#and it’s not like the man isn’t talented but like. as soon as i remembered where i knew him from i never regained focus

[murdleandmarot]

Sometimes you go to bed and wake up an entirely different age

(Also I am NEVER GOING TO SHUT UP ABOUT THAT BLUEBELLE STATUE. OH MY GOD. MUTUAL YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE 🫶🫶🫶)

[starbuck]

i KNEW it was gonna be a problem when i got to know actors too well… great, great film, but i could not take ANY of that seriously…

[slytherinslut0]

can you please write something about tom being tied up!!!! please please!!!! i know you would write this so well🥹

hejsjahshs uhm okay this could go many different ways but if you read my fic ‘this is your punishment’ i feel like reader from that fic would be looking to get revenge and what better way to disarm tom than to take away the one thing that man needs more than anything? control.

“what is this—what are you—“ tom’s voice dies off as you tighten the magical bonds around his wrists, tugging him back snug into the chair he’s so adorably trying to slip out of. it’s laughable really, the way you turned the tables back onto him and just how much he fucking hates it. “this isn’t funny. you don’t want to start this with me—“

with a flick of your finger, his tie is between his teeth and his pitiful threats are muffled—as useless as his squirming. with a smirk, you take a step back from where he’s seated, drinking him down in all his glory under the dim lighting inside his dorm. you’ve never seen him like this. vulnerable. the way his muscles flex against his shirt as he squirms, brows pinched and jaw tense—

it’s intoxicating.

”c’mon, tommy…you didn’t really think i wouldn’t get you back, did you?” your fingers find the buttons of your shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. his squirming stops as soon as you move to the second button, chest heaving as he watches you—your pulse soars, spurred on by the way his eyes burn your skin. “look, you’re talented—so bloody good with spells, i’ll give you that. but i think you forgot that i’m good too.”

at that, his eyes narrow and his head tilts just slightly—you slip the last button free on your blouse and let the fabric fall free from your shoulders, black-laced breasts bared to those raging midnight eyes.

“we’re more alike than you thought, tommy. you underestimated me, and that carelessness is the reason you’re sitting there, and i’m standing here.” you step closer again, leaning forward until you’re bent before him, breasts spilling out of the thin lace barely containing them— “a pity, isn’t it?”

he groans into the tie, and you see it—the way he’s warring with himself, not sure where to let his eyes settle—bouncing back and fourth between your tits and your smirk laden lips, hiding behind the irritation as if letting you know he loves this would mean losing.

tom riddle has never been a good loser.

“yes, such a pity.” you nod to yourself, pursing your lips. he is beautiful—beautiful in a way that is far past disastrous but when he’s stuck like this, tied up before you, he’s tamed in a way you know isn’t possible otherwise. all that danger, held back by a silly little spell. “though, i have to say…what’s even more pitiful, is the way you’ve been denying yourself.”

you slip a finger under his jaw, urging his chin up until his eyes have no where to look except into yours. you can’t believe how bold you’re being.

“you could have fucked me, you know. merlin knows i wanted it.” you whisper, free hand slipping down to his knee. “but you chose a spell. because you’re superior, right? a man above impulse?”

he grunts against the fabric in his mouth when your fingers tease timidly up his thigh—you glance down just as he shifts his legs, spreading them wider, pants tight in the crotch as his body betrays him.

you shush him, tutting. drunk off the power trip. “i know. you’re so disciplined, tommy. the rest of us could only wish to be as strong as you.”

salazar save you—you’re playing with matches, biting your lip, unable to look away. you can’t tell forsure but the outline of him looks monstrous under this shitty lighting—and you remember now, just how much you hate this game.

but regardless, you’ll play along—after all, he’s the one that made the rules, who are you to break them?

“look at you,” you whisper, fingers slipping higher, dangerously close. you graze his bulge and his hips twitch, his head almost falling back until you slip your fingers around his jaw, holding his eyes to yours. “you’re so hard.. and i’ve barely touched you…when’s the last time you got off, huh? when’s the last time you’ve fucked?”

AKSJAISHSJ OK I CANT WRITE BLURBS IM SORRY THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME BUT—

[misspygmypie]

Witnessing A Dream Come True

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Requested: Yes by the lovely @remmysthings Summary: It's Y/N's first concert of her first big tour and Lando is just so proud! Words: 667

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando stood backstage, surrounded by the pre-show buzz, feeling excitement creeping into his veins. The smell of fresh paint, stage lights, and a hint of backstage nerves filled the air. He glanced around at the crew making final adjustments to microphones, lighting, taping the setlists down and ensuring the pyrotechnics were ready to go. His eyes, however, soon were fixated on the doorway leading to the stage, where he knew Y/N would soon make her entrance.

Tonight marked a significant milestone: His girlfriend's first official tour. As a race car driver, Lando was no stranger to high-speed thrills and adrenaline, but this was different. Watching Y/N take the stage was like witnessing a new kind of race, one where the finish line was applause rather than the flag at the end of a circuit.

Y/N had always been a dreamer. Her voice was a force of nature, capturing every emotion she poured into her music perfectly. In the 4 years they had been together Lando had seen her journey from small local gigs to this grand stage, and he was honored to be a part of it.

Their best friends, Max and Pietra, stood beside him, both their expressions mirroring his own.

“Can you believe this is happening?” Max asked, barely able to contain his enthusiasm.

“Not in the slightest,” Lando replied, his gaze never wavering from the door. “She’s worked so hard for this, I’m just so proud of her.”

P nudged him playfully. “You’re not the only one. We’ve seen her perform before, but this is something else entirely, isn’t it?”

Lando nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, it’s amazing. I remember when we first met, she was always talking about her dreams and how one day she wanted to be on a big stage like this. And now, here she is. I just…” He trailed off, finding it hard to express his feelings with words.

Max placed a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “You’re doing great, man, she’s lucky to have you here. It means a lot to her, you know.”

Lando looked at his friends, grateful for their support. “Thanks. I hope she knows how much this means to me too. Seeing her up there, living her dream, it’s incredible and all I ever wished for her.”

The lights dimmed, and a ripple of anticipation swept through the backstage area. The crowd grew louder, and Lando’s heart pounded in his chest. Y/N was about to take the stage, and he could hardly wait to see her shine.

The door to the stage opened, and Y/N stepped through. Her stage outfit shimmered under the lights, and she was radiating with confidence. She glanced back towards the backstage area, her eyes meeting Lando’s. In that short moment he saw the excitement in her eyes, the determination, and the joy of finally reaching this point.

As Y/N took her place under the spotlight, the audience erupted into applause. Lando’s chest swelled with pride, and he turned to his friends, his eyes full of emotion. “She’s amazing,” he said, his voice filled with awe.

Max and Pietra nodded in agreement, their own faces reflecting the same pride and admiration for their mutual friend.

From the side, Lando watched Y/N perform, never losing the proud smile on his face. Each note she sang, each movement she made showed her talent and hard work. As the concert went on Lando felt nothing but happiness, knowing he was witnessing his girlfriend’s dream come true.

After Y/N took her final bow she looked towards the backstage area and her gaze locked with Lando’s. He quickly opened his arms while she was rushing towards him and she fell into them, a radiant smile on her face. “You were incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so, so proud of you babe!”

Y/N eyes filled with tears of joy. “Thank you for being here, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

[vaaaaaiolet]

A broken backspace key, two rival magazines, and love letters sent through email. It’s the 2000's and Raccoon Mag’s prize photojournalist lands himself a secret admirer. 

You. 

gn / m, fluff, romance via email love letters, how to lose a guy in 10 days-esque, just a cutesy romcom, reader works a stereotypically female job but no pronouns mentioned!

word count: 2.4k // read on ao3

a/n: title inspired by the alicia keys song ofc. thank you to the lovely @kennedysbaby for the prompt inspo and endless support while writing this! this isn't my usual writing style so i'm kinda nervous AHGH but i thought it was cute LMAO. i <3 u!!

From: howtodept@starsweek.com To: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com 

Subject: You Don’t Know My Name

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

I hope this email never finds you well. 

No, no, that came out wrong, I swear! Gosh, I’m not sure how to work the backspace on these new computers. What I mean to say is that I hope this email never finds you.

I’m the new hire for the How To column at STARS Week magazine. They haven’t quite set up an email address with my name yet: I’m using the one readers mail their questions to. It’s a bit of a blessing to not have my name attached to this mortifying message now that I think about it. 

You must be wondering, why does an Agony Aunt columnist from your media rival have your email in the first place? You, the top photojournalist at Raccoon Mag, the highlight of all newsstands. You must think I’m crazy. 

But the thing is that I think you’re simply wonderful.

You visited our office last week. Surely you remember walking into the great big glass doors of the STARS building. Aren’t they glamorous? They make me feel like a hotshot movie journalist when really I just write back to teenage girls and help them pick out the right nail color, or tell middle-aged moms how to dress less like they rolled out of an outdated Sears catalog. I’m eternally grateful to get to work here – Ms. Hunnigan really did a favor taking me on – but I can’t help feeling like a bird with its wings clipped, stuck in a glass cage. I could be doing so much more with my talents. And don’t tell me that I already am; I know my advice articles don’t work because my own mom still wears stripes with polka dots.

Yeesh.

So when you came by last week with your great big camera filled with pictures of all your travels around the world, you caught my eye right away. 

You weren’t wearing a suit like all the other big shots in the STARS office. Mr. Kennedy, you came to what Ms. Hunnigan would consider “the biggest business risk of your life” dressed in a polo and slacks, still looking sharper than our Man of the Month, with not a word extra to say because your photos spoke for themselves.

Mr. Kennedy, I was working my measly little column when I overheard Ms. Hunnigan’s surprise at your refusal to take a dime for the photojournalism you brought to our office. Your manila folder was filled with pictures from a recently hurricane-hit island, one I’m embarrassed to say I only learned of from your spirited tirade. You didn’t care that Raccoon Mag and STARS Week were sworn enemies. All you cared about was combining readers’ donations for disaster relief. I thought it was mighty noble of you.

You didn’t flinch once at Ms. Hunnigan’s unforgiving stare and I know how hard that can be because I got the same one when I asked to switch to a journalism department instead. Ms. Hunnigan isn’t too keen on putting effort where there isn’t turnover. But you came anyway, and you left victorious simply because you wanted to help people that badly.

I think you can assume why I scrapped my article this week about getting over crushes. There’s going to be a horribly empty space in my column if I don’t figure out how to type something other than your name soon. Hence this email. 

(You left your business card on Ms. Hunnigan’s desk, if you’re still wondering how I’m sending this to the right email address. I’m not too shabby at snooping around, in a journalism kind of way, of course.)

I don’t think this counts as getting over a crush. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?

Yours sincerely, You Don’t Know My Name

> Saved as Draft (7/7/2003)

> Continue Saved Draft? YES

From: howtodept@starsweek.com To: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

Did you see the smiles of the children who got their school rebuilt thanks to your disaster relief proposal? I’m sure you did: their pictures, along with all the other photos from the donation effort, got printed front and center on this week’s issue! I nearly sold out the newsstand from all the Raccoon Mag copies I bought the morning they came off the press. Had to hide them from Ms. Hunnigan too; she wasn’t too happy about my less-than-juicy column last week. 

But that’s not for you to worry about, Mr. Kennedy. I’ll figure something else out. Like what color fabric makes your eyes pop, subtle ways to tell a coworker you’re interested in more than just drinks after work, what to eat to look and feel your best in less than two weeks.

On a completely unrelated note, I can’t help but look forward to when you come back to STARS Week in less than a month (according to Ms. Hunnigan’s desk calendar).

You’ve inspired me to get back into journalism; put my degree to use. I didn’t graduate top of my class just to tell people what hairstyle goes with what neckline! I’m clumsy with cameras and not too nifty with technology (I still can’t figure out where that backspace key is!) but I’m a sure hand with a pen. I go to the library after work now and spend hours researching global issues to write about when I get home. My collection of research articles is coming right along. Kind of like your manila folder. I flatter myself.

