#Not as long as Andrew but comfortably long

[aidoneusmelindia]

Aaron asked Matt to drop him off at the library after dinner but Matt is stuck playing video games with Nicky and as Aaron gets exasperated, Andrew offers to bring him. It's weird, Andrew never does that but they've been in therapy for a while now and Aaron supposes this might be Andrew putting in the effort, so he agrees. When they get to the library Andrew asks if it's alright if he studies with him. It's weird, Andrew never studies in the library but again, effort. So Aaron agrees and they find a table in the quiet and mostly deserted library to study, taking up spots for at least four people, not sitting too close to one another but comfortably within talking range. Not that they talk, though, it's quiet and they're focused on their work and Aaron finds himself actually really liking this. After about an hour he begins to get a little tired so he gets up to get an energy drink and he offers Andrew one too who takes him up on that.

"Cheers," Aaron says, holding up his can in salute as he sits back down.

Andrew salutes back before downing what should be a decent bit of the can in a few seconds. Aaron lifts an eyebrow but averts his eyes to go back to studying. The words leave his mouth before he can really agree on saying them. "Josten keeping you up, huh?" He knows damn well they sleep in the same bed most nights, Nicky said so. Andrew doesn't look up, doesn't even stop writing in his notebook. "No, the nightmares do." And it's an unexpected piece of honesty and damn it's Andrew so he might just be saying it for it's shockfactor, but Aaron has shared a room with his brother for long enough to know that a lot of nights there is something keeping him up. "Bet you didn't expect that, fucker," Andrew grumbles, still not looking up from his books. And it's fair, Aaron was pushing him with his comment about Josten. Aaron, despite himself, smiles. Touché, brother.

[emry-stars-art]

So if you’ve read this scene of the royal au you will remember the prince getting a little slice on his neck

I was again chatting with @paradoxolotl about it and all they had to say to make me lose it was “Neil covers the scar with his thumb” and I finally found a good pose for it. Andrew carries no emotion about it, he would never hold that incident against Abram, but Abram still sometimes has a hard time with it :,)

[swiftsdelucaa]

EVERYONE WISH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE RN!!!

+35! I love this man sm that words are not enough❤️‍🩹

[blee-bleep]

so what if i go insane and draw diakko as these panels

[lilpuffyart]

MV human characters who were badly used but had such an interesting idea around them, I love you (looks at the KOTM and GvsK crew)

[yeslordmyking]

Good morning! It's another beautiful day to appreciate you're alive, healthy, and loved!

Today could be the day you get that dream job, the day the person you're dating could finally confess that they love you, or the day Marvel Studios could reconsider and greenlight the Channing Tatum Gambit Movie! 😁

The world's full of possibilities! You never know! Stay positive! Go get em, tiger! Love ya, mwah 😘

[timaeusterrored]

What would scare Kerry more? Having Vax die in his arms, or Johnny die in his arms?

Vax.

He’s already done his grieving over Johnny, Johnny’s died before. Vax was his new beginning, his savior, his light in his darkest hour. And what’s worse is Vax is trying to comfort him the whole time, trying to tell him it’s gonna be okay. But Vax became Kerry’s reason. He had to watch his Light die in front of him.

[spookyboywhump]

How would Nicholas react if Andrew started talking to Cain the way he usually does in front of him?

Tbh I can absolutely see him waiting until they’re alone to ask him why he lets him talk to him that way. He doesn’t like how casual Andrew is with him, he certainly doesn’t let Andrew talk to him that way

[wraith-demjin]

I just started rereading The Foxhole Court and it's so comforting I can feel myself relaxing and my anxiety decreasing I can't believe it took me this long to reread it

[spideymanny]

there's aftg twt discourse about if andreil would wear skirts or not which is such a headache bc like ppl can headcanon anything they want with fictional characters? like fandoms always headcanon these kinds of things so just let ppl be

but honestly idk if andrew would wear a skirt, at the very least not in the books timeline like andrew just doesn't seem like that kind of guy?

and neil while he doesn't care about what he wears and let's andrew pick for him, i think it would take him time to rlly feel comfortable in expanding his gender expression, bc wearing a skirt as a guy is still "out of the norm" and may attract attention so it's honestly an interesting idea to explore at the very least

[1800-lemon-boy]

Adding to this bc why not 🤷🏻

We see how having powers that can cause harm can affect you psychologically (mainly with Percy and Nico).

Imagine Will growing scared of his own powers, not knowing weither he’s healing someone or making them worse.

Imagine him looking at the blood on his hands and thinking about how maybe he killed them. Maybe he lost control of his abilities.

