was gone for 2 hours lol :D

ooh sherlock says ‘second world war’ instead of ‘world war two’ :o

NONONONONNONONONONNOOOOOOOOO

sherlock: “that’s not the end of the world, that’s mrs. hudson” lol :D

mycroft: “that’s the deceased, always late” hey yeah :o

WOAH HE JUST CALLED SHERLOCK NAIVE AND IRENE A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS :o

oh hey irene

irene: “jim moiarty sends his love” ha ha funny love :D

WAIT MOIARTY CALLS SHERLOCK A VIRGIN??? :o

THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS NOOOOO

bada bing BADA BOOM!!!!!!!!!

wowza it’s been 6 months since they met???

sherlock: “sorry about dinner” *leaves* yesss :)

i’m glad they didn’t kiss and just held hands that was nice to make johnlock dreams fly :)

OMG IRENE LEGIT DIED THIS TIME BY BEHEADING!!!!! :o

john told sherlock she was in amurica good :)

lockie wants her camera phone aww :(

way better than any hand holding irene and sherlock did! ♥

awww irene texted sherlock goodbye :(

ew the irene moan one last time...

sherlock laughed and called her ‘a woman... the woman’ awww :)

that was a bittersweet ending! :)

aaaand it’s over!

next time... ;)

that was a great season premiere!!! irene was kind of cool (i like how she and sherlock were just friends) and the mystery was engaging as always. and of course... it was nice finally hearing lockie’s violin!! here’s to next time! :D

[dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade]

Reunion

Request: The reader and him had dated when they was 17-19 but she moved to UK for studying in royal academy of music and they "broke up". so when they are 23 they meet again at some event/party because of their careers A/N: Guess I really let myself go for it in this one lol. @pennylane-gvf​​ I hope you like it! Critiques and comments are welcome Word count: 2.9 K Warnings: drinking, steamy stuff (nothing too explicit) 

To be added to the permanent taglist, DM me or leave an ask!

Fanfiction Masterlist

You sat down at the long dinner table as you took a sip of your clear glass filled only up to a quarter of its full capacity with cognac. Your eyes wandered around the room filled with dim lighting. People started gathering around the table and in the following minutes it was almost full. You downed the rest of your drink and raised your hand to ask for a refill from the waiter.

About the same time the waiter came back with a bottle to pour in your glass, the seats across the table from you have been occupied. You didn’t pay much attention to the people who sat down, you just mumbled a polite “good evening” and told the waiter to stop pouring the drink only when the glass was filled a little bit more than half.

The woman sitting to your right extended her arm towards you, holding her glass in it. You raised yours and lightly touched glasses with smiles on your faces, as a sign of good luck. She was your manager. The person who helped you to get where you were today. Without her you wouldn’t have made it out of the underground British music scene and for sure you couldn’t have been at this beautiful party with all kinds of artists.

You drank a sip or two from the freshly poured cognac, but you decide to hold it for a moment since your stomach was burning from the alcohol and lack of food.

“Hello,” spoke the man sitting exactly across the table from you. Your head shot up and glanced at the man. Short and curly hair, bright eyes and a wide smile – that would sum him up. “Sorry to interrupt you, I just wanted to say I am a big fan of yours and your work,” he continues and reaches out to shake your hand. “I am Josh Kiszka.”

Your face brightens up at his words. You never found the words to explain the joy that filled your whole heart, soul and being when someone told you they enjoyed your work. “Pleased to meet you, Josh and thank you for your kind words. I am making the music I’d love to hear myself, because if you won’t do it, who will?” you smile.

“That is very true, I must admit. This is what set us out for the first time – the will to create something that is missing from this world and spread out the word that this place is beautiful and love isn’t to be ignored,” Josh spoke, moving his hands a lot. “Shit, sorry, I forgot. This is my band. Daniel Wagner, here to my left, and next to him is my baby brother, Sam. To my right is my baby twin, Jake.”

“Jake…” you repeat and your head shots in his direction. Hair dark brown, flowing down his shoulders, a little bit curled at the ends. He didn’t seem to quite pay attention to what was going on. On the contrary, he seemed totally spaced out, being caught in a trance-like state, staring at the amber gold liquid flowing in his glass while swirling it around. His shirt was neatly arranged, but the top three or four buttons were undone (putting it in another manner – his shirt was held together by only three buttons), slightly revealing his chest and a necklace falling down on his chest. On the middle finger of his right hand, you saw a simple black ring, no inscriptions or decorations on it.

Your eyes wandered on the man to Josh’s right side for a few moments, but you took in every single detail. The dark brown eyes, completely lost, the hair falling down, his prominent cheekbones and jawline (or maybe that was just the lighting’s fault, who knows). Your eyes widened as you realized.

“Jake!” you speak up, snapping the man out of his trance. He was now looking at you, probably doing to you the same thing you did to him a couple of moments ago. You saw his eyes wandering all over your face, then over your hands, clothing, taking in every little detail. By the look on his face you could tell he had the same realization as you did.

“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice a little bit hoarse, probably from not exchanging any words for quite a while. He cleared his throat and tilted his head sideways, as if to get a better angle of you.