I wonder what you write, what you read. What makes Leon Kennedy laugh? What does he read before bed, what makes him think? I wonder if we laugh at the same bad jokes. 

Email is a strange mode of communication. There’s an awful lot of dishonesty involved. You get to pick and choose what you leave out. I suppose I don’t get that luxury with my lack of backspace, but it’s the same in conversation when you don’t get to backtrack on what comes out of your mouth. Would it be silly of me to dream that I’m having a conversation with you like this? Through my keyboard?

I’d much rather hear you in conversation, I have to admit. You’ve got a lovely voice. The rest of us are just lucky you decided to use it for good and speak out about the problems of the world despite what may or may not sell (sorry, Ms. Hunnigan). I might even be lucky enough to hear my name fall from your lips one day. Are…oh gosh, this is making me shy. Damn you, backspace key. But I wonder what it feels like to kiss you, Mr. Kennedy. 

I hear tying cherry stems with your tongue makes you a good kisser. I’ll be sure to learn. Maybe if we ever hit the town and we get drinks, I could show you? I’m not even sure what kind of drinks have cherries on top. That’s more a milkshake or ice cream thing. I’d be delighted to get either with you; I even know a trick to cure brain freeze in a second! I hope that’s incentive enough. I’m quite partial to cookie dough if you’d like to share. Not so much if you’re a fan of rum raisin.

And then over ice cream, we could talk about everything under the sun. Your pictures, my writing, bad jokes, good jokes, your favorite rom-coms, important questions like that.

(I’m kidding, promise. The rom-com one is important though. I hope you understand.)

There so much I’d love to talk to you about. But for now, I’m content with sitting in my cubicle in the corner, hiding behind my potted plant and hoping for a glimpse of your golden hair through Ms. Hunnigan’s office doors when you come by. But as all good things must come to an end, here comes the end of this email to my Raccoon Mag Romeo. 

Looking forward to your nonexistent response, You Don’t Know My Name

> Saved as Draft (8/12/2003)

> Continue Saved Draft? YES

From: howtodept@starsweek.com To: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

You used to be in the police academy before you worked for Raccoon Mag? 

Gosh, I hope my snooping doesn’t come off untoward, truly, I don’t mean to – it’s just that you’ve been coming to STARS Week so frequently this month and you didn’t visit in the last few days and…well, I missed seeing you. So it seems I’m remedying that with novice-level stalker work. Er, journalism. 

I’m marvelously impressed by you is all. Your sense of justice runs deeper than I thought. I wonder what made you choose this line of work instead of the force? 

For what it’s worth, digging up your past work introduced me to several fascinating topics. If Ms. Hunnigan lets up on her workload, she might even have time to look at the piece I’ve been drafting all month! You’ve inspired me in more ways than one, Mr. Kennedy, so you understand why I’m eager to see you again in the hope of showing you what I’ve written. I could slip my article into your folder, leave it in an envelope next to the cup of coffee you always let cool on the receptionist’s desk before going into the copy room…

But there might not be a point avoiding you anymore. I’m afraid you’ll run into me sooner than later with the number of errands Ms. Hunnigan sends me on around the office.

Worse yet, I think someone’s caught on to me. 

Claire from Sports is starting to ask about all these emails I type up while my How To assignment of the week sits by its lonesome next to my potted plant. I wish these keyboards weren’t so loud and cranky! They rattle up a storm when I type these emails to you, but turn quiet as mice when it comes time for me to work on my dreadful How Tos. Snitches get stitches, don’t you know?

But I’d never snitch on you, Mr. Kennedy. A tiny part of me hopes you’ve caught on to who hides an extra donut in the fridge for you from our office breakfasts. Rest assured that I can do much better than slightly stale office donuts, though. 

So if that ice cream date doesn’t work out, we could head downtown to Marvin’s on a Thursday for the best chocolate donuts I swear you’ve ever tasted. Thursday is when they bake them up fresh and I know a table by the street where the sunset looks the prettiest. A treat for you and a treat for your camera, how’s that? 

You don’t even know what you’re doing to me. I feel all crazy inside, giddy and smiling over my research like unpaid overtime I’m all too happy to take on. I really hope to show you my article soon. There’s nothing more romantic to a journalist than setting your facts straight next to somebody who smiles like the sun, like you, Mr. Kennedy. I might even dream of my article being printed next to your pictures one day.

But as short as today’s email to you might be, I hope our time together isn’t. The security team is redoing the How To department’s computers after Ms. Hunnigan’s keyboard started acting up – something about manufacturing issues. Remember that pesky backspace key of mine? They’re fixing it later today! 

Actually, they’re fixing it right now. The team’s coming over to my desk, so I’m going to have to enDKJJL

> Send Email? SFHALFNO

> Input detected. Email sending… NJOS NON DON”T SEND 

> Email sent successfully! (9/16/2003)

From: lskennedy@raccoonmag.com To: howtodept@starsweek.org

Subject: RE: You Don’t Know My Name

I’m submitting an answer for July’s How To: how do I get over a crush?

If I’m being honest, I’ve written and rewritten this email a fair number of times. I’m not good with my words. That’s why I take pictures: they say everything I leave unspoken. But it’s also why I’ve grown so fond of a certain How To columnist because they’re not afraid to put their feelings to pen, rather, keyboard. 

It’s just a shame that their name isn’t on any of the sweet emails they sent me. And it’s not like I can just go up to my boss and ask. If I’m their Raccoon Mag Romeo (see what I mean when I say they’ve got a way with words?), they’re the Capulet I’m after. 

So I took a page out of my admirer’s book and went snooping. It’s what a journalist does best, right? 

Marvin’s an old friend of mine. I went to his shop last Thursday to find out who comes for donuts and stays for the sunset. His donuts taste better than the office ones for sure, but there’s something a little sweeter about the thought behind the latter. FYI: my lips are sealed.

All this donut and ice cream business makes me think my admirer’s got a sweet tooth. I’m willing to share any ice cream that isn’t rum raisin either. Cookie dough is a close second to my personal favorite – mint chocolate chip – but that brain freeze trick is enough to convince me to have both. What do you say we try out all the flavors? You might even come across a scoop to write about, you never know. (RE: your question about bad jokes, how was that?)

And last but not least, Claire from STARS Week Sports isn’t too tight-lipped. She was perfectly charming when I asked about any deskmates with clunky keyboards who’ve been quite busy recently, so it really wasn’t that hard to find out who this kind, endearing, and incredibly talented admirer of mine is. 

You needn’t sneak your article into my folder because I found a copy of it on your desk with my name written on the bottom. You say you’ve only been working on this since I came for the disaster relief deal? That’s only two months!

Color me impressed. Ms. Hunnigan would be a fool to miss out on the untapped talent sitting in her How To department, so I think it would be a great idea to bring your article to her together. I’d be honored to straighten out any facts with you, though I doubt there’s much I can add to what you’ve compiled. My camera is at your disposal.

Let’s talk details over those donuts, then? It’s Thursday. I’ll wait by the bench outside the STARS building. I have a feeling it’ll be a nice change from sending emails. 

Yours sincerely (and I do know your name), Leon

(P.S. Personally, I hope this isn’t a crush you need to get over.)

(9/18/2003)

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[fuckyeslilkim]

Lil Kim's Squat Pose Is Iconic. Its Photographer Discusses it for the First Time

In a rare interview, Michael Lavine discussed the day he shot Lil Kim’s Hard Core cover, the booklet, and that feisty, nearly 30-year-old poster we just can’t get enough of.

Even though Michael Lavine has photographed OutKast, Ghostface Killah, JAY-Z, Missy Elliott, Foxy Brown and many others, he didn’t start out capturing larger-than-life rap acts. Like multiple moments throughout his career, he just fell into the next phase of artistry, which was deifying a generation of Black storytellers.

Lavine’s interest in photography goes way back. He led his high school’s yearbook committee as the head photographer. Soon after, at Washington’s Evergreen State College, he studied traditional street photography in the style of Robert Frank and Garry Winogrand. While in Washington, he befriended the group responsible for the record label that became Sub Pop, and documented a then-emerging sound that, to this day, continues to inspire chart toppers. He wasn’t interested in being married to any particular genre or group though, because boxing yourself in isn’t the move. “I just never felt comfortable kind of being pigeonholed in anything to my own detriment. It's not good for business to do that,” he said. “You're supposed to kind of dive in, not pull away. But that's just how I was wired. I wanted to do my own thing.”

After fostering the trust of music industry greats (“I started working for Rick Rubin. He was one of my first clients and he hired me to shoot a bunch of his Death American acts because he was starting to do metal at that time,” Lavine recalled) and becoming a Black Book highlight, he fell into shooting some of the biggest rappers on the scene. His knowledge of capturing Black talent helped. “I was very good at skin color and doing warm skin tones and lighting people,” he said. “For some reason, I think there was this problem with white people who didn’t understand how to light Black people, which was just ridiculous.”

In short, he came, he saw, he snapped. Legacies were cemented in the process, most notably with an image of one of the greatest female rappers that has become one of hip-hop’s most beloved and recreated photos — Lil Kim’s iconic squat seen ‘round the world.

Below, the retired photographer gave Okayplayer a rare interview where, for the first time, he discussed the day he shot Lil Kim’s Hard Core cover, the booklet, and that feisty, nearly 30-year-old poster we just can’t get enough of.

This interview, which took place over multiple conversations, has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.

When did you first meet Lil Kim?

The date was 7/30/96. The anniversary just passed.

What was your first impression of her?

My impression overall was she was not like she is, as in the present. She was very quiet and under the thumb of Big Un. Remember Big Un?

Are you talking about Lance “Un” Rivera?

Yeah. He was there. He was the man in charge of her and was kind of in control of the shoot. Kim didn't say a word. I don't think I spoke to her once about anything, but we had a nice rapport in front of the camera. She was great and we made a lot of pictures together, but I felt like there was this circus going on around us and it was just me and her. You get this intimate bond with your subject a lot of times. She's in her lingerie and rolling around on a bed. So, I was trying to be my normal, respectable self, and being professional and making the images with her in tandem.

I would direct her like, "Let's try this. How about coming over here? What if we lean this way?" There were a lot of sets. We had rented a brownstone in Manhattan probably. It was a couple floors. It might have been two floors. So there was a bedroom, a little balcony, a fireplace, and those big doors.

I interviewed Kim last year and she told me she just kind of dropped into the squat pose naturally.

It was very spontaneous. When you're doing photo shoots, at least when I was working, it was an organic process and you let things happen. It's like a creative flow. Whenever you have a creative director there holding out a [composition] like, "Here, do it like this," it just was always bad and kind of nothing. It was like the safest way to get whatever it is that they had in their minds. But to make a great photograph you have to let things happen. You just have to go with it.

There was no layout for her to do that pose. It just was natural. Part of it, I spent a lot of time low angle, meaning I was always kind of lying on the floor, crouching down myself. So, it's possible that one of the reasons she did it was because I was probably sitting on the floor looking up at her because that's kind of how I do. My style was based on the hero, meaning my job was to make people look like heroes with iconic style.

My style was based on making people look cool and giving them lots of options. So, we would take a lot of different kinds of photographs. I used different kinds of lighting. We moved very quickly. A lot of things happened and it was very much an exciting experience. Somebody had a set prop person there bringing flowers. For the cover shot, we had all those flowers in front of the fire, and the bear skin rug we brought that in. It was a normal hip-hop shoot. I was intimidated. It was a very hard day. Everybody was being kind of tough and intimidating, and nobody would talk to me.

Were you scared?

