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sweetsbylia · 7 days ago

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DARK PARADISE

warnings: fem!district4!tribute!reader, also dolly!reader, inspired by the cashmere-glimmer theory, angst, finnick gets emotional (my baby:(((), this is also few years pre katniss’s games so finn’s like 19 years old!!, mentions of forced prostitution but not described, death, violence and other thg stuff, cussing, recommend to play let down by radiohead in the background for the whole effect!!

summary: saying finnick’s done it on purpose would perhaps be too cruel, because he didn’t. he wouldn’t. it is a grateful smile you gave him in return, a twist of a knife coated in sugar, the way you rested your head against his broad shoulder hesitatingly but you let it linger like the silence that settled among the common room between the mentee and her mentor who didn’t let her see her entire potential so she wouldn’t have to live the same life he wishes he could escape.

a/n: posting this from my hospital bed because someone (me) clearly doesn’t know her limits lmao. but also i wanted to say that this was little different from what i usually write, a little experiment so i hope you guys like it, even if it’s depressing!!

word count: 2k

dolly!reader moodboard

finnick o’dair often thought about death. it made him feel weak sometimes, because there were people with worse faiths and brighter thoughts. whole families struggling to keep themselves fed, homeless children starving and people working to mere deaths just to get nothing in return. finnick couldn’t help it, whenever the reaping was coming close, whenever he laid in the unmade messy bedsheets his clients left behind themselves, he regretted winning those games. he regretted surviving.

oh he knew. he knew from the moment his eyes landed on you, after your name was called at the reaping. your pretty sundress shined a little brighter than others’, your eyes held more innocence and your smile was sweeter than it should’ve been.

the fist hours of the train ride were quiet. finnick could not bring himself to say anything useful, he just stared at a marmalade stain on the pretty tablecloth, occasionally catching the way your gaze pierced into him with anticipation, fear and restlessness.

“finnick, finnick o’dair.” the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, it stopped somewhere around his adored dimples and the tiny scar that decorated his left cheek. “oh, i know.” the quiet mumble left your lips and soon enough was followed by the introduction of your own name, even if your bronze haired mentor had memorised it already, together with that subtle but sparkling smile.

the boy next to you, couldn’t be more different. you were afraid, he was angry. finnick understood that, he didn’t blame him for not speaking what so ever the entire train ride, not even for the broken glass or spilled orange juice, “they’ll handle it, it’s okay.” he’d just say and pretend to not notice the daggers kai starred into him, as if he blamed finnick, but finnick couldn’t blame him.

“welcome to the capitol.” the smile you’d often see on the tv when they were streaming their darling victor made an appearance on finnick’s face when he was exiting the train by your side, waving greeting to the people, gesturing for you, to the same.

it was the dress. it must’ve been the short fucking dress that made the inside of finnick’s chest sting, when he watched the tribute parade from his seat next to mags flanagan, his mentor, his mother figure, someone he held so dearly to his heart.

the fourth carriage made an appearance, kai held his head high, determination clouded all the softness in his eyes, the usually gentle blue orbs resembling a raging storm now, projecting the inner doubts he wasn’t able to hide. no one is ever able to hide. never completely, never for long. in panem, at the reign of president snow, you can hide for twelve years. in the shadow of your older siblings, behind the skirts of your tired mothers, underneath the protective arms of your hard working fathers and then you stand there. face to face with the glass globe filled with the small folded papers, praying it won’t be the one with your name on it the district escort will pick. you pray, you hope until you reach the age of eighteen, the last chance for them to throw you into the abyss of death and then, it’s gone. the anxiety and fear squeezing your chest tight vanishes and the only thing left is anger. anger and grief for those who were chosen and sent to death. kai felt that anger, for his crying mother, saddened father and grieving sister who just lost her greatest protector.

beside the lean boy with dark curls, there was her. you. you surrounded by layers and layers of sparkly pink fabrics and petticoats that cut above your knees, maybe mid thighs. finnick didn’t know, he wasn’t close enough to tell if those were mid thighs or if the material scratched just below the curve of your ass. you were afraid, finnick could tell, and rightfully so, but he also had to admire the little spark you still held, the spark of hope you naively treasured and tried to protect from someone blowing it like a candle on a birthday cake, because that’s how fragile it was.

finnick just then understood entirely what it meant. the subtle glance from president snow, the whispers. the sickness that filled his guts, felt like a poison spreading when the realisation dawned on him, finnick felt like the entire weight of the world was on his shoulders now.

saying he’s done it on purpose would perhaps be too cruel, because he didn’t. he wouldn’t. he possibly couldn’t think of that in his wildest dreams. right? because that would’ve been cruel. or would it? finnick didn’t know and he had no one to talk to about this. he wasn’t a bad person, far from it. so why did it felt like he was?

people say, the only place where they can be free and don’t feel judged, is in their own mind, but what if finnick was his own worst judge? what if he would never find it in him to forgive himself?

“no, like this. y’ would’ve shoot the ground instead.” finnick’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, the subtle movement reminding you of the contact between him and your back, the hair on the back of your neck stood up, your skin tingled and felt warm underneath the pads of his long fingers that were draped around your hip and your arm, tilting it up so the bow would aim on the target and not the hard ground.

your arrow did not hit the bullseye but it didn’t miss, which was a win nonetheless. the smile on your face, brought one to finnick’s as well and this time, it seemed more real and you felt like he meant it. the training days have been draining, you had a very little experience with weapons, combat or anything slightly violent and finnick was close to loosing his mind. guilt, frustration and fear were eating him away, he didn’t know which way to choose, he felt so lost.

kai had always spent a lot of time thinking, in general and also in the past five days. he was always the more reserved type, people might have call him grumpy but truly, in his book, words were just a little overrated. back in district four, he would always find quiet places to think, mostly of what life could’ve been if he lived in a different world, so even here, when just three days such a short time, separated him from fighting for his life in the arena, he found himself on the window ledge, starring outside where the darkness of the night swallowed the huge city, buried deep in thoughts.

“y’ also can’t sleep?” you asked, voice soft and quiet to not disturb his peace if there even was any in the first place.

“mhm.” the hum was maybe the longest answer you heard from him. the last two days you spent most of your time with your mentor and kai, while you nervously talked finnick’s ear off for hours, your district partner had only spoken few words to him, to you none. you understood though. that’s how you were, so understanding and sweet, to finnick it was alluring, he fell love with your kindness, to kai, it was ridiculous, he couldn’t comprehend how you weren’t bitter, why weren’t you angry like he was.

“can i sit with you?”

“no one believes i can do it.” the words leaving your lips hit finnick like a meteorite, the soft, disappointed tone which he didn’t miss was like a salt to a bloody wound and his heart ached. the ratings were just announced, your district partner scored a nine, and you only six.

