#I just noticed in 2 interviews he was smoking to the right

[mooseyspooky]

Left hand smoking! I hadn't seen him do that before

[goblin-jr]

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Complete

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5

blurbs masterlist (coming soon)

Summary: the truth comes out (the remix). endings

words: 7.4k

💌 💌 💌 💌

Metropolis was a storm of its own, a far cry from the quiet charm of Smallville. With Y/N’s album launch just days away, life had become a blur of rehearsals, interviews, and last-minute changes. She and Clark barely saw each other, both caught in the relentless pace of their own worlds.

Clark, back at the Daily Planet, had buried himself in work—investigative pieces, city politics, and, of course, the occasional Superman duty that pulled him away at a moment’s notice. Their interactions since returning had been limited to a few exchanged texts, mostly inside jokes from the farm and brief updates about their chaotic schedules.

But Clark had been keeping an eye on her.

Even if Y/N didn’t say it outright, he could see the pressure weighing on her. She carried herself as she always did—effortless, confident, every bit the superstar—but the exhaustion was creeping in at the edges. The late nights, the constant demands on her time, the weight of an entire industry’s expectations pressing down on her shoulders.

And then, the incident happened.

It was late—too late. Y/N had just wrapped up another grueling day, the kind that left her drained beyond words. She hadn’t even had time to eat, barely able to keep track of her own movements as she finally slid into the driver’s seat of her car. Her mind was fogged with exhaustion, so much so that she didn't notice a car run a red light, hitting a pole right next to hers.

She didn’t miss the explosion that followed.

The blast ripped through the night, a deafening boom sending flames surging over the hood. Panic seized her chest. The door—stuck. Smoke filled the cabin, thick and suffocating. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she struggled, knowing she only had seconds before the fire swallowed everything.

Then, suddenly—

The door was gone. No, not gone—ripped clean off its hinges as if it were made of paper.

Cool air rushed in, and before she could react, strong arms lifted her from the wreckage. A blur of red and blue moved through the smoke, holding her close. Then, they were soaring upward, away from the burning remains of her car.

Y/N gasped, clutching onto him. “Well, damn. You really know how to make an entrance.”

Superman smirked, his voice teasing and smooth. “You know, if you wanted my attention, sweetheart, there were easier ways to get it.”

Instead of shying away like last time, Y/N tilted her head, matching his energy. “I realized you didn’t give me your number last time, so it was always up to you to find me.”

His grip shifted slightly, securing her closer, his hold effortlessly steady. “Maybe I was just waiting for the perfect moment.”

Yeah. Y/N was gone.

The way he looked at her, the knowing amusement in his voice—it was a dangerous combination, and she wasn’t about to pretend it didn’t get to her.

Superman’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “What is this now, 0 for 2?”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her fingers curling slightly against the smooth fabric of his suit. “If you want a thank you kiss, you could just ask.”

His brows lifted. “Oh?”

Before he could push her for more, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm beneath her lips, solid, real. She felt the subtle tension in him, the way his breath hitched just slightly.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she exhaled, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she hadn’t just kissed the most powerful being on Earth. “Well, hero, I’d say we’re even now.”

Superman let out a low, amused laugh, shaking his head. “You are trouble.”

Y/N beamed. “I try.”

—

Clark was having the worst morning of his life.

It had started normally enough—he’d gone on patrol as Superman, saved some civilians. Throughout it all, his mind kept going back to last night where he had to rescue Y/N from yet another ridiculous near-death experience. Which, honestly? Fine. He had long since accepted that Y/N had the survival instincts of a potato chip and an alarming talent for attracting danger.

What he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that, before being set safely on the ground, Y/N had flirted with him. Shamelessly.

And then kissed his cheek.

In front of cameras.

And now, not even 12 hours later, he was sitting in the Daily Planet bullpen, watching in slow motion horror as Lois pulled up the front page of the Metropolis Inquisitor with the biggest, boldest, most earth-shattering headline of his life:

SONGBIRD & SUPERMAN?

Metropolis Darling Caught Kissing the Man of Steel!

And there it was. A massive photo of Superman—him—with Y/N’s lips on his cheek.

Clark blacked out for a second.

Lois, on the other hand, was thriving.

“Oh. My God,” she wheezed, slapping the newspaper onto the desk and grinning as she pointed at the picture. “Look at this! This is gold.”

Y/N, to Clark’s absolute horror, was delighted.

“Ohhh,” she breathed, snatching up the paper. “They got my good side.”

Clark felt like dying.

“I—” he croaked, still gripping his coffee cup like it was his last tether to sanity. “You—why would you—why?”

Y/N, still staring at the paper, shrugged. “Dunno, I was feeling flirty.”

Clark nearly choked. “With Superman?”

She smirked. “Can you blame me? He is the hottest guy in Metropolis.”

Lois howled, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Clark, meanwhile, was spiraling.

Secret identity? IN DANGER.

Because sure, he knew that was him in that photo. But how long before someone else started to put the pieces together? How long before some overenthusiastic tabloid reporter started connecting Superman’s suspicious interest in Y/N with Clark’s own?

Meanwhile, Y/N was still having the time of her life.

“Clark,” she sighed dramatically, folding the paper to her chest. “Will you be my maid of honor at the wedding? I know it's usually reserved for women, but I can make an exception.”

Clark malfunctioned. “The what?”

“The wedding, Clark,” she said patiently, like she was explaining basic math. “Me. Superman. Destiny.”

Lois gasped, leaning forward. “Oh my God, Y/N. Are you proposing?”

“Not yet,” Y/N mused. “I gotta lock down the venue first. Can’t have the wedding of the century without the proper ambiance, you know?”

Clark looked between them, stunned. “You cannot be serious.”

Y/N reached over and patted his arm. “Don’t be jealous, Clark. I’ll still love you after I marry Superman.”

Lois lost it.

Clark, seconds away from spontaneous combustion, tried to form literally any words.

“I—you—that’s not—”

Y/N flipped the newspaper open again, humming thoughtfully. “I wonder if he’d let me wear the cape at the wedding.”

“STOP,” Clark begged.

Y/N grinned. “You’re right, I’ll get my veil to be made to look like it instead.”

Lois, gasping for breath: “Please. Please let this happen.”

Clark ran a hand down his face, this was too close. He needed to do something. 

–

Clark started pulling away in small ways at first.

It was subtle, barely noticeable—an extra second before answering her texts, a lingering hesitation before making eye contact, a few too many "I can’t tonight" excuses when Y/N invited him over.

But Y/N noticed.

She always noticed.

It wasn’t just the distance, it was him. Clark, who had never hesitated to walk beside her, who had always been there when she needed him, was recoiling. She’d reach out, and he’d step back. She’d joke, and he’d force a smile, but the warmth wasn’t there. And the worst part? He wouldn’t tell her why.

So she did what any rational person would do—she doubled down.

If Clark Kent thought he could slip away unnoticed, he clearly hadn’t met her.

She was relentless, inserting herself into his life at every opportunity. If he wasn’t answering texts fast enough, she showed up at his desk. If he was too busy for lunch, she brought food to the bullpen and refused to leave. If he claimed he had too much work, she sat there in silence, tapping her nails against his desk until he looked up with that frustrated little sigh he did when she was being impossible.

"Kent," she greeted him one evening, dropping a takeout bag on his desk before plopping into the chair across from him. "Dinner. Eat."

Clark barely glanced up. "I’m busy."

"Wow. No ‘thank you, Y/N, you’re so thoughtful, how do you always know exactly what I like to eat’?" She gasped dramatically. "You wound me, Clark."

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Y/N—"

"Don’t ‘Y/N’ me, mister." She kicked her feet up on the desk, watching him with sharp, knowing eyes. "I’m your best friend, and I have been so patient, but I’m done pretending I don’t notice."

Clark stiffened. "Notice what?"

Her brow lifted. "This. You, being weird."

Clark swallowed, shifting in his chair. "I’m not—"

"Yes, you are," she interrupted, pointing at him with a fry. "You’ve been acting strange ever since I made the front page with Superman. Which, by the way, iconic of me."

Clark groaned, shutting his eyes. "Y/N—"

She wasn’t done. "You’ve been avoiding me, Clark. Pulling back. And before you say it’s my imagination, Lois noticed too."

Clark inhaled sharply. Lois had noticed? Great. That just made everything worse.

Y/N crossed her arms, her expression softer now, real. "Did I do something wrong?"

Clark’s heart clenched. "No," he said immediately, because that much was true.

"Then what?" she pressed. "Talk to me."

Clark clenched his jaw, looking away. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to explain that he was scared, that the idea of someone—anyone—connecting Superman to Clark Kent through her was keeping him up at night. That it wasn’t just about keeping his identity safe anymore—it was about her.

She was too close now. Too familiar.

The way she fit into Smallville like she’d been there forever, the way she wore his flannel like it belonged to her, the way she had stood in the barn, glowing gold, calling yellow safe.

It had wrecked him.

And then she kissed Superman’s cheek, completely unaware that it had also been him, and suddenly, his whole existence felt like a cruel joke.

He was losing his grip on the boundary between Clark, Kal, and Superman, and Y/N was standing right in the middle of it, unknowingly blurring the lines just by being herself.

And if someone else noticed? If someone put the pieces together and figured out that Superman spent too much time watching over one person?

It wasn’t him he was afraid for.

It was her.

But he couldn’t tell her any of that.

So instead, he looked down, pretending to be focused on his work, and muttered, "You’re overthinking it."

Y/N stared at him. Then let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Wow."

Clark glanced up, and the look on her face almost made him break right then and there.

"That’s it?" she said, shaking her head. "That’s all you’ve got for me?"

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to stay still. If he bent even a little, she’d get through, and he couldn’t let that happen.

Y/N studied him for a long moment, searching his face like she could will the truth out of him. When she realized he wasn’t going to budge, something in her expression shifted.

"Okay," she said finally, standing.

Clark exhaled, relief flickering in his chest—until she leaned down, bracing her hands on his desk, her face way too close to his.

"You might be done with me, Kent," she said, her voice deceptively sweet, "but I am not done with you."

Clark’s breath hitched. "Y/N—"

And then she walked away.

Clark sat there, completely still, watching her go.

He should have felt victorious. He had pushed her away, made the distance clear.

Clark sat there for a long time after Y/N left.

The newsroom hummed around him—phones ringing, reporters shouting, the clatter of keyboards filling the air—but he felt like he was somewhere else. Somewhere weightless, untethered.

He stared at his half-eaten takeout, at the one fry she had stolen, at the chair she had been sitting in just moments ago.

He was doing the right thing. He had to. The more distance he put between them, the safer she’d be. The less anyone could connect Superman to her.

Then why did it feel like he had just lost something?

Before he could spiral any further, his phone buzzed.

''''

Y/N: have your tantrum but wrap it up before my launch party tomorrow. Y/N: party’s at 6. i will see you at my apartment at 5.

''''

Clark let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face.

Of course she wasn’t giving up.

Of course she had already decided he would be there, regardless of what he thought about it.

And the worst part?

She was right.

–

Clark showed up at exactly 5:00 PM.

Not a second earlier, not a second later. Because despite the distance he had tried to create, despite the weeks of careful avoidance, despite all the ways he’d tried to push her away—he was still Clark, and Y/N had asked him to be here.

So here he was.

He lifted his hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open.

And there she was.

Clark’s breath caught.

Y/N stood before him, framed by the warm glow of the apartment lights, looking—God—more beautiful than ever. Her dress was simple but elegant, something that clung just enough to remind him that she had always carried herself like she belonged anywhere. Her makeup was subtle, a touch of color on her lips, a hint of gold around her eyes.

But it wasn’t just how she looked. It was the way she beamed at him like she had won.

"Right on time, Kent," she mused, leaning against the doorframe. "Very off-brand."

Clark swallowed, forcing himself to exhale, to ignore the way the sight of her made something deep inside him ache.

"You invited me for five," he said simply.

Y/N grinned, stepping back to let him in. "Of course I did. Now, are you done with your tantrum?"

Clark huffed a quiet laugh despite himself. "I was not having a tantrum."

She snorted, closing the door behind him. "Right. You just happened to be all broody and distant and emotionally unavailable right after I made the front page kissing Superman." She crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. "Totally unrelated."

Clark exhaled, shaking his head. "You cannot seriously believe those tabloids."

"Why not?" she teased, nudging him as she walked past. "I think it’s a great look for me. My dating history needed a little razzle-dazzle."

Clark sighed, following her as she led him up to the rooftop.

The evening air was warm, the city skyline stretching out in glowing golden hues, the lights of Metropolis twinkling against the deepening blue sky. The rooftop had been transformed—soft lanterns strung across the open space, sleek cocktail tables dressed in deep blue and gold, flowers arranged in elegant bursts of color. The setup was so Y/N—effortlessly beautiful, but never overdone.

She turned to him, arms wide. "Well? Thoughts?"

Clark glanced around, nodding. "It looks amazing."

She grinned. "Damn right, it does."

Clark let himself smile, just for a second, just before the weight of the past few weeks settled between them again.

Y/N must have felt it too because she softened, stepping closer. "You know," she mused, tilting her head, "for all your brooding, I’m glad you came."

Clark swallowed. "You asked me to."

"I did," she agreed. "And that means you can’t run away again."

Clark stiffened, but Y/N just smirked, nudging him lightly. "C’mon, let’s do a final walkthrough before people start showing up. I need to make sure nothing’s gone to hell in my absence."

Clark let her pull him along, listening as she went on about seating arrangements and drink menus, half-distracted by the way the sunset caught in her hair.

For a moment, it was almost easy. Almost like things hadn’t changed.