I was never scared, but they all had guns. It's not that I was scared..scared is not the right word. It's more like I felt kind of out of place a little bit. I didn't even speak with Kim. I was dealing with Un mostly, and Un had a lot of ideas. So we were trying to do all the things. I was getting coverage for him. He wanted to have her hold the honey bear. Remember, there's a shot of her holding a honey bear on the black satin sheets? We had a lot of props. I had a props guy. His name was Jerry Schwartz. He was very good and we had brought a bunch of stuff.

So, for example, I remember Puffy came in for a shot and I did one shot with Puffy and Kim together. And Puffy, I worked with him many times. He didn't even say hello to me.

I was just like, “Really? Do you have to be that way? You're so cool you don't want to embarrass yourself talking to the photographer, actually acknowledging him?”

I never really felt at home around Puffy. I think at that time, because I don't think he's like this anymore, but at that time he was — and I know this happened to several other people that I've witnessed throughout their careers — they're really striving. It's very hard at the beginning and they'll push, push, push. They're just about their thing and they don't care about you. So, he was yelling at everybody all the time.

On set that day?

Not that day. Other days.

Oh, just in general?

Just in general. Barking orders. But that day he came in briefly and we did the shot and then he left. There's one shot, I don't know if you've seen it, of them together on a wall. I don't even know why he was there. I can't remember. He had something to do with the record, I guess.

"There was no layout for her to do that pose. It just was natural," Lavine said of the image.

The image came out as the poster, “Lil Kim Coming Soon.” When you're there that day, you have no idea what images are going to stand out. Zero. There's just no way anyone could know. It isn't until there's time to contemplate the session when you edit it and you start to live with the images. And the graphic designer who, I can't remember who it was. Maybe you can find that out.

Maybe.

Let's see if there's a name on here. I don't know. Big Beat records? I don't know who that would've been. Atlantic maybe? I think it was Atlantic Records, no?

Lil Kim was [signed to] Atlantic.

It was Atlantic? Maybe it was, I don't know who it was. Liz Barrett? There were a bunch of people in the Atlantic art department at the time. I could probably look at the invoice.

Do you still have the invoice?

I don't know. Let's see if I do. '96...

If you do, you're the best records keeper of all time.

Yeah, there's Kim and Puffy right there. I have the whole job here. Ed and Carl were my assistants. The location was 24 West 10th Street. That's where we shot it. Here's something for you. Ready for this?

Yes.

So, these are notes from my conversation with the manager. "Little Kim. Female. She's the other woman, somersaults in bedroom, not raunchy. Doorway of bedroom, satin sheets. Blouse, undone. Honey in hair, on bed and on phone. Down pants. Unbuttoning pants. No whips and chains. Classy, sexy, lush, lustful. Candles in the background. Fruits and chocolates." There you go.

The notes Lavine was given prior to the Lil Kim shoot.

So, those were the notes that you were given before the shoot?

Yep. Those were the notes I was given before the shoot.

"Not raunchy" really stands out because I think you conveyed that.

"Not raunchy" — peekaboo, sexy shit.

Oh, man. Well, you did it. You accomplished the goal. And that actually flows really well into my next question, which was what do you believe they were trying to convey with the shoot?

It was funny that they hired me because I was known for not exploiting women in my photos. That was one of the reasons I didn't ever shoot women because back in the day, you were expected to shoot women with clothes off. I refused to do that and I never did it. I think this crouching picture was the raunchiest picture that I had ever done. Actually, that's not true. I did one once. But it was not my normal style, shall I say.

But also, it's an empowering image. I just generally felt uncomfortable sexualizing women throughout my career. That shoot was uncomfortable for me because I had to do that, and I think she was a little unclear as to what she was doing herself. I have no idea. I didn't talk to her. I'm not sure what she was thinking. Years later, I talked to her because we were both well complaining about this image being bootlegged.

She did mention that during our interview. That people were making t-shirts and making their own memorabilia.

It's completely illegal what they're doing, and it's got to be the most bootlegged image of mine. It's like whack-a-mole, you can't stop them. You send out your lawyers and then they just shut down and open with a different name. I could probably go out, spend some time and sue them all and she could, too. Who has time for that? If you have a lawyer and you have a lot of money, you could do that.

That sounds like a lot.

I mean, it's unfortunate. But she was talking about trying to do some merch of her own. The smart thing to do would be to get a deal with Merch Traffic or somebody that does merch, and then they would take care of trying to squash the illegal competition. But I thought that she was going to maybe have that happen this year, but I haven't heard from her.

But the image is just getting more and more famous. It's funny, you never know what kind of resonance an image is going to make and impress upon the culture at the time when you make it. It's rare that there's an instant classic. It's very hard to have that kind of impact these days just because of the nature of social media. Back then, there was a poster and that poster was the only poster. There was no other place to see it but the poster.

Now, it's everywhere.

That image really stands the test of time. Very few images stand the test of time like that image that I've worked on. It's one of my more recognizable images and I have a lot of them.

You do.

So, what can I say? It was a perfectly nice day. She was lovely. We had a nice rapport. The pictures came out great. I continued to work for many years after, and I'm retired now.

What made you jump into hip-hop photography?

Well, that's a funny question because I think my whole life, until recently, has been me falling into things that I wasn't planning on. I was driven to do photography so I was on that path. But if you would've told me my senior year, my fifth year of college, I was going to be shooting rock bands for a living for the rest of my life, I would've said, "Really?" I would've had no idea. But that fifth year [of college] I got a job to shoot a rock band and it just turned into —

The rest of your life?

It turned into the rest of my life. I never said, "I'm going to be a rock photographer." I never said that until I was one. Then, I had no plans on shooting hip-hop. It was an up-and-coming market at the time. I didn't know anything about it. I was friends with Kurt Cobain hanging out at rock shows, and really was unaware of a lot of hip-hop.

I did some hip-hop jobs early. I shot De La Soul, who I loved. I shot a few bands and hip-hop acts that were popular around that time. I got to know a lot of people in the business over time because I worked in it for so long. I was really close with Groovy Lou, who I loved as a stylist. June Ambrose. A lot of people.

But this was a defining moment. That shot, that poster when it came out, it made a lasting impact. It's still gaining speed. At that time, nobody knew who she was.

Did you know who she was?

I might've heard her name but not really. I just got hired on jobs. That's how I learned about people. I listened to the record before anybody else heard it. I got it first. But a lot of people were that way — I would learn about them on the job. That's how you learn because if I'm shooting 100 jobs a year, I don't have time to do anything but the job that's in front of me.

Did you listen to the album before the shoot?

Oh, I'm sure, of course. I don't remember the exact moment I listened to it but I always did. But that was part of the job, and we listened to it all day long during the shoot because that's what we did.

When did you realize that photo was really making waves?

Well, I think it happened over time. Obviously, the poster immediately was like, “OK, that's intense.”

Was it everywhere? Was it all over town?

It was everywhere. And when the poster came out it was powerful. It was a dramatic statement and it sent shock waves immediately. It was clearly influential at the time, I will say that. It was shocking and effective. It put her on the map.

Do you think it put her on the map more so than the cover?

Oh, yeah. The cover, who knows what the cover looks like? Nobody does.

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! How does a WIP Wednesday sound? Thank you always and I wish you a happy day😆

Hello!! I didn't have time to answer this yesterday, so I'm answering today :) This is from the next chapter of As Fate Would Have It which is almost done and should be up soon!!

Patroclus on his third trip from their cart, and sweating buckets in the warm spring afternoon under the mountain of pelts he's carrying, when he notices a customer that has drifted close to their stall and is speaking with Achilles. The man is not very tall, but he's broad at the shoulders and looks quite strong. He has an oily beard which he strokes every so often with fingers covered in golden rings and gemstones, and his beady eyes twinkle with delight as he regards Achilles. By the look—and smell— of him, he must be a sailor of some sort, out in the town on errands. 

"It's my first time here," Patroclus hears Achilles saying as he draws near. "I've never been to Iolcos before."

"I would remember a face like yours," the man says, the words accompanied by a nauseating leer. "Tell me, sweetheart, did you fall from Olympus? Because you look divine to me."

Achilles' brow furrows in confusion. "My mother is a goddess," he replies earnestly. "But she's not from Olympus."

"You're a clever one, eh? Not just a pretty face." The man chuckles indulgently, leaning ever closer to Achilles over the stall between them. "Listen, I have a boat nearby; I could take you for a ride if you—"

"You need something?" Patroclus asks gruffly, depositing the pelts unceremoniously on the stall. 

The man blinks at him in surprise, as if he just materialised out of thin air. "Oh, I was just talking with your, um, associate? I have an interesting proposition for—"

"Either buy something or get lost," Patroclus cuts him off. "We're trying to sell and you're hogging all the space."

"Well, if you say so," the man replies sourly. He clears his throat and peruses the pelts without much interest; it is clear that it was not their wares that drew him there. It isn’t very long before he sets his beady eyes on Achilles once again, and his lips curl in that oily smile. "That is very lovely," he says, picking up a pelt at random. "Is it a fox, or a lynx, perhaps?"

"It’s… a deer," Achilles answers, rather perplexed, for the pelt couldn’t have been more obviously that of a deer’s. “We don’t hunt foxes. Or lynxes, for that matter. Our teacher has shown us way to keep them at bay without—”

"You hunted these yourself? My, so many talents! A man after my own heart," he chuckles, completely ignoring what Achilles was saying, which somehow makes Patroclus’ temper flare even more. The man spreads his disgusting fingers over the pelt as he says, "Doesn't Artemis get mad that you're hunting in those woods, rivalling her in beauty? I should like to see you in action, in fact; I bet you're a sight to behold—" 

"Are you done?" Patroclus snaps, incapable of keeping his anger in check any longer. He snatches the pelt out of his oily hands and gives it a quick rub down before throwing it back in the pile.

"Hey! I was going to buy that!" 

"It's not for sale."

"But—"

"I said: it's not for sale." Patroclus crosses his arms before his chest and glowers at him. "Now, beat it." 

The man lets out an angry huff. "You don't get to talk to me like that. I'm a paying customer and it's a free country. I can stand wherever I want."

"Don’t care where you stand as long as it's not in front of my stall." He straightens to his full height and squares his shoulders, stepping protectively before Achilles when the man's eyes slide to him. A low growl vibrates in his throat before he can stop it. “Do I need to make myself clearer?”

The man swallows thickly and takes a step back. "This isn’t over," he mutters sulkily before he walks away.

[milkistay]

this, for now — bc

synopsis. after 12 years, you reunite with your childhood best friend, chan, who comes back home from his idol life in korea.

pairing. childhoodfriend!chan x gn!reader

format. imagine

word count. 1.5k

a/n. this could also be seen as platonic...i believe. there’s nothing explicitly romantic, just two very close old friends yearning for each other. kind of bittersweet, too. 

"do you remember when we'd go here after school?" 

it’s maybe a few minutes before sunset and you’re walking around your old childhood neighborhood with someone you never thought would see again this soon: chan, your old childhood friend. the streets are painted a strange tone of nostalgia; it’s like you’re walking through hazy memories, dream-like and familiar. sometimes, you’ll spot a house or a street corner that sends you back to your 13-year-old self so strongly, you feel as if you’ve shifted to the past. but then, you look to your left and you see chan, who has so obviously grown up, and you remember all the time that has passed.

he’s grown taller, of course, with broader shoulders and bigger arms. he’s lost most of his baby fat in his face—his jawline is much more apparent, as are all of the sharp angles in his features. you can almost barely recognize him. almost, because you don’t think you could ever forget the little things in chan’s appearance that make him who he is. he smiles and there's something about it that makes you ache—there’s your old best friend again, happy and smiley.

.