Imagine the fear of helping anyone, using ambrosia or nectar if mortal medicine isn’t good enough.

Imagine him being too scared to touch anyone because he doesn’t know what will happen.

Imagine him hiding his struggles behind a fake smile because he’s meant to be the happy, sunshine, healer boy.

Imagine him wishing he could talk to Micheal or Lee about this and remembering he can’t.

Imagine him looking at his blonde hair with hate.

He looks like a much younger version of his father.

The father who curse him with hands that can heal and hurt.

The father whose traits he inherited.

“No bad, all good”

Are plague powers good?

Is hurting people good?

Soon he can no longer even look at himself in the mirror without feeling disgust at what he can do.

Even if he eventually learns to live with the knowledge that he can hurt almost as good as he can heal, there will always be a small voice in the back of his mind telling him that maybe someone he loves is next.

Demigods never live that long anyway-

<33

I’ve seen a few headcanons (especially in fics) that Will solace actually is naturally brunette but when he was claimed by Apollo his hair turned blonde (weither it’s over time due to sun bleaching or straight away).

And I just wanted to say I love this so much purely because of how heartbreaking some of the implications can be. 🤗

It’s never happened to any Apollo campers before, Will doesn’t know why it had to happen to him, his one sense of normalcy taken away so quickly, his one connection to his previous life- gone.

Will starts to pick up quite quickly he’s not like his other siblings, he’s can’t write and is average at archery. But he can heal, better than anyone else can.

He was different from the start, he was claimed differently, and his gift was different too.

And while still struggling with what to do, at the ripe age of 12 he’s now in charge of a cabin full of kids younger than him, because he was the oldest to survive.

Just imagine how the plague powers would also affect him. Apollo himself said that it seemed Will had gained all of his good qualities and none of his bad.

How would this 15 year old feel that the same hands that can heal can cause harm?

<33

[emry-stars-art]

please can u tell us more of ur thoughts on branding.

can u tell us ALL ur thoughts on branding.

can u tell us all your thoughts.

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST

Why yes I CAN tell you my thoughts! but this post will stay pretty much about the branding, even tho there will be other points you can notice below; unfortunately I have limited space and time on these posts. One thing at a time for my brainnn 🙏

Also. This is another “there’s too much going on here for me to cover it all” concept, so this is actually in two parts just to make sure it doesn’t get too ungodly long 😂 and one day there’s a bunch of stuff I want so badly to write about it! For now, I’ll put the link to the second post [here] as well as at the very end for your reading convenience

Find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕

(This was supposed to be for showing the brands; it turned into an explanation of some of the physical effects of things that happened in Evermore and the direct aftermath.)

Ahem. So Riko’s pretty determined to make it as difficult as possible for Abram to sneak away again, blend into other places. The best way to do that, obviously, is to brand him to his court as he had the rest.

Abram expects that. He’s completely prepared to have this done, it’s all but inevitable. He’d been dodging his number III for far too long now. Even Day has the II still on his own cheek - Abram can deal with it. Riko’s too proud not to let it heal nicely. He needs his court to look as neat and uniform as possible.

Still hurts like hell.

But after, when Abram wants nothing more than to be completely alone until he can see properly out of that eye, Riko orders him to strip down. Abram doesn’t - his time in Palmetto and with Prince Andrew took away Abram’s only survival technique. He’s known good people now, he knows how a person is supposed to be treated and he’s learned at least some degree of self-respect. Nathaniel relied on a day-to-day understanding that he could die in any terrible, inhuman way at another’s whim. Abram knows better. (It ruins him.)

Of course, Riko gets his demands met anyway. They have to hold Nathaniel down to get the second brand on him. This one isn’t for show, though perhaps that was a thought in Riko’s mind - branded cattle is hard to steal and easy to identify. Mostly it’s the beginning of pushing onto Abram that he isn’t more than property, he’s a work animal and he’s expected to act like it. And Riko doesn’t care that this one heals as neatly. Since it’s not going to be for the public eye, Riko can let it fester and infect as long as it stays recognizable. As long as Abram can look at it and remember what it is and what it’s there for.

When Abram is brought back, when Day is with him in that cart, it’s another thing he begs for the prince not to see. The muzzle and the brand. At first Day is confused; “The prince will want to see your face, Abram. You know he won’t care. It’s just like mine.”

But Abram shakes his head. Says no. No, the other one. Please don’t let him see.

Maybe Day doesn’t fully realize what that means until he forces that bath on Abram. Abram doesn’t try to hide it; he’s already told Day about it, and if there’s anyone that will take Evermore cruelty in stride it will be Day. (That doesn’t mean Day isn’t enraged to see it. Healed ugly, even still a little inflamed from rough fabrics and no care. He knew Riko was always mad with power; this was something else entirely.)