And then—

"Shut up, Kal," Y/N muttered lightly, laughing at some joke he barely remembered making.

Clark froze.

His entire body went rigid, his breath catching hard in his chest. The rooftop, the city, the fading warmth of the sun—it all disappeared in an instant.

Y/N didn’t notice at first, still smiling, still teasing.

Then she turned, and her face dropped.

Clark was shaking.

"I hate when you call me that," he said, voice raw, like the words were being ripped from him. "Kal was such a mistake."

Y/N’s lips parted, eyes widening. "Clark—"

"I ruined so much by running away from Smallville like a coward," he went on, his voice rising, filled with something wild and self-loathing. "I was selfish, I—I let you believe I was someone else, and then I left—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, breathing unevenly. "Don’t call me that."

Y/N’s throat bobbed, her expression stricken. "Okay," she said softly.

Clark turned away, pressing his hands to his temples. His heart was pounding, a tight, panicked beat against his ribs. He had held it in for so long, buried it beneath every excuse, every careful step backward, every forced distance—

And now it was out.

Now it was all out.

Y/N took a step toward him, but something in Clark’s posture must have stopped her, because she didn’t touch him. Didn’t argue.

She just stood there.

And Clark—Clark had to leave.

Because if he stayed, he might say something else, something worse, something he could never take back.

So he didn’t think. Didn’t look at her.

He just walked away.

Down the stairs, out the building, into the streets of Metropolis.

And for the first time in his life—Superman ran.

–

The party had gone off without a hitch.

Y/N had made sure of it.

Years of PR training, of flashing a superstar smile on command, of perfecting the art of looking unshakable even when she was breaking beneath the surface—it had all paid off tonight. She had laughed, she danced, she answered questions about the album with practiced ease, had toasted with people who barely mattered, had thanked people she didn’t even know.

The one person she had wanted there had left.

And it had taken everything in her to not let that ruin her night.

She had spent an hour before the party in the bathroom, gripping the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror, repeating to herself that it didn’t matter. That Clark leaving didn’t mean anything. That she had spent years building herself up, learning how to be on her own, how to survive in a world that didn’t care if she fell apart.

So she had smoothed out her dress, fixed her makeup, and walked out of the bathroom looking effortless, dazzling, untouchable.

Now, the party was long over.

It was well past midnight, the album had been dropped, and Y/N was alone.

The apartment felt too big, the silence pressing in on her in a way that the noise of the party had kept at bay. She had kicked off her heels an hour ago, abandoning them somewhere in the living room. The dress—once elegant and poised—now felt suffocating, so she had undone the zipper, letting it slip off her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but an oversized shirt as she wandered aimlessly through her space.

She opened another bottle of wine.

She’d lost count of how many she had already had tonight, but it didn’t really matter.

Taking a slow sip, she walked onto the patio, letting the night air cool the heat lingering on her skin. The city stretched out before her, glittering and alive, but she had never felt further from it.

Her fingers drummed idly against the wine glass as she leaned on the railing, her other hand resting against her stomach, pressing against the emptiness there.

He left.

The thought snuck in before she could stop it, curling into her chest, winding tight like a knot in her ribs.

He had just walked away.

And the worst part was that she hadn’t even argued.

Because she had seen it.

She had seen the anger in his face, the way his voice had cracked, the way his entire body had tensed when she had called him Kal. She had thought it was just another nickname, just another way to tease him.

She hadn’t realized it hurt him.

Hadn’t realized it carried weight, that it meant something deeper than she could possibly understand.

And now he was gone.

A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat as she swirled the wine in her glass. "Classic," she muttered to no one.

Y/N let the wind rush over her, cool against her flushed skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth pooling in her stomach from the wine.

The city stretched out endlessly below her, lights twinkling, cars moving like tiny flickering embers in the streets. From up here, everything looked small, distant—manageable.

She set her wine glass down on the railing, steadying it before she climbed up, her bare feet balancing against the cool metal edge.

The wind whipped past her, tangling in her hair, sending a thrill down her spine.

She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, laughing softly to herself.

The alcohol buzzed pleasantly in her veins, blurring the edges of her thoughts, making her feel light, untethered. She swayed slightly, spreading her arms out, feeling free—

Then the dizziness hit.

The world tilted.

And before she could even register the fall, before the fear could even set in—

Strong arms caught her.

The rush of wind was suddenly gone, replaced by something steady, something solid, something safe.

Her breath hitched, her heart pounding as she opened her eyes, blinking up into the face of Superman.

His expression was devastated.

"What the hell are you doing?" his voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but laced with something frantic.

Y/N blinked, her mind still trying to catch up.

She was no longer on the railing. She was in his arms, against his chest, suspended in the air like she weighed nothing.

"Oh," she breathed, realization settling in.

Superman tightened his grip, his jaw clenched so hard she thought it might break. "You almost—" His voice broke slightly, his arms tensing around her. "What were you thinking?"

Y/N frowned, still a little dazed. "I wasn’t," she admitted, voice softer now. "I—I was just enjoying the wind, and then I…"

She trailed off, staring at him, at the way his chest rose and fell, far too fast, like he had just been through something terrifying.

Like he had been scared.

Her brow furrowed. "You caught me."

Superman let out a shaky breath, his fingers flexing slightly before pulling her closer, like he couldn’t bear to let go yet. "Of course I did."

Y/N exhaled slowly, resting her forehead against his shoulder for just a second, the reality of what could have happened crashing down on her all at once.

She had almost fallen.

And he had saved her.

Again.

Y/N’s breath was still unsteady, her head spinning—not just from the wine, not just from the near fall, but from him.

Superman.

Kal.

Clark.

The alcohol blurred the details of his face, softening the hard angles, causing something to click in her mind, something that had been lurking in the shadows for years, just out of reach. The blurred details matched the fuzzy specifics of Kal in her mind exactly. 

It was him.

It had always been him.

She had spent so long trying to remember Kal’s face, always just a little too hazy, a little too out of focus. But now, held in Superman’s arms, staring at him from this close—she knew.

And something inside her broke.

She shoved at his chest. "Put me down!"

Superman—Clark—Kal—whoever the hell he was—startled, hesitating just long enough before he landed smoothly back on the patio, setting her down on shaking legs.

The second her feet hit the ground, she exploded.

"How dare you!" she yelled, voice thick, raw, furious.

Superman flinched. "Y/N—"

"How dare you," she repeated, jabbing a finger into his chest, stepping forward, forcing him back. "Kal was a mistake? He hurt people? That’s what you said, right?" She laughed, but it wasn’t amused—it was wrecked. "He was selfish? He ran away?"

Superman didn’t answer.

Because he couldn’t.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

Y/N clenched her fists, her voice shaking with something close to betrayal. "Kal is the only reason I was able to keep going back then. Do you know that? Do you? He was reckless, yeah. He was an idiot, sure. But he—you—" She exhaled sharply, pressing her hands to her temples before snapping her gaze back up to him. "How dare you say he was a mistake."

Clark swallowed, his throat tight. "Y/N…"

"I accept every stupid part of you, Clark Kent," she spat, not caring how broken it sounded, not caring that her voice wavered, not caring that she was throwing herself off a cliff with no parachute. "Every single one. And you have the nerve to stand there and tell me that the one I got to know first was just—what? Some awful, shameful version of you?"

Clark’s breath hitched.

She stepped closer, glaring up at him, her eyes burning. "I don’t care if Kal was the darkest part of you. He was still you. And now you stand here—you stand here—and you tell me he was a mistake?" Her voice cracked. "That you were a mistake?"

Clark felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Because how? How?

How had she put it together?

Has she always known? Was she just saying this because she was drunk? Would she remember in the morning?

Would she still look at him like this if she did?

Y/N let out a sharp breath, tilting her head back, staring at the sky like it had answers she couldn’t find. "God, Clark," she whispered, voice suddenly exhausted. "You are so—so unbelievably stupid."

He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he clenched them into fists.

He had to get her inside.

"Come on," he muttered, ignoring the burn in his chest as he reached for her wrist.

Y/N yanked it away. "Don’t touch me."

Something deeply irrational inside him flinched at that, but he swallowed it down, his jaw tight as he turned and walked inside, expecting her to follow.

She did.

But not quietly.

She raged the entire way down the hall, muttering, cursing him under her breath, pacing as he led her toward her bedroom. She shoved at his shoulder more than once—not enough to actually move him, but enough to make a point.

She was still cursing at him as he pulled back the blankets, still ranting as he placed a glass of water on the nightstand.

"I cannot believe you right now," she huffed, crawling into bed, still glaring. "You—of all people—thinking you get to decide which version of yourself is worth loving."

Clark stiffened.

Y/N turned onto her side, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him.

It hit him square in the chest.

He sighed.

"Sleep," he muttered, moving to step away.

And then—

Her hand wrapped around his wrist.

He froze.

Y/N’s fingers were warm against his skin, trembling just slightly.

"Stay," she murmured, barely above a whisper.

And God—God, he wanted to.

More than anything.

But he couldn’t.

Not after this.

Not after everything she had just torn open.

So, with every ounce of willpower he had left, Superman gently, slowly removed her hand from his wrist.

And he walked away. 

(Y/N threw another pillow at his retreating form.)

–

Clark hadn’t slept.

Not a single second.

He had spent the entire night staring at his ceiling, his mind running itself ragged, trying to process what had happened on Y/N’s rooftop. The way she had put it together. How did she always put things together? The way she had yelled at him, not out of anger for his lies but something deeper, something more real. The way she had grabbed his wrist and whispered stay and—

He squeezed his eyes shut. No.

He left. He made the right call.

Even if it hurt.

A soft click echoed through the apartment, and his entire body went rigid.

Because of course.

Of course she was here.

Clark didn’t even have to use his x-ray vision  to know it was her.

The way she walked, the light tread of her steps, the way she didn’t hesitate for even a second before waltzing right in like she belonged. Which, to be fair, she did. Because Y/N had a key. Because she owned the damn building.

Clark sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, listening as she locked the door behind her.

"Clark?" her voice called from the kitchen, casual, like she hadn’t torn his entire world apart last night.

Clark inhaled sharply, staring at the ceiling. Pretend to be asleep? No, she’d just sit on you until you talked. Fake being sick? She’d call Ma. Run out the window? You’re not that desperate.

He exhaled through his nose. "Bedroom," he called back, resigned.

Seconds later, she appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, grinning.

"Rise and shine, sunshine."

Clark groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Y/N, it’s—" He turned his head to glance at the clock. "Six in the morning."

"Bright and early!" she announced, stepping inside like she owned the place. Which, again, she did.

Clark just sighed, rolling to sit up. "Why are you here?"

Y/N crossed her arms. "Because you left."

Clark clenched his jaw, saying nothing.

"So," she continued, plopping herself onto the edge of the bed, completely unfazed, "are we talking about it? Or do I have to dramatically monologue until you crack?"

Clark exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "You’re not letting this go, are you?"

She gave him an unimpressed look. "Have we met?"

A humorless chuckle escaped him, but it faded fast.

There was no escaping this conversation.

So, finally, finally, he talked.

He told her everything.

About the meteor shower. About how Martha and Jonathan Kent found him, raised him, made him Clark instead of some lost, nameless alien. About the powers, about the way he had spent his entire life trying to control them, trying to fit.

And then—he told her about the red kryptonite.

About the ring. About the choice he made, the way he had willingly put it on, because he had felt like a burden, like he had ruined things in Smallville, like running away was the only option.

How he had left behind everything—his parents, his home, his name.

How he had let himself become Kal.

Y/N listened through all of it, her expression unreadable, never interrupting.

Then, after a long pause, she blinked and said, "So you weren’t on drugs?"

Clark stared at her.

Y/N shrugged. "Sorry, that whole ‘red rock makes me reckless and angry’ thing definitely sounds like you were on some alien crack, Clark."

Despite himself, Clark let out a breath of a laugh.

But it didn’t last.

Because then Y/N reached out, her fingers brushing against the back of his hand, soft, warm, steady.

"I meant what I said yesterday," she murmured.

Clark tensed.

She squeezed his hand. "I don’t care if it was the darkest part of you, Clark," she said softly, looking straight at him, straight through him. "It was still you."

Clark swallowed, his throat tight.

And then—he pulled away.

Y/N’s fingers curled into empty air, and her expression dropped.

Clark exhaled slowly, staring at the sheets, willing himself to not look at her face, because if he did, he’d break.

"It’s too dangerous," he murmured. "I’m too unpredictable."

Y/N shook her head. "Clark—"

"If someone connects the dots," he cut her off, his voice hoarse, "if someone figures it out—" He clenched his fists. "You’ll be in trouble."

Y/N stared at him for a long, long moment.

Then—softly, but firmly—

"I was always going to be in trouble."

Clark finally looked up.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching his face. "Because it’s you," she said simply. "And it was always going to be you."

Y/N sat there, staring at him, waiting for something—anything.

A word. A look. A reaction.

But Clark wouldn’t even meet her eyes.

He just sat there, his shoulders tight, his hands clenched into the sheets, staring at the floor like if he ignored her long enough, she’d just go away.

And maybe before—maybe once upon a time—she would have.

But not this time.

This time, she was done.

Her heart sank, settling like lead in her stomach, dragging every part of her down with it.

"Clark," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Look at me."

He didn’t.

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening, her fingers curling into fists against her thighs.

"If I get up and walk out that door right now," she said, slow and deliberate, "this is it."

Clark’s breathing hitched.

"I mean it," she pressed, voice breaking just slightly. "I am so—so tired of chasing after you. Of watching you leave. Of always being the one left standing there, wondering if this time is the last time."