.

chan’s pointing to a convenience store up ahead when he asks his question. the storefront hasn't changed a bit——still displaying its ice cream cooler next to the front entrance, its 3-for-1 cough drop deal, and its blue and yellow ATM. you could find your way through the aisles in your sleep, despite the 12 years that have passed since the last time you and chan slipped in, exhausted after a long school day, and left with candy and soft drinks. sometimes, you'd spend the afternoon at the nearby park, the sun on your face and the grass under your thighs as you complained about your teachers and took turns trying to catch m&m's in your mouths. other times, you'd head straight to chan's house and play games in his living room, even staying for dinner. 

"of course, i remember," you tell him. “it hasn’t been that long.”

maybe 12 years isn’t that long. maybe it is. it feels long, that you know for sure. 

in those past 12 years, you've watched chan move to seoul and follow his dream of becoming an idol, growing more talented and more mature with each comeback photo and video that pops up on your social media. in between your busy days, you could only catch glimpses of his rapidly-evolving career and his sudden rise to stardom. with each stray kids photo you saw, the chan you knew so intimately appeared to turn more and more into a stranger. the boy from your childhood grew into a man and you weren't even there to see it.

but he returns to australia after all these years and he smiles at you and suddenly, he's the same 13-year-old who swore, pinky interlocked with yours, that he'd never stop being your best friend. he was chris again. 

and you tried. of course, you tried to keep in touch. he cried in your arms before he left for the airport and promised to call you every day. but being a trainee was busy and being an idol was busier and you had to grow up and move to college and find your own future too, so, after a while, his daily calls became weekly, then monthly, then a rarity. you learned more about his life through stray kids youtube videos than you did through his own words. and you were so happy for him, of course. but you missed him so fucking much. 

“do you remember all of our sleepovers?” you ask, praying he does. 

please remember us. please remember me. please tell me i still have a place in your life. 

he doesn’t even take a moment to think: “yes, yes i do.” he’s grinning now. “we’d basically live out of each other’s houses for a week, just: school, your house, games, dinner, sleep, wake up, school, my house, listen to music, dinner, sleep. god, that was fun.”

“remember hannah would always say—”

“that you were basically her other sibling?” chan finishes with a laugh. “yeah, i think she saw you and me together more than she saw just me alone sometimes.”

you laugh with him. “she said she couldn’t imagine anything pulling us apart.”

“yeah,” chan concedes. “i couldn’t imagine anything either.”

the both of you fall into a sudden silence that’s tinted with an awkwardness that would’ve never existed when you were both 13 and inseparable. it’s a silence of grief, mourning the past determination to stay best friends forever and never leave each other’s sides. during those sleepovers, you’d brainstorm the rest of your lives together—how you’d live in the same dorm in college, then get an apartment together, adopt a dog, and grow up side-by-side. 

was it foolish that you believed in it? was it always just wishful thinking? over those years spent apart, you’d ponder what could’ve been—what your life would look like if chan never moved. it was always bittersweet and you found yourself longing too much so you decided to stop. there’s no point in thinking about what could’ve been—it isn’t, so just focus on what is. and ‘what is’ is a life where chan lives across the ocean and you’re creating your own separate worlds. the too-harsh reality.

"god, you have no idea how much i missed this," chan admits with a sigh, looking up to the sky that was slowly turning shades of pink and orange. 

you offer a chuckle. “yeah, it’s nice to be home, i guess.”

"no, no," he begins. "well, yes—i missed my family like crazy, like you wouldn’t believe—but i’m talking about this." he gestures to the both of you. "us. i missed us."

"oh.” somehow, you weren’t expecting that. “well, someone moved away," you say with feigned accusation. 

he lets out a laugh. "i did, didn't i?” he thinks for a moment. “i don't regret it. i love my boys, i love our fans, i love what we're doing. i just…i miss you,” he says, plain and simple. “and i wish there was some way that i could've had it all. you're the one thing that's missing from my life.”

during the times you pondered what could’ve been, you always came to the conclusion that you were the only one thinking about it, that chan had forgotten you. it hurt a bit, but you thought it was the best way to see it if you wanted to move on from the past. 

but this—you're the one thing that's missing from my life. fuck. you didn’t even realize how much you had been aching to hear that chan still thinks about you. fuck, how can you move on?

"i wish you could've had it all, too. i miss you. so fucking much.”

he sighs. "and there's no way for you to somehow have the urge to relocate to seoul?"

you laugh. "i want to, believe me when i say that. but..."

he nods. "but."

"i have a life, too, you know. a job. friends. i can't just leave."

"i know, i know. i just—"

"me too." you offer a sad smile. "me too."

the sky turns pinker as the sun sets. the neighborhood grows dimmer. 

“so what now?” chan asks.

“what do you mean?”

“i miss you, you miss me, what are we supposed to do now?”

“is there anything we can do?” from the way his expression falls, you can tell he was hoping for a more optimistic answer. “we’ve spent so long cultivating these lives exclusive of each other, is there any way to weave one another into them?”

“you could move to seoul…”

“i can’t.”

“i could move back—”

“you won’t.”

“i could—”

“no, you couldn’t. and you won’t. i know you won’t and you know i won’t let you.”

“i know.” he sighs. “i know.”

“i think this is all we can have.”

“this?”

“this—you and me, coincidentally back home at the same time for a few days, reminiscing for a bit, then parting ways again.”

he nods, reluctantly agreeing because it’s true, as unfortunate as it is. “for now,” he adds optimistically. “maybe, one day, we can figure it out.”

“maybe,” you say, not thinking you’d believe it. but as you say it, maybe foolishly, you find a little hope. 

“i’ll take it. i’ll take what i can have. i’ll have this, for now.”

he offers a smile and who are you to not give him one back?

[kennedyism]

Dirty little secret.

Jackie Kennedy x Female!Fashion Designer!Reader (I have issues ✨✨)

Summary: Being a fashion designer in 1972 for Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis isn’t half bad!

Warnings: Younger!Female reader, affairs, reader has some internalized homophobia, Jackie is a cougar in this idk leave me alone. This is all just for fun. Don’t take this seriously and come for my throat 😭

Tag list: @quietamericans, @vixenihy, @jackiesgirl (Tell me if you want to be apart or removed from my tag list!!)

author’s note: i NEED her.

Based on this confession! <3

“Thank you again for the dress.” Jackie thanks, staring up at you as she hangs up the gown in her closet. “You’re quite talented.” She praises with a grin, her breathy voice is stunning to listen to. It’s like an old song. “It’s a bit of a shock you have such a vintage taste given your age.” She jokes, looking back at you with her hands on her hips.

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Onassis.” You say, watching her admire your work, and then you smile as she praises you once again. She always does it. She knows what makes you blush, smile, and laugh. You then roll your eyes playfully as she implies how young you are—you’re only twenty-five after all. “I inspired it off one of your outfits about ten years ago.” You share with her.

That peaks the former first lady’s interest as she sits in a chair with her legs crossed. Wow, she looks beautiful today with a blouse and some white slacks. She then tilts her head. “What outfit?” She asks, trying to think of which one. A fashion icon, yes, but even she can’t remember everything she’s worn.

You blink in shock at her question and she reach into your bag, digging around for a couple seconds before you pull out a picture of Mrs. Onassis in 1962. She’s wearing a peach dress with white gloves and of course, a three strand pearl necklace. You then hand it to her to let her look at. “I think this was your trip to-“ She talks over you.

“India, yes. Your attention to detail is marvelous.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Onassis.”

“I’ve always admired you, you know.”

That makes your cheeks heat up just a bit, a light shade of pink brushing across your cheeks. You’ve always had somewhat if a crush on Jacqueline Kennedy-Onassis, but you’ve always tried to push it away. It’s not right to like a woman! No, you need to marry a man. That’s God’s plan, this? Absolutely not. You then clear your throat. “Thank you.” You mutter, not looking at the former first lady.

Jackie then stands up, putting the picture on her small table, inching towards you. She’s quite tall, but she isn’t towering over you. She’s can do that in heels, but not in the flats she’s wearing. “Your work is just so intriguing… and you are as well.” She praises, looking into your eyes.

Your face heats up a bit more at her praise and then you smile. Wow, she’s really pretty—Ugh, nope! Not doing this now. You need to get out of there, and it needs to be fast. You then reach for your bag. “Thank you, Mrs. Onassis, but I have to go now. Ring me up if you have another request.” You say swiftly, putting your purse on your shoulder, moving to exit her bedroom.

“Ah, I see… it’s a shame you have to leave so soon. I do enjoy your company, Y/N.”

She isn’t making this easy.

You turn to look at her. Her beautiful features. Her eyes, her lips, her body. All of it, it makes you so hot. You then look at them, your face heating up once again. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt you and Mr. Onassis, so it’s best if I leave.” You excuse, even if Aristotle is a drag to be around.

Jackie laughs softly, it’s intoxicating—she is intoxicating. “He won’t be home for a little while! You’re welcome to stay.” She says, walking towards you, putting her hand on your forearm, brushing her hand around it delicately. “If you’d like.” She finishes.

“Mrs. Onassis—“

“Jackie, Dear.”

“… Jackie, I, I just-“

“You just what? I see the way you look at me. It’s obvious.”

Are you serious? She knew this whole time? What the fuck? Whatever, just play dumb.

“What are you… what are you talking about?” You sputter, backing up towards the door, but you don’t want to leave, but you have to. This isn’t right. She’s so fucking breathtaking. One more look and you’re on the floor. If you hear her speak one more time, you’re never getting up.

Jackie continues to smile softly. “You have feelings towards me—an attraction.” She tells you, and she’s not wrong. Far from it. God, you thought you had it together. Never. You never do for Jacqueline Onassis.

“… What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I feel the same, Y/N.”

After a moment of silence, you pull the former first lady into a loving kiss, and she’s taken back for about three seconds until she kisses you with just enough passion to overwhelm you. She’s been wanting this too. She then pulls away, blinking.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was rather nice.”

“So… uhm—“

“You better not tell anyone… This is our dirty little secret.”

[scotianostra]

One of Scotland's' most iconic films, Local Hero was released on February 18th 1983.

In the days before mobile phones we used to use things called phone boxes when we were not at home, and the phone box in Local Hero has become as iconic as the film itself.

There aren’t many films that have a 100% Tomatometer , on the movie website Rotten Tomatoes, backed up by an impressive 87% audience score, it should be all you need to know when choosing a movie to watch, expecially if you haven’t seen it before. IMDb also rate it highly with 7.4 out of 10.

Bill Forsyth’s oil-refinery comedy isn’t billed as a weepy. It is, however, a love poem to Scotland, and that’s what brings the lump to my throat.

Quirky, wry, gentle are words most often used for this comedy on the movie database site, IMDb, the starting point for many of my posts about those Scots in the acting profession in my posts. They brief story line on the site does not hint at the emotional turbulence you might soon be experiencing. So maybe it’s just me being a big sissy. Wouldn’t be the first time I lost the plot. All it says is "An American oil company sends a man to Scotland to buy up an entire village where they want to build a refinery. But things don't go as expected." The film is so much more than this and it stands the test of time much better than other Forsyth films like Comfort & Joy and Gregory's Girl, well in my opinion anyway!

Crackpot Texan oil magnate Felix Happer (Burt Lancaster) gets the idea that a small Scottish fishing village would be a marvellous acquisition for his so-rich-it-makes-you-sick company, Knox Oil and Gas, so he sends an executive gopher named MacIntyre (because that sounds Scottish, yeah – played by Peter Riegert) to close the deal and get the pipeline pencilled in.

“Mac” is met by some local “dork” called Oldsen (a young Peter Capaldi), who attempts to steer him through a tartan microculture that includes a lawyer-cum-publican/hotelier (Denis Lawson) who tapdances while standing on a chair shouting “Stella” – the name of his ever-randy wife; there is a super-hard marine biologist played by Jenny Seagrove who, after delivering a short lecture on the North Atlantic drift, ends up helping Oldsen to find that pistol in his pocket; and then there is a scene in which a very whisky-sodden Mac calls Texas from a red phone box on the harbourside, a phone box that has featured in so many peoples snaps when visiting Pennan in Banffshire.