“i do.” and god did he wanted to. finnick wished he could do everything in his power to bring you back, to save you, but would he really be saving you? that question was the only thing echoing in his head like a broken record over and over again for the past four days. he couldn’t do that to you, not you, you were so pure, you didn’t deserve to be broken and used the way he was. for the first time in his life, finnick felt like the villain. what right did he had to chose if you live or die? he didn’t, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he would’ve rather chose to not make it, to not know how it is to feel so corrupted and self-revulsed.

it is a grateful smile you gave him in return, a twist of a knife coated in sugar, the way you rested your head against his broad shoulder hesitatingly but you let it linger like the silence that settled among the common room between the mentee and her mentor who didn’t let her see her entire potential so she wouldn’t have to live the same life he wishes he could escape.

“you’ll be okay. fight.” finnick’s reassuring words worked like a soothing balm to your worries as you nodded along.

finnick didn’t wanted to be too sentimental, for your sake, he wasn’t supposed to have any kind of attachment to his tributes but he’s just a human, right? bravely, he held back the tears, pretend to cough away the choke in his voice when you hugged him. it was a goodbye.

“thank you, finnick.”

how are people supposed to say goodbye? letting people go was never something finnick was good at. how is he supposed to let go of the girl that made his everyday brighter? the sweet classmate that never forgot to wish him happy birthday, that always shared her treats with him in kindergarten even if he was the shy boy. finnick’s arms trembled when he slowly unwrapped them from your frame, it didn’t felt right and when you stepped into the tube, the feeling came back. he felt like the villain again.

“i’m rooting for you, sweet girl.” and those were the last words you ever heard from finnick o’dair before the tube went up taking you from the iron basement to an open field, a forest is what you saw before the sunlight blinded your eyes. it felt right to say them. to him it did, finnick wanted you to know that there was someone in your corner.

his eyes never left the screen, finnick sat in his lent room and blankly starred at the live streaming video record from the arena, every time your face appeared he shifted on his seat uncomfortably. he was grateful that kai had taken you under his wings, protecting you from everyone else, that smart boy had a lot of chances.

the first day went rather calmly, the blood bath claimed thirteen victims, most of them were the younger kinds from lower districts, finnick’s heart hurt for them and their families but his focus was set on his mentees.

it came by so fast, while you were doing so good, kai had been by your side for almost forty eight hours now, you were even in an alliance with the male tribute from the third district and both tributes from district six. dante, the boy from district one had found your camp and along with other careers attacked you when kai and the boy from three were trying to find something to eat, no one expected it, you didn’t even had a chance to reach for the knife beside your left foot. you scream for kai, dante snickers mocking your voice while he was dangerously nearing you adjusting the sword in his hold before swaying it forward, again and again. your body fell beside your friends’ and when kai returned and it was all over, a single tear rolled down his lightly bruised cheek.

something inside finnick died that moment. maybe it was the little flame that your soul resembled to him, that fragile little flame like a candle on a birthday cake someone had already blown and it was impossible to lit back again. everything went silent when the canon’s sound echoed like a broken record in finnick’s mind.

“i was supposed to save her, mags.” finnick’s cries filled the usually quiet room, he broke down, completely and his mentor’s motherly hug that used to bring him comfort mostly, didn’t even felt like it was there. her kind smile trying to reassure him that he wasn’t the bad guy, that it wasn’t his fault, instead of words, which mags could not give him, didn’t make him believe it. finnick felt so much grief, guilt and hurt, he didn’t thought the tears will ever stop. he killed her. and now he must live with that.

“and the victor of the seventieth annual hunger games is dante cravelle from district one. congratulations.”

#finnick odair x reader #dolly!reader #finnick odair #the hunger games #thg #finnick x you #finnick imagine #finnick odair fanfic #lia writes 🌷🛍️

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justlemmeadoreyou · 1 year ago

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1. prepping (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

summary: you landed your dream job as a line cook at harry styles' prestigious haus kitchen restaurant in chicago. the tough chef job demands focus, but it's really hard when your boss looks like harry styles.

words: 4.3k

warnings: nothing major in this one

Your palms were sweating as you gripped the steering wheel, driving through downtown Chicago towards your new job. You kept glancing down at the address on the printed directions, double checking that you were heading the right way. The last thing you wanted was to be late on your first day.

Ever since getting your culinary degree, you had applied to what felt like hundreds of restaurant jobs, desperate to get your foot in the door of a real professional kitchen. But very few places wanted to hire someone so fresh out of school with no actual experience.

Finally, after months of dead ends, you had landed a line cook position at Haus Kitchen - one of the hottest farm-to-table restaurants in the city. You could scarcely believe your luck when you got the call saying you were hired.

Haus was the brainchild of Harry Styles, international superstar singer turned chef. After his chart-topping solo music career, Harry had traded in artist life to pursue his lifelong passion for cooking. Using his accumulated wealth, he opened up Haus five years ago to rave reviews, quickly earning a well deserved Michelin star.

You vividly remembered watching Harry's transition from a pop idol to dashing culinary entrepreneur play out in the media. As a teenage girl, you had been obsessed with him during his One Direction days.

Your bedroom walls were plastered with Harry's posters and you had relentlessly played their songs, sighing over his tousled hair and pouty lips. Then as you got older and Harry went solo, your boyband crush evolved into more of an intense celebrity infatuation as he cultivated a cool, rebellious image.

There were countless gossipy blind items about his infamous hellraising, flings with models and socialites, and run-ins with the law. You had followed all the scandalous Harry headlines with rapt attention - from getting papped stumbling out of nightclubs with an endless parade of beautiful women to getting arrested for drug possession outside Soho clubs.

But finally in his late 20s, seemingly bored of rockstar debauchery, Harry had pivoted to reset his image as a knowledgeable culinary entrepreneur. You admired how he transformed from tabloid bad boy into a refined, successful businessman and chef.

He began studying haute cuisine under the tutelage of famous European chefs, traveling abroad to hone his skills further. While continuing to record new musical projects independently, Harry started establishing himself in the culinary world through guest stints on TV cooking shows and food/wine events.

With his brooding good looks, charming personality, and serious culinary chops, the world fell for Harry's new sophisticated image. Before long, he was the subject of breathless puff pieces in food magazines as "the sexiest Renaissance man in the kitchen." It seemed natural when Harry soon opened up his passion project Haus to capitalize on his popularity and love of food.

Now nearing your mid-20s, your teenage fannish obsession had cooled into more of an admiring celebrity crush. You had stayed aware of Harry's journey, but your priorities were focused on graduating culinary school at the top of your class and finding your own big break in the Chicago restaurant scene.

So when you landed a job at Harry's iconic Haus, it almost didn't feel real. Not only would you be working at one of the city's most exclusive spots, but under the same roof as a chef you had admired for ages.

Not that you expected to have any real personal contact with Harry himself, you reminded yourself as you merged onto the exit for downtown. He was an internationally famous mega-celebrity who had to have hundreds of staffers, not to mention being handsomely paid to just be the smiling face of the business while professional kitchen vets like Paul Thomason handled the day-to-day operations.

Still, you had to admit to yourself that a tiny part of you tingled at the mere idea of being in the same building as Harry Styles...hopefully catching a glimpse of that handsome, endlessly charming man in the flesh...

You shook your head dismissively and double checked the directions again, annoyed at getting so easily distracted. This was your big break, your first serious job in the industry. You needed to bring your A-game and focus, not dwell on silly celebrity daydreams.