Clark’s eyes squeezed shut.

She inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her palms. "You want to keep pushing me away? Fine." Her voice shook. "But if I walk out of here, Clark? I’m not coming back."

Silence.

Thick, heavy, suffocating.

Clark still wouldn’t look at her.

Y/N felt the final thread snap.

She stood up.

And when she walked away this time—she meant it.

–

Y/N doesn’t say goodbye. Not to him, not to the city, not to the version of herself that waited, hoped, believed. She boarded a plane with nothing but her luggage.

She won’t beg.

She told him. She gave him the choice. If I leave, I’m not coming back. And still, he let her go.

So she does what she does best—she moves forward.

The tour is massive, bigger than anything she’s ever done before. Sold-out arenas, flashing cameras, the deafening sound of thousands of voices screaming her name. Every city is brighter, louder, bigger than the last. She lets herself get lost in it, drowns in the chaos of the road, the high of the stage, the endless cycle of movement that keeps her from thinking too much.

She doesn’t stop. Not once.

Early mornings bleed into late nights. Rehearsals stretch into interviews, meet-and-greets blur into hurried flights. She spends hours in dressing rooms, in hotel suites, in tour buses that never stay parked long enough to feel like home. The lights are blinding, the music is deafening, and for the first time in a long time, she lets them be.

Because in the quiet moments, when the adrenaline fades, she feels it.

The absence.

Not just his, but something deeper. Something she didn’t even realize was there until it was gone.

The feeling of being seen.

Being understood.

Because even before she knew, he knew. Even before she said it, he heard it.

And now?

Now, she’s screaming her soul into a microphone in front of seventy thousand people, and he’s not there to hear it.

She tells herself she’s fine.

She has to be.

But when she’s alone��really alone, with no stage, no flashing lights, no roaring crowd to drown out the silence—all she sees is his face. The way he looked at her as she turned to leave. The way his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists, like he was fighting something inside himself. Like he wanted to stop her, but couldn’t, or wouldn’t.

She dreams of a different time, a different version of them.

Of a penthouse apartment in a part of Metropolis that no longer exists.

Of laughter in a too-warm room, a sturdy couch, a boy with blue eyes who wasn’t afraid to be quiet with her.

Of late nights spent with Kal when the world felt smaller, when she wasn’t famous and he wasn’t a hero, and all that mattered was the sound of their breathing in the dark. Of late night spent with Clark, listening to him breathe while she looked around his childhood room.

She dreams of the way he used to look at her, before she knew who he really was, before she knew who she really was. When things were simpler. When she didn’t have to wonder if she was asking too much just by existing in the same space as him.

She wakes up in a different city every time, in another luxury hotel bed, in another room that isn’t home.

And she tells herself she’s fine.

She has to be.

–

Clark Kent had been miserable. At first, he tried to convince himself it was just an adjustment period. He’d always been able to handle changes, right? But nothing worked.

He threw himself into work, into farm chores, into being Superman—anything to numb the ache that had been festering in his chest. But it didn’t work.

Because Y/N was everywhere.

Every time he turned on the TV, there she was—on a late-night show, laughing like everything was perfect. He walked past a newsstand and saw her face, always smiling, always glowing. Her face was all over billboards, magazines, and TV screens. He couldn’t escape her, no matter how hard he tried.

And the worst part? She looked happy.

At least, that’s what it seemed like.

He watched, of course. Every night. His parents would ask about her, and he’d change the subject quickly, pretending like it didn’t bother him. He’d tell them he was doing fine, but the truth was, at 3 AM, he was under the covers, glued to his laptop, watching her interviews on repeat. He would click on every grainy livestream of her concerts, sometimes watching them until the screen went black, just so he could pretend he was there, part of her world again.

His parents had asked him once, “Clark, why don’t you just call her? She’d love to hear from you.”

But he couldn't even look them in the eye.

He felt like an idiot.

On bad days, he even talked to Moo Moo, as if it could understand. “Do you think she thinks about me too?” he’d mutter to the stuffed cow, his voice cracking like he was confessing to a priest. He would hold it up to his face, as though it might whisper something wise or comforting in return, but of course, it never did. Moo Moo just stared back with those vacant, stitched eyes, silent and unyielding, like the judgmental little plush it was. He could almost hear the judgment now: pathetic.

He hid Moo Moo under the bed after that. 

The moment that broke him came one night when he caught a clip of Y/N on a red carpet interview. She was asked, “Do you believe in soulmates?”

Y/N had smiled, effortlessly radiant as always, and replied, “I don’t think about that stuff anymore. I think some people are meant to find each other. But staying? That’s a choice.”

Clark had shut his laptop so quickly, the screen flickering off in the dim light of his room.

Because she had been talking about him.

And she was right. He’d let her slip away. He’d let her go without ever telling her the truth. And now he was left here, a mess of tangled sheets, a stuffed cow clutched in his arms, watching her live her life from the sidelines, wishing he could do something—anything—to make it right.

–

Lois was the one who finally snapped.

One morning, she slammed a flyer down on his desk so hard it made his coffee spill.

Clark blinked. “What—”

“Get your shit together, Smallville.”

Clark picked up the flyer.

Y/N : FINAL TOUR STOP – METROPOLIS – SOLD OUT.

His stomach twisted.

Lois crossed her arms. “This is it. Last show. Last chance. Either go after her, or accept that you’re a coward.”

Clark didn’t hesitate.

–

He went as Clark, not Superman.

No powers, no cape—just a desperate man pulling whatever strings he could to get a backstage pass. The show had been sold out for months, but Clark finally snagged a press pass by telling Perry he will work free overtime for the next 6 years. 

It was terrifying.

Because if this didn’t work—if she really was fine, if she really had moved on—then what was left for him?

But by the time he got there, she was already gone.

“Y/N?” He pushed past crew members. “Did she leave already?”

Someone glanced up. “Yeah. Didn’t say where.”

Clark’s chest squeezed.

No. No, no, no—

And then—

Leaving through a side door, he saw it.

A blonde wig.

The most ridiculous, unhinged, Hollywood-starlet wig he had ever seen.

Clark exhaled sharply. His hands clenched.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

–

She was walking down a quiet side street, head tilted toward the sky, looking lost in thought.

Clark, still slightly breathless, stepped into the alley and said, low and familiar—

“Don’t you know what happens to pretty girls in dark alleys?”

Y/N stopped.

Slowly, she turned.

The wig was crooked. The sunglasses were oversized. And even with half her face covered, he could feel the cold shift in the air.

No teasing. No quippy comeback.

Her lips pressed together. Her jaw was tight.

Clark realized he had never seen her look at him like this.

She let out a slow breath. “Why are you here?”

His throat went dry.

“I was wrong,” he said, voice rough. “About everything.”

Nothing. No reaction.

So he took a step forward.

“I tried to move on,” he admitted. “Told myself I had to let you go. That it was the right thing. But I was miserable. And you—” He let out a shaky breath. “You were everywhere. You were everything”

Y/N stayed still, expression unreadable.

Clark exhaled, hands clenching into fists.

“You were right,” he said softly. “I spent my whole life trying to separate parts of myself. Deciding which version of me was worth keeping.” His throat tightened. “I was terrified that if you saw all of me, you’d leave.”

She inhaled sharply. “Clark—”

“But the truth is, I left you.”

Silence.

Clark swallowed hard.

“I don’t deserve another chance,” he whispered. “But if there’s even a part of you that still—”

Y/N took a step forward.

Clark stopped breathing.

She pulled off the wig, let it drop to the ground, and crossed her arms.

“Oh, you’re gonna grovel for this,” she said.

Clark let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A long pause.

Then—

“Say it again,” she said.

Clark blinked. “What?”

“Say you were wrong.”

Clark exhaled.

“I was wrong.”

“Louder.”

“I was wrong.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Not bad. Keep going.”

Clark ran a hand down his face. “I was an idiot.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And?”

Clark looked at her—really looked at her.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Y/N stilled.

Clark inhaled.

“I love you,” he said, steady now. “I think I loved you when you slept on my couch and were the only thing that stopped the voices in my head. I think I loved you when you got up to feed the damn pigs even though they tackled you. I think I loved you even before you made me realize Kal and Clark were the same person.”

Her eyes glistened.

Clark swallowed.

“But I know I love you now.”

Silence.

Then—

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“God, it took you long enough.”

Clark let out a breathless laugh, his heart pounding.

“You really mean it?” she asked.

Clark nodded. “Yeah.”

Y/N hummed.

Then she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

Clark barely had time to react before she pulled back, lips curling into a smile.

“Okay,” she announced. “You’re forgiven.”

Clark, completely wrecked, could only blink.

Y/N patted his chest. “Now come on. You owe me a very expensive dinner.”

Clark let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

She was walking ahead, waiting for him.

And this time?

He chased after her.

–

Bonus

–

As they walked, Clark glanced at the wig still lying on the pavement.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know that thing was so obvious, right?”

Y/N, without missing a beat, said, “You wear glasses as a disguise.”

Clark opened his mouth. Closed it.

Then—he groaned.

Y/N smirked.

"Yeah. That’s what I thought, Glasses."

--

a/n: that was the end!! i hope you all enjoyed reading

i have so many deleted scenes in my google docs that i will make blurbs out of. let me know if you have any blurb ideas :)

[jinnie-ret]

Ninth Member!Reader 🪻

<-------- back to ot8 masterlist

<--------- back to main masterlist

Fake Fights - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

You and Minho decide to strike revenge and prank the boys after they leave practice early because of the tense mood you both created.

Fallen Angel pt 2 - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

The Stray Kids members have two maknaes to comfort at the end of their 'I'll Be Your Man' cover. One upset because he thought he wasn't good enough, and the other an injured, fallen angel, left hurt because MNET hadn't done enough safety checks on their equipment.

Scarred Knees and Insecurities - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

When the old scars from your youth, become fresh wounds in your adulthood, the boys are there to pick up the pieces.

Heatstroke - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Y/n suffers from heat stroke on the day of their performance at Lollapalooza.

Bite My Tongue - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A

When an interviewer decides to pick on you specifically, the boys do their best to hold back and get you out of the situation.

Daredevil - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

The boys never expected that their shy noona could be such a daredevil.

My Aegi - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Y/n was glad she had the boys there to help her raise her kid sister. She didn't know what she'd do without them.

It's a Brit Thing - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

The boys find it hard to understand their British member a lot of the time...

Who I Am - Stray Kids x Ninth Member Non-binary!Reader (Platonic) A | F

The boys support Y/N for who they are, and show them that they truly have their back when a podcast goes wrong.

Don't Push Yourself - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

You thought you were doing the right thing for yourself, but it was only a matter of time before your habits became unhealthy, and the boys didn't even notice until it was too late.

Period Pains - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

You're keen to see the boys reactions to what you go through every month.

Super Shy - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

Y/N is surprised when the boys turn up at her album debut shoot, and they reassure her on her worries about her new daring look.

Let Noona Handle It - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

After a difficult, chaotic concert, you prepare a feast to take care of your beloved dongsaengs.

Family is Complicated - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

After your troubling phone call is overhead by all of the boys, they comfort you and reassure you that they are your true family.

Gyaru, Jjang Yeppeuda - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Despite her normal confidence in owning her aesthetic, Y/N begins to feel uncomfortable when she feels the judging stares of other idols.

Togetherness - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A

Out of all things, the last thing you expected to hear was that your parents are getting a divorce, but it was fortunate that the boys were there to hold you together.

Generation Z - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

She's the youngest of the group and the boys can't keep up with her internet slang.

People Pleaser - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

In her One Kid's Room episode, Y/N reflects on how it was hard for her not to be so kind and sweet to everyone, because she just wanted them to like her.

Hellevator - Stray Kids x Ninth Member Male!Reader (Platonic) A 💚🖤

He's going through voice changes in their debut era and fans are already sending in hate.

Cigarette Duet - Poly!Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader | A 💚🖤

You get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. How will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

Placebo - Stray Kids x Hybrid!Ninth!Reader | A | F 💚🖤

The boys are shocked at how your hybrid features present themselves when you are feeling particularly emotional.

Make You Feel My Love - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) | A 💚🖤

The boys help and rescue their fellow member through one of the hardest things she's had to do, all over again - grieve.

[katyahina]

Family tree of Izalith! (Well, in a certain timeframe, she actually has like 50000 more babies and you know it)

Explanations for design choices and names under cut:

1) Izalith IS her actual name! It is a bit obscured, but Miyazaki did mention it in the design works interview ( x ): "...Despite his size, he’s actually the youngest of Izalith’s children, he stands gazing up at the ruins where his sisters live. " Quelana also mentioned it in Japanese script:

私の母イザリスは : ‘My mother, Izalith’

2) Quelaana/Quelaan is not a thing! According to the dataminers, it was just a mistake that endured so long it spread within the fandom, but nope, Fair Lady remains nameless. In fact, as you can see, Quelana is actually Quelaana, because of the long ー!

3) I've noticed the pattern between Quelana and Grana, both eldest. Quelana says she abandoned her younger sisters in Japanese script:

…私は、母も、妹たちも、すべて棄てて逃げ出したんだ

Their names are very similar, only Grana is missing the ー (that localised as double aa) and 'ku' sound is replaced with 'gu' sound! So, クラーナ (Qura~na) and グラナ (Gurana). The sisters also tend to come in pairs: Quelaag and Fair Lady had the same mutation, two sisters became right and left arms of Bed of Chaos, and then two eldest sisters share a naming pattern... So I've decided that they should be born as twin pairs (not necessarily identical as you can see), and repeat the naming pattern. But always replacing 'ku' with 'gu' didn't work because, I shit you not, in that case Fair Lady's name would sound like word gulag fsdhfdshfsd So I had to get creative with the sounds!