“Flesh and bones,” you let out a nervous laugh and realize that you actually knew all of the boys from back in the day, when you dated Jake.

You ate dinner in silence. I mean as silent as it can get at a table with so many people. You changed a few words with your manager, and you kept it simple and professional with the boys across the table. You threw an occasional glance over to Jake, but quickly looked away every time he caught you looking. Which was really… every time you looked. It didn’t take you that much time to down the drink down your throat, leaving at first a burning sensation on its way down. You repeated the same thing one more time and then you decided it was time to stop. You didn’t want to get drunk and do something embarrassing or that you would regret.

Once you finished up with the dinner, you excused yourself and sat up to the table. You walked in the other room, which was filled with people more or less drunk, dancing to the music blaring through the speakers. You were honestly tempted to join this dancing mass, but you weren’t in the necessary mood, so you just leaned against the wall in a corner less lighted by the stroboscopic lights, changing colors every single damn second.

You saw the door to the dining room opening and you saw someone walking around aimlessly at first, but then straight to you. You knew it was him and you couldn’t run from this. This was necessary. Your breakup with Jake hurt your soul as much as it benefited your career. It still hurt, even after 4 years since it happened. You loved him truly. He was your first real boyfriend – the first one to treat you accordingly. You needed to do this. To heal your soul, ease the pain, plus Jake deserved it. He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t deserve to be broken up with. After all, you were the one who left Michigan, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, in the United Kingdom to study music.

“Hey,” Jake spoke hesitantly once he got next to you.

Your eyes met his and you could see all the memories from the past that you wanted so badly to forget. Your heart slightly fluttered and you felt your throat drier than ever, needing to drink something immediately.

“Hi, Jake,” you struggle to get out.

“Do you want to talk?” he asks and his fingers brushed yours and you quickly nodded. “Great, let’s go in the lobby of my hotel, we can get a drink and catch up.”

In no time you got to the hotel where Jake stayed. It was downtown, not far from the one where you were staying. The lobby was really simplistic, but sophisticated. It really gave you a nice feeling. There was a light cherry blossom scent flying in the air, making it feel even better. You and Jake chose two armchairs facing each other, in the corner of the room.

Jake ordered for the two of you some rose wine. He still remembered that it was your favorite drink.

“If somebody would’ve told me that I’d meet you at the party this evening, I’d straight up laugh about it and say they’re delusional,” you chuckle nervously as you watch the waiter pour half a glass of wine, the color of roses.

“Tell me about it,” he answered and played with the black ring on his finger. “So, please, do tell me what has been up with you since we parted ways,” he continued, his voice getting deeper at the end of the sentence.

“Well, let’s see…” you say and start browsing through the library of memories in your head. “I left Michigan, and as I said, I went to the Academy in London where I got that scholarship. While there, I got in this band – it was a music academy and I guess you can assume how many bands there were – and we played in pubs, no success, but we did what we loved. One night, I took the lead for a single song, I played guitar and vocals, and Camelia, my manager, the lady you saw with me, she saw me and she took me in and cared for me, and brought me where I am today,” you summed up the past 4 years of your life.

Jake smiled at the mentions of the guitar. He thought of the exact same thing you thought when saying it – the memory of him teaching you how to play guitar.

“And what can you tell me about yourself?” you ask, your eyes glued to the man in front of you. Man, he looked so damn good. You really liked what he did with his hair and his new style (but you could still see hints of the old one, which made it even better).

“Well, what can I say…” he pondered for a moment and finished the wine in his glass. He reached over to grab the bottle and pour himself another half a glass and poured you a little more, since you had only about two sips left. “I am in the same band as before and actually I am quite disappointed you didn’t recognize Josh, nor any of them!”

“What? Jake! He introduced himself to me and said he was my fan!” you protest and laugh, realizing it was one of Josh’s old tricks to get your attention.

“You’re saying it like you don’t know him,” Jake rolled his eyes with a smile blooming in the corner of his mouth. “And he really does enjoy your work, he has been rubbing it in my face since day one he discovered you.”

“An honor,” you laugh with a dramatic hand gesture. “But please, do continue your story.”

“Alright, so we just kept the hope, we wrote, we recorded. We really hit it off with Highway Tune. After that, things followed their natural course, really,” he shrugged as if it was no big deal.

“Congratulations!” you smiled. You were genuinely happy to have met Jake again and you were proud of him and his band.

“Thank you,” he nodded. “God, don’t you ever miss the day that have passed?” he spoke moments later, like he was caught in the world of the dreams.

“Yeah, I miss them…” you ponder. “And I miss you,” you add, even surprising yourself with your boldness. Maybe the wine (and the few glasses of cognac) gave you the strength you needed to speak out your mind that way.

Jake looked at you and blinked a couple of times. You could tell he didn’t expect that to happen.

“Oh shit, I am sorry,” you say as you notice his reaction. “I am so, so sorry, I didn’t think this through,” you add, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“No, it’s alright, really. I feel the same way, Y/N. I have missed you since day one and nothing could fill that void.” Jake said and almost as if you were commanded with a remote control from somewhere, you sat up and walked next to Jake.