So Day heeds Abram’s pleas and doesn’t let Andrew see the brand. It’s always covered in bandages. When Andrew begins to help with Abram’s care, Day tells him he shouldn’t remove that bandage. It would cause Abram a lot of pain. Andrew tries to ask about it, but Day gives him the same answer as with the strange little punctures in Abram’s face: he will tell you if and when he wants to. And again, Andrew cannot argue.

By this point I think Andrew and Day have reached an agreement. Abram’s eyesight is getting clearer by the day, and Andrew understands how serious Day is about both his and Abram’s safety. But Day agreed that as long as Abram can confirm he recognizes Andrew, Andrew is allowed to help when Day is unavailable.

So when Andrew is sent for, told that Abram has reopened some wounds or torn some bandages and won’t let any of the medics touch him, Andrew goes.

Abram is calm enough by the time he arrives. He lets the prince check the wounds, nodding allowances between each article of clothing and bandage that Andrew removes. And by then they may as well shower too, while Andrew is there. He’d like to try and do what he can for Abram’s hair.

Even then Andrew doesn’t remove the bandage. It falls off on its own under the stream of water. Andrew feels the slight tensing of Abram’s stomach, the way he pauses. For a second, Andrew can only stare, struck dumb with anger. Then, slowly and very carefully, he pushes the bandage back over the brand. Hardly breathing.

“Abram. What is that.”

And Abram tenses more. He can see enough now to place a good guess as to where Andrew’s eyes would be, himself wide eyed and suddenly fearful. (For a moment, the prince’s apparent calm response made Abram think that he’d somehow already seen the brand, which wasn’t impossible considering the circumstances. But his tone now, the ice in his voice as he confronts Abram on it - it feels like all of Abram’s worst fears have materialized there in front of him. Of course Andrew would be disgusted. Princes deserve better than damaged goods. Andrew deserves better.)

“I’m sorry,” Abram says automatically, which is the last thing Andrew wants to hear. “I’ll - you don’t have to anymore, just get Day -”

“Abram,” Andrew says again sharply, which is not the right thing because Abram flinches and pushes Andrew’s hands from him. He’s up and away from the hole-riddled bucket that serves as the infirmary’s makeshift shower almost immediately and finds his things half by memory and half blurry sight. Andrew wouldn’t want someone like him around, even as a guard. Especially in this state, when he can’t perform his duties at all.

Abram finds his way to Day’s room. Even with Andrew’s voice after him as he leaves the bath and infirmary altogether. Thankfully, it isn’t long before Day has returned from a routine check of the outer walls - Abram cannot handle being seen by the prince again, he’s shaking and slipping further from reality by the minute. Day takes one look at Abram in the hall and brings him into his room, trying to calm Abram enough to tell him what’s happened. Eventually, he pieces it together when Abram apologizes for making Day’s work for naught. You kept it from him this long time and I ruined it. Don’t let him be angry with you, it was my fault, just let him do what he wants and -

But Day won’t hear it. He figures out what it’s about, he tries to reassure Abram that it was a misunderstanding. Day knows for a fact, like any sane person and then as a person that knows Andrew, that the prince is not angry with Abram for having a brand or anything it was supposed to represent. He had been angry like anyone was angry to see it. Like Day had been. Day had just been much better about hiding it.

Abram isn’t in a state for rational thought or explanations. The panic and crying exhausts him, but nothing Day offers can comfort him. He won’t take the bed or couch or even the chair, too far in his head about Andrew finally seeing him for an animal. He ends up curled on the carpet near the fireplace, asleep by the time Andrew manages to find him. (He’d gone looking out by the gate, along any path Abram might have taken to run. It was either good or very bad that he didn’t find him there.)

Day answers the door and Andrew opens his mouth at the same time he scans the room, then stops. He sees Abram and tries to come in, but Day stands firmly in his way.

“Is he all right?” Andrew asks before he can stop himself. He messed up, this is his fault. He needs to be sure he hasn’t caused any real harm.

“Physically, yes,” Day says tersely. “But he’s asleep, and I will not be waking him yet. Out, in the hall. I need to speak with you.”

[part2 here]

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Thanks for the tag!! It was hard to narrow it down: I like too many characters!

No pressure tagging: @mckiwi @salubriousbean @harpywritesfic @j-snapdragon @thornbushrose

5 Favourite Characters Poll (Tag Game)

I was tag by: @star-mum

Rules: make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite.