4) Appearances of Grana and the Parasitic Wall-Hugger (labeled 'Prince Izalith' internally and having same mutation as Jeremiah, only entirely swallowed) are based of the secret face data attached only to Grana! Whereas removing her helmet just gives placeholder default data, loading her through debug menu will (seemingly randomly) load one of these faces:

Other faceless NPCs like Ciaran and two Darkmoon Blades do not behave like that! This NPC is seemingly broken, but I believe the blond girl is "canon" since the body is female and seems to match her head! But attaching that guy to Grana's data specifically made me think he must be connected to the Witch's family!

5) Whereas Quelana has normal skin tone in character data, trophy that depicts her and her concept art show grey skin, just like her mother's:

The thing is, in Dark Souls 1 creator it is impossible to make purely grey skin because you need RGB type of color selection slider for it... which Dark Souls 1 does not use. Purple, green and blue? Sure! But not grey. So I decided to ignore her face data colors as technical limitation and base her off the art of her instead! It fits, because Izalith herself has grey skin too!

6) The Tailsman of Fair Lady's hair in Dark Souls 3 has her hair pulled through Old Witch's Ring:

(By dataminer Zullie: ( x ))

I added this part on her former hairstyle... Let's assume she allowed someone to cut her hairbun for their sake, since her hair helps with casting miracles and she is a very generous lady. I actually think ALL sisters used to wear a variant of Old Witch's Ring in some capacity after Ceaseless was born to understand what he was saying, but some of the portraits I've drawn don't let me showcase them!

7) Seeing how Quelana just looks like her mother and Grana just looks like her father, I thought it was fitting if twin pairs would be born with dark and fair hair! But Quelaag already has a circle of green close to her pupil and some grey shades in her hair, so I thought that the younger sisters get, the more the colors "mix". That's why the youngest sister just has colors mixed completely, whereas 'Prince Izalith' instead has fractioned colors from both parents!

8) The idea of Nameless King having had colorful mane and eyes in his youth is based on this theory I smoked recently:

His youngest version having 8 red strands in his hair is based on his symbol of Warrios of Sunlight having radiant red rays in Dark Souls 1!

Ornstein and the Dragonslayer (fought as Dragonslayer Armor) also have red plume! But wheras Ciaran and Artorias have just their hair on their helmets, Ornstein and Dragonslayer specifically have a decoration... so, why imitate red lion mane, if their liege is not even red-maned in any way? XD

(add ingame filter that makes it red rather than brown)

At the same time, if Lion Clan people to him are what Corvians to Velka, it would make sense if they were based on him too, so golden hair also had a place to be:

The black-maned lions are Hollow though, so I don't think of them too hard! So I guess Nameless King is as much Radahn prediction as he is Godwyn prediction! God of War associated with the lions and all.

9) Theory that Lost Sinner IS Princess/Queen of Venn just makes the most sense, nothing else to say here... Venn was affiliated with the Moon though, and Sinner has both beard and breasts:

And whereas normally all gender-neutral pronouns is localized as 'he', in this case, devs specifically instructed people to not fuck this up and specify she IS a female character x) Moonlight IS gender-bending power of the setting as confirmed in Dark Souls 3 (and partially in 1), and it adds to her connection to Izalith whose grey skin and blue lips might hint to initial Moon affinity too! Moon and Fire always go together in Dark Souls and Elden Ring, and in Elden Ring they are also inherently hostile to the "Sun" or "Gold"... so, Jealous Moon!

10) I thought Izalith felt broken and used seeing how her firstborn was just a child of Sun, without any link to her. So in her grudge and strive to equality, she separated Jeremiah from her own being... Though, ironically, as you can see, her side ended up "dominant" if not suppressive anyways. I guess I felt like subverting trope of Lilith a little. It also interestingly enough mirrors Daughters of the Dark; two of them, Elana and Nashandra, have fair hair and green eyes, and other two have dark hair (and brown eyes, Alsanna has a hidden brown-eyed texture). She mirrors this type of splitting with her colorations a bit!

[imaginesbymonika]

From the dining table | Part 8

Pairing: Damon Albarn × Gallagher! Reader

Plot: Everyone's favorite topic during the '90s and 'OOs; Y/N Gallagher. The mysterious and beautiful younger sister of the two loud brothers rarely spoke during interviews but played the guitar like no one else. And even though she never said a word about her dating-life, the list of her rumored boyfriends kept growing longer with each passing year. Yet, there was one name in particular that just kept on popping up...

Previous part | Masterlist

(1999)

Y/N stares at him from her spot at their table. The Marlboro cigarette between her fingers is burning down on its own. She lost interest in smoking a few minutes ago anyway. She couldn’t care less. Damon meanwhile is slowly swaying while singing into the microphone.

“Take me away from this big bad world and agree to marry me. So we can start over again.”, his smooth and delicate voice cracks while her upper lip twitches. He sings in a manner that’s almost identical to how he used to speak to her in their bedroom. Y/N hears how her two brothers are giggling at his mistake while she quickly licks her lips. Finally, she brings the nearly finished cigarette back up to her lips. She notices the ashes on the tablecloth and quickly wipes them away, leaving behind a black stain.

“Oh we can start over again.”

A pained sigh leaves her lips as she tries her best to clean up the mess she made, however, the more she moves her hand over the fabric the bigger the stain gets. This could be used as a metaphor in a song. She makes a mental note to talk to Noel about it later.

„Oh we can start over again.“

Damon has to be joking, right? There’s no fucking way in hell he’s meaning any of that shit. Maybe he didn’t even write it. A deep and hurt scoff leaves her lips. He never even picked up the phone when she made an effort to phone him. She wanted to make up. She didn’t want to fight. She wanted to tell him that she was more than okay to go public with him; screw her stupid brothers. They’re always out and cheating on their girlfriends anyway- what do they know about love? Nothing! That’s right. Nothing.

“Y/N?”, Liam asks and wrinkles his eyebrows. His eyes are observing her hand and he tilts his head in confusion. But the second he glances at her face and notices the tears in her eyes the smile on his lips fades away:” Shit, birdie. What’s wrong with ya?”

Y/N wants Damon. She wants him so bad, it physically crushes her. God, when she looks at him she can virtually see the claw marks she has left behind on his soul. But now, what difference would any declaration of truth make? His girlfriend is pregnant. You can’t turn back time.

(2024)

Y/N yawns while laying her head on her assistant's shoulder. It’s 4 am; their plane is leaving in 2 hours. As much as she adores London, she always misses the seaside the second she leaves it. “You want to grab breakfast on our way?”, Max asks and she looks up at the man with a smile on her face. “That’s why I pay you. God, you’re smart.” He only laughs at that.

“You can wait at the hall while I do the checkout.”, Max says while they both step out of the elevator. Y/N only nods while pulling her suitcase behind her.

“No, I am not leaving!” “Sir, please. You’ve been here since midnight. Don’t make us call the authorities!” “I don’t care, call ‘em. I am not leaving!”

Y/N wrinkles her forehead as she walks around the corner. Only to see Damon Albarn having a heated discussion with a staff member of the hotel. She stops dead in her tracks. What the fuck is he doing here?

Damon rolls his eyes and looks away. However, once he does he meets Y/N’s gaze. He instantly improves his posture “Sir?”, the woman in front of him asks but he merely shakes his head.

“I’ve found what I am looking for.”

[byllsbytch]

☆Bricked Up☆

We sat backstage, awaiting yet another interview to begin. It was the second one of that day, one more to go. We'd just arrived back in Berlin. It was a new normal, not just the traveling, but every time you touched down you were being thrown into another interview. The boys were all pigging out on the big charcuterie board, while I sat still stuck in the chair getting my makeup fixed. 

"She still looks like a clown!" Bill critiqued gesturing his hands to my face. He always focused on the little things. At times like this he couldn't entice himself with food like the other boys. When he was nervous he refused to eat. He couldn't, no matter how many interviews he did he could never get over that same old, sick, overwhelming feeling. 

Bill crossed his arms, staring at me in deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowing together.

 "How can you get so light with a foundation?" Bill complained biting his nails, Georg turned his head, diverting his focus from the cheese and crackers to Bills stressed comments. He nodded in agreement - shoving another pickled onion in his mouth. 

"Scheiße!" He screeched at the stylist, swatting her brush from my face. He got fed up and pulled me from my chair taking me back into the fitting room. 

"Thank you" I whispered. 

"Oh not a problem, now lets see. They should have some thing better back here, something for like an interview with Christina Aguilera or something, I don't know."

-

-

Bill led me out of the fitting rooms, he'd wiped off the makeup and redid my eyeliner like his. We also managed to scavenge for a turquoise and brown halter top with low rise flare jeans. My hair sat wavy with random plaits in my skunk hair. The fit was kinda out of my usual style but it was better than what I looked like previously and to be honest, I was really feeling myself.

"Where have you two been?" Adela questioned holding her ear piece as to prevent herself from being heard by others, "You're on in three!"

The boys already sat in the couch waiting for the cameras to go on air. The room was already loud and giddy but as me and bill walked out into view the whole room erupted loudly in screams and praise.

Tom looked over in our direction and readjusted him self on the couch, getting Gustav to scoot along as he did so. I sat next to Tom seeing as though he made room on the couch. We looked at each other and smiled. 

"Bill did a great job, you look smoking." Tom winked. I felt my cheeks grow hot and forced myself to face the audience. I struggled containing myself but I had no choice but to do so, we were live now. 

"Tokio Hotel joins us tonight while on their Zimmer 483 Tour." the interviewer says with a smile, staring directly in the camera. "Guys, Germany wants to know, how's it been returning home to perform?" 

-

-

The interviewer turned to me, ready to shoot another question. “Y/N, me - along with many other audience members - have noticed you have something pretty eye catching on your belly button."

I looked down at my navel, forgetting the piercing that laid there.

"That is right." I replied looking up to see even the Tokio boys staring at my stomach. Tom smirked then bit his lip.

"It appears even your band members are surprised by your new bedazzlement." He noted.

The dread-head looked me up and down then altered the way he was sitting. Fixing the bag in his pants then pulling the oversized shirt to his knees. 

"When did that happen, why did you choose to get it done?"

"Well. it happened back in uhh, France so about 2 weeks ago and I got it done because, why not? They're pretty cute and right now I have a little playboy bunny dangling from my belly. Pretty neat isn't it?"

The audience and the boys laughed at my response, and I felt a rush of confidence knowing I could make them all smile. The interview continued with questions about our tour, our music, and our upcoming plans. We answered as best as we could, trying to keep it lighthearted and fun.

As the interview came to an end, the boys and I stood up to thank the host and the audience. Tom waited for me to rise first before he got up and stood behind me. His face was flushed as I felt a bulge poke me in the back. My eyes widened as I turned back slightly to look at Tom. He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me back to face the front not giving me a chance to look away from the audience ahead of us. He tilted his head back slightly, squeezing his eyes tight and biting his lip trying to get his excitement to go away. I felt Tom's hand on my lower back as he used me as a shield, guiding me to the side as we prepared to leave the set. Doing everything in his power to cover this embarrassing moment from the live cameras.

Once we got behind the curtain, Tom grabbed the hat off his head and discreetly placed it over the tent in his jeans. It was the fastest I'd ever seen Tom dart to our dressing room.

"That was amazing, you did great," Bill whispered-yelled to me as soon as we exited the stage.

"Thanks, I couldn't have done it without your help," I replied, feeling grateful for his support.

"Hmm, wonder what happened with Tom" Georg smirked.

As we made our way back to our dressing room, the 3 boys teased me about my new belly button piercing, making jokes and laughing together. As Gustav went to open the dressing room door it was abruptly swung open from the other side to reveal a panting Tom with a smug look on his face.

"Oh hey guys." He breathed his voice was all over the place. "Just a bit puffed out"

”Oh my god!” Bill gagged.

Me and Gustav chuckled while Georg lent towards him and gave him a fist bump.

[thenightling]

Interview with The vampire season 2, episode 3 review

What's maddening about this episode is how much they get right while also sprinkling in such a mess. Again we are reminded that someone wants to buy this triptych art piece that Louis didn't even know that they were selling and this mysterious buyer is using a middle man. I'm calling it now, the buyer is probably Marius. And now The Talamasca has finally made its appearance. I'm actually amused that the showrunner calls them the supernatural Men in Black because that's how I used to describe them as a teenager and I felt my description was woefully inaccurate but I'm amused by the concept, even though that seems to be what Winston is doing with The Ghostbusters in the current film franchise and I think they might be doing it better. Did you catch the Talamasca agent's name? Raglan James AKA The Body Thief who wants to run off inside Lestat's powerful, immortal body. The flashback of Armand meeting Lestat is maddening. I get that it's from Armand's point of view and he's very bias against Lestat but Some of it is so painfully out of character for those of us that love Lestat. For example, it was Nicolas who came up with the Theatre of The Vampires out of the theatre that he and Lestat worked at when they were mortal. Lestat would have thought it was vulgar, he wouldn't have come up with it. And why would Lestat seduce Armand to learn how to read minds and use telepathy? These things came innately to Lestat in the books. It was Armand who tried to seduce Lestat and at one point tried to blood r8pe Lestat and Lestat beat the crap out of him for it. I also noticed this episode had the weird addition of vampires with seasonal allergies. Why? Vampires are supposed to be immune to things like that. And vampires with moles all over their groin. Again... why? Whatever happened to Anne Rice's vampires having perfect skin? Why add these weird details? Armand conjuring fire in his hand like a video game sorcerer was just plain cheesy. The "Fire gift" (pyrokinesis) worked more like Stephen King's Firestarter, not Harry Dresden on a bad day. Also this was an odd thing to do with Armand, that he was ready to execute Louis. Armand never had any intention of killing Louis in the book and the main reason he wanted Claudia dead was to have Louis's heart to himself, what she did to Lestat was just a convenient excuse. Also does anyone else notice a weird theme of ableism this season? Last episode it was "How can he hunt if he can't see?" so a vampire's head was bashed in. Now a rule about not to make a child into a vampire has "Don't make someone a vampire if they're crippled." Why the Hell not? Most physical disabilities are corrected with vampirism in Anne Rice's novels and if they aren't the vampire has heightened senses to compensate. This strange ableism is an odd, recurring theme, almost as annoying as the excessive and unnecessary smoking. Another odd detail, with the theatre of the vampires, why does the human victims dragged out on stage all say the same "Line" without deviation? It's not an act so why do they all say the same exact thing? Wouldn't there be variety like "Help! This theatre is actually a cult!" or "This is not an act! These people are cannibals!" or "These are REAL vampires!" or "Where the f--k am I?" This is surprisingly unrealistic and draws me out of the story that each victim says the same thing when they stumble out on stage. Finally, it's becoming more and more obvious that the first season was supposed to tell all of Interview with the Vampire and they decided to stretch it out because now it's waring thin. You can FEEL the padding now, it might as well be a CW show.