Jake sat up and you felt his fingers brush against yours. He was only a little taller as you, but you always considered yourself on eye level with him, but now it felt like he was towering over you. When Jake eventually got a proper hold of your hand, he leaned in, closer to you, while snaking the other hand around your waist. You felt the tension building up between the two of you; the tension and the anticipation.

All the wait has finally been rewarded when Jake’s lips pressed against yours. Everything felt like it was still those old days. The same faint taste of cigars and mint, now only with a taste of wine, too. You let yourself melt away into the kiss and be washed over by all the memories. Your first kiss underneath the delicate moonlight, just like in the movies; your first date which was a cheap one, but come on, you were two teenagers head over heels in love with each other, so who gave a damn about the price?

Your breathing got heavier and needier. Four years you’ve missed his touch. It was like he had put a spell on you.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Jake whispered in your ear, his breath getting heavier as well.

You nod and follow Jake who was already two steps ahead of you. In no time you were in his room. It was really spacious. You eyed the double bed.

“Jake, is there someone else?” you ask. You didn’t want this unless it was real and you were sure that you didn’t get in the middle of his possible other relationship.

“No, it’s not,” he shook his head and walked towards you with small and steady steps. You didn’t know why, but you backed up step by step until your back hit the wall.

Jake’s fingers swiftly switched on the light at the entrance in the room. It was a rather dim light, but enough to see what you were doing and where you were going. You looked over his face and you felt your knees and joints turning into jelly.

Jake didn’t hesitate to come near you. With a hand he cupped your cheek and with the other one he caressed the other cheek. A smile bloomed on his lips. He was so happy he met you again, despite all the thoughts that he had lost you forever.

“Do you want to do this?” Jake asked, his lips only millimeters away from yours. You hum an affirmative answer and the next thing you know, Jake’s hand helped you wrap your legs around his waist, while pressing messy kisses on the lobe of your ear, and slowly down the neck, until it met the fabric of your dress.

That’s when he stopped and took you to his bed. In the moment you touched the fluffy sheets with your back, Jake was already back at it.

Four years of failed relationships and meaningless kisses. You didn’t even realize until now how much you wanted it to be Jake instead of all those similar, yet unknown faces. No one in all those years managed to make you feel as good as Jake did now with only a touch of his lips.

Jake’s fingers roamed around the fabric of your dress, trying to locate the zipper, his lips not leaving yours, not even for a single moment. He was as lost in your touch and desperate as you were. He had spent too much time away from you to afford to slow down now.

You didn’t know how he managed – even back then – Jake earned control of the kiss, even though he was still busy pulling down the zipper. He was doing it painfully slow, probably only to tease you, but the one who he was teasing the most was himself.

When the zipper finally reached the end, Jake’s hands ran on the sides of your body, as if trying to remember the shape of it, alongside with every little detail. Everything happen at such slow speed that a needy moan escaped your lips, earning a groan from Jake.

A moment later, Jake was already back on kissing you, starting from the jawline, down to the collarbone, while with his hand he slowly removed the dress and kicked off his shoes. He did take his time, working on every kiss and slightly biting here and there.

You were already driven out of your mind. “Jake,” you whisper hoping that you’d get his attention.

“What?” he answers and goes right back at it.

“Please.”

“Time makes perfect,” he answered and you could feel the smirk on his lips against the sensitive skin on your neck. You only groan as an answer and push yourself into the middle of the bed.

Jake took off your high heels and joined you in no time. Jake was laying on top of you, your legs on both sides of him. The dress was gone by now, so Jake took the trail of kisses over your chest and down your tummy, stopping right underneath the bellybutton. Through your whole body flowed something electric. Your hands traveled to Jake’s hair, roaming through it and tugging at it a little bit.

“I like what you did to your hair,” you speak and gasp loudly as Jake proceeded to kiss the inner part of your thighs, squeezing them here and there.

Since the early days Jake loved teasing you with everything he could and time didn’t change that. He stopped in between your thighs and he looked at you straight in the eyes. You could see the familiar gleam of his eyes that has quickly been replaced with a darker look, a look of lust.

He returned up, sliding his hands underneath your back while keeping you occupied with needy kisses in which he told you without words how much he needs you and before you realized, your bra was unclasped and tossed aside.

“God how I missed you,” he groaned. “Please never leave again.”

Tags: @myownparadise96​, @satans-helper, @jeordinevankiszka, @littlegeekwonder​, @songbirdkisses, @pomegranatecurses, @umbriellethenightfall​, @freeeshavacadoo, @karrotkate, @mountainofthesunn

[duhragonball]

Oh, Shit,I Just Remembered Pete Wisdom.

I started looking into Warren Ellis a little more, to see what he accusations against him were, exactly.   So much has come out about so many people that it’s hard to keep it all straight, but I’ve been a comics fan since 1993, and Ellis has been in the industry for about as long, I think, so I wanted to know more.  

The quick version, from what I can tell, is that Ellis would offer to mentor fans who wanted to break into the comics industry, and with the women, he would start to segue that relationship into something more physical.   It would get to the point where he’d want to have sex with them, and they felt like they couldn’t refuse him, since he could torpedo their careers before they could get off the ground.   A few women must have spoken out about it, leading others to do the same, and eventually it started to become clear that there was a lot of similarities in their stories.   