Thanks you so much for the tag

Tags <3: @meeks-beas @practically-an-x-man @outer-space-face @trashworldblog @mydearlybeloathed

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[wilwheaton]

I woke up yesterday morning to learn that Don Trump—the famed rapist, convicted felon, and white christian presidential candidate—had mimed performing a blowjob on his microphone stand to the clear delight of his crowd. There's a famous Christian thinker named Jesus H. Christ who you may have heard about; people will often say his full name when they see things like this. [...] It cuts against the dominant social narrative to say we need to fight the white supremacist cult, and this is for the very good reason that our society is traditionally white supremacist. If you suggest that a white supremacist cult's behavior and intentions are indecent and absolutely unacceptable, there is a general realization that this means not accepting it, which would inevitably mean the social exclusion and isolation of people committed to pursuing unacceptable behavior, and who have made indecent and unacceptable behavior a core part of their identity. And it's very unhealthy to be socially excluded and isolated. And who could be against health? In the eyes of those who control the platforms of communication, and in the halls of power, and in the minds of many comfortable and privileged people, it is a far less divisive act to hold a Nazi rally, crammed with racism and hatred and bigotry and Nazi speakers delivering Nazi slogans and Nazi intentions to enact Nazi policies, than it is to refer to such a thing as "a Nazi rally." In the eyes of those who control the platforms of communication, and in the halls of power, and in the minds of many comfortable and privileged people, saying you intend to fight a white supremacist cult is considered far more divisive and radical than being a part of a white supremacist cult who intends to force a fight with everyone else. In fact "we're still going to be sharing a nation with them and there are millions of them" is usually what's said to anybody who suggests we even oppose them. It's said as a reason to not oppose them, as a reason to not even name them for what they have chosen to be. "You can't just get rid of them," it's said. The suggestion seems to be that in so doing we are excluding them from society, isolating them, dehumanizing them, by naming what it is they have chosen to become (which, again, is a white supremacist cult), and by refusing to accept their unacceptable propositions as acceptable. It's not so popular to suggest that the answer is for white supremacists to change their behavior. It's far more popular to say we need to heal the white supremacist cult. It's far more popular to issue reminders that we need to leave paths open for the white supremacist cult to find redemption

Apology Not Accepted

Another exceptional post from Andrew Moxon that I encourage you all to make some time to read.

When all of this is over, no matter how long it takes to send Shitler to prison, I will not forget and I will not forgive the christian nationalist white supremacists who have brought us here.

This includes people I thought I knew.

We must drive these cancerous, violent, hateful people back into social isolation and societal rejection, where they have always belonged.

This includes people I thought I knew.

[finelinevogue]

under wraps

summary - you and andrew are on a talk show together & you are also in a secret relationship

word count - +1k

pairing - andrew garfield x actress!reader

🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿

“Andrew, have you ever met Y/N?”

“I-um - yes! Briefly.”

“Where?”

Well that was a long question that would have to be answered with a lot of lies.

Going on chat shows where you and Andrew were both on at the same time were rare, but when it did happen it was very difficult to keep your relationship a kept secret.

You and Andrew had been dating for 7 months now and were doing well to keep it under wraps - which you both wanted to keep that way for as long as possible - but going on live chat shows was always a risk.

You’d both set up all your fake stories ages ago so that when you got asked questions like he’d just been asked, it would be okay.

“I believe - this is going to sound so douchey to say - but I believe it was at Paul McCartney’s birthday party last year?” Andrew looked to you for confirmation.

It was even harder to keep everything under-wraps on this chat show as you’d been placed next to each other on the chat sofa.

It was nice to be sat next to your boyfriend.

He smelt great and he was an immense comfort to you - as he is clearly a huge, global, mega-star whereas you are best-known for your role as a main character on a well-known British TV show.

It’s always a little nervy being sat next to the big names in the leagues, but Andrew always had a way of being the bridge and bringing everyone together.

“Oooh la-di-daaa!” Graham Norton - the host - teased. “Paul McCartney! You have gone up in the world.”

The audience and the rest of the celebrity guests laughed - including Florence Pugh, who was here to promote her new movie that also starred Andrew, Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, who were here to promote their new movie.

“Paul was also there.” Andrew pointed out, to which Paul nodded along.

“And Pedro?” Graham prompted.

“Oh, Paul McCartney doesn’t know who I am.” He said, which got a laugh from the audience. Once the audience had died down he spoke again, “But, Madonna however….”

After people had quietened down, Graham returned to asking questions.

“Y/N. You’ve got your new series of ‘The Lovely Life’ coming out.” Graham said.

Andrew started clapping immediately, prompting other people to start clapping with him and giving you a cheer or two.