[bleedingcoffee42]

He was an intelligent officer after all, so keeping his cake hole shut was a part of his job. Plus, dunno, but it amused him. Especially TvRon, he was trolling folks with smokes and ENJOYED it (appearing like a ghost from the mist, pretending he didn't really know the names while he probably memoried them all like the good S-2 officer he was, scaring the shit out of the poor souls - he was thriving).

But the fact you could have said shit about him and he was meh, but the first moment someone said something incorrect or bad about his family/friends and he was packing to fly over and to offer idiots cigarettes was heartwarming.

I think you said somewhere that Nix not saying a shit for bob was smart and I have to agree. Two Shutup Kings, lol

I think Ambrose's brain was cooked, because he focused on Winters and his ways of managing a company. And then he got Sparky and his all ideas were probably fucked (I so don't feel sorry for him, there are so many mistakes in his books, wrrrr).

Did a lot of Easy guys mention they liked/thought Speirs was a good Captain?

Matheson sounded like he thought Speirs was collecting Pokemons or something and felt salty he didn't manage *rolls eyes*.

Probably, I'm not the only one who is eternally bitter NO ONE called him Sparky in the show.

Ikr? Like ok, guy was mysterious but come on. His time in Dog feels like the surface was just touched. And his records after WWII are quite cryptic and general, so high five for being suspicious.

(If I'm annoying with all of these messages, just tell, I will shut up).

NO. Keep the messages coming! I love this shit! I have so many thoughts on everything and they're all bouncing around my head!

His story really does boil down to his statement of "You ever notice it's always I heard this from someone else?" and its true. Narrow down the handful of guys who have seen things first hand. The series does a great job of showing the gossip.

Matheson's issue is just weird. He's the only one who seems to think Speirs problem was that he was a slut. LOL. He's talking about him into the 60s! the gossip about Speirs was even circulating around the Pentagon.

Its either 'he was the most hated man in the company' by someone who got to dig out boulders with an entrenching tool, or Winters who was judgy about how he was with enlisted men, or Tab who was in love with Winters. As far as guys who said he was the best CO. Off the top of my head, Martin, Shames, Lyall. Carson and Gibson were favorable. Lipton and Winters both said (according to Ambrose) he was the 'cruelest man I ever met' but also the best combat officer. Webster kinda has a crush on him. I don't see anyone criticizing him in combat though, just his down time hobbies and how he treated some of the enlisted guys. Dudes were dressing up in enemy uniforms and going to show off to him, like? Who does that to the guy they hate? Lyall runs up to him several times and asks 'Mother may I steal this?' and he's like 'Sure.'

Tom Gibson seems to be the only one with any stories from Dog Co, defensive of Sparky, but he also thought Welsh was running Easy the whole time. There was a guy in a subreddit who said his grandpa was in Dog and the saying was that it wasn't Speirs that got shot when he ran out into battle it was the guy right behind him.

John G.. Mayer went on patrols with him in Holland and Speirs is trying to put him in for commendations and promotions the guy keeps telling him to shove it. Speirs is just like 'Ok dude' and rips up the letters and moves on.

The level of chill about everyone talking all this shit is incredible, it's why I started suspecting his Intelligence work was more involved than talking with Nixon or Shames in HQ. He was on someone's radar, because they interviewed him for that Coke/Toll House/Spotlight Parade thing

[falllpoutboy]

I think whatever it is between A and J, she's the one that cares more about what people think, even if it's just friendship. She comes off almost paranoid at the slightest implications IMO. Not that I blame her, since we know how fast people turn on women (especially WOC).

Have you noticed how she always backtracks whenever something that she considers "controversial" comes out about them? That game, deleted tiktoks, etc. Maybe she even asked him to try and avoid the topic and be as diplomatic/vague as possible. J is the transparent one.

She comes off almost paranoid at the slightest implications IMO. Not that I blame her, since we know how fast people turn on women (especially WOC).

We have to give her the benefit of the doubt because A shot to fame so fast in the last 2 years and everything regarding J probably feels surreal and maybe too sudden too. he’s intense, very hot to the point of having underwear ads and is winning these awards at the same time as her which heightens the emotions. I think she thinks she can maintain some sort of normalcy with her life now that she’s at the center of many people’s attention. like last year is when all the speculation about her dating life started when #that side of twitter was devastated to learn she had a bf was around the time of Bottoms (when her and colin were through at that point), that’s probably where her paranoia started to kick in.

That’s why i said the phase they’re in right now is very reminiscent of tomdaya 1.0/their breakup era even though the circumstances are more dubious. Z really wanted to hide and be as private as possible during their first go around but tom was too obvious 😭. i think whatever happens between them, they really can’t stay away from each other anyways and the season 3 premiere proved it. J got her to play dice with him, gushed about her to the interviewers, holding hands and then sneaking out to take a smoke break- even if ebon was there too. Maybe because he’s the more seasoned actor and celeb of the two of them that it doesn’t really seem to phase him as much.

Unless she quits acting tomorrow and disappears into the nether she’s only going to get more famous from here. Celebrities and their relationships can be as private as they want them to be, with the help of their publicists ofc. i hear next to nothing about tom and zendaya’s relationship now unless its the little tidbits of information they voluntarily share, which is how they want it to be.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

OKAY SO when i said my thoughts around carmy and bradley werent coherent at all I meant that quite literally 😭 i havent thought about it in detail aside from the rough idea BUT if i have to expand on it i’d say it could be something along the lines of denim through the decades? or taking into account what you said about james dean/marlo brando i think it would be fun to see a campaign centered around iconic moments of denim in pop culture too. Maybe recreating some movie sets and outfits and such. 

BUT im also thinking something a lot more chill bc ik recreating movie sets n stuff can be 1) a hassle and 2) a lil cheesy, so considering that the people involved in the campaign would be people with an interest in vintage denim n such i was thinking about  levis incorporating some vintage pieces from personal collections. Picture one of the countless denims carmy stores inside his oven (sob) or one of bradley’s staples too. Mix that with a limited edition line of ‘brought from the past’ jeans, jackets, etc. and i think itd be golden. 

By no means am I a denim expert, I’m talking out of my ass here after a few minutes of research LMFAO but its fun to think about it.

I’m sure carmy would be WAYYY more hesitant to participate than bradley. The latter is probably ecstatic and doesnt let his manager (im guessing levis would be in contact with his manager) finish. As soon as the words levis and collab leave his mouth, Bradley's sold. 

I think carmy would be interested in working with levis, a little flattered that they considered him. Maybe taken aback too bc im guessing he’s a very private person and doesnt talk much about his denim collection and such so levi’s def did their research lol. Still, i think he was going to turn them down and then Sugar and Syd found out and tried to convince him bc ‘its levis, u gotta say yes’ but it didnt exactly work and in the end it was Richie who replied to the email with something along the lines ‘id be honoured to be a part of the campaign’ or smth weird in his attempt to impersonate carmen.

With the two of them on set, i quite frankly don’t know if they would interact or how that interaction would go. Think carmy might be too nervous to properly interact bc its a hectic environment. Maybe bradley saw him all closed up and semi alone and decided to strike a conversation with him, talking about denim and such. What do you think?

BTW im so sorry about the typos i keep making, i only notice after you respond LMFAO i swear my english is good, promise.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS!!! thank you so much for indulging me 😭😭 and no worries, i feel like we’re speaking in a language beyond english where we’re just throwing concepts at each other and we actually understand it. it’s beautiful.

i totally get it that recreating movie sets is a lot. what they can do is recreate looks inspired by these iconic movies (like james dean in rebel without a cause—carmy would look great in that!) they can do a studio shoot or an outdoor city shoot like JAW’s CK campaign (still not over that btw skshsjdhsj)

ok hear me out: carmy is reserved in his private life but i feel like deep down he likes being the golden boy. remember his monologue abt smoking ppl out wherever he works? and just the way he steps up to lead and plays up to people who wanna hear what he wants to say. i feel like with the restaurant on the rise, he’s bound to have done some interviews, and on one of them he went on a hyperfixation-fueled tangent abt vintage denim like the first episode.

and you’re so right, it still would take him a lot of nudging and jostling to say yes. i loooove the idea of richie very eloquently replying to the email and making carmy sound very eager and cordial 🤭 (i imagine he would be a very short emailer/texter if he ever does reply)

with carmy, i feel like it’s not so much that he dislikes hectic environments (how much more hectic can his kitchen get, right?) but it’s the kind of hectic that he can’t control. and it drives him nuts, and he’d take smoke breaks often and eventually, bradley goes with him although he doesn’t smoke. he’d say that he has been to noma a few times and he enjoyed it and they bonded over restaurants and food and all. he’d love to visit the bear some time, to which carmy is like “of course let me know anytime you’re in town”

(Bradley thinks carmy is one of the coolest people he’s ever met. Carmy thinks for someone who’s that famous, Bradley is super chill.)

[winderlylandchime]

2/3 ‘Look it’s Emy and Bri!! Are they finally going to be good friends?’ ‘Oh Brian, is BORED BORED! He is not used of being without Justin. I love it but i hate it…exactly Ben, Brian is hurting!!! finally someone kno- FUCK YOU DEB’ *pauses tv on Mel and Linds fighting* ‘idk anything about *flaps his hand towards me* uterus stuff but can she really have a kid cause of a new procedure? (Craig comes up on screen) OH ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT! NO NO NO NOOOOO!’ I need you to know that when he watched s1 and Craig gave Justin rules, he actually physically left the house and went to a store 5 minutes away (it took him 15 bc he could barely walk and yes, i did go after him bc he’s an idiot) but this time he stayed seated so maybe he’s maturing. ‘No Justin, there are better ways to pay for tuition than going to your bitch ass dad. Like becoming a hitman is always an option or selling your feet pics! But don’t throw your dignity away for that fucker. OH SO NOW BRIAN IS GOOD FOR YOUR SON? WHEN HE PAYS HIS SHIT. everyone uses him! The lesbians *quickly makes a fist for ally*, Mike, Deb, he has no one in his corner except me! THATS RIGHT YOU ARE NEVER GONNA BE STRAIGHT, take it from me Justin, it’s not all that pretty. I mean the girls are pretty and they smell nice and wear cute lipsticks but the dudes give us bad rep *looks at me in fear* am i one of the dudes?’ Craig says that Justins biggest priority as a kid was to make him proud ‘oh go fuck yourself’ *pauses and leaves the house for a smoke break* ‘Did Ben always wear glasses? Or is he just so boring that I didn’t even notice that change until now? Why is he so boring? Is it to like show the total opposite of Brian for Michael?…BEN is literally the only one in this whole show that is thinking logical about the whole moving in thing. Michael in s1! Justin now with that lil freak.. WHAT IS THIS? I didn’t even wanna move in with you for a few months after this surgery and I’ve known you my whole life..’ ‘so Emmett cheated on Ted, Justin cheated on Brian..i see a pattern but only one of those doesn’t make me want to puke..is this what their relationship is gonna be like?’ The school tuition scene is finally up!!! ‘NOW WHY IN THE FUCK IS HE HERE? Why would they put him in a scene where Justin has to talk to his school about HIS education? Whats next? He goes with him to a job interview? (The cringe lines are said) god, i wish the world was deprived of you. ITS ALREADY BEEN PAID?! LADY TELL ME WHO PAID IT! I REFUSE TO GIVE CRAIG A REDEMPTION ARC! JUSTIN IS LOOKING DOWN! CMON CAMERA PAN THE FUCK DOWN I WANNA SEE THE NAME.’ He paused the ep to give me an example of how they shouldve done a reveal of the person that paid tuition so when Justin looked down, the camera would reveal it. He is very upset that they didn’t do it like that because he would like to know who paid for the tuition and is threatening with arson if they end up treating him like Justin when it comes to Brian and the hospital visits.

Are Emy and Bri now going to be good friends? Brother is on the platonic KinneyCutt train. I love that for us.

HE PHYSICALLY LEFT THE HOUSE when Craig laid down his rules in S1? I love that. (ally!)

Becoming a hit man or selling your feet pics. I die.

Everyone uses him! I know, right?

am i one of the dudes? Brother Anon, I think I speak for all of us when I say, no you are not. You are one of us.