As I was thinking about this, it suddenly dawned on me that I first heard of Ellis from his work on Marvel Comics’ Excalibur, where he introduced Kitty Pryde’s love interest, Pete Wisdom.    And then a bunch of stuff started to make a lot more sense in hindsight.  

The X-Men franchise is overrated trash, but probably the wankiest, most usless, most overrated part of the X-Men mythos is the spin-off series Excalibur, which was basically a splinter group of X-Men operating in Great Britain.   Fans loved this book, I think because it featured popular characters like Kitty Pryde and Nightcrawler, and the book (mostly) managed to steer clear of the mega-crossovers that dominated the rest of the franchise in the 80′s and 90′s.  When I finally sat down to read my X-Men collection in 2015 and 2018, I did so confident that I wouldn’t need to bother with Excalibur, because it rarely had anything to do with the main books.   The message Marvel sent me with this book was that it doesn’t matter and it never did.

Anyway, around 1995 or so, Warren Ellis took over as the writer, and he introduced a new character named Pete Wisdom, who quickly became romantically involved with Kitty Pryde.   This was somewhat controversial for a few reasons:

1) When Kitty was introduced in 1980, she was stated to be only 13 years old.    “Thirteen-and-a-half”, to be precise.    They actually threw in the fraction, just to make her seem even more like a little kid, if that was possible.    Comic book time moves slower than real time, but it wasn’t entirely clear to anyone how old Kitty was by the time she relocated to England and met Pete.   Later stories by other writers would attempt to set Kitty’s age as being 16 or 18, which makes Kitty’s relationship with Pete a continuity error at best. 

2) In spite of Kitty being very young, people had been shipping her with Colossus for years, and it annoyed them that there was yet another obstacle for their extremely problematic-but-much-desired relationship.   

3) People accused Pete Wisdom of being a Mary Sue, since he seemed to just pop in out of nowhere and work himself into the team, win the heart of the most popular female character, and he’s supposed to be this super cool secret agent type.  The implication here was that Ellis only invented Pete as a self-insert OC for the purpose of getting it on with Kitty Pryde.  

I think there were two schools of thought on how Kitty was supposed to be portrayed in comics.   The first was that Chris Claremont had insisted on keeping her eternally 16 or whatever, this plucky kid prodigy who was always too young to get into these kinds of relationships.    Ellis’s supporters felt that this was too restrictive, and it was foolish of Claremont to think that other writers would be beholden to his wishes, especially after he left Marvel Comics in 1991.  Ellis seemed to be allowing Kitty to grow and mature as a character, and it didn’t matter if it messed around with “comic book time”, since no one knows how that works exactly anyway. 

For my part, I always thought Pete Wisdom was a fucking tool of a character.    He was yet another government spook riding on the popularity of “The X-Files”.    Plus, the conventional wisdom among comics nerds in the 90′s was that U.K. writers were better somehow, just because they liked to write snarky dialogue and deconstruct the superhero genre.   Pete Wisdom was a mutant, and he joined the Excalibur team, but he wasn’t gonna wear any poncy tights, innit?   No, he went into action with a suit and tie, smoking cigarettes and constantly drinking shots, because that’s more bloody realistic, mate.   Ellis gave him an eyepatch in 2001, because of course he did.

The point I want to make here is that Ellis came up with this big idea in the 90′s, and fans ate it up because they were X-Men fans and had no taste.   You have to understand that in the 90′s, the big overused cliche was giant guns.   The second biggest cliche was nostalgia references to the 1960′s.   So when someone trotted out “Fox Mulder, but he’s sarcastic and British”, people actually thought it was kind of fresh by comparison.  Surely this bold new concept could only take Kitty Pryde into amazing new directions...

But no, Excalibur got cancelled in 1998, and they moved Kitty back to the X-Men.  Did they even break up Pryde and Wisdom on panel?  I have no idea.   All I know is I read a bunch of her post-Excalibur appearances and she barely mentions the guy, probably because a lot of people in Marvel probably wanted to forget the time she got aged up just enough to sleep with a skeevy-looking older man.  

Looking back on it, I always sort of assumed that Ellis only did the Pete/Kitty thing because he was just looking for something interesting to do with the characters, and he wasn’t going to let tradition or continuity stand in the way.   But in 2020, the whole thing starts to feel more autobiographical, since this resembles the sort of thing he was doing with young women through his online community.   Ellis’ “apology” states that he didn’t notice the power imbalance when he was involved with these women.   “I have never considered myself famous or powerful.”   I find this insulting to my intelligence, since I used to see fans worship every stroke of his pen like he was some kind of genius.   News would come out that Warren Ellis would be taking over the writing duties of a book, and fans would say “Good, they finally fixed it.” They just trusted him to do right by whatever project he was given.    So I can only imagine how overwhelmed they might have felt when they signed up for his mailing list fan club thing and he would offer to help some of them become professional writers.  

So maybe the critics had Pete Wisdom figured out from the beginning.   Whether Ellis realized it or not, Pete was his power fantasy, an older guy just impressive enough to get the attention of a (very) young woman and take her under his wing.   And he teaches her how to drink whiskey and smoke and how to know all this black ops horseshit, and-- well whaddya know?-- they’re having the sex.   