You blushed slightly as you took note of the celebrities clapping for you, inching ever so closer to Andrew to try and hide the endearment.

“Brilliant show.” Andrew commented - as if he doesn’t tell you that every day you go to work and every other day of your life.

“Thanks.” You smile, giving him a few extra words of kindness with your eyes as you look at him lovingly.

“But it’s not really a show about lovely life, is it Y/N?” Graham asked.

“No, no it’s not.” You sighed.

“Have you seen it, Pedro?” Graham asked.

Pedro pushed his glasses up his nose a little and focuses his body to face you as he speaks, “No. I apologise, but no I haven’t.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled at him, feeling no untowards him.

Some of the audience gasp.

“Oh no.” Florence laughed.

“What? What did I just say?” Pedro looked alarmed, sending you into a giggling fit.

“You’ve just burned the hearts of the UK. Cancel culture will be coming for you.” Paul answered for his friend, patting him in the shoulder solemnly, making everyone laugh and you shake your head at how overdramatic it was.

“No, no!” You shook your head, not wanting to upset Pedro or anything even though it was all in jest.

“How dare you!” Andrew bellowed beside you, also sticking up for you and your programme as a joke.

You leaned back on the sofa, covering your face with your hands as you tried to let the couch swallow you whole.

Once everyone had calmed down again Graham returned to asking questions.

“Y/N, do you want to tell us a little bit about this new season?” He asked.

You crossed a leg over the other, making sure your flowy dress didn’t flash anyone as you did.

“I’m not sure how much I can say, but my character - Ruby - does not catch a break this season! She is back with her ex-boyfriend Jake but there’s also, maybe, potentially, someone new too. Obviously she still is in a lot of trouble from last season so we get to see a lot of that story brought over into this season too.”

“Do we find out if Ruby did kill her dad?” Florence asked, on the edge of her seat.

“To that I will say… The answer has already been revealed.”

That caused the audience and the celebrities to gasp. You giggled as you watched their faces - Andrew’s in particular because he’s constantly asking you questions like that but never gets an answer.

Andrew is super passionate about the work that you do and is constantly encouraging you to try new things and different types of acting. You wouldn’t be as confident as you were today had it not been for Andrew showing you how amazing you really are.

“I have no idea whether this show is streamed in America–.” Pedro said.

“It’s not.” Andrew cut in.

“Well then I will just have to stay in England for longer to binge your show, Y/N. I’m hooked already!”

“Thank you.” You smiled kindly.

“Now, Andrew and Florence. Your new movie is coming out in January, am I right?” Graham asked.

“Yes. January the first.” Florence answered.

“I’ve always wanted to know whether as actors you find it difficult to do intimate scenes with one another - ‘cause I imagine they’re quite intense but it’s also not someone you’ve built an intimate connection with let’s say.”

“Well Florence and I were lucky in that we really trusted one another and felt safe with each other in that space, so I don’t think either one of us felt uncomfortable, right?” Andrew answered, prompting Florence for a response.

“Yeah and I think also there’s an element of knowing in the back of your mind that this is a piece of work that we’ve committed to, and we want to do it well. We have to look convincing to do the job well, which then helps make the acting look more convincing as well.” Florence answered.

“Well you’re very good actors because from the trailer alone you look like you’re a fully committed couple.” Graham laughed, causing other people to agree.

“We’re in a platonic relationship in real life.” Andrew grabbed Florence’s hand to gesture their friendship bond.

You smiled as you watched them.

At the beginning of your relationship, it had been a little difficult to adjust to dating someone who is so high profile in comparison to you. Now, you’re feeling more and more confident within yourself and your own worth each day which makes seeing on-screen chemistry with Andrew’s co-stars easier.

Yours and Andrew’s relationship was - just like any other relationship - built on a pillar of trust and you were very fortunate that you had a lot of trust for each other because you respected each other.

“Well your chemistry is very convincing.” Graham said.

“That’s because we’re great actors.” Florence smiled - earning a cheer from the audience.

No amount of Graham’s meddling would cause Andrew’s gaze to shift from yours.

Once people had settled back down you noticed Andrew’s hand sitting on the chair next to his thigh.

You convincingly, pretend to tuck a hand under your own thigh, pretending like it was a comfort thing, and ever so slightly reached out your pinky finger to touch Andrew’s.

He clearly was on the same wavelength as you because you felt his pinky finger stretching too.

The comfort alone when your pinky fingers grazed each other was warm and lovely. You tried your best to not let your reaction visibly show, but it was hard not to slightly smile or blush when Andrew made you feel so much. So so much.