Ben is boring but he does think logically. I love his theory about showing Michael with the opposite of Brian… and I’m dying a little. I can’t wait for his reaction to Ben’s steroid use and his ‘roid rage towards Brian in the locker room.

The school scene. Absolutely why is Justin’s brand new boyfriend at the registrar’s office except to deliver those cringiest lines. (Excuse me while I puke)

Quickly going to the next one because we know what happens and it is so romantic…

[laurolive]

What is toddler James McCartney trying to tell his Dad?

Ah, the possibilities…

Little James: Daaad, you’re supposed to give me all your attention every second of the day, 24/7 !!!

More:

Little James: Mommy’s trying to feed me vegetables. Quick, daddy, hide me under your shirt!

____________

Little James: You’ve got three seconds. Give me my pacifier or your shirt is going in my mouth.

____________

Little James: Daddy, it’s an emergency! My nappy’s gonna need changing soon, and I’m not even wearing one yet.

____________

Little James: Will somebody PLEASE finish dressing me?

____________

Little James: I feel a draft. Daddy, lend me your shirt.

____________

Little James: Don’t worry daddy, I’ll have this shirt stretched into a horse blanket in no time.

____________

Little James: 🎵 I’ve got a feeling 🎵 … that my nappy needs changing. [Pretend he’s wearing one.]

Little James: That reminds me, where’s my pacifier?

More:

Little James: Daddy, why do I have to give up my pacifier but you get to keep yours?

____________

Little James: Daddy, I know that’s not a pacifier in your mouth. I wasn’t born yesterday.

____________

Little James: Either give me pants or you’ll have to hold me like this all day to keep my bottom warm.

____________

Paul: When James said, “Daddy, I wanna get high,” I was so relieved when I realized he just wanted to be picked up.

____________

Paul: His first words were “fag” and “pot.” Do you think that’s a sign that I smoke too much around the kids?

____________

More McCartney Photo Captions

Linda, reading an excerpt of a Paul biography: Paul, you had THAT MANY girlfriends?

Paul, reading an excerpt of a Linda biography: I’m not even mentioned in here at all!

More:

Linda: I can't believe they gave us such a bad review!

Paul: I can't believe they gave us such a good review!

Linda: Are you sure this dance is the twist?

Paul: Yeah, it’s the latest one. You twist your partner into a pretzel!

Linda: I don’t get the joke.

Paul: Linda hon, my 70s facial hair IS the joke… so let’s laugh it up. 😆

More:

Linda: Ho hum, another day, another platinum record.

Paul: Yeah, we can make a platinum record anytime, but this fashion ensemble only comes around once an era.

Paul: Who needs two ears anyway?

More:

Paul: Linda said, “Hey Paul, lend me an ear,” and next thing I know, this was happening.

Paul: She’s the boss. Nothing I can do.

More:

Paul: When the argument gets to the lapel-grabbing stage, I’m just gonna say, “Yes, dear, you were right and I was wrong.”

____________

Paul: When she says, “Drive my car,” I say, “What time do you want me to pick you up?” I can’t help it. I’m at her command.

____________

Paul: When she says, “Get back,” I say, “How soon do you want me there?” I tell you, I CANNOT help myself! I have no willpower with her.

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Paul: When she says, “Carry that weight,” I say, “How many kilos? How far? Where to? When?” If you haven’t yet noticed, I CAN’T help myself!!! I am putty in her hands.

Sign Language for Rock Music Couples (L to R)

(1) Muted husband sign: Wife puts hand over husband’s mouth when he says something stupid like, “I could have had Billy Preston on keyboards.”

(2) Permission to speak sign: Muted husband raises index finger, which means, “I’m ready to apologize now.”

(3) Argument over sign: After proper apology, husband playfully nibbles on wife’s thumb, which means, “Let’s be besties again. You know it’s only fun for me when you’re part of the music.” This sign only works when you’re Paul McCartney.

Linda: Paul, if your right hand is in your pocket, and your left hand is on my back, what on earth is that on my shoulder?

Your expression during your interview for a secretarial job, when the manager asks if you can play keyboards and sing harmonies. 🤔 🫤

More:

Secretary’s face when the boss asks her to take a letter and it ends up being the lyrics for “Jet.”

Wardrobe Dept: Mr. McCartney, would you like your attire to be comfortable or flashy?

Paul: Yes.

Paul: What do you mean we HAVE TO get married?

More:

Linda: You look like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Paul: No, I’m just the groom who hid the ring in his fly.

Paul practicing his Santa Claus impression. Ho Ho Ho!

Now asking Linda’s opinion:

Paul: Linda, how do you like my Santa Claus impression? Ho Ho Ho!

Linda: It’s good, but I think you’d be the type of Santa to say, “Hi Hi Hi!”

What’s the better encore? Linda’s leaning toward “Let It Be,” but Paul’s trying to pull her to the “Hey Jude” side.

True Love: When Paul says he's got a new Beatles joke, and Linda still laughs even though she's heard it a hundred times.

More:

Paul: So, I was thinking, Let’s go on a date night. I can take you to dinner somewhere close by, then we can stroll arm-in-arm in the moonlight on the way to the theatre.

Linda: You had me at “Let’s go.” 😊

May 14, 1968. John & Paul at a press conference at the Americana Hotel in New York City to promote Apple Corps. Linda was one of the press photographers taking pictures.

But who cares about Apple Corps. This day is momentous in Beatles history because on this occasion Paul McCartney obtained Linda Eastman’s phone number‼️ 📞

____________

Paul is too distracted after seeing Linda

John: Paul, what have you been smoking? You look like you’re in dream land. You better let me do the talking.

Paul: Nonsense. My clear is perfectly head.

John: And I suppose you’re capable of questioning any answers.

Paul: Of course. That says without going.

John: This should be interesting…

____________

➡️ Crave more McCartney captions? See these posts:

Paul and Linda: Fun with Captions

Paul and Linda: More Fun with Captions

____________

©️ laurolive, laurolive.tumblr.com, www.tumblr.com/laurolive, www.tumblr.com/blog/laurolive, 2024

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[josies-not-suicidal-now]

You scroll, you scroll. There's a video titled "Interview with Eleanor Bessermann at Cafe Berio - Berlin (2042)" with 3.2k views, looks interesting enough. It's a tripod shot of two people sat at an old fashioned looking cafe table, like in tumblr memes about slavic men smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee outside in 2° weather. These two are having coffee. The telltale crumbs of a chocolate croissant are noticeable on the small plate towards the right side of the table, yet the pastry itself appears to have already been consumed.

On the left sits a balding man, he appears to have the irrepressible urge to smile. All the skin around his eyes crinkles together behind his thick prescription glasses. He greets the viewer and introduces himself as the creator of some artistic endeavors, and introduces Eleanor Bessermann and thrusts the microphone at her. Her hair is long and pitch black, with a few grey streaks. Suddenly it dawns on her that it's her turn to talk and she frantically takes her hands out of her pockets to lean forward into the microphone, she announces "Hey there, my name is Bread"

The microphone moves lazily between them as they go through some fan submitted questions. The noise of chirping birds and passers by cloud the soundscape and some words get lost here in there. Sometimes they talk over each other and the microphone has to be awkwardly handed back and forth to try and collect everything being said. Some questions are answered with a single quippy fun sentence and Bread looks very pleased with herself. She's beaming, she looks almost amused, like as if everything being said tickles her immensely, and at times she can't stop herself from leaving the short quippy answer by itself. In the questions where a single sentence isn't enough, her descriptions drag on, often times overlapping with themselves. As the explanations drag on her joy even seems to slowly disappear, Like a little nerdy kid becoming uncomfortable in the process of explain their bad joke.

They move on to some questions from the presenter, he asks questions about the process of making art, and Eleanor has lots to say. They trade thoughts back and forth about mediums and messages, textures, and emotions, love, heart, sincerity. Both of them are far too scatterbrained, it's clear, their points feel strung together and abstract, yet not without merit. They speak towards the human condition, yet not about it. Finally they both agree that they don't have anything they can add that wouldn't be a repetition of a point that's already been made, even if there have also been multiple repetitions already, so. The presenter asks the final question "So, any idea what your next book is gonna be about?"

Bread gets so excited about this question that they fail to answer it for a couple moments "Ok, look, so. I've had my penis for 40 years now, and I think I'm done, I think I'm ready for the next thing. And I've always kinda felt that like a core facet of what's wrong with how we as a society look at gender related stuff, is that 1 we see the phallus as a dangerous thing and 2 we see vaginoplasty as a loss, when it's actually clearly more like a transformation. Like the beauty of vaginoplasty is that your genitals fully stay your genitals like it's all the same stuff still, you've just moved it around a little bit so you can have it like you want it. And I think like the fact that we see vaginoplasty as a loss just is so indicative about our fear of the unknown and of change and of uncertainty, like there's so much change, like the whole movie Annihilation is inside a neopussy. So the point that I'm getting at is that, everything is scheduled I am getting myself a vagina, and I'm gonna write a psychedelic mind-bending novel about how cool it was once I'm done with recovery and it's gonna make 1,000,000€ and I'm gonna buy a bunch of pretty girls drinks with that money. Yeah." She laughs at her own joke.

[thatwriterchaotic]

Noisy Neighbors Chapter 2

Finally got the next chapter of this out. Sorry for the long wait. I promise to be better at uploading this. Just been feeling a bit sick and been busy with things. Anyways let's get to it my lovelies.

Summary: After meeting Murphy MacManus last night, you ran into him on your way to your job interview. Oh today was going to be an interesting one.

Pairing: Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 960

Warnings: [18+], slow burn, complicated feelings, miscommunication, fluff, little bit of angst because why not. drinking, cursing, mentions of drug use, smoking.

Your POV:

The alarm from your phone woke you up early in the morning. You groaned, moving your hand around to try and shut it up. Eventually you got yourself up and ready for the day. Trying to look as presentable as possible. You really needed this job.

Quickly grabbing your purse and your last piece of toast. You bolted out of your apartment, heading towards the elevator. Once the doors open you where greeted by Murphy. Dressed in a black peacoat and jeans. A pair of sunglasses resting on his head. Oh no, you really didn't have time to be distracted by Murphy right now.

“Morning, las what's got ya all jumpy?” Murphy said with a smile. You smiled back at him and entered the elevator. “Job interview, remember?” You said back to him, finishing your last piece of toast on the way down. “Ah I remember now, nervous about it?” He asked, standing next to you. “A little to be honest, I really need this job” You said as you looked through your purse. Making sure you had everything you needed.

“Well I think you'll do amazin, come tell me about it later?” Murphy said with a smile. The elevator stopped at the bottom floor. Both of you stepping out. You smiled “Sure, I'll come by later then, maybe meet your brother” You said as you went your separate ways. You noticed another man join Murphy, wearing the same outfit. Just he had spikey hair and a scar through his eyebrow. Maybe it was Murphy's brother? You thought to yourself. Would have to find that out later.

You went outside and called yourself a taxi. Heading towards your job interview. You still felt nervous, but hearing Murphy thought you would do well cheered you up a bit. You relaxed in the backseat and looked out the window. Today was going to be a good a day. Just had to keep yourself focused…

The interview went somewhat okay. You answered all their questions, they told you about the job. It wasn't much, just editing papers for the local news article. They didn't take long before they went to the next person after you. You sighed and made your way out of the building. Making your way back home.

You didn't know what you would do if this job didn't go well. You thought as you waited for another taxi. That's when it started to rain. Your day couldn't be any worse. You quickly hopped into the taxi and shut the door. Telling the driver where to go. Eventually the car stopped, you paid and got out and headed into your apartment building.

Your hair was soaked and you felt yourself shiver. A hot shower and maybe a beer would make this better. You pressed the button for the elevator and waited. Wrapping your arms around yourself. Once it was your floor, you stepped out and grabbed your keys from your purse.

“Hey there (Y/n)!” Murphy startled you, making you jump back. You hit him in the gut making him groan. He put his hand up in defense. “It's just me las!! I'm sorry” Murphy quickly said. Oh you felt horrible. “Shit! Murphy you can't scare a girl like that” You said and helped him stand up right. “I'm alright, I'm alright. Sorry again for scaring ya” Murphy said chuckling a bit. Good to know you could throw a punch. You smiled a bit, “It's okay Murphy, kinda cheered me up a bit honestly. Today wasn't great” You said honestly.

That's when Murphy noticed you where soaked. Your hair stuck to your face. Your shoulder he had his hand on was freezing. “Why don't ya go get cleaned up then come over, we can talk about it yea?” He said with the sweetest smile. How thoughtful. You nodded your head saying goodbye to Murphy. Heading inside your apartment.

You took a nice hot shower and changed into something comfortable. A simple t-shirt and nice jeans. You grabbed your phone putting it in your back pocket. Opening your fridge, you grabbed the six pack of beer. Headed on over to Murphy's apartment.

The door was cracked open when you arrived. You still knocked as you walked in hearing chatter from the kitchen. The apartment looked the same as yours. Just messy and less taken care of. Murphy greeted you and took the beer setting it on the counter. “Glad you came over, This is my brother Connor, and that's Rocco. Ignore him” Murphy said before Rocco hit him in the arm.

The guy from this morning was standing next to Murphy. So that was his brother. “So your the twin brother that Murphy constantly nags about” You said with a smile. Connor chuckled a little and sipped the beer in his hand. “Ah! That's me las, you must be our neighbor that Murphy keeps talking about” He responded back. You noticed Murphy's face turn a slight shade of red. Which you thought was adorable.