And to a point, maybe that’s human nature.   I always wanted to be a writer because I liked the feeling of power it offered.   Imagine being the guy who could put words in Captain Picard’s mouth, or decide exactly what kind of music Superman likes.  And yeah, if I could make a name for myself in that kind of field, maybe the ladies would start to notice me, and then I’d be doing pretty well for myself.  

The thing is, I eventually learned that writing for comics is a real bullshit thing to get into.   You can’t just submit scripts, and there’s no set of steps to follow.   I remember reading stories of writers breaking into the comics industry, and they were all different, usually involving some improbable meeting with someone who was already there.  A comics writer I respect once wrote that it takes some creativity to figure out how to break in, and if you can’t find your own way, then maybe you’re not creative enough to be in the business in the first place.  

And that’s how these women got pulled into Ellis’s nonsense, I assume.    They had similar aspirations to my own, and at first he seemed to be offering them a lifeline, but then it led to something they hadn’t bargained for, and what could they do?   If they refused to have sex with him, they might have to start from scratch.   

Which sort of confirms my suspicions that writing for comics is just a bullshit job, because maybe it’s only hard to get into because of all the gatekeeping that goes on.    Why bother accepting submissions and hiring based on merit, when a handful of writers can just vouch for friends or fans willing to do anything they ask?   All I know is it’s relatively straightforward to get a job in chemistry.   I got a degree in chemistry, and then I sent out some applications, went to some interviews and they offered me a job.    Maybe if Marvel worked the same way, guys like Warren Ellis wouldn’t have the sort of unfair influence they have over their fans. 

[elizadoolittlethings]

Graves is a prime example of the coda “action is character.”

Rupert Graves as Harold Guppy in Philip Doodhue’s Intimate Relations. Photo by Sally Miles. Courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures. [x]

Rupert Graves  by

Nicole Burdette

BOMB 61Fall 1997

full interview

[MORE]

Whether he’s sucking on hard candy, contemplating suicide, or limping slightly in boots two sizes too big, Rupert Graves is ever graceful. At once a mixture of the violent and the poetic, Graves’ film characters are compared to the kings of the tortured handsome, Montgomery Clift and John Keats. It’s an odd and wonderful thing to spend the afternoon with a stranger speaking of the near obscurity and perfection of Robert Donat, Che Guevara’s hands, and what exactly it is to be brave.

Graves is a prime example of the coda “action is character.” He, like all great actors, is highly physical. We can see his characters—literally we recognize them. In Intimate Relations, Rupert as Harold Guppy clings to Julie Walters, feeding himself sugar cubes like a child. In Mrs. Dalloway, his Septimus Warren Smith stumbles through life; again, literally and emotionally. It is all the way Rupert Graves turns his characters inside out, so what you see is what you get. He manages to become Virginia Woolf’s subconscious—he materializes the description of his character, Septimus: “…with hazel eyes which had that look of apprehension in them which makes complete strangers apprehensive too.” Graves has five films coming out this fall: Mrs. Dalloway with Vanessa Redgrave, Different For Girls, The Revengers’ Comedies with Kristen Scott Thomas and Helena Bonham Carter, Bent, and Intimate Relations with Julie Walters, for which Graves was awarded the Best Actor Award at the 1996 Montreal Film Festival. But that is just this year, his other credits include extensive work on British television and other films: Louis Malle’s Damage, Nick Hytner’s The Madness Of King George; and Merchant Ivory’s Maurice and A Room With A View. In addition to his film work, Graves has consistently worked on the London stage, where he is returning this fall to do Hurly Burly.

Nicole Burdette Now, how did you grow up?

Rupert Graves I grew up in a little English town in a poor-ish family. I went to a comprehensive school which is the same as public school here, I think. My father was a bit posher than my mum, who was a working-class girl from Wales. He’s a pianist.

NB How did they meet?

RG My mum used to sing in amateur shows. They met at a choral society that my dad used to conduct. She saw him, and she can’t have thought, “What a beauty,” so it must have been, “What a genius,” because she loved the music.

NB Were you musical as a kid?

RG No, no. I was brought up quite religiously Catholic and was a choir boy and an acolyte. I used to sing, but it’s a horrible sound.

NB I read that you were in the circus.

RG Yes, I joined when I was 15. I had just left school.

NB How did that idea come to you?

RG It didn’t. It came through the city employment bureau. I knew a girl whose mum used to work there—it was a small town I come from—and she knew I liked acting. And so when the circus came into town and their clown disappeared, I became a trainee. A trainee clown through the job center.

NB Were you a good clown?

RG No, not really.

NB Could you do flips and jump off high things and do daredevil stuff?

RG I didn’t jump. I did slackwire. Do you know slackwire?

NB Tightrope?

RG It’s lower than most tightropes and it’s not tight. It’s very loose, about 15 feet high, and it’s harder to do. It’s like walking across a chain.

NB And you were good at it?

RG I was a clown. I would practice in the ring during the performances, and everyone would laugh because I fell off—but I was actually seriously trying to get across.