It was your fantasies of becoming a respected chef that needed to take priority.

You pulled into the parking lot for the restaurant, double checking that you had the address right. The sleek, modern building had a neon "Haus Kitchen" sign glowing over opulent double-door entrances flanked by velvet ropes and cheerful outdoor seating areas.

Taking a steadying breath, you cut the engine and sat for a moment, giving yourself a pep talk. This was it. No more messing around doing coursework or labs - this was the major leagues with all the intensity of a real professional kitchen. You had to bring it all day, every day.

As you climbed out of your beat-up Honda, you smoothed down your spotless new chef's whites, making sure everything looked pressed and presentable. With your knife kit tucked under your arm, you walked towards the entrance with purpose, chin held high.

From the moment you stepped through the doors, it was like being transported into another world. The smell of simmering sauces, roasting meats, and freshly baked bread envaded your senses. Even hours before opening, the energy and hustle for dinner prep was palpable.

Off to the left was the main dining room you had studied photos of online - effortlessly cool with vaulted exposed wooden beam ceilings, brick accents, and casually modern decor. Pendant lighting glowed cozily over tables draped in white linens and rustic chandeliers hung over plush tufted leather banquettes. A lively bar area centered the space, stocked with top-shelf liquors and backed by a dazzling display of custom glassware.

In the distance ahead, you could hear the clamoring of the kitchen in full swing. Your stomach did a nervous flip - this was it. Taking another fortifying breath, you headed through the archway.

You emerged into a large, sleek open kitchen layout, all stainless steel and butcher block islands. Uniformed cooks were buzzing at their stations like a well-oiled machine under the barked commands of an older, stocky man you immediately recognized as Head Chef Paul Thomason.

Despite his gruff reputation, watching Thomason in action was nothing short of mesmerizing. He moved between stations with the easy grace of a conductor, sampling sauces, tweaking seasonings, and directing the workflow with gruff orders. There was no wasted movement or micro-expression as he continually tasted and perfected dishes, alternating between thoughtful contemplation and decisive action.

Though you had only seen Thomason in pictures and television appearances, his fierce focus and mastery were unmistakable. This was what true professional kitchen expertise looked like in the flesh.

Feeling like a mouse that had wandered into the lair of a lion, you hovered near the entrance, uncertain of what to do next. The kitchen team flowed around you in a choreographed dance, deftly ignoring your presence as they prepped and plated flawlessly.

After a few minutes of anxious loitering, the intimidating Thomason seemed to finally notice you. His grizzled features contorted as he scowled, looking you up and down through eyes squinted with decades of kitchen smoke exposure.

"You must be the new kid," he said gruffly, crossing his bulky tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even without raising his voice, Thomason had a rumbling bass that easily carried over the kitchen's clanging din. "Christ, you're shorter than I expected. Think you've got what it takes to keep up around here?"

You nervously clutched your knife kit closer while trying to not look as flustered as you felt. "Y-yes, chef!"

You swallowed hard, hyper aware of everyone around you now watching the interaction. "I, uh...I came ready to work as hard as it takes. Whatever you need from me."

Thomason grunted, squinting at you for another long moment in consideration. Then he jerked his head towards the back. "Get changed out quick and meet me back here in 5. I'll get you started on prep and we'll see what you're made of. Don't keep me waiting."

"Yes, chef!" you responded immediately, wincing at how high your voice had gone up an octave.

Without another word, Thomason turned and strode back into the controlled chaos of the line, immediately redirecting his attention to sauces and garnishes. Letting out a shaky breath, you scurried towards the changing rooms, heart jackhammering.

Well, you were officially in the thick of things now...

You hustled back out to the kitchen, trying not to look frazzled from your rushed change. A young Hispanic line cook spotted you and waved you over to his station.

"You the newbie?" he asked, not unkindly. When you nodded, he jerked his head towards the walk-in refrigerator. "Thomason wants you to start by breaking down some of the produce delivery for prep."

"Got it, thanks," you replied, eager to prove yourself. The line cook gestured you through the door into the immense chilled walk-in.

You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the cold, taking in the sights and smells of the impressive stockpile. Shelves upon shelves were stocked with an array of fresh seasonal produce - crates bursting with leafy greens, bushels of root vegetables, flats of vibrantly colored tomatoes, exotic fruits, and mushroom varieties you had only read about.

Your culinary school had humble basics for ingredients, nothing like the bounty of locally-sourced, meticulously selected provisions that Haus Kitchen demanded. You felt a thrill at getting to work with such an extraordinary pantry.

Respirating clouds puffed from your mouth as you scanned the inventory tagging system. You had been taught similar protocols in your food safety courses, but there was something exhilarating about putting that knowledge into practice in a real professional environment.

Grabbing a stack of plastic totes, you made a game plan for which items to start prepping first based on perishability levels and what would be needed for that evening's specials. Though you started out slow at first, you steadily built up a cadence of meticulously cleaning, trimming, and sorting into appropriate storage containers.

By the time Thomason stuck his head in to check on you an hour later, you had developed an efficient system and made solid progress through a mountain of deliveries.

The head chef grunted in approval as he inspected your neat stacks of prepped produce, crossing his arms as he looked you up and down with a critical eye.

"Not bad, kid," he rumbled. "Clearly know which end of a knife to use, at least. C'mon back out, got some protein fabrication for you to tackle next."

You diligently followed Thomason back out to the main kitchen, wiping some sweat from your brow with your sleeve. Despite the industrial cooling system, the heat blazing from the ovens and range tops made the open kitchen feel like a furnace.

As Thomason led you to a stainless steel butcher's block island, you couldn't help but gawk at the array of gleaming knives hanging from magnetic strips overhead. The blades were works of art - sleek, razor sharp, and clearly extremely expensive.

Gesturing you over, Thomason grabbed a boning knife and twirled it deftly before handing it to you. "Let's see how you handle breaking this down."

He gave the block a solid smack with his meaty palm, indicating for you to get started on the glistening slab of beef tenderloin before you. Taking a steadying breath, you gripped the bone-handled knife firmly and leaned over the cutting board.

"Yes chef," you murmured before carefully piercing the thick cut of meat, angling the blade with practiced precision from all your training.

Around you, the kitchen bustled with the usual rattling pans, sizzling ranges, and Thomason's occasional barked orders. But as you fell into the rhythm of deftly separating fat and sinew, the noises began to fade from your awareness.

You were completely focused on your knife work, confidently sawing through the tender flesh as you reduced the tenderloin down to portions and trimmings for other stations to further break down. It was meditative, almost hypnotic, the way you instinctively slid the blade along rendered paths of butchery.

After your initial intimidation of the intense Haus environment, you started to find your groove and calm amidst the choreographed insanity surrounding you. You were so laser-focused on the satisfaction of properly executing each slicing technique that the rest of the kitchen chaos became mere white noise.

You had no idea how long you stayed absorbed in the butchery, but eventually you became aware of a presence at your elbow. Glancing up, you nearly jumped to see Harry Styles watching you work with an unreadable expression, hands shoved into the pockets of his slim-fitting slacks.

His dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows and the fitted cotton fabric clung to his toned arms and chest, a few chest hairs peeking out of his slightly undone top button. A single necklace rested in the divot between his sculpted collarbones, drawing your eye to the alluring hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

You froze mid-slice, mesmerized by watching the tendons in Harry's wrist and forearm flex as his hands flexed restlessly in his trouser pockets. After a beat, his pillowy lips curved into an easy smile, crinkling the delicate crow's feet at the corners of his kaleidoscope green eyes.

"Afternoon," Harry said in that lazy, husky drawl that used to make millions of fans swoon. He flicked his eyes down to your handiwork before bringing them back up to your face. "Looking good there, newbie."

You blinked, not trusting your ears for a moment before realizing with a jolt that Harry was very much real and quite close. Like, unnecessarily close for your over-stimulated brain to handle.

"Uh...I-I, um...th-thank you?" you croaked out, wanting to cringe at how lame you sounded. Get it together, this wasn't the time to geek out–you instructed yourself.

But Harry didn't seem to notice your fumbling, simply giving you a dimpled half-smile before reaching around you to snag a stray piece of trimming from the butcher's block. He inspected it contemplatively before popping it into his mouth, those plump lips wrapping obscenely around the bite as he chewed and ruminated with relish.

"Perfection," he declared after swallowing, shooting you another crooked grin like you were co-conspirators sharing an inside joke. With a subtle wink, Harry pivoted on his boot heel and sauntered off, whistling a jaunty tune.

As he retreated, you risked a glance down at his form-fitting trousers shamelessly admiring the way the fine fabric cupped the ample curves of his pert backside. Even at his age, Harry Styles had the muscle-toned body of a man decades younger - long, lean muscles taut under golden tanned skin.

You blinked hard and shook your head, annoyed at catching yourself ogling your new boss like a drooling fangirl. Pull it together! This was totally inappropriate and unprofessional. You had zero business daydreaming about someone who gave you your paycheck, no matter how obscenely famous and heartthrob-ishly handsome they were.

Firmly re-focusing on your knife work, you determinedly put Harry from your mind and tried to re-immerse yourself in the rhythm and refuge of the butchery. But the memory of his distractingly lush mouth so close kept replaying over and over, preventing you from recapturing your previous sense of meditative flow.

Dammit, you needed to get a grip! This kind of inappropriate crush on your employer was exactly the kind of silly, immature behavior that would make you look like a unprofessional joke in a serious kitchen environment. Blowing an opportunity like this was not an option.

Later, as you untied your apron strings and joined the team in breaking down the last stations for cleaning at closing, Thomason sidled up alongside you. You braced yourself for more of his typical gruff rebukes or criticisms.

Instead, the veteran chef simply gave you a long, considered look before saying gruffly, "You did good work today, kid. I can already tell you got the stuff to handle it around here if you keep your head down."

You blinked up at him in surprise before managing a small smile. "Thank you, chef. I really appreciate that."

Thomason grunted noncommittally before wandering off, likely to oversee something else. As you tidied your workstation, you couldn't help feeling a small glow of pride. Despite the craziness of your first day, you had seemingly passed this initial trial with flying colors.

As you left through the back entrance into the quiet night air, you took a deep breath and allowed yourself a satisfied smile. Maybe, just maybe, you really did have what it took to succeed in this highly competitive environment after all. For tonight at least, you had handled the punishing pace and standards. Tomorrow was another day to prove yourself all over again.

***

Your day started before sunrise the next morning, brewing a strong coffee and reviewing the notes you had taken the previous evening about which menu items needed prepping. By the time you arrived at Haus, reinvigorated by the crisp morning air, the kitchen was already a hive of activity in preparation for lunch service.

The intense scrutiny under which you worked only amplified with the daylight. Every slice, every sauté was carried out under the watchful eyes of Chef Thomason and his steely gaze. More than once, you felt his presence looming over your shoulder, inspecting your work with the same critical eye as a diamond cutter examining a flawless gem.

"This slice is uneven," he barked, startling you. You flinched, resisting the urge to make excuses as he continued, "The portions all need to be identical for plating. Paying attention to details like that is the difference between a sloppy meal and a stellar one. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, chef," you replied tightly, making a minor adjustment to your knife work. Though his words stung, you had to admit Thomason was completely right. In a restaurant of this caliber, any minor imperfection could spell disaster.

You redoubled your efforts, pouring all of your concentration into each preparation, each plate. By the time the end of your shift rolled around, you were drenched in sweat, your feet screaming from being on them for 12 hours straight. But you had successfully made it through day two without any major mishaps.

As the whirlwind of dinner service finally calmed to a stopping point, you stood in the kitchen obediently waiting for Thomason's inspection and inevitable critique. But to your surprise, he merely gave a curt nod of approval before waving you off.

"Not bad, newbie," he grunted. "Get a good night's rest. We'll need you back bright and early tomorrow."

Those few gruff words of acceptance warmed you more than any high praise could have. For Thomason, a man of very few words, his small nod seemed to indicate you were, for the moment, living up to his exceedingly high standards.

The high from that small victory buoyed your spirits as you made your way towards the back exit, already dreaming of the few hours of sleep you might be able to grab before starting the cycle over again. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you nearly bowled someone over coming around a corner.

"Whoa there!"

You froze, looking up into the grinning, mirthful eyes of Harry Styles himself. Up close, the force of his charm and magnetism practically crackled in the air around him like a physical force. His sweater clung distractingly to his lithe, muscular frame and his chestnut hair was casually tousled. A pair of small diamond studs glinted in each ear.

"Sorry about that, H-Harry," you stammered, resisting the urge to take a flustered step back. You were vividly aware of just how little physical space separated the two of you. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

If he noticed your frazzled state up close, Harry didn't let on. His pink lips merely curved in an easy, dimpled smile. "No need to apologize. I don't usually make a habit of lurking around blind corners, to be fair."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, surprised at how easily he was putting you at ease despite your elevated heart rate. Up close, Harry's eyes weren't just green - an entire kaleidoscope of colors ranging from jade to emerald to amber seemed to shift and dance in his gaze. It was...dazzling, frankly.

Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to take a subtle step backwards, putting a more professional amount of space between the two of you. The last thing you needed was to do something wildly inappropriate that would get you fired before the end of your first week.

"Still, I should have been paying better attention to my surroundings," you replied, aiming for a respectful, levelheaded tone. "It's been a really intense couple of days just trying to stay on top of everything."

Harry nodded in understanding, arching one perfectly sculpted brow. "Thomason hasn't let up on you at all, I take it?"

When you shook your head ruefully, he chuckled. "I know that seems like his permanent state - gruff, perpetually unsatisfied, and grumpy as a hibernating bear. But honestly, the fact that he hasn't fired you already is a good sign you're doing well."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Wait...really? But he critiques everything! I feel like I've gotten nothing but corrections so far."

"Exactly." Harry's dimples flashed as he grinned. "That's how you know he sees potential in you. If Thomason didn't think you had what it took, he wouldn't waste his breath giving feedback. He'd just cut you loose and hire someone else to start over."