Other bits of business in the film involve a salty Russian seafarer and overflying warplanes. You can see how it got the comedy tag, and I haven’t even mentioned the thing with the rabbit. And you can see how Mac ends up smitten.

This is all top material from a very talented writer/director, with photography and music from Glasgow born Mark Knopfler matches the acting and direction perfectly. But on first viewing I found myself asking halfway through, “What is this film actually about?” After not very much thought, I came to the conclusion that it was not a How Things Never Go According to Plan story, but a love poem to Scotland and the Scots. A bit slushy, but never mind. It’s only a film.

The scene when Mac phones to describe the Northern Lights, to me is very special, but the scene that prompted the lump in my throat at the end of the movie is when, having failed in his mission to secure the Knox refinery deal and mutilate one of Planet Earth’s most beautiful locations, Mac returns to his frigid steel-and-glass Houston apartment. He stands at his kitchen counter wondering what to do next, the hushed march of oil capitalism buzzing gently outside. He pulls from his coat pocket a handful of pebbles and shells, smelling one of them poignantly remembering as he spreads them on the work surface.

As Knopflers music gently plays he goes to his balcony and looks out to the city......the scene fades to black, then reopens 4,500 miles away, where, on the harbour side of a small Scottish fishing village, we see the phone box, perhaps ringing and the credits begin as the horns of Going Home blast out.

Others in the film include Rikki Fulton, Alex Norton, Kenny Ireland, John Gordon Sinclair and of course Burt Lancaster.

[kittenfangirl20]

*Lucifer watched as Adam’s band practiced, Adam was the lead singer and lead guitarist, Lucifer was amazed by the talent the first man had, Eve was even part of the band playing the bass guitar and she would sing along with Adam, the band comprised of different angels, but it was the first man and second woman who were the stars of the show*

Adam: Luci, come up here, remember I told you that I wrote a song for you to sing in too, I want to try it out.

Lucifer: I can’t, what if I am not good enough.

Adam: That is bullshit, you are the Archangel of Light, your voice has always left me entranced. Sing with us.

*Lucifer knew he meant more for Lucifer to sing along with Adam and Eve with the rest of the band just happening to be there, he pulled off his hat and coat before rolling up his sleeves and getting on the stage*

Lucifer: Forgive me if fail and make everyone look bad.

Adam: You are the Demon Prince of Pride and absolutely gorgeous, don’t let insecurity control you.

*Adam handed Lucifer a microphone and the band struck up the opening notes and Lucifer sang the lyrics that Adam wrote for the song, Adam and Eve soon joined in singing, Lucifer thought of Eden when he would sing with Adam and thought of how it would have been like if he had been there when Eve arrived instead of being on the run with Lilith, their voices went well with each other and Lucifer such a warm feeling inside at singing with the two people he loved, he was so lost in the singing that he didn’t realize that residents of the hotel gathered to hear them sing, when the song was done he saw the little audience and blushed*

Charlie: That was so amazing dad, I love it when you sing. In fact I missed it.

Angel Dust: You rocked.

Alastor: It was acceptable, but then again nothing can beat jazz.

*the whole group knew for Alastor that was him giving high praise, later Lucifer was sitting with Adam and Eve*

Lucifer: It has been a long time since I had so much fun.

Eve: Adam always went on about how amazing your voice was and I can say that he wasn’t exaggerating.

Lucifer: Thank you, in fact you sounded amazing yourself Eve. Adam, I always loved your voice, I am so happy that others can hear it.

Adam: Singing was always my passion and it helps me connect with others. I know that is silly.

Eve: It isn’t, I think it is sweet.

Lucifer: She is right, you have a rare gift that needs to be shared.

*Adam just smiled as they continued talking*

[puckpocketed]

17/12/2023 Pittsburgh Penguins vs Toronto Maple Leafs

The Summer I Fell For Hockey - Sidney Crosby: Perspectives From a Stargazer

It’s the weekend after I decided that ice hockey would have my heart forever, I’ve copped the $22 NHL.tv subscription, and I’m waiting for the Seattle Kraken game at 2. In the meantime, I throw on the Penguins vs Leafs as I make breakfast and coffee. The brief Sportsnet pregame segment blares to life on the livestream feed as I measure out my beans on the scales and crack them open in my manual grinder. It’s a gorgeous Australian summer’s day; balmy warm sunshine and a chill wind to beckon me outside — but I’m at home and I’ve got my squeeze bottle of balsamic glaze for my eggs, and Sidney Crosby is settling in for the face-off.

Crosby is a name I knew long before I watched my very first hockey match. He’s one of those generational talents whose presence alters the landscape of the game, to the point — to borrow a phrase from the Tumblr blogosphere — he breaks containment. He’s more than a name: he’s the face of a franchise, and arguably the entire sport. The myth around this man has me remembering all the other greats that I’ve admired throughout the years. Faker. Roger Federer. In all cases I’ve caught them in the unexpected twilight of their careers, and the addition of Crosby makes it a hat trick. I say ‘twilight’ because they were all holding on to greatness when I first saw them, to the thing they love; ‘unexpected’ because, well, no one thought they’d be around for so long at that point in their careers. I always seem to come upon them in the in-between; while they’re still performing well but they’re not at their peak anymore; when the media and the fans and, seemingly, the entire world has turned a single, searing eye on them to ask, “Why are you still here? Isn’t this going to get embarrassing soon?”

Crosby’s got a lethal backhand shot, same as Federer. He’s a three-time champion looking for one more trophy to herald the swan song of his career, just like when I first began following Faker. If I was making this up, I couldn’t make the poetry of it rhyme as well as this reality. And the Pens aren’t my team the way the Kraken and the Sharks are — but Crosby’s got me by the throat the way all ageing stars do: I look at him with a mix of pity and contempt; respect and awe — and I’m bracing for the impact of when he goes supernova and retires. He’s got his weird routines; peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the same time every game day, the exact same on-ice warmup, and a truly egregious playoffs beard. He’s obsessed with the game, his mind is still sharp and his heart still beats a hungry tattoo against his ribcage, roaring for one last season, one last shot at winning it all — even as his team morphs into something nearly unrecognisable and his body fails to keep up.

“Bias-wrecker” is the phraseology that K-pop fans use for people like Crosby. It means, in short, that though you have your favourites, there’s someone out there who’ll turn your head no matter what. Crosby’s story is what Oscar-bait biopics are made of. On a more personal level Crosby himself is the exact kind of star I’ve always watched: a bit past their prime, revered and reviled all at once, and so fucking interesting that you can’t help but look. So, I can’t not watch the Pens.

Last year when Faker got reverse swept by his old rival and schoolmate Deft, I laughed and cried — both for him and at him. It was close, and the burn of defeat was all the more bittersweet for it. Today, in some throwaway match in the middle of the NHL’s regular season, it’s not close at all. The Leafs notably have their best scorer benched due to illness, and just a few days ago the Pens won a marathon 12 round shootout against the Habs. Theoretically, with morale high and Auston Matthews MIA, this should at least be competitive. Instead, I sit in the Penguins’ liveblog tag and watch the despondent posts roll in as goal after goal is left unanswered.

The Pens power play, which hinges on the Malkin-Crosby battery, is underperforming by a country mile this season. I don’t need to know the stat to tell. In the microcosm of this singular game, the gaps are evident. If I was an unkind reporter, I’d probably say: they fumble passes to each other and seem unwilling to shoot when they do connect; they’re shaken each time they lose possession of the puck and sloppy to recover. But there’s more to this story than the 0-7 scoreline — it doesn’t exist in a vacuum, nothing ever does.

The game is as close to bloody as a game can get without any blood being drawn. I watch hit after hit, checks that verge on illegality, penalties that never get called. Memorably, there’s Crosby getting high sticked behind the goal, and the refs completely missing it. Within five minutes, gloves get dropped for the first brawl of the match. It isn’t the last. Multiple almost-incidents thicken the air, the buzz of unbroken violence a constant threat in the background.

A small tangent: this is how frustration manifests itself in ice hockey. I think that’s why I’m so drawn to it; why I fell so hard and fast after I watched my first fight. Tennis players break their rackets, gamers slam their desks, but hockey players try to punch each other’s lights out. There’s something so real and embodied about the controlled violence of it — the unspoken rules, the way refs will let them play out until someone hits the ice, the implicit finality of a fight being truly over once it’s over, the players accepting the results and consequences no matter what.

Ethically, I don’t believe in retributive justice; but artistically, aesthetically, and in the most literary sense? As I’ve said before in a shitpost: there’s a beauty and a narrative resonance to the way hockey players go about it. There’s honour in putting your body on the line for a teammate, spilling blood to demonstrate that you’ll defend your brothers on the ice, dropping gloves and taking the penalty to show the other team that you won’t tolerate disrespect and you see their wrongs even if the refs didn’t. The game buzzer sounds with the Pens getting shut out of the scoreboard, and though they aren’t my team I’m there with the fans who are live blogging the loss and my heart is breaking with them.

In esports, we have this running joke about international tournaments: we say “the script is really good this year” whenever something too good or too interesting to be real happens, something from right out of a movie plot, all-is-lost to rising action to climax to denouement. I hope, for the Penguins and for Crosby and Letang and Malkin — for the core that Crosby’s managed to take with him this far into the twilight of his career — that this is their all-is-lost moment. This year at Worlds, coming back from last year’s devastating loss and a half-year injury that kept him from playing, Faker won his fourth championship and hoisted the Summoner’s Cup one more time. Roger Federer retired long after his last Grand Slam win; but his last match was played right beside his beloved friend and rival Rafael Nadal — after years of being plagued with injuries, he went out on his own terms.

I don’t know enough about hockey yet to actually make a sound prediction on where the Pens will fall on the table at the end of all this, I don’t know if that day will ever come. But it’s been just over a week, and I’m all-in on this wondrous, brutal sport, and what I do know about is story arcs, and stargazing, and that real life sometimes rhymes.

All I can say is — I hope the script is good this year, I hope that Crosby gets his denouement.

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

you belong with me (part 1) // fred weasley

Summary: You’re stubborn, so when your best friend tries to convince you that Bucky Barnes isn’t the right guy for you, you try to prove him wrong. In the process, you end up in a place you thought only existed in books, where you meet the one.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (eventually)

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: unrequited love, bit of angst, panic attack

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @error501beta​ for proofreading this!

ＢＥＦＯＲＥ　ＹＯＵ　ＲＥＡＤ： This is a Marvel x Harry Potter fanfiction. You’re 17 and you are Wanda sister. For the purposes of this fic the year on the MCU is 2017. Civil War events have not happened and everyone lives in the Avengers Compound. The year on Harry Potter is 1994, around The Goblet of Fire.

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“He’s so hot,” you sighed dreamily. Steve and Bucky were sparring in the gym a few feet away from you. It had become a habit for you at this point to watch the two supersoldiers train, if only to discreetly check out the brunet.

You weren't sure when your infatuation with Bucky had started, but one day you found you couldn't take your gaze off of him whenever he was in the same room. You weren't sure if the older man had noticed your lingering stares, but if he had, he had never mentioned it.

“And yet way too old for you.” The voice startled you, and you jumped, diverting your focus away from the two supersoldiers and toward a much younger man with a sly smirk on his face.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “What do you want, Peter?”

“Dreaming about your knight in shining armor again?”

Now, if anyone knew about your crush, it was Peter Parker. Much to your dismay. Peter was quite insightful; it only took him half an hour in the same room with you to figure out your crush on the winter soldier. And boy, did he enjoy teasing you about it. That's what best friends do, right?

“You know, you should get over it already. It’s not like he’s gonna notice you anyway.”

“Why is that?” You asked, annoyed.

Peter was about to laugh, but then saw your serious expression and decided it was best if he didn't. “Come on, Y/N/N. It's amusing to see you yearning for him, but you don't really think you have a chance, do you?”