NB I ask because I got to see three of your movies in one week, and I noticed that in each one you have a different walk. Your body changed completely. But it wasn’t like method acting where one, say, gains fifty pounds and obviously one’s walk changes. With you it’s subtle. There are an actor’s usual bag of tricks—beards, haircuts, accents… Yet, in all three movies your voice, your haircut are all intact, but you are completely unrecognizable—that’s quite an accomplishment. You don’t rely on the visual—you actually act, imagine that!

RG You do have to understand what your part is, and it’s difficult to intellectualize that. But you can feel it and you know it the moment you see it. It’s accessing some part of your own. I’m completely uneducated, untrained, as an actor, but I do have a fundamental belief that one is capable of pretty much anything. That’s a first principle: One is anything. So I kind of feel that I’ve got George Bush and Che Guevara in me.

NB I’ve been thinking about Che Guevara, just so you know.

RG Are you into The Motorcycle Diaries? They’re great. Guevara went around South America and up to Mexico on this terrible old Enfield motorbike with this other doctor, they were specializing in leprosy. And you know, Castro has Guevara’s hands in his house. They found his body in Bolivia just in the last few months, and it’s gone home to Cuba. But it was handless. The story goes Guevara’s hands were sent to Castro to prove it was him, and Castro kept them. Anyway, that gets back to “One is anything.”

NB So that’s your theory for acting?

RG I think you access different parts of the brain. It’s slightly different for different things. For example, for Intimate Relations I wore shoes that were two sizes too big. I wanted to feel clumsy.

NB I read that in explaining your role (Harold Guppy in Intimate Relations) you said, “I think it’s dangerous as an actor to ever judge a character as stupid.” It seemed to me, watching you in the film, that you played against Harold’s violent tendencies—constantly trying to play down his destiny. You are so powerful at this that even though we can see this story (based on a true murder case) turning dark and darker, we still are hoping that tea and sympathy will win out for Harold—which of course it doesn’t. How did you create such a layered portrait of a possibly less layered person?

RG My starting point with Harold was a lack of will. What happens when your will is taken from you, when you become quite suggestible? It’s not that he’s very innocent. I don’t think he’s an innocent person, but I do think he was institutionalized and his will was taken. He had this blood-sugar problem and when the levels went down he would get violent; but he hadn’t really done anything, it was just a behavioral problem. So I imagine from an early age he didn’t have much love or comfort. Nobody would want to hug a child who would head-butt you. His mum threw him out because she couldn’t cope with it. So he’s been in this kid’s prison—not like a home, a prison for bad children.

NB A reform school.

RG Yeah.

Rupert Graves and Steven Mackintosh in Richard Spence’s Different for Girls. Photos by Luis Lazo. Courtesy of First Look Pictures. image not loading :(

NB What was it like working with Julie Walters in the film?

RG Fan-fucking-tastic. She’s a genius. She’s a very working class girl, and she used to work as a nurse and now owns a hog farm down in the south of England. But anyway, she’s a really lovely lady, deeply, all the way from her toes to her head, and she has a great facility at getting the saucy aspects of people. She’s kind of naughty, so mischievous. At the time of Intimate Relations, I had been doing a lot of work and I was getting a tiny bit cynical as an affectation. I thought the more films you did, the more you had to pretend it was boring. And I kind of started to believe it. But she came along and she was like this gremlin, a little troll living under the bridge. Any cynicism that comes over the bridge, she’ll get it. It’s so infectious. She completely gave me my love for doing stuff back.

NB She gave it back to you?

RG Well, only by example, because she’s no time for any of that cynicism.

NB Would you say she’s your favorite person to work with so far?

RG Yeah. She’s great. She really is, she’s so lovely. That’s my Julie Walters rant.

NB If you were for example—and this is hypothetical, obviously—given you as a character, you the man, not the actor, how would you prepare? What qualities would you consider important to examine under the surface?

RG God knows. I’d look at the environment of myself.

NB Which is?

RG Which is London theatricality. Psychologically I would look into background, and try and determine what he was missing or wasn’t missing.

NB Would you want to play you? Would it be interesting?

RG I don’t know. Everyone is interesting in their own funny way.

NB What I noticed in these three characters, and this really sounds corny, but you seem to love these people. It’s old fashioned, to love your characters; Michael Redgrave, the sort of actors I really love, they loved their characters. Did you ever see The Browning Version?Michael Redgrave plays this really tortured, almost bad person, but you can tell Redgrave loves this man and it is the most bizarre thing to watch because he loves this person who is ruining everything. You also give your characters the benefit of the doubt, and you give them nobility. Is that something that just comes to you?

RG I find it difficult playing a part that I don’t have any empathy with at all.

NB Is there such a part?

RG Well, I played a Nazi in Bent. It was a very, very small part but I researched like fuck, because I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t get my head round what it meant to be a Nazi. Here’s a guy taking Jews and homosexuals in the trains to Dachau, the camps. They were just brutal. How do you get to that place? So I researched, what does Nazism mean to Germany, and what state was Germany in that a leader like that could take them in? Not all Germans were bad, but a collected evil gathered speed. And when I played that character, I realized that for him it was just efficiency, that this was the practical thing to do. And somewhere in my soul I had to find something that could understand that.