His words were like a soothing balm on the anxiety and self-doubt you'd been carrying around for the past couple of days. You hadn't realized that Thomason's critical approach was actually a twisted form of acceptance and mentorship. The revelation caused the hard knot of tension between your shoulder blades to finally release.

"Huh," you exhaled, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you finally understood Thomason's tough love. "I guess I should take that as a compliment then."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed with an approving nod. Then his expression softened around the edges, growing earnest as his gaze searched yours. "Look, I know it's a huge adjustment and the pace here can be absolutely brutal starting out. But for what it's worth...I think you've got what it takes to be something really special in this kitchen."

You felt yourself flush at his unexpected praise, your stomach fluttering with a swarm of nervous butterflies. Harry held your eyes for a lingering moment before seeming to mentally collect himself.

Clearing his throat, he flashed you one more crooked grin. "But don't take my word for it - the proof will be in your work. Stay focused and trust the process. I've got faith you can handle it."

With that, he brushed past you, his shoulder grazing yours in a way that made your entire body buzz with friction. As Harry sauntered off down the hallway, you couldn't stop yourself from turning to watch his retreating form - the easy, rolling gait, the tantalizing sway of his hips below the slim cut of his trousers, the tousled waves of his chestnut hair.

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling off-balance and electrified all at once. Get a grip, you scolded yourself firmly. That was your boss - your incredibly famous, wealthy, and wildly attractive boss. Daydreaming was a one-way ticket to catching inappropriate feelings and potentially torpedoing your entire career before it even started.

And yet...you couldn't quite silence the part of your brain reliving Harry's velvet tone and intense eye contact as he professed having faith in your abilities. Just the casual warmth of his voice and proximity had set your heart pounding in a way it hadn't since you were a hormonal teenager, utterly dazzled by his rock star persona.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to turn on your heel and head for the exit. Overthinking could only lead to dangerous territory. You needed to stay laser-focused on your work - that was the only way to succeed at Haus and make your culinary dreams a reality.

As you stepped out into the fresh evening air, you paused for a moment on the deserted back stoop, closing your eyes and taking a few centering breaths. When you opened them again, you felt the last fluttering tendrils of Harry's heated presence dissipate, replaced by a familiar sense of determined calm.

This job was your priority now, not silly schoolgirl crushes or indulging fantasies about your wildly unattainable boss. You knew better than to get distracted by daydreams that could only lead to self-sabotage.

With a decisive nod, you strode towards your car with renewed focus. You would prove yourself at Haus through your skills and work ethic alone. No other agenda, no unprofessional entanglements allowed.

Your passion was cuisine, creating nourishing dishes that delighted - that had to remain your sole priority. You couldn't afford any distractions from that lest you squander this incredible opportunity. Steadying your breathing, you looked forward with fresh clarity and resolve.

Tomorrow was a new day to earn your place in Harry's formidable kitchen. And this time, you vowed, you were utterly prepared to meet the challenge with your complete and undivided focus.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this! this is an idea for a new series that will probably have 6 parts??? i guess. but do tell me if you like it! because there's no use in writing when nobody reads 😭😭

feedback | masterlist

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hotvintagepoll · 1 year ago

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Propaganda

Judy Garland (Meet Me In St. Louis, A Star is Born, Summer Stock)— Judy is the GOAT when it comes to classic movie musicals. The voice of an angel who deserved so much better than she got. She can sing she can dance she can act she's a triple threat. Though she had a turbulent personal life (her treatment as a child star by the studio system makes me mad as hell like Louis b Mayer fight me ((she was made to believe that she was physically unattractive by the constant criticism of film executives who made her feel ugly and who manipulated her onscreen appearance by capping her teeth and using discs in her nose to change its shape and Mayer called her "my little hunchback" like imagine hearing that as a child and not having damage)) she always goddamn delivered on screen and in any performance she gave. She began in vaudeville performing with her sisters and was signed to MGM at 13. Starting out in supporting parts especially paired with mickey Rooney in a bunch of films (she's the best part tbh) she eventually transferred to the lead role. She is best known for her starring role in movie musicals like the iconic Wizard of Oz (somewhere over the rainbow still hits hard and is ranked the top film song of all time), meet me in St. Louis (Judy singing have your self a merry little Christmas brings tears to the eyes she is that powerful), the Harvey girls (she looks like a technicolor dream and sings a catchy af song about trains), Easter parade ( dancing and singing with Fred Astaire), for me and my gal, the pirate, and summer stock ( with pal Gene Kelly who she helped when he was starting out and he helped her when she was struggling). But she also does non- singing just as well like the clock ( her first movie where she sings no songs and is an underrated ww2 era romance), her Oscar nominated a star is born ( like the man that got away she put her whole soul in that and I have beef with the fact she lost to grace kelly ((whom I love but like still not even her best work)), and judgement at Nuremberg (a courtroom drama about the nazi war criminal trials). Outside of film she made concert appearances to record-breaking audiences, released 8 studio albums, and had her own Emmy-nominated tv series. She was the youngest (39) and first female recipient of the Cecil B DeMille award for lifetime achievement in the film industry. Girl was a lifelong democrat and was a financial and moral supporter of many causes including the civil rights movement (she was at the March on Washington and held a press conference to protest the 16th street Baptist church bombings). She was a friend of the Kennedy family and would call jfk weekly often ending the calls by singing the first few lines of somewhere over the rainbow (she thought of them as Gemini twins).She was a member of the committee for the first amendment which was formed in response to the HUAC investigations. Though she died far too young and tragically she remains an icon for her work and her life. As a girl who didn't feel like i was as pretty as everyone else I have always felt a connection to Judy and I just really love her.

Natalie Wood (West Side Story, The Great Race)—She went through so much shit which I know can be said for all these women but Natalie really was a star and her death often overshadows her career and life. She could make you cry, but she also had the capacity to be incredibly funny which I think is lost on people.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Natalie Wood:

Judy Garland:

Judy's voice alone qualifies her for at least top ten hottest HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMEN. She was a truly incredible swing singer, with a stunning voice on top of her technique. Her short dark hair looked incredible in just about any style. Have I mentioned her swagger? I can’t do it justice with words. She had swagger. She was funny as hell, and clever too. Incredibly charming and cool. I adore her.

Her eyes, her voice have bewitched me

I mean how can you beat the one and only Judy? She's beautiful, her smile is contagious, the way she sings with her whole body. You can't help but love her.

youtube

Beautiful woman, love her singing voice. And she can do everything between happy or silly and angry or heartbroken

#natalie wood #judy garland #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4 #Youtube

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theconstitutionisgayculture · 3 months ago

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If you could fix one film or one film franchise, which would it be?

Star Wars, and it's not even close.

I used to love Star Wars to death. It was my thing ever since I was 5 or 6 and my dad rented the movies for me at Video Forum. I cannot undersell how much this series meant to me. When I was 11 my mom, who worked at IBM, took me to a take your kid to work day/tech exhibition and there was a portable TV being shown off and to show it off they played the trailer for Episode 1 on a loop. I must have watched it dozens of times, both before and after my mom dragged me away. I was so happy that in a few short months I was going to be able to see a Star Wars movie in the theaters! Just like everyone who was older than me did when the original trilogy first came out. When I was 17 I went to a midnight showing of Revenge of the Sith with my dad. Standing in line about to finally see how The Saga was going to be completed surrounded by super enthusiastic Star Wars fans buzzing and having fake lightsaber duels in the lobby was the closest thing to a religious experience by teenage edgelord atheist self would ever have. I can't even count how many times I got in trouble in school for reading Expanded Universe books when I should have been working.