“Is he too good for me, or what? Is he out of my league? Am I not good enough?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Peter clarified quickly. He had no intention of offending you. “But you’re 17, and he’s like…” He paused for a moment, mentally calculating the supersoldier’s age. “A hundred years old?” His statement came across as more of an inquiry.

“Alright. First and foremost, I'll be 18 in a few months. Second, he was 28 when HYDRA captured him and, considering he spent most of his time in a freezer, he didn't age all that much.”

“He’s still 11 years older.”

You shook your head. "I don't see the issue."

Peter gazed at you for a few seconds, trying to figure out whether you were serious or joking. “He probably thinks of you as his little sister.” He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it was obvious Bucky Barnes didn’t return your affections.

“Then I’ll dress more maturely, “ you shot back.

“It’s not the clothes, Y/N. It's the age difference. It's not like you can magically become older by snapping your fingers.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, knowing by the smirk on your face that he had unintentionally given you an idea.

Peter was well aware of your’s and Wanda's talents. And, while it was obvious that the older Maximoff was more powerful, you were also an exceptionally gifted witch. He'd seen you accomplish amazing things, but he wasn't sure whether age manipulation was one of them.

“I can create an illusion,” You began, drawing out the strategy in your brain. “I’ll make him believe that I’m older, that way I’ll catch his attention.”

Illusion manipulation was one of your favorite abilities. Mostly because it had the potential to get you out of trouble. You could manipulate people's perceptions of what they saw, heard, touched, smelled, and tasted. The plethora of effects you could achieve had so many uses, such as confusing targets, hiding and masking objects or places, leading targets to inadvertently harm one another, and so on. Yet you still hadn’t reached your full potential.

But you weren’t fighting aliens or HYDRA agents, you were just trying to get a guy, and you were powerful enough to manipulate the senses to the point the illusion was indistinguishable from reality to the target. Which in this case was Bucky.

“So you’re gonna mess with his mind?” You were pulled back to reality by Peter's voice. You had nearly forgotten he was there for a second. “I think the poor guy has been through enough brainwashing. Don’t you?”

Of course, you were aware of what Bucky had gone through. He still had nightmares about HYDRA’s torture. So Peter was probably correct, messing with his mind wasn't the best way to win him over.

“Even then, you’ll still be 17; you’ll be lying to both him and yourself,” Peter added.

“Well… what if I don’t have to lie? What if I actually can age up?”

Your friend looked at you, puzzled. “You can do that?”

“Not with my magic,” you grinned, “but there's something that might help.”

It was true, you couldn't use your magic to age up a few years, at least not that you knew of. It would be a lot easier, but you'd have to ask Wanda, who would want to know why you were asking. Then you'd tell her, and she'd try to talk you out of it. So you’d have to take the difficult path.

“So… what are you gonna do?”

“Thor brought some cool Asgardian stuff yesterday. And by cool, I mean magical. I’m sure there’s something there that can help,” you explained. “And if that doesn’t work I have a Plan B.”

“You really have everything figured out, huh?” Peter looked at you in disbelief. “The Asgardian stuff is in Mr. Stark’s laboratory. How are you planning to get in?”

“At night, of course.”

Your sister knew something was up. You’d been reserved all night, and that's what was giving you away. Wanda knew you like the back of her hand, and when you were quiet, she knew you were up to no good.

Throughout dinner, you and Peter had been exchanging glances. He’d obviously wanted to sell you out, but your murderous stare had stopped him. Also, Peter considered himself a good friend, and he didn’t want to betray your trust, but he also knew you were bound to get into trouble.

It wasn't until Wanda had knocked on your bedroom door late at night that you realized how obvious you had been, and you only hoped the rest of the team hadn’t caught on to your weird behavior.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Your sister sat beside you on the bed. You tried to keep your cool as you looked at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried, but the look Wanda gave you was unimpressed.

“Is this about Bucky?” Her question caught you off guard. Did she know? “You can't fool me, honey; I'm your sister. And you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

“Stop getting inside my head,” you chastised her. You hated when she did that. “It’s a huge invasion of privacy, y’know?”

“You never tell me anything. You’ve left me with no choice.” When you didn’t reply, Wanda spoke again. “There’s nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s totally normal for an older guy to catch your eye when you’re young.”

You got off the bed and looked at her, a scowl on your face. “Why do you keep treating me like a child?” You demanded, your voice raising. “I’m not a kid. I’ll be 18 in a couple of months.”

Wanda remained irritatingly calm despite your obvious frustration. “I know, Y/N.”

“Then why is it so difficult for everyone to see that a relationship between me and him isn’t impossible!?”

Exasperated, the Scarlet Witch sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had never pictured herself in this predicament. Wanda was more than just your older sister; she was also the only mother figure you have ever known. Yet she was certain your late mother would have been better at this conversation than she would be.

“Look, Y/N. No one is saying it is impossible in the long run but as of right now it is. You know everything Bucky has been through.”

“How come everyone uses that as an excuse to tell me to back off?”

“It’s not an excuse-”

“It is! I'm sure no one would object if I were your age.”

“Oh, honey, I know how tough it must be to be young and surrounded by older people. Especially men. But I also know there's someone else out there who's perfect for you, and that person isn't Bucky.” She stood and approached you, standing in the middle of the room, brow still furrowed by the conversation. She hesitantly wrapped an arm around you in a side embrace, which you did not return. “Why don't you go to bed and we can pick up where we left off in the morning?” She suggested, “Perhaps we can go to that coffee place you like?”

You turned to face your sister. The rational part of you understood that Wanda meant well. But you were stubborn, and irritated by everyone treating you like a child. You’d never cared what others thought of you; growing up in an orphanage had given you tough skin. But it hurt that you didn't even feel like an adult in Wanda's eyes. She was your big sister, your mentor. She was everything you aspired to be. But she didn't consider you an equal; just the little sister she had to protect.

The silence became uncomfortably quiet. Wanda remained at your side, waiting for a response.

"I'm helping Peter study for his test tomorrow. Maybe another time."

You gave in to your petty side. Wanda's face dropped, and her hopeful smile faded. It made your stomach turn, and you had to look away.

"Okay," she murmured and kissed your temple softly. "Goodnight."

She was halfway out the door when she turned to you. “I love you, Y/N. And I want the best for you. Always. Please remember that.”

And then she left the room.

The conversation left a bittersweet taste, but you tried to block it out. You were determined to get what you wanted, and no one was going to stop you from getting it.

The lights were off and the compound was quiet. The hallways, living room, and kitchen were empty, providing you with the perfect opportunity to make your way to Tony’s lab.

“Where are you going?” The sudden voice in the darkness made you jump. You turned on your heel, only to face the man who had been taking over your dreams for the past few months.

You were like a deer caught in the headlights. Bucky catching you was the last thing you expected. You had checked the time before leaving your bedroom; it was 3:00 in the morning, so why was he wandering around the compound at this hour?

The winter soldier kept staring at you, waiting for you to respond. “Where are you going?” you decided to shoot back, and a light chuckle left his mouth.

Now that you thought about it, this was the first time Bucky and you had been alone in the same room. With another avenger always around, you couldn't ever enjoy the man’s presence just for yourself.

“Looking for trouble?”

You put your hand on your chest, pretending to be offended. "Do you really think so little of me?"

“I may not have been here that long, but I know you have a habit of getting into trouble.”

‘Does that mean he has noticed me?’

“I don’t look for trouble. Trouble finds me.”

“Of course,” he let out another chuckle. A wave of giddiness rushed through you, he found you funny.

“You gonna rat me out?”

Bucky looked at you, weighing his options. You looked back at him expectantly, with a pleading expression on your face. If he told Tony or someone else that you'd been wandering the compound after midnight with ulterior motives, you'd have them on your back the next night and wouldn't be able to carry out your plan.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he spoke again. “It would be our little secret.”

His words made you smile, and you could feel your stomach turn. You were about to thank him when he interrupted you. “But if there's any damage done in this building tomorrow morning, be sure you’re not getting away with it, kid.”

Kid. There it was, that dreadful word. ‘He probably sees you like a little sister’ Uninvited, Peter's words echoed in your mind. You felt your shoulders slump and your smile fade.

Bucky misinterpreted your expression and said, “Just promise me you’re not doing anything bad.”

“I promise, Buck.” You wanted this conversation to be over. It was only cutting you deeper and delaying your plan.

Bucky bid his farewells and returned to his room. Tears that you had been holding back ran down your face. With your sleeve, you wiped them away. “I promise that tomorrow you won’t see me as a kid anymore,” you whispered to yourself.

You received the second surprise of the night when you reached the laboratory door only to find Peter resting against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” “What took you so long?” You both asked at the same time.

“Look, even if I think this is a terrible idea and I’m still hoping you reconsider it, I’m still your best friend.” He said, “You've stood by me through all of my ups and downs, so it's only fair that I stand by you now. If you fall, I fall.”

On the spur of the moment, you dragged Peter against you, throwing your arms around him. He wrapped his arms around you just as tightly. “Thank you, Pete,” you murmured.

“What are friends for?” he said with a gentle smile as you were freed from the hug. "Now, how are you going to open the door?" he asked after you were free. You smiled at him, thrumming your fingers, as a spark of red light emerged from the palm of your hand. The sound of the lock opening with a satisfying click echoed in the empty corridor seconds later.

“Like that.”

You both entered the room as quietly as possible. The slightest sound could give you away. “Wow, there are such cool things in here.” Peter looked amazed. “You think Mr. Stark would let me use this?” he questioned, holding up a serpent-shaped headpiece.

“Why would you want to use that?”

“Because it’s cool.” Peter placed the crown back in its place. “What are we looking for exactly?”

“I don’t know. Something magical.”

“Everything here is magical.”

You kept your gaze fixed on the goods on the table. You were relieved that Tony hadn't yet secured them in a different location, as you knew he always did whenever Thor brought something from Asgard. A sword next to the serpent crown drew Peter's attention. You scowled. “What exactly is this? King Arthur’s Sword?

When Peter saw the blade, his eyes widened, and you smacked his hand away before he could go for it. “Don't touch it,” you warned. “A sword isn't going to help me.”

A trident. A casket. A blade. A hammer. An axe. None of this was of use to you. But then Peter picked up something you hadn’t seen displayed on the table before, “What about this?” He asked.

You took a look at the object. It appeared about a foot in length. Perhaps made of crystalline material, but it was the demonic heads on both ends that drew your attention.

“It’s a wand… I think,” Peter pondered. “You said your magic couldn't make you age up, but this thing might be able to.”

“Where did you get that?”

“It was in there,” he said, pointing to a glass dome with a yellow base in the other corner of the room. “The things that are kept away from others are usually quite unique.”

Peter carefully placed the wand in your palm once you extended your hand. When your skin made contact with the mysterious object, you felt a surge of energy race through your body. It was excruciating. It was agonizing. It felt like a massive weight had dropped on top of you, limiting your movement. Peter's eyes widened as your eyes glowed bright red. You let go of the wand, which landed with a thud on the floor, and your hands began to emit your signature red glow, as they did when you used your magic. The only problem was that you weren't. At least, not voluntarily.

“What’s going on?” Your friend's voice was filled with worry.

You couldn’t respond. To begin with, you had no idea what was going on. Second, you were being pulled backwards by what felt like an almost magnetic force. Peter's reflexes were rapid, and he tightened his grip on your hand, hoping to draw you back to him, but whatever this thing was, it was stronger than him, no matter how much super-strength the teenager possessed. You could feel your hand slipping away from his.

And then, before he knew it, you flew across the room and vanished.

You landed painfully on the hard ground. Still dizzy from what had just happened, you pushed yourself up off the floor, looking for your friend, but you didn't come across Peter. You weren't even in the laboratory anymore.

‘What the hell?’