NB If you were to play Richard III, which you very well might do in your lifetime, what then? That’s pure evil, from beginning to end. Would that be the ultimate challenge?

RG Certainly, with Richard III, there’s an awful lot more context and more individual motivations and desires. Rather than just here’s a nasty guy who’s killing somebody, whacking them up and beating them. The part’s so damn small in Bent, there’s not much actually in there. Whereas Richard III is very articulate about what he’s doing and why he’s doing it. You’ve got to have a reason to be the character. I like mess. That’s why people become so intellectual, because it’s all a damn mess.

I did a funny thing the other day. I’ve got a friend in England who’s an actor and he bought a new house in the countryside, right on the foot of this steep hill which is made of slate and flint, so the ground is really hard. It’s got this path which is almost vertical coming down and which is covered by trees so there is no moon at night. We went to the top and got absolutely stoned out of our faces—and it’s darn hard getting up there, and if you fall the flints can rip you open—and then he said, “Come on, we’ve got to go back, we’ve got to be really careful.” And I said, “No, let’s just run. Let’s just close our eyes and run down this path as fast as we can. Just trust that we can do it.” He said, “No, no, no,” and I said, “Come on.” We were all right, but it was just this moment of going, “Waaa!” into this sheet, which was quite dangerous. I know it’s quite a mild story really, but I’m not really given to wild things.

NB You’re not?

RG No, normally I’m not. But it’s an interesting thing to me, to just trust it. To just go with the message that if you fall over and you cut your hand you’re not going to die. If you cut your fucking hand, so what? Be brave. It’s like in Mrs. Dalloway — the young clerk who says, “Take the plunge.”

NB Are you brave?

RG I can be, and I can be hugely cowardly. But if I’m deeply pissed off or deeply offended I can be brave.

NB Sometimes it’s the opposite with people. When they’re relaxed they can be brave, and when they’re upset that’s when they find that they’re cowardly.

RG That’s true of me too. Maybe I was being disingenuous there.

NB No, I think you’re better off if you’re brave when you’re angry.

RG Yeah, but now I don’t know if that’s true.

NB It’s complex. But you have some braveness in you.

RG Yeah, some. I break things. I’m a good breaker of things.

NB Do you feel better?

RG No, because I only break my things, which pisses me off. Sometimes, I think I do it because I get tongue tied. When I was a kid I used to have a bad stammer, it’s probably one of the reasons I went into acting, because I had to go to elocution lessons to get over going, “Uh-uh-uh.”

NB And that’s how you got into acting?

RG Do you know an actor called Robert Donat?

NB Oh my God! One of my favorites.

RG What strikes me about him is a kind of grace.

NB The Winslow Boy.

RG Isn’t that the most beautiful portrayal of any character ever?

NB That’s what I was trying to explain to you about the love of the character, and that is the most beautiful…

RG His mood is so moving. You can watch him doing Goodbye, Mr. Chips, The Thirty-Nine Steps… He has such deep grace. Even The Winslow Boy, that is such a hard part. But there’s this absolute nobility, and it’s not to do with class, but with human nobility.

NB It’s so funny that you bring up that actor. As I was watching your movies I was thinking: Robert Donat. That’s my favorite era of films, English films of the ’30s and ’40s, and you hearken back to that.

RG He was my hero. I’ve always thought, if I could tune into that, if I could take whatever that man was taking, I’d be a happy boy.

NB But that’s a different legacy. It’s just a different kind of acting.

RG Yeah, it is. I did a very bad film called Damage, which Louis Malle directed. And Louis Malle, who was a lovely man and has made some great films, was always going on about grace. You know, (imitating a French accent) “Rupert, there is something of a big grace in you, something that is very beautiful.” But at other times he’d say, “You can’t do acting, forget it!” I looked at his old films and you can see that sensibility, that grace, in some of his really early films.

NB Absolutely, he had a wonderful sense of grace.

RG It’s an overworked word now, grace.

NB No, it’s not. It’s an underworked word.

RG Is it? I’ll fight you for it. (laughter)

NB Let’s get back to Robert Donat. It’s very important.

RG It is, because it’s like having a bag full of nudie magazines in England. You can’t refer to him, because it’s old-fashioned.

NB But old-fashioned is where it’s at.

RG But England is very admiring of American, brash acting.

NB If you could play anybody, or a couple of people, who would it be? This is not an acting question. For instance, I asked a jazz musician what he would be, and he said, Abraham Lincoln, Bobby Fischer, the chess player, and Seymour Glass, a Salinger character.

RG I would like to play Caligula, in Camus’ version. Do you know the Camus version?

NB No.

RG It’s interesting. It’s not a great play, but you can do it if you open it up. You have to really put a bomb under that thing. There’s a lot of existentialist “yadda-yadda-yadda.” It’s about corruption, I suppose, the corruption of a soul.

NB And who else?

RG That’s it. I’d like to play a great sports person. With a kind of absolute grace and ease. (laughter)

NB If you were to come back as an inanimate object, what would you be? You have to say what came to your mind instantly.

RG A stone.

NB A stone? Why a stone?

RG I don’t know, you said whatever came into my head. I don’t know why I said a stone…

NB What does it look like?

RG It’s smooth…

NB What color?