I. Loved. Star Wars.

And in less than 5 years Disney killed that.

They took this thing I loved, killed its soul, and turned it into a zombie. Worse, they used that zombie to promote their pet politics and truly awful social views. Star Wars as it exists now is, in every conceivable way, worse than it was under Lucas and Lucasfilm. And I can't even find enjoyment in fandom spaces that hate Disney Star Wars and love the EU and the original films, because those spaces are filled with constant fighting with Disney fans about the franchise. And so many real SW fans are so...I don't want to use the word traumatized...maybe battered is a better word, by what Disney and its fans have done to Star Wars that they keep demanding lockstep opinions about everything and creating circular firing squads.

Star Wars just isn't fun anymore. And yeah, the old movies are still there, and sure, every once in a while something like Fallen Order/Jedi Survivor comes out that is actually pretty decent, but the stink of what Disney did to the franchise is always there in the background.

So I would save Star Wars. I'd do it for everyone who had to see the thing they love murdered right before their eyes. I'd do it for the kid I used to be, whose lonely tween and teen years would have been so much more bleak and grey if he never had Star Wars. I would savagely tear the Disney canon away just like Disney did with the EU, throw it in the trash, and start over. I'd adapt the literal decades of stories in the EU, as faithfully as possible, and treat what came before with the love and respect it deserves.

And if that's impossible, if there's no way to build Star Wars back into what it was, I'd let it die a dignified death instead of letting a bunch of shitty, talentless hacks parade its corpse around like a trophy of war.

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trashogram · 1 year ago

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He Chose You (P. 7)

Lucifer/Reader: You’ve been chosen to be the Mother of the Antichrist. Rated E.

Your sleep had become fitful with dreams that, while not full of violence, left you waking in a cold sweat most mornings. You couldn’t remember most of what happened aside from a parade of images and feelings of discomfort. Sometimes, downright fear.

The blonde woman was still the star, but you couldn’t remember a word she’d say. The sight of her frowning at two men replayed in your head between sleeping and waking. She frowned at you with dewy wide eyes.

The woman held her arms out to you: beseeching, sheltering, hurriedly hiding but you were able to escape the gaze of one of the men.

Fear had spirited you away from unconsciousness when the man’s brown eyes sparked into an unnatural gold. They heated with anger at the mere sight of you.

—

The only equivalent you could come up with for how you awoke was being jump-started like a car. It took a solid moment of gulping in air and eyeing your surroundings before you could calm the beat of your heart.

“Lucifer?”

It took too much energy to turn and look for him, but you saw that the sheets beside you were disturbed, but duck-less.

You were overly warm, hopelessly reaching out to run your hand down the opposite side of the bed despite what your eyes told you.

For a while there was nothing to do but lay in the silence of your darkened room. Eventually your hand drifted into your belly.

It had become a reflex to pet your own tummy, to feel the bump that had formed there, as small as it was.

—

You faced forward, looking directly at the screen of your TV without really seeing it. Beside you, Lucifer giggled at whatever was happening between Kermit and Gonzo onscreen.

His bare hand was latched onto yours, fingers entwined, claws digging into your skin just enough to hurt. Not a lot, just a little bit. Strangely, the discomfort kept you grounded and away from the outlandish yet very real fear that you’d float away without it.

‘Is it dissociating or disassociation?’

You’d gone long enough with it happening multiple times now but you couldn’t even remember what it was called.

You were pregnant.

Well, you’d been pregnant for about a month and a half. And your partner in crime had been excited. So excited he’d literally exclaimed ‘oh my golly’ at the news.

Then he’d had a panic attack, complete with big yet shallow gasps for air and arm flailing, hands flapping, short legs in knee-high boots pacing a hole into your carpet.

You were somewhat grateful for his outburst, if only because taking the steps to placate him was placating unto itself.

—

The memory made you smile weakly. A memory that seemed so long ago, even if it had technically happened only a few months prior.

Everything that had happened afterward had made it seem rosier than it should’ve been. Before things soured so thoroughly that you could barely get out of bed.

Now, you were exhausted day and night, plagued by not-quite-nightmares during your hibernation-like snoozes, and — when awake — eaten at by fears and doubts.

You’d never thought seriously about having children.

There was this permanent barrier to the very idea that lingered in the back of your mind. You don’t know when it formed, or if it was merely a protective mechanism of some kind (God knew you had plenty of those already). Nonetheless, you’d stuck to it, never straying… until now.

You weren’t the motherly type. And technically you weren’t going to be. As much as Lucifer mooned over you, whether for his own entertainment or because he was genuinely fond of your stupid sarcastic comments and bouts of literary trivia, you would not allow yourself to trust him completely. You had no compunctions about raising the Antichrist once you had fulfilled your end of the deal.

So you told yourself. Especially when you cycled through detachment and guilt about the creature growing in your womb. Especially when Lucifer was curled up with you, basking in your warmth and bringing you little trinkets and laughing with you at whatever was on TV. Especially when he dropped everything to lay down with you in your sickness, and did anything he could to make you smile, be it with magic tricks or stories from lifetimes ago.

Last night he’d held your hair as you threw up, courtesy of the raw beef you’d craved (thank you, you freaky little fetus). Then he entertained you by shape-shifting into cute animals until you’d cuddled up with his duck self and fallen asleep.

The little slope of your stomach quivered with the rest of your body. You felt the sudden urge to cry.

—

“Lucifer?”

You braced yourself against the wall to get out of your bedroom. Standing was enough to make you dizzy, skin growing clammy and perspiring while you struggled to move. You were winded after five steps through your rather small apartment.

Your curiosity was the only thing keeping you going after hearing a series of beeps from outside your door.

“Aw, shit. Shit, shit, shit! Hold on!” Lucifer called from a few feet away.

He was here, in your apartment, more often than not. As a matter of fact, you had the feeling that if you didn’t push him to return to his duties, Lucifer would’ve been with you 24/7.

Speaking of, he appeared from around the corner just as you buckled and slid against the wall.

The Devil sprang forward, arms out and ready to catch you. Had you been more yourself, you’d have laughed at the absurdity as most of your weight sagged against its surface and he’d more or less landed on top of you from the side.

“I’m so so sorry!” He cried, jerking away when you winced.

“Sorry.” He whispered loudly. “I got your tea and I was trying to make it without waking you but the darn thing wouldn’t stop beeping.”

“Cassie was here?” You let yourself sway to Lucifer’s side instead of the walls. He was practically carrying you into the living room.

Unnames illness aside, you found an additional slight against your existence that you still had to keep in contact with your weirdo neighbors. They were both their own flavors of bizarre, but Cassie in particular was extroverted and nosy.