You looked around, still disoriented. This wasn't the compound, no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes. It seemed to be a corridor.

“Where am I?” you muttered to yourself.

The stone walls, floor, and vaulted ceiling were the first things that caught your eye. The arches on the left showed not only fresh green grass but also the sun shining… which didn't add up. You were in the lab at around 3 a.m. Maybe a little later because your conversation with Bucky delayed you. Even so, it was too early for it to be daytime.

‘Why does everything look so… old fashioned?’

The more you looked around, the more obvious it became that you were far from home. You thought about Peter, and how everyone was going to blame him for this. You remembered Bucky's words about you constantly looking for trouble. You thought about Wanda, and how disappointed she would be in you. She couldn't have a minute of peace because of you. If it wasn't Principal Evans phoning to inform her how you blew up the science lab, it was a call about how you let the frogs go and how they somehow wound up in Ashley Miller's lunch.

But this? This took the cake. This wasn’t a high school prank. This was serious, and you knew that no matter how many apologies you gave her, she would never forget it, and it had most likely permanently broken her trust in you.

Your ears began to ring, your heart pounded against your chest, and your hands began to shake. You had no idea where you were, but you were certain you didn't want to be here; you wanted to go home. You wanted your sister to wrap her arms around you and soothe away your fears; providing comfort and safety. However, you were stranded in god-knows-where. Alone. Defenseless. Scared. You collapsed onto the floor, your legs clutched against your chest. Breathing was difficult. Extremely difficult, as if you'd just finished a marathon.

And you cried. Your chest clenched as bile surged in your throat.

You weren't sure how long you cried but by the time your breathing even out, your legs were numb from the stone floor.

“Are you alright?” You raised your head in response to a soft, worried voice. Only to see three individuals staring at you with concern — two boys and a girl.

You stared back at them with your shiny eyes. They appeared to be a few years younger than you and were wearing what looked like robes. The cogs began to turn in your head.

You stood up to wipe your eyes after realizing you'd been staring at them for far too long. “S-sorry,” you stammered, your hoarse, cracked voice still audible.

“It's alright,” the girl said sympathetically, “Are you feeling well?”

“Yeah, I just had a moment, but I'm fine now.”

“Are you American?” This time, it was one of the boys, the ginger of the two, who spoke. He was staring at you oddly. Perhaps because he just caught you bawling on the floor just a few moments ago, perhaps it was because you were still in your jammies. But the fact that it was your accent he picked up on first perplexed you.

You weren't sure whether to tell the truth or not. You weren’t American. You'd only been in New York for a few years, but you and Wanda had caught up on the accent quickly. Although you slipped and sounded more Sokovian when you were upset sometimes.

You choose to nod.

‘Maybe it’s better to lie.’

“Are you an Ilvermorny exchange student?” The girl asked, her voice filled with eagerness.

If these three people, whom you have never seen before but still looked extremely familiar to you, and the lion embroidered on their robes weren’t enough to give you an idea where the demonic-styled wand had sent you, the mention of the fictional American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sure was.

You took a few seconds to respond, but you gave what you believed was the best answer; after all, you didn't know how long you'd be trapped in this universe. “Yeah, I am.”

“Hermione Granger,” she said as she extended her hand for you to shake. “These are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.”

Ron nodded his head in greeting, and Harry waved his hand shyly.

“I’m Y/N Maximoff.”

Another person made their presence known in the passageway, interrupting your conversation. A tall woman approached you, dressed in a huge dark green robe with her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. “What exactly is happening here?”

She stared at the three younger students before turning her attention to you. When she narrowed her eyes, you knew you were screwed. She had obviously noticed there was something wrong with you.

“Professor McGonagall, why didn’t you tell us we were hosting an exchange student?”

The woman ignored Hermione's inquiry and opted to dismiss them, making it clear, at least to you, that she wanted to talk to you alone. Despite their protests, they obeyed and made their way to class.

“Now, why don’t we go to my office so we can have a chat?”

You gulped. You could tell the question was rhetorical, and she wasn't expecting you to agree. So you simply followed her. The other students passing through the hallways gave you strange stares.

[georgiapeach30513]

Mrs pasta here checking in on you peach 🍑

Glad to see you doing well and as always, keeping positive and away from the drama.

I also see operation manufacturing an internet bf has some people in a tiff. 😂

I myself don’t mind the carbon copy, I think he’s cute and somewhat charming, but what I don’t love is seeing the sudden bandwagon jump as always.

I have always side eyed fair weathered fans. Jumping to whoever is “hot” at the moment and then piling on someone else when they are “down.” I have no issues with carbon copy having his own fans - I just resent a comparison being used to put one down over the other. There’s no need for that. Especially when some are doing it on purpose to get a rise out of others.

I also have a feeling some people will be crawling back in the near future. I’ve always thought Ramen wasn’t meant to go the commercial route of big blockbuster movies and beefcake persona. I think his innate nature (at least publicly) has shown he tends to thrive when he follows his guns and picks a risky or unique project with a director that has a specific vision. I think this is where he will continue to find inspiration and return on investment.

If money isn’t an issue for him anymore, I think these smaller but more original/different projects may carve him a future in character acting that I think he still has a chance to succeed in.

He doesn’t need to be a top shelf A lister or even awards darling to do it. He is talented and he will find an audience somehow, I am sure of this.

Remember - art is subjective. And what makes a good movie isn’t necessarily how many awards it gets or how big the box office numbers are. If you are someone’s favorite actor in a movie they watch religiously and they can quote every line, or you are an actor whose opened a person up to a new genre or franchise simply because they enjoyed you on screen - then in my books, you’ve succeeded. I think Ramen has done that for many people in this world and I don’t think he needs to prove anything to anyone. I myself have seen multiple men wearing cap America tshirts this month alone (it’s 2024!) - white, Asian, Black, Latinx, older, middle aged, teenaged, child. Both Ramen and his friend Buldak (three guesses who I’m referring to 😉 AM) have created a legacy that won’t be going away anytime soon. Ten years ago, I used to mainly see batman and superman t shirts. I don't think all these new fans are just people who like comic books.

Be well, peach. Until next time!

Mrs. Pasta!! I welcome you back, it’s been awhile, but glad to see you around these neck of the woods again.

I actually think Chris’ career was heading out of the internet boyfriend for a while, and now here we are. I’ve tried to remain out of this discourse because I never want to yuck on someone else’s yum, but of course people want to push him and his projects on me, or want to talk about him, and eventually I do, and they don’t like it. When I’ve stated multiple times that the man does absolutely nothing for me in looks and I don’t enjoy his movies, and that’s being generous given his list of projects. Everyone has their time to come up, but his has been quick, since working on Top Gun. Almost like he has someone who wanted to invest in his career. Good for him. Now go away and create a new identity 😂

As you talk about the fair weathered fans, it just proves it was more about the looks and persona than about the talent. Which is fine, but we don’t have to kick him when he’s down to lift another up. I have been a fan of his since 2001. I became a fan for his looks, yes, and stayed because I enjoyed him. I enjoyed his body of work, meaning projects. I enjoyed his public persona, etc. You don’t stay a fan for over 20 years on looks alone. Although his looks to me are a bonus.

Chris’ career is fine, despite what some people believe. It is not of the height as it was when he was in Marvel, but neither is RDJ’s, Scarlett’s, or anyone’s. Marvel is a wheelhouse, and is in a league all of its own, so it’s silly to compare the two. However, Chris has had movies since Not Another Teen movie where he was the lead, and had a character name. It was a slow, but steady climb to his peak in 2018/2019. But he has officially announced three projects for this year alone. People don’t even know what he could be planning for 2025. He is an attractive white man that has a reputation for an excellent work ethic. He’ll be okay.

And you’re right. I would wager most actors aren’t A-List anymore. I seriously get tired of this conversation because it goes around in circles. But this age of celebrities are not the ones from the past. And that’s okay. Things change. As long as he is happy with his career and the way it’s going, and he’s being fulfilled it shouldn’t matter if he’s in huge box office successes.

Buldak! I love this!! I think the spicy ramen suits Mackie 😉 And you’re right. Superman was the superhero of the past. Now, it’s Captain America. Nobody can ever take Steve Rogers from Chris, or the fact that he was the face of Marvel for years. But I don’t even consider Steve to be one of my favorite characters. However, he was perfect for it, and nobody could have done it better.

As always, Mrs. Pasta, thanks for dropping in!

[ratkingssillyboy]

So I’ve been wanting to read the rest of the royal ranger series and figured I’d reread the main series first as it’s been around six years since I first found them, after reading the first book I’m just so glad that it holds up to how fantastic it was the first time and I have ALOT to say.

-The way that Will and Horace grow so much in just the first book, I mean we have Will whose main defence is running and finding a hiding spot but is still witty and a fast thinker to a brave resourceful determined young man. The training my boy is put through is ROUGH but he doesn’t even think of trying to get out of it or wishing he wasn’t a rangers apprentice, we get to see as he matures and simply grows into himself just…the steadiness he has in him by the end of the book, he has a long way to go but we get a glimpse at the man he’ll become.

Horace has an even greater arc, we see him as a simple minded bully (which he absolutely is in those early chapters) but then we see that he’s a natural swordsman who has his own insecurities. We then watch as he’s confronted with the trio of bullies and still unsure of the traditions and usual ways of battle school we see as he soldiers through taking their shit and STILL managing to keep up to a degree, the way that it still affects his school work and social life was perfectly depicted like on harvest day where he lashed out at those he cares about was brilliant but also him not keeping up with school work which when the issue is taken care of becomes much easier for him. But through it all we get to see as he matures, now he isn’t that bully we saw at the start he is a talented loyal friend who is willing to try and take down a boar to keep someone he’s been awful to safe and then witnessing Will do the same for him, making a promise that he soon fulfils regardless of his own injuries

Just watching Will and Horace, these two boys going from school yard enemies to the mature young men who would absolutely die for the other by the end of the book was fantastic, there was no force behind it like it felt so natural and easy once they were able to actually see the other and how far they both had come since the choosing, and it isn’t perfect there’s still tension but they’re friends

- speaking of the boar attack, when Will shoved his face into halts chest and cried? I sobbed as well, absolute puddle of a mess because of course Will would cling to halt after such a terrifying ordeal, and halt just?? Comforting him??? Like the heart attack this man must of had watching his son apprentice facing down a massive boar with a bow and two knives, that hug absolutely healed something in halt John told me so himself.

- I remember originally reading the books at age 12-14 and not comprehending why Will asking so many questions annoyed halt but now at the age of 20? I get it, I finally understand this poor tired middle aged man. Though the absolute dead pan wit this Halt gives Will with each interaction made me wheeze.

- Can I just say, Will meeting Tug? Like he has no idea that he's just met one of his most loyal dedicated companions, just them meeting and growing such a strong bond so quickly I mean the way Will was TERRIFIED when Tug came to his defence during the boat attack and Will could only think of the injuries Tug could get, Tug would not have been Wills horse for long at that point maybe a few months at most and already Will is so attached.

- Gilan, it's wild to think about the fact I'm now around his age? Like he's actually so young????? I just love his dynamic with halt, the respect he shows him while also being the little shit he is is perfect, and the big brotherly way he is around will I just know he's so proud and impressed by this little 15 year old, he absolutely has asked himself if he was ever that silly as halts apprentice (the answer is yes)

-Old bob is a national treasure, I know that man has hit halt on the upside of his head at least once, feel it in my bones

- JUST WILL CHOOSING HALT OVER HIS LIFELONG DREAM I know Halt was holdin tears l just know it, like everyone knew just how much Will wanted to be a knight and yet when offered HE DECLINED because he loves his dad

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Glamour

In which Gale comes clean to Agnes "Agi" Wildheart about a glamour he uses. SFW.

“Knock, knock!”