RG I don’t know, do you need me to define it?

NB Yeah.

RG A large pebble.

NB A large pebble. What color?

RG It’s a bit blondish, kind of ash colored, beech-wood color.

NB And where was it, was it alone?

RG It was on a dusty road. On a road with smaller little pebbles around, but it was…

NB You knew that was you?

RG Yeah.

Rupert Graves as Septimus Warren Smith in Marleen Gorris’ Mrs. Dalloway. Photo by Roberta Parkin. Courtesy of First Look Pictures. pic not loading :(

NB What about your work in the theater?

RG I’ve never trained at all. I mean, I did things like ‘Tis Pity, She’s a Whore at the National Theatre in The Olivier when I was 21. Which is a fucking hard play to do. It’s a lovely, hard play, but it’s a really tricky one. And I really fucked up on that. I didn’t know about Jacobean drama, I didn’t know how to speak. I don’t know if you’ve been to The Olivier in London, but it’s massive, an open theater in the round. It’s huge, like three thousand people, and I just ran down this corridor onto the stage and thought, “Ahhh…,” and forgot my lines. I wanted to say, “Come back in five years.”

NB And then what happened?

RG I fell over. I started shaking and then fell over. I got the first word, and then I just stood up and shrieked. (shrieking) I did the play like that.

NB But you got through it?

RG I got through it, but…

NB What did your other actors think? Were they mad?

RG They were just like, “Rupert, what are you doing? Hello!!??”

NB Well, there comes the bravery thing again. That was brave at least.

RG No, that was ignorant, that wasn’t brave. Brave is different, brave is trying to push as many different things, take risks, being open.

NB Playing Septimus in Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, what was that like?

RG It was great. I read the script and I didn’t know what the hell it was about. Septimus suffers from a lot of abstracted neuroses, and I needed to find out what that was about. I went to speak to a lady at the Hospital for Psychological Disease. She worked with people who were in the Gulf War and had post-traumatic stress. But it didn’t really help, in that I knew you could be brave with shell shock or post-traumatic stress disorders, it’s not an internal thing. PTSD is actually a physical manifestation. So I wasn’t lacking in confidence, but I didn’t understand what the dialogue meant, things like, “The birds, they’re speaking in Greek to me.” So I looked at everything that Virginia Woolf wrote. Her letters, and biography, and I realized that a lot of her personal trauma had been put into her male characters. That kind of threw me a bit, as she’s acknowledged as a feminine, or feminist writer.

NB As a female writer I do it all the time.

RG But interestingly, I do it as a male. When I used to write songs, and I still do write sometimes, I often have a female character, and put my truth into a female. Woolf puts it into male characters. Things that Septimus says connect very directly to things in Woolf’s life. For example, “The birds are speaking Greek to me.” She was abused when she was a girl during Greek lessons. And when she had a breakdown when she was older she used to hear Greek birds talking to her, or birds talking in Greek. Finding out about those pieces of her life gave me the emotional plane to work on. So it didn’t have to just be, you know, jabber.

NB Actors rarely realize that the playwright or the writer is in all of the characters.

RG Yeah, the most honest stuff and her most personal stuff went into her male characters. Because Septimus is the other side of what Mrs. Dalloway would have been if she’d taken the plunge, like what she said she should have done when she was 17…

NB And married Peter? He would have been the brave choice.

RG Yeah. She took the easy route and married Dalloway. And the day in which the story takes place is her looking back, and thinking, “Am I where I had hoped to be when I was seventeen? Was I brave, or did I do the easy thing?”

NB How do you relate to that? In your life?

RG I don’t know, I’ve never had a plan. I mean, I wanted to act and I’ve done that. And I’ve gotten better as I’ve gotten older, so I’m progressing. I don’t feel I’m getting worse. Sometimes I do, sometimes I think my experience has overcome my naiveté and my naiveté is interesting in a certain way. Do you know what I mean?

NB Yes, I do.

RG You want to know what you’re gaining and what you’re losing, don’t you? Every time you take a step somewhere. That’s what I do anyway. Maybe that’s why running down the hill was so important, because normally I’m looking at stuff pretty carefully. And sometimes you just need something like that. And you can do that onstage sometimes, you can just dive—Bang! it might be into a nest of snakes or it might be a lovely work. It’s essential. I did one play which I loved doing. And the reviews came out, and I’d meet people after the play, and it was like the embodiment of everything that I’ve wanted to do with acting. It was really intense. They were going, “That was the most fucking intense thing. I never had that feeling before.” And then the reviews came out saying, “What a crock of shit.” And in one way it seemed like people were saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry about the reviews.” I was saying, “No, honestly, I don’t know what’s happened, but it’s just fantastic. People love it. People fucking love it.” You would go through the bar, and people were actually shaking sometimes, and that was so wild. It was the wildest thing I’d ever seen.

NB Sure, and the opposite happens too.

RG Yeah, absolutely, all the time. Unnervingly often, too often.

Nicole Burdette is a writer and an actress based in New York. This fall her short stories will appear in Jane magazine and the QPB Literary Review; as an actress she appears in the upcoming Digging to China directed by Timothy Hutton.

source:  bombmagazine [x]