“Aye, don't go telling her about that!” Murphy yelled at his brother smacking him behind his head. Connor quickly set his beer down and pulled Murphy's head into his arms. Messing up his hair. Oh tonight was going to be a long one...

[herrlindemann]

Metal Hammer - February 2002, part 2, interview with Paul and Schneider

Thanks to ramjohn for the scans!

Rammstein are without a doubt currently the biggest German rock band and at the same time the biggest export hit when it comes to hard music. 2001 was the year of the Berliners: release of the third album MUTTER, US, Germany and Europe tour and the publication of the 'Rammstein' book by Gert Hof. Before the Freiburg concert in December, there was a lot to discuss with guitarist Paul Landers and drummer Christoph Schneider.

The intensive tour, which took you through the USA, Australia and Japan to Russia and then all over Europe, is coming to an end. How did you cope with it?

Christoph Schneider: We've been to America twice, and one of the two tours was quite exhausting for us. It was long and just didn't want to end. In between we came home again, recovered, and now I have to say that the European tour is a lot of fun.

Why is Freiburg the only one Germany concert on your route?

Paul Landers: The promoter knew that we also want to play in Germany if the tour goes past it. In Freiburg, however, the fans see the 'Europe' version of our show - not what they are used to. It's a slimmed-down production because we can't be on the road with eight trucks and set up the entire structure due to the long distances. Think of it as a kind of special concert.

How difficult is it to remember the many concerts of this year's tour?

Christoph: I always remember the places when I go there a second time. Paul is different: He mostly remembers the food of the respective region. For me it's more the people or small experiences.

Paul: The concerts that you don't forget are important. Nobody manages to remember 150 concerts - it doesn't have to be. We always sound the alarm, and even when things get a little quieter in the band, the audience doesn't even notice.

Because you've played in many cities, you have the best opportunity for comparison in terms of the audience and their respective reactions. Can you name differences?

Paul: There are two different views. First: the evening performance. Second: the trappings. The environment is much more important than you think. In contrast to the US tour, the shows in Europe were a piece of cake. The concert tour through America seems more like a galley voyage to me. One city is like the other, only the big cities of New York, San Francisco or Los Angeles are the highlights. The rest is almost like an oversized Neubrandenburg - a snoring town without character. The whole thing then degenerates into hard work. The fans are usually as spirited as the climate, but the air burned at the concert. Moscow was also amazing - in general, things are always very hot in the Eastern bloc. Overall, however, I have to admit that certain character traits are the same among Rammstein audiences around the world.

What do you think when Russian or American fans sing along to the German lyrics?

Christoph: That's the coolest thing of all, because right at that second I feel validated for myself and my work. Transporting German beyond national borders and encouraging other people to sing in our mother tongue - that's a special feeling.

Are you worried about how the foreign fans will interpret the lyrics?

Paul: I don't know how good your English was as a kid - mine was lousy. That's why I was sorely disappointed when I found out what 'Smoke On The Water' really means. For me it had something to do with smoking and cigarettes. And that's how people feel about us. Fred Durst said that for 'Sehnsucht' he always understood 'Chainsaw'. Back then at Kraftwerk, instead of ‘driving, driving, driving on the Autobahn’, people understood ‘fun, fun, fun’. They knew ‘Autobahn’. There are funny mistranslations. A song like 'Links 2 3 4' is also difficult to translate, but the fans know that. The only thing that really matters is that the music and the lyrics go well together.

Were you welcomed with open arms everywhere on the US tour? Or were you met with a lack of understanding or did you even have trouble with the authorities?

Christoph: There were more restrictions on our pyro show. Also Christian demonstrators who - like Marilyn Manson - called us devils and blasphemers. Even in London there was such a rally car in front of the door, and the association propagated that one should not get involved with Satan - that is, us.

Paul: When we perform outside of Germany, the fans encourage us to keep singing in German and not start with the English language.

But you tried the two English versions of 'Engel' and 'Du hast'...

Paul: ...and failed miserably. That wasn't because of the English lyrics, but because the songs were written in German. If we were to write a song in English that wasn't German from the start, it could be good. We have nothing against globalization - at least not in the Rammstein context.

Christoph: It worked with 'Stripped' - it doesn't sound stupid when Till sings in English, but it has to be good English lyrics.

Paul: We're lucky that German is such a cool language for evil music. If I were English or Belgian, I would definitely sing in German. When it comes to bad, hard music, nothing beats the German language. English has too much soul, it sounds way too nice. They can turn on a eater or yell around... That leads to the problem that the English have with us in particular. When people hear German texts there, they immediately stand to attention and think that bombs are being thrown at them. We first had to explain that we don't want to start a war, we just want to sing in German. The English still associate the Germans with the bombs that fell on London in World War II - after that they heard nothing before us. Perhaps a Mercedes drives through London from time to time, but other than that, German has negative connotations. Rammstein try to transform the negative image of the Germans in the world into a positive one. The Reichstag also had a negative image. Since Christo covered it, you think differently about it - that's a new component. In a similar way we try to communicate that being German can also mean something good.

Do you see this as a challenge or as a tedious, tiring task?

Christoph: Even if that may sound pompous: I believe that we are pursuing foreign policy. Later, after our death, we will be written with honor in the history books. (Everybody is laughing)

Paul: We consistently get positive feedback on our band because the world is not used to something good in the musical field coming from Germany. That happens far too seldom.

Christoph: In Russia, the children learn German with our texts, and we were very happy about that.

So you had to grow into the task of being an ambassador, because you couldn't have known at the beginning of the band's career that it would take on such proportions, right?

Paul: No, no one could have guessed that we would sell even one record across national borders.

Christoph: In many areas, such as the American Midwest, people have heard nothing else about Germany than Rammstein...

Paul: … BMW also know a few…

What happens after the extended tour?

Christoph: We will take a four to six month break and do a lot with our friends and families during this break. In the summer of 2002, festival appearances are planned - the big European festivals.

Paul: Then money will be collected. Solid. The European tour and another tour of Germany will follow in autumn. Then we want to venture into the next record with a breath of fresh air. We hope that the whole thing will happen a little faster, but the work on MUTTER and the lengthy live activities showed us that we have grown together as a real band more than ever. We come to Stockholm and 12,000 people want to see us, it's unbelievable. It's just us...

Do you fight on tour?

Christopher: Very often! We never agree and that hampers the flow of the band. Democracy within the structure has also reached a limit where it no longer works. Everyone insists on their point of view...

Who then takes the initiative?

Paul: Democracy has not given way to a dictatorship. In the past seven years, we've learned to argue in ways that don't touch the substance. Schneider and I used to almost cut our throats. On the other hand, arguing makes you tired, and the consequence is that not everyone takes care of everything anymore. For example, I stayed completely out of the book. In the coming break we will recharge our batteries so that afterwards we can fight again with fun.

Aren't you afraid of falling into a deep black hole after the band's intensive life together at the end of the tour?

Christoph: Small children and women are waiting for us at home. It's pretty quick to get used to it again...

Paul: Wipe your ass and change your diaper, then you'll feel at home again. On tour you have a kind of royal life, it spoils the character. We're fighting to keep from going insane. But sometimes I enjoy not having to do the dishes or take out the garbage. The food is introduced to me orally, I hardly need to chew anymore...

How did you get along with Slipknot on the US tour?

Paul: In the beginning we had a lot of prejudices and thought they were stupid.

Christoph: It was very inspiring. I can understand that the kids love this band.

Paul: Slipknot stand for a certain quality. In the States, we've also been lumped into the category of bands that the kids listen to but the parents hate. In the beginning we felt like well-to-do old gentlemen and had a little Scorpions syndrome. Slipknot enjoy the same status in America that we had in Germany three or four years ago. The band polarizes strongly and is provocative. We have put our provocative phase behind us. Everyone knows who can expect what from Rammstein. I don't want to use the word 'solid', but you can't believably play the fright of the citizens for seven years.

You find out for yourself that the fans are getting used to Rammstein more and more and that events that would have caused a stir a few years ago are now part of the agenda. Is the consequence that you constantly question yourself and your actions so as not to stand still?

Paul: For as long as we have existed, we have tried not to repeat ourselves. Especially in Germany, we entered the show business at a high level, so that we had to spend enormous sums on the last Germany tour to always go one step further. The fans are also worth that to us.

Christoph: People don't come that often anymore, they keep a certain distance. When we go on tour again, we can set ourselves on fire - because that's what people want to see.

At some point, however, the show can no longer be improved.

Christoph: Yes, a lot is a question of ideas. Going new ways, incorporating new elements is better than multiplying what you are currently doing.

Paul: Ten flames are no better than one - we quickly realized that. A few simple lamps as stage decorations are enough for a good show.

Do you still enjoy performing live?

Paul (laughs): Yes, with 200 concerts a year, that's unavoidable. But we always try to put the unfunny concerts in places where nobody notices.

Christoph: I always tell myself it's an honor to play for so many people every night. I would envy any other band for this state of affairs.

Rammstein as an art form, as a phenomenon, is limited. What could a logical continuation of the band look like?

Paul: We want to dissolve the Goethe Institute and rename it the Rammstein Institute... (laughs)

Christoph: We are maybe just as limited as Kiss. I don't want to pat myself on the back, but we've already achieved a lot. In my opinion, success abroad is the greatest success.

Paul: We do what we want: 'our' music - not because we changed, but because we didn't change.

Could you ever go back to normal jobs? And if so, which ones would they be?

Christopher: No. Because you don't go in one direction to turn back. You go somewhere else.

Maybe someday you will be forced to do it?

Paul: We'd rather stop. We will not go back to the jobs we once learned and grow telephones for strangers. What job an aging rock star has, we don't think about it. All I know is that I won't start with any record company. That's disgusting. I don't want to have anything to do with music-related activities, because then I would always be chatted up on Rammstein. Maybe later I will compose music for films or advertising with Schneider...

So you're not worried when it comes to future issues?

Christoph: Life always takes care of you, you don't have to worry. The new signposts are coming, you just have to learn the ability to see them.

Paul: So far we've been great. The trouble only started when the money came in abundance. We had to learn to remain carefree despite this huge chunk, this lottery win. We then quickly put it on pointlessly, wasted everything, and now we can be more carefree again.

Christoph: You have more worries with money than without.

With Gert Hof's book, which was published in November 2001, you give an intimate insight into your private life for the first time, in that you have been photographed with friends and relatives, among other things. Why?

(Silence)

Christoph: The book should have a bit more colour, and we thought it would be nicer not just to use press photos. For one or the other, it may be interesting to see what Rammstein looks like privately.

Pau: But the amount of privacy is still very low.

The people with whom you can be seen in the pictures, are these the people who are closest to you?

Christoph: Yes, our mothers, our wives, girlfriends, children...

Paul: You can't see all of them, some are standing and even closer, but they'll be in the next book.

I can see you only want to sell books.

Christoph: It was very difficult to find a sensible concept for a Rammstein book. The result is a mix of photos, not too much text, a bit of band history, personal thoughts - I like that.

Paul: I would have liked some explanations about the photos, but I was pretty much alone with that opinion. With Oliver you think what kind of girlfriend he has, but it's his mother. The band wanted the photos to stand alone, leaving fans guessing who it is.

Can you still call yourself spontaneous? After all, the Rammstein entourage is a heavyweight, sluggish monster that, due to its marketing potential, cannot allow any wrong steps.

Christoph: You're right: the bigger, the more cumbersome. Rammstein is an oversized aircraft that needs a huge runway. Before a Rammstein concert can take place, a lot has to be prepared. We can't just take the bus and play.

Paul: Even if we want to add a new song to the program, it takes three to four shows. We submit an application to Schneider, which he ignores, then hesitates at first, but eventually changes it.

Which fans do you prefer? Those who like you because of the music, or those who just like Rammstein's image? Or don't you see any difference?

Paul: We can't choose who we like. As a band you have all the fans to find. this is your job. Anything else would be arrogant. The fans are allowed to say who they think is good and who is shit in the band, but we can't. We play for everyone.

Does it also cause problems that you as Rammstein always have to maintain the image of the tough, grim men and aren't allowed to cry?

Christoph: If we weren't having fun anymore, we would change it. The overly masculine is just a game, we live out a side that fits the music.

Paul: Before Rammstein I played in a fun punk band for ten years and it was a lot harder. Because as a fun punk - Die Ärzte can confirm that - you always have to be funny. The fans throw a beer over your head and you have to come across as nice. At Rammstein I can be 99 percent what I want. Being fierce is easy, it needs no pretense. Even when you're in a bad mood, it's totally awesome. If everything pisses me off, it promotes the show 100 percent. I can stand there like a pawn in a chess game throughout the concert and don't have to bat an eyelash - but the concert is still great.

Christoph: That's why the band is so successful. We convey what we do honestly. I'd like to talk to the doctors and see if they're starting to get sick of always acting funny.

Do you think honesty pays off?

Paul: We used to see it as a weakness that we were so normal in interviews and never tinkered with the image, but always said what we thought.

Christoph: There was a phase when we weren't washed up with the journalists. When the accusations came that we were politically right-wing, they unsettled us and we didn't react properly.

Paul: We even let ourselves be denied because we had no idea. We made up stories and didn't even know what we were talking about.

You must have broken something with that.

Christoph: No one wanted to talk about music, we were constantly being questioned about politics, which really annoyed us.

Can Till actually get carried away with interviews?

Paul: He never has, only in exceptional cases.

Christoph: Many people want to talk to Till because they expect to find out the truth about Rammstein. Actually, he doesn't want to talk, and it wouldn't be good at all because he doesn't have the experience to do so, because he always tries to give official answers...

Paul: He doesn't have the necessary routine.