Gale smiled to himself as he shut the book he was reading. Sitting in his tent, he had been anticipating the arrival of his lady. My lady. My sweet, talented, beautiful, amazing, kind…did I mention sweet? “Come in, darling!”

Agnes Wildheart peeked her head through the folds of the tent opening and grinned. “Hi, love. I have a surprise for you!” Closing the tent flaps, she walked to him and kissed him softly before taking something out of one of her many pockets. “Ta-da! Someone had some Waterdhavian chocolate, so I bartered some stuff I had lying around for it. I thought we might share.” Holding out the chocolate bar, her expression was bright as usual.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Gale. I love chocolate. I love her. I would love her covered the richest chocolate imaginable and lick it off her body, but… He put on his best fake smile and waved a hand. “How kind and thoughtful, my dear! However, I think you should have it yourself. You deserve it. A worthy treat for a beautiful lady!”

She raised an eyebrow. “But I want to share with you, love.”

No, you don’t. I don’t bloody need it. What I am going to need is another pair of trousers soon. They’re already so tight, and she’ll think I’m just—

Her smile turned into a frown. “Hey, are you okay? I can go if you want to be alone—"

“No, no! It’s not that. I want you…here with me! Yes, with me here! Us! Together!” Try to sound less desperate, man! He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I…” You need to tell her. Sooner or later, she’ll find out especially if we…you know… Gale motioned to the other chair in the tent. “Please.”

Agnes sat warily in the chair, still holding the chocolate. “Did I…did I do something wrong?”

Shit. He offered a reassuring smile. “No. You’ve done nothing wrong. Me, however…” Chuckling nervously, he felt his heart beating through his chest. “Well, a question for you, Agi---what do you know of glamours?”

She wrinkled her nose, her frow burrowed. “Glamours to change appearance? I casted one for a friend a while back for a theater production they were in.” Her eyebrow raised once more. “Why?”

Because I’m a weak and vain man. A hand traveled to his earring. “You see this isn’t just a very fashionable piece of jewelry, my dear.” He smiled ruefully as he touched it. I’m sorry. I’ve lied to you enough, and now here’s another fucking lie.

The glamour shimmered away.

Gale’s gaze was fixed upon Agnes.

“Sorry, was it supposed to do something?”

Gale blinked. “What?! Don’t you see?!”

Agnes squinted. “Well…you certainly filled your tunic, love…and your pants…and your hair is a bit grayer…” Her smile returned, her free hand touching one of his. “Still very handsome, if I do say so myself.”

Did she…No, she can’t have. But I think she did!!! Gale laughed nervously, bringing her hand to his lips. “My lady, you’re full of boundless kindness shown towards such an undeserving fool…” He had not noticed her put the chocolate on the side table, nor did he notice her move until she was standing in front of him, her face meeting his.

He did notice her kissing him. A slow, passionate kiss that Gale happily remembered they shared the previous night at sunset. His hands found their way to her wide, soft hips, while hers cupped his face.

“Gale love, look at me. Look at me.” She whispered, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“If the lady commands.” He chuckled, his eyes now meeting hers. We both have brown eyes. Can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.

“My love, I’m not angry about the glamour. I’m not angry at you. I’m just angry you felt like you had to do this in the first place.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips before continuing. “I’ve been teased about being bigger ever since I was a little girl. I didn’t think anyone would love me after a ‘friend’ humiliated me when I asked him out. But when I told Mum, she looked at me and said, ‘Agi, if they can’t love you inside and out, then they’re not worth it.’ And that’s stuck with me ever since. I love you, Gale---inside and out. I meant what I said about you still being very handsome.” Her cheeks turned bright pink, something Gale discovered quickly that he enjoyed. Such a pretty blush on a pretty woman. “And I bet you’re great to snuggle with—OH!”

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. He kissed her soundly and held her against him. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. “I love you.” He huffed, his forehead touching hers. “You’re a marvel, you know that?”

Wrinkling her nose, she giggled. “The Wizard of Waterdeep telling a sorceress of Baldur’s Gate that she’s a marvel? I’ll need to note the day and time for future reference.”

Gale barked a laugh. “No need. I’ll simply tell you every moment of every day, darling.” I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much.

“If you do, then I’ll die of embarrassment.” Laughing softly, she kissed him. “But truly, you are handsome, and for a man nearing his forty-first birthday,” oh dear, her cheeks are red now. “You’re very sexy.” Ah, tomato red!

Gale’s eyes twinkled as he tickled her sides softly. “And for a lady just past her twenty-fifth birthday, you’re simply perfect.”

Giggling, Agnes lightly smacked his arm. “You’re also quite naughty, love. Come on, let’s have some chocolate and a cuddle.” She picked up the bar and sat on the bedroll, tapping the spot next to her.

“There’s nothing I’d like more, my dear.”

Gale stood.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

Agnes’s eyes widened.

Fuck my life.

“Oh dear, where those your pants? Don’t worry, I’ll make note that we need to pick some up next time we find a trader or inn or some shit.” She took out a small notebook, one Gale knew she used for inventory, and wrote it down. She smiled reassuringly at him. “All good.” She pat the spot next to her again. “Gale love?”

“One moment.” He undid his trousers and got them off, tossing them on the far side of the tent. Goodness, she looks like she wants to devour me. A smirk tugged at his lips. Nothing wrong with some flirting. I know she loves it. “Does the lady want the shirt removed as well?” He winked. Especially since she likes all of this!!!

Agnes nodded wordlessly, watching Gale in wonder.

Well, here goes nothing. He pulled the shirt over his head and then sat next to her on the bedroll. “What does the lady think?” Gale whispered, leaning into her ear.

With a gulp, Agnes nodded again. “Y-yes, very good.” She looked at him intensely, seemingly drinking him in. Raising a hand, she appeared as if she would reach out and touch him but stopped. “I had no idea you’re so hairy.” She said, a small smile on her lips. “That didn’t show up when we…erm, you know…had magic sex.”

He chuckled. “Magic sex is certainly an accurate way to describe the lovemaking we did in the stars, and yes, I am quite hairy.” Fuck, does she hate it? All signs point to no but let her answer. “Do you…?”

She quickly shook her head. “No! I mean, I like it. A lot. Makes you even hotter actually.” OH?!?!?! Her face was turning bright red. “I mean, you’re still really hot without it! And with it! And just…oh sod it.” Agnes opened the chocolate bar and shoved a piece in her mouth, causing Gale to laugh.

He shifted on the bedroll to be against her and pulled her into a hug. “I must say, darling, you’re very adorable when you’re flustered! I should do that more often!” Not all the time. Don’t want her to think I’m actually teasing her. I can’t hurt her…even a little. It would break my heart. Pressing a kiss to her red hair, he rocked her gently. “How’s the chocolate, my love?”

Swallowing, she sighed happily. Always a good sign. “So fucking good. Sometimes you just need some chocolate, you know?”

Gale gave an affirmative hum as Agnes broke a piece and held it up for him. As he bit into the chocolate, he recognized the taste immediately. Oh fuck yes. Master chocolatier Andresson’s handiwork. My favorite. And Agi likes it too. I’ll make sure we always have some at home…hold on, Gale. She may not want to continue this after our little adventure or may want to stay in Baldur’s Gate. Her whole life is there---family, friends, her puppy…

“A-are you sure you’re not tired? I could go, love.” Her worried voice brought him out of his increasingly depressing thoughts.

He closed his eyes. “Thinking too much.” Again. Always. Constantly.

Agnes turned a little in his arms so that she was not facing away from him. A hand began stroking the thick dark hair on his chest. “Stay here with me, love. Stay in the moment, Gale. Just think about us, right here, right now…everything’s okay. We’ve having a cuddle and some chocolate.” She murmured softly. “Want some more chocolate, love?” She offered him a piece, which he took and ate. Suddenly, her eyes widened. “I have an idea! Lay down and close your eyes!”

“O-oh? What—” Before he knew it, Agnes was laying down on the bedroll and looking at him expectantly. I suppose I better get right to it then. Can’t keep the lady waiting! He did as he was told and closed his eyes. “What do you have planned, my sweet sorceress?”

He could hear her smirking. “You’ll see, love.”

The air is filled with magic.

Her magic.

Wild.

Untamed.

Like her beautiful curls. Gods, how I love running my fingers through her hair.

“You can open your eyes now.” Agnes said in a soft whisper.

Gale could not stop the massive grin that appeared on his face when he opened his eyes. The ceiling of the tent was enchanted to look like a snowy winter night.

“It’s not nearly as impressive as when you changed the entire night sky, but I still think this is a good first attempt.” She said with a self-satisfied smile.

“First attempt?! Are you telling me, darling, that you’ve never done this before…just now?!” Gale sputtered.

Agnes wrinkled her nose and giggled. Gods, she’s so cute when she does that. “Well, erm…yes? I thought it would be nice to try to do. Make it even more romantic, but I didn’t want to copy what you did.” She turned onto her side and snuggled against Gale’s large hairy but apparently appealing belly. “I remembered when Mum and I went to see some relations up north, and there was a festival of some sort going on. It was snowing. People were everywhere having a great time. Lots of hot cocoa and tasty snacks. Children were ice skating…and I thought…maybe we could go sometime.” She’s touching my chest again. Goodness, she really does think I’m attractive. “I mean, that’s if you want to continue this when this is all over.” She added quickly, her eyes darting downwards.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Gale laughed heartily. “You needn’t worry about that, my dear! I’m afraid you’re stuck with this fool.”

Did I think I would find love with a beautiful dwarven sorceress while we both have tadpoles in our heads and I have a bomb in my chest?

Absolutely not.

Was I surprised that I found love with the loveliest dwarven sorceress with all the above happening?

Oh yes. Definitely.

Am I ecstatic that she loves me and wants this to continue?

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Giggling, she planted multiple kisses on his chest. “Well, that means you’re stuck with my fat ass.” She stopped, a smirk appearing on her lips. “You hear that Mystra? He loves my fat ass, and I love his! He’s mine now, so fuck off!”

***

After an amazing, romantic night, Gale applied the glamour. We talked about it. She said I can do whatever I feel comfortable with. I said I would be fine with keeping the glamour on around others, but when we’re alone, it’s off. As he opened the flaps of his tent, Astarion stopped his conversation with Halsin.

The vampire grinned, his fangs shining in the sun.

“So Gale, when are you proposing to dear Agi?”

“I-I beg your pardon!”

Halsin’s eyes went from Astarion to Gale and back again.

“My good man, if a woman told my deity to fuck off and that I belonged to her now, I would be buying a ring at dawn!”

When things are settled, I will.

Before Gale could response, Agnes (her face is as red as a tomato) smacked Astarion on the arm. “You naughty man! Gale can propose to me whenever he wants!” OH?!?!!?!?! Then I will write to Mother’s favorite jeweler immediately. “Now, months from now, years—”

“Not years, darling.” Gale snarked, pouring a cup of honestly not bad coffee.

Most of their comrades laughed as Agnes walked by Gale to pour herself some coffee. He always noticed the little full of love for me looks she gave him including one right now. He felt a wriggling in his head. His gaze locked onto hers.

I’d marry you tomorrow if I could, love. I honestly thought no one would be interested in me as a person, as Agi, because they know my last name. They know my mother is Countess Luci Wildheart, head of the Wildheart Ironworks. But you were…are! Oh goodness, you are interested in me and not only that—

Interested?! Darling, I love you.

Right yes! Sorry was getting to that. Anyways, you love me for me, and I love you for that.

I could say the same for you. Not interested in my power, my supreme command of magic, my boundless intellect—

Gale.

Of course! You love me the man---flawed, hairy, and—

Incredibly sexy!

So you say, dearest.

The connection between the tadpoles was severed just as Wyll began speaking to Agnes. He smiled to himself as he imagined him romancing her at that winter festival and picked up not one but two butter rolls.

If she doesn’t mind it…likes it even…then so do I.