She brought you tea from her kitchen garden —

“Just bits and bobs from my little spice garden, things I’ve been growing ‘round the house. Pretty basic stuff: you got your chamomile, mint, there’s rosemary in there too, some cinnamon, ya know.”

— and wanted to brew it for you while having chats at your kitchen table almost every day.

Even Lucifer was annoyed by her persistence.

“Here as in ‘at the door’ but not inside. She actually got it through that thick skull that I didn’t want you to be disturbed.” Lucifer said, equal parts irritated and triumphant.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Your eyes closed to avoid the sudden onslaught of more tears when your companion tensed. He stopped short of the couch to relish in the contact. His wistful sigh made your heart throb painfully as you wondered for the umpteenth time how the fucking King of Hell could be so effortlessly sweet.

‘Just to make pulling out the rug from under you later a bigger betrayal.’

The intrusive thought brought more tears, from eyes screwed up as you wished it away.

“… can’t make tea as a duck.” Lucifer had carried on while gently lowering you on the cushions. “I did try though, to be fair.”

He had yet to notice your tears, but your laugh was wet. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

It was sudden when cold hands cupped your face and turned your gaze up. You were met with deeply worried crimson eyes.

The cold was so nice that you had to snuggle into that touch. “It’s ok.”

Lucifer’s maw opened and closed a few times, helplessly.

“Do—uh… do you want me to do that? I can try it again!” He jumped back, getting ready to shift in a puff of fireworks.

“No, come sit with me.” You held up a shaking hand, trying to ignore your own ashen skin.

The blond hesitated.

“Please, Lou.”

—

Lucifer melted at your request. He came to you immediately and took great care as he rearranged your frail body against his own.

He was grateful that he’d thrown on his velvet robe that morning twicefold now — once to avoid his elderly worshipper seeing his dick, and twice to be able to pull it to the side so that you could lay your forehead against his cold chest.

The King’s skin would warm up with time and human contact, but he knew that his natural icy exterior did wonders to help your over-warm skin.

Lucifer fought to not chuckle at the ticklish feeling of your hair against his neck. You laid there against him for a long time, breathing lightly and letting him hold you close. The silence was easy for once, not awkward or uncomfortable. Just one person relying on another for quiet solace.

When you finally spoke, it nearly scared him. “What’s it like? In Hell?”

“Wh-why’re you asking?” Lucifer tried to play it cool. “That’s not really a fun o-oo-r relaxing…!… topic.”

“Mmm,” Your head slowly lifted until he count easily count your individual eyelashes.

“I don’t know if you know this, but there’s a little guy in here.” You pointed between yourself and him, to the little slope of your stomach. “And they're gonna call Hell their home soon. It might be good to know what that’s like before I ship them off.”

“Oh!” Well, that was easier. “It’s uh, it’s red… and warm.” Lucifer wracked his brain. “Well, my Ring is. See, there are 7 Rings total, and technically I rule them all, but my brothers each kinda made their own homes out of them.”

“Mine though — mine is full of Sinners, which is what we call the humans that died and were condemned to it. They’re all kinda packed in there, heh. Like, uh, tiny fish. That reek.”

Your lips pursed. “But no one is burning in molten lava at all times or anything, right?”

“No-oo! Well, I mean it’s not impossible. But it’s not the norm. Nah, people go about their way like they do up here, but even more selfishly and violently.”

Lucifer smiled at your frowning face.

“It’s like on Earth? So people work, sleep, eat?”

“Yep!”

“They pay bills? Go to parties? Fuck?” Your brows were nearly to your hairline.

“Mmmm-hm!”

“And they do it for all of eternity? Forever?”

“Pretty much! In a nutshell…” Was his jolly reply. He squeezed you to him for extra measure.

It was your turn to look flummoxed by the picture he painted, the words he spoke that sounded both improbable and spot on for what Hell would be if it was real.

Well, not if.

At last, you sighed.

“I guess it couldn’t have been all that bad if… if you’ve been there for so long and you’re still so sweet.” Your words were barely audible, muttered into Lucifer’s chest when you gave up on making sense of anything.

But the Ruler of Hell had to stop the last-minute ejection of his own wings at your words.

***

Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan,

Please let me know I missed tagging you!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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spawksstuff · 8 months ago

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1969 January TV Star Parade

The Kris Smith article!

#deforest kelley #deforest and carolyn #kris smith #article #tv star parade #the real mccoy #someone has a sense of humor on page 74 #Mr. Bones #why are the advertising a skeleton in January?

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valenfangs · 1 month ago

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A clarification on content: crossovers (eg Mayfair Witches) are allowed, but please keep submissions in the book verse. Thank you!

(plain text under cut)

Join us in June for the second annual VamPride event, where fans of The Vampire Chronicles books by Anne Rice can show their colours and get creative! Fanfiction, fanart, playlists, graphics, cosplay, etc. – all kinds of fanworks for the books are welcome at this parade.

A variety of prompts will be given across the month of June in order to inspire people to create. If you choose to participate, post your contribution on the day of and tag us @valenfangs so we can reblog your work or add your fics to the VamPride2025 collection on AO3. We hope to see you there!

Prompts:

1 - rainbow // shooting star

2 - beach // glitter

3 - lemonade // ice cream // handmade

4 - dog park // picture frames

5 - free day

6 - watermelon // waterfall // oil pastels

7 - small town // skateboard

8 - sandals // overcast

9 - oak tree // a home-cooked meal // nightmares

10 - iced tea // beaded necklace

11 - sunglasses // typewriter

12 - hurricane // greenhouse // toothpaste

13 - red, white, and blue // fireworks

14 - sports bra and boys’ underwear // headphones

15 - free day

16 - reality TV // band concert

17 - shot glass // seashells

18 - freckles // robe and slippers // French Revolution

19 - frozen yogurt // marching band

20 - grey hair // ivory comb

21 - rats // buried treasure // record player

22 - skull // Botticelli

23 - mac and cheese // smoothie

24 - water bottle // fountain pen // white picket fence

25 - free day

26 - “we have to be quiet” // wizard

27 - sports car // frogs // shibari

28 - autumn leaves // pet play

29 - video games // arcade

30 - gay bar // pizza // celebration

#vc #the vampire chronicles #iwtv #vampire chronicles #tvc #armand #lestat de lioncourt #daniel molloy #louis de pointe du lac #marius de romanus

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911actually · 3 months ago

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GENERAL

⤷9-1-1: Jennifer Love Hewitt Is Abducted by a Serial Killer After Angela Bassett Realizes 'Something's Not Right' (Exclusive) | PEOPLE.COM ⤷Stills from 8.09 'Sob Stories' | DGEPRESS.COM ⤷ Thursday TV Ratings | TVSERIESFINALE.COM ⤷ Thursday Ratings: ‘9-1-1’ on ABC Hits Season-High Among 18-49 in Spring Return | PROGRAMMINGINSIDER.COM ⤷ Who Plays Amber Braeburn In 9-1-1 Season 8? Where You Know Abigail Spencer From | SCREENRANT.COM