I rather think that a lot of people have respect or even fear for Till because he embodies the uncouth, coarse block.

Christoph: That's a good thing, we're happy to leave the picture as it is. Till will definitely give interviews at some point, maybe after Rammstein, but we don't want to push him at the moment.

Do you think about solo projects?

Christoph: From time to time, but because we've been together for so long, I can't imagine starting in another band again.

Paul: If I made other music, it would be best if all Rammsteiners were involved. You see it with other bands: When the artists record solo records, the result is usually not nice.

Christoph: If you spend your whole life in a team, however, at some point it's time to make your own borderline experiences.

[one-sad-human]

•Worth It• Duff Mckagan

Pairing: Velvet Revolver era! Duff Mckagan x Younger! Reader

Requested? Nope!

Theme: Little bit of everything/???

Warnings: Language, panic attacks, anxiety references, drug references

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Fic 2 of 2! This is the longest fic yet! Took a different approach to writing this one, hopefully it payed off. Let me know if you guys liked it or if I wasted my time with this one lol.

     You had met Duff in a coffee shop in LA. It was crowded and you were lucky enough to snag a chair before the lunch rush. Duff wasn't, and asked you if he could sit at your table.

     You grew up with Guns n Roses, bought his solo album the day it came out when you were just 15, and now listened to Velvet Revolver faithfully. To see your idol, your celebrity crush stand right in front of you holding a cup of coffee and a scone sent you for a loop.

     "Of course," you had said, starry eyed. You were only hoping he was as kind as the interviews made him out to be. Maybe have a conversation with you and be polite for a while before leaving and never seeing each you again. That would be good enough.

     It didn't end with a coffee, it had just begun. He asked for your number, and you stared at him for a moment thinking you had imagined it. That was until he tilted his head a little and looked at you with a nervous expression. He backtracked and you immediately stopped him.

     "No! I mean— yes! Yes, you can absolutely have my number." You scrambled for a pen and paper and ended up scratching your number on a receipt from the record store. You shook so hard you could barely get the numbers down.

     Out of all the record store receipts you've stuffed into your bag, the one you gave Duff Mckagan had to be the one for when you bought Velvet Revolver's 'Contraband.' He didn't say anything, just smiled and promised to call.

     You honestly didn't think he would've. You played it off as just him trying to be nice. It didn't stop you from answering every call you got for the next three days, however, even if you recognized the number as the tax collector you'd normally never answer.

     But then he called.

     "I tried calling sooner, but I kept calling the wrong number. You don't have the most eligible handwriting," he had told you. You laughed but really, you were in shock.

     You set up a date at the fancy restaurant downtown that always intimidated you. You didn't say anything though, even though you knew you wouldn't want any of the overpriced food and you'd end up eating something you couldn't pronounce and was two portions too small. Maybe even hit up a fast food joint afterwards.

     When the day finally came, you couldn't even figure out what to wear. You couldn't tell if you looked underdressed or like you were trying too hard. Did the clothes even fit the right way? What would Duff think? Would he even care?

     All questions were answered when you left your house. Duff was leaning against his slick car parked in your driveway, a button up that was barely buttoned and dress pants with boots. He stared at you and you wanted a hole in the ground to shallow you up until he smiles.

     "You look gorgeous," he said. You blushed and grinned, thanking him before saying that he looked great too. He drove you to the restaurant and on the way, you talked about music.

     You shared some of your favorites, he adored how well rounded you were. You liked pretty much everything from punk rock to the mellowest of mellow. Duff mentioned some of his favorites, some you made sure to remember the names of so you can check them out.

     When the ride was over and you finally got to the restaurant, your previous fears came back. Duff reassured you looked better than 90% of the people there and you knew it wasn't true but it made you feel better anyway.

     Your eyes widened to the size of saucers when you saw the prices of the food. You knew it'd be pricey but you thought there'd be more options that stayed within two digit numbers.

     Duff saw your panicked expression and said not to worry, he'd pay. It didn't settle your nerves enough and when the waiter came, you ordered the cheapest and simplest thing you could find.

     "Chicken noodle soup?" He teased. You shyly looked down and shrugged. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

     "Not exactly, no."

     "Want me to be completely honest with you?" You nodded. "It's not mine either."

     That's all it took for you and Duff to scramble sheepishly out of the restaurant. You both shared a laugh in the car and went to Burger King. It was much more your speed and, as you'd find out that night, Duff's too. You suppose all the money he's had since such a young age didn't completely change his ways. He was like a kid trapped in a 40 year old man's body.

     You'd thought at first the age gap would feel strange, after all, you were 15 years younger than him. But after that night, it was barely noticeable. Funny looks from strangers every once in a while was nothing.

     By the second date, Duff was already aware fancy spots weren't your forte. He told you it was a surprise and to wear something cozy, as LA nights got chilly.

     He packed a picnic basket and drove you out to the most beautiful flower field you had ever seen at sunset. It was secluded and high up, giving a perfect view of the city skyline. After gawking and taking in the sights for a few moments, you regained your ability to speak.

     "It's gorgeous. Pretty far from the city, did you take me here to kill me?" You joked. He laughed and rolled his eyes. His lighthearted laugh sent sparks straight to your heart, and you decided that it was your favorite sound.

     You unfolded the blanket Duff brought and you both sat down. You ate the sandwiches and sliced fruit Duff packed and talked. You talked about everything, from your family to fears and insecurities.

You told him how you suffer from nightmares. Flashbacks from your broken childhood coming back to bite you in your sleep. Duff shared how he's suffered from panic attacks since he was a teenager. You felt you knew each other for years.

Neither of you felt weird for sharing and neither made the other insecure. You were completely open and honest with each other. It was strange, you've never connected to quickly and effortlessly with someone before. Sure, you've had men in your life, but never had you clicked with someone so fast, never had you fit with someone so perfectly.

Hours passed and it felt like minutes. Only did you realize how late and how exhausted you were when you saw most of the city buildings light have gone off for the night. The city that didn't sleep was dark.

"I should get you home," Duff said to you.

"Will you stay the night?" You felt a little silly for asking. Were things going too fast? Would he even want to stay over?

He agreed, and that's how your first night together went. You both stayed up even later and had more lighthearted conversations, unlike the ones that partook at the field. Like how one of Duff's first jobs was at a bakery and could bake a mean cake and how you can't cook to save your life.

You ended up waking up without remembering falling asleep. You're head was placed comfortably on Duff's lap while his head was lolled back against the couch cushion. He looked so serene and peaceful you couldn't help but smile at the sight.

You made toast and somewhat successfully cooked some eggs and bacon. It might have been the first breakfast in years that didn't end with the smoke alarm going off.

Duff eventually wandered into the kitchen and you both ate. By the time he left, another date was already set up. He was like a drug an you were already hooked.

Months later and the addiction still wasn't kicked. You didn't want to, and Duff didn't seem to want you to quit either. You both soaked each other up like the sun on a warm day.

You had almost weekly dates and you stayed over each other's houses almost every other day. Duff did have his kids some days, though, so some days dates were cut short or Grace and Mae slept over his house and you wouldn't see each other.

You were always understanding, his kids came first and you'd never blame or get upset about it. It's something Duff admires about you, your never ending understanding and empathy for him.

One of those days where Duff stayed over at your house started normal. He cooked dinner and you washed the dishes, and then you put on an old Ramones concert you had on DVD.

You were laying on his chest, his fingers running through your hair when all of a sudden, he tensed up. He quickly stood and excused himself to the bathroom. You frowned but before you could think much of it, you heard a loud bang and something clatter to the ground.

You jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. You swung open the door because you were perfectly aware the lock hasn't worked since you moved in.

Duff was sitting on the floor, a pill bottle laying on its side not far from him. You quickly spot the name of the medication and identified it as your anti-anxiety pills. You shoved them aside and sat next to Duff.

He was sweating bullets and his skin felt cold and clammy, his breaths were labored and heartbeat was loud and pounding erratically. You coax him gently to take deep breaths, holding onto his hand tightly and talking quietly.

"I'm sorry, they come on randomly sometimes," he apologized after he'd called down, but you quickly shushed him. You reminded him of just how many nightmares he'd comforted you for and he stops feeling so bad about it.

     It was always a true partnership with Duff. Never had you felt you gave or took too much, it was always equal. Always a two way street, with everything.

That wasn't the last panic attack you had to help him come down from. Later down the line you've gotten better at calming him down and learning his triggers, even though sometimes they really do come on suddenly without reason.

A year into the relationship was when you met Grace and Mae. They were young and didn't completely understand why their parents weren't together anymore, so it took them a while to warm up to you. Luckily, they eventually came around.

Duff and Susan met up regularly to discuss their kids and co-parent properly. And while you had all the reason to be jealous of your boyfriend with his ex wife, you never did. You had complete confidence in him, he was honest and loyal and you doubted he'd ever hurt you purposely.

That's why it destroyed you when he left you. Tears were shed from both parties as he gave his reasons for breaking up with you. His insecurities he tried his best to bury had come to light and nothing could change his mind.

You thought you were completely honest with each other, but you suppose his doubt in his relationship with you was the one thing he kept secret. He had somehow convinced himself you'd be better without him, between the constant touring and the baggage that came with him and his kids, he finally buckled under the weight and stress.

You had tried to convince him that he was worth it, but if Duff is one thing it's stubborn. The best relationship you'd ever have and the best year of your life went down the drain within the matter of one conversation.

You were down in the dumps for days. You barely left your bed and didn't ever leave your house. You were in a depression and couldn't get out. A few of your friends eventually found out what had happened and broke into your house and shoved you into the shower before taking you to your favorite Chinese restaurant.

You felt like a disaster. Your hair was ratted despite the shower and you refused to put real clothes on, instead wearing sweatpants and a shirt Duff had left behind. You were a mess.

The hole in the wall restaurant was never busy but always had the best food. You were almost happy your friends dragged you out of your home until you saw Duff sitting at a table, eating egg rolls and lo mein.

You've came here together all the time. The high sodium in the food always made him sick to his stomach and you'd always end up giving him nausea remedies and tea. He never changed his order though.

You locked eyes with him for a while. Dark bags were under his eyes and he looked more pale than usual. He looked as terrible as you felt. You weren't sure if you were spitefully glad he felt awful or if the despair on his face just made your heart break further.

When you couldn't take his intense jade stare anymore, you looked up at the menu. The next time you looked back he was gone, you weren't sure if he was really there at all or if you were finally losing your mind for good.

     Another week crawled by. You got better enough to continue working. You had to pick up extra time for calling out for a few days after the breakup. You wouldn't say things were going well, but you weren't crying in bed every day all day anymore.

     You had constant dreams about him. Some were nice, ones where he didn't leave and you were together, holding each other tightly. Most were nightmares, flashbacks of when he left. You didn't have him to comfort you anymore when you woke up soaked in sweat and tears, and that might've been the worst.

     Another week went by, and you were starting to get back into the swing of things. You still thought about him, even silly little things reminded you of him. Like when you would catch a sniff of freshly baked sweets like he'd bake you or certain songs playing on the radio. It also didn't help that you ran into people wearing Guns n Roses shirts on the daily.

     You also refused to get rid of anything he'd left behind. Tee shirts, guitar picks he left from when he'd play for you, or CDs from bands he introduced you to. Reminders of what you lost were scattered around your home but you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

     Suddenly, it's been a month. You weren't over him, but you had a feeling you'd never be completely. He was something special, you can't forget things as special as your relationship with Duff.

     His items still weren't thrown out or returned, instead all packed in a box sitting in your closet. But you'd be lying if you said you would never reach into the box to grab a shirt to sleep in or a CD to listen to when you needed a reminder of the good times. You were making progress though.

     You decided to leave your house one evening. You were feeling especially terrible and wanted to take a walk to clear your head. You went to the coffee shop you had first met Duff in. Maybe it was a mistake to go and get a flood of memories but you couldn't stop yourself.

     You sat in a seat near the window and people watched, taking occasional sips of your drink. It was quiet except from the talk of the workers and the hum of the overhead speakers.

     There was a sudden squeak of a chair of hardwood floors and it broke you out of your daze. You snapped your gaze up to meet the very familiar green eyes you've been trying to forget.

     "Can we talk?" He asked, and you couldn't say 'no.' Duff sat across from you and started off by apologizing.

     He said he wanted to talk to you sooner, but was too afraid you wouldn't want anything to do with him. You rolled your eyes at that, if only he knew just how much you missed him.

     He then started from the beginning and explained why he made the decision to leave you. As it turns out, it was mostly because of stress. His bandmate Scott was having problems with drugs and the flashbacks from his GnR days frightened him. He was worried he would end up relapsing and he didn't want to drag you down with him.

     Combine that with all the troubles that came with dating a single father, and he couldn't take it anymore. He felt too guilty.

     It all seemed like ridiculous reasons to you. Even if he had made the mistake of falling off the wagon, you still would've stuck with him. And you didn't mind his kids at all, after nearly a year of knowing them and you were very close to them.

     "I love you, Duff. I wouldn't have left you over that, I'd help you through anything. And I love Grace and Mae, too," you told him.

     "I know, but I didn't want you to have to deal with all that baggage." You frowned at that. You reached your hand across the table and grasped his, squeezing it tenderly.

     "You're worth it."

     After that day, you and Duff started seeing each other again. It wasn't the same as before, but maybe even better.

     You were more transparent with each other. If one had a worry or problem, you'd go to the other. You talked everything through with him and he did the same. Even if it seemed insignificant, talking everything through never failed to make it better.

    You were happier and healthier than ever before. Sure, there were a roadblock or two, but they only made the relationship even stronger, and you wouldn't have changed a thing about it.