INTERVIEWS

Jennifer Love Hewitt — EW • Collider • The Wrap • TVLine Oliver Stark — US Weekly • TV Insider • TV FANATIC Ryan Guzman — Parade • HELLO! Magazine Tim Minear — Decider • EW • Screenrant • TVLine

REVIEWS & RECAPS

⤷ 9-1-1 Recap: No Tears Left to Cry | VULTURE.COM ⤷ 911 - Sob Stories - Review: The 118 Returns with an Intense Midseason Premiere | SPOILERTV.COM ⤷ 9-1-1 season 8 episode 9 recap: Maddie’s dangerous call takes a sinister turn | SPORTSKEEDA.COM ⤷ 911 Season 8 Episode 9 Guide: Cast, Guest Stars, Plot Recap & Images for 'Sob Stories' | THEDIRECT.COM ⤷ ‘9-1-1’ Is Setting Things in Motion for Buck and Eddie — and I Couldn’t Be Happier About It | COLLIDER.COM ⤷ 9-1-1 Season 8, Episode 9 Review: The ABC Show Plays With Fans' Hearts | CBR.COM ⤷ 9-1-1 season 8 episode 9 recap: 67 thoughts I had while watching ‘Sob Stories’ | PINKNEWS.COM ⤷ 9-1-1 Season 8, Episode 9 Review: I Can Feel Buddie Canon Coming After This Layered Episode Featuring A Devastating Jennifer Love Hewitt | SCREENRANT.COM ⤷ 911 season 8 episode 9 recap: Is Eddie really leaving 911? | ONECHICAGOCENTER.COM ⤷ RECAP: 9-1-1 Season 8 Episode 9 — “Sob Stories” | BUTWHYTHO.NET ⤷ Tales From the 118 Episode 9: Season 8 Episode 9 "Sob Stories" Review | FANGIRLISH.COM ⤷ 911 season 8, episode 9 finds the Buckley siblings both spiraling in different ways | PRECINCTTV.COM ⤷ 9-1-1 Season 8 Episode 9 Review: Sob Stories | TELLTALETV.COM

#911 abc #911 spoilers #8x09 #s8 #episode roundup #jennifer love hewitt #oliver stark #ryan guzman #tim minear #s8 | roundups #roundups

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scotianostra · 9 days ago

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Happy birthday, hard working Scottish actor Brian Cox.

I just spent a good hour putting a post together about Brian only for my computer to decide to play up and I lost it all, so I apologise for the copy and paste job from last years post, with a wee add on at the end.

It’s often said, oor wee country Scotland punches above it’s weight and it is certainly true with the number of quality actors we have, Brian Cox is certainly up their with them.

The youngest of five children, he was born on 1st June 1946 to an Irish and Scottish descent family in Dundee. His father, a mill worker, died when Brian was eight, after which his mother suffered a series of nervous breakdowns and was eventually hospitalised.

Brought up by his eldest sister and an aunt, Brian was drawn to acting after he got a job helping backstage at Dundee Rep. He worked there for two years, then trained at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. After a spell in regional repertory, he made his London stage debut as Orlando in As You Like It in June 1967.

Cox first came to attention in the early 1970s with performances in numerous television shows and films including the role of James Hepburn, 4th Earl of Bothwell in a TV movie Bothwell, the shows Sutherlands Law, The Master of Ballantrae, in the 80’s he was in Minder, Crown Court and Scotland’s Story, we also saw Brian head for the USA as the first Hanibal Lector in Manhunter and in Scotland he was in the excellent film Shoot for the Sun with Jimmy Nail.

His first big break was as Dr. Hannibal Lecter in the aforementioned Manhunter . The film was not overly successful at the box office, although Cox’s career prospects and popularity continued to develop. Through the 1990s, he appeared in nearly 20 films and television series, as well as making numerous television guest appearances. Two Scottish roles in Rob Roy, as Killearn, then Braveheart as Argyle Wallace brought Brian to a much bigger audience.

Hollywood roles followed, the most notable were in The Bourne Identity and The Bourne Supremacy as well as Super Troopers and the sequal Super Troopers 2 as well as 25th Hour. Cox never turned his back on Scotland though, making appearances on our small screen in Bob Servant and Shetland, he was also in the film The Flying Scot about cyclist Graeme Obree.

In his personal life he has 4 children two to his first wife, and 2 his second wife, he is a patron of The Scottish Youth Theatre and an “ambassador” for the Screen Academy Scotland, he was twice elected Rector of the University of Dundee by students in his home town, as well as holding an honorary doctorate from Napier University in Edinburgh, awarded in July 2008. On 14 April 2012, Cox was the 10th grand marshal of the New York City Tartan Day Parade.

Brian has won an Emmy, for the role of Hermann Wilhelm Goering in Nuremberg, 2002, and a Golden Globe in 2020 for Best Actor in a TV Drama, for Succession.

He has over 235 acting credits and shows no signs of slowing down, this year he has appeared in the Horror movie The Parenting and voiced a character in the animated movie The Electric State. Brian is currently involved in an upcoming film dubbed a "love letter to Scotland", Glenrothan. After 35 years abroad, Donal returns to Scotland to make amends with his brother, Sandy. Fonal is played bt Alan Cumming, Shirley Henderson co-stars. As I put this post together I am settling down to watch Brian Cox: Amol Rajan Interviews, which is available on the BBC iPlayer .

#scotland #scottish #history #actor #television #theatre #cinema

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 2 years ago

Text

All I Ever Wanted, All I Ever Needed Pt. 2

Warnings: siblingxsibling implications, Homelander being such a narcissist that he falls in "love" with his own sibling, Homelander being a stalker, innocent reader, naive reader, Homelander being a basic menace, some uncomfortable parts, dubcon, secrets, manipulation, grooming (feel like that's what Homelander is doing), age gap, power imbalance, there will be one more part after this then i think i'm gonna wrap up this little story

Words: 3472

Summary: Starlight unravels the secrets which Homelander and Vought so desperately wanted to keep in the dark.

Part 1 Part 3

Annie was still reeling from the events of yesterday. She'd barely stepped foot into her apartment before a Vought assistant was scrambling to reach her. They inform Annie about the dinner being held that night to introduce a Seven-Trainee. This only further raised the hairs of alarm on the back of her neck.

Worst of all was that you nor anyone else saw a problem with this. Maeve wore her mask well and kept her thoughts to herself though their conversation was till fresh. Maeve really wanted to ignore how odd it was.

Maeve rose her glass with everyone else, a smile plastered across her face. And you, you were beyond happy; unaware of the wolf that paraded beside you. Annie could barely stomach her meal, forcing down bits of lamb but the richness of it soured immediately on her tongue.

Thankfully once everyone seemed to finish, the group parted ways with you and Homelander walking away together side by side.

That night was hard to sleep, even after calling Hughie and telling him all about it. He'd said that him and the Boys would look into it. See what they could find on you. That did help enough to lull Annie to sleep.

Reality was there in the Seven's conference room though, cheerfully beaming up at Annie.

"Good morning Starlight!" You chirp, the mug in your hand is put down forgotten by her entrance. Homelander is taking slow sips of his coffee, watching their interaction like a hawk. Annie didn't have to look at him to know that. She could feel the drilling of his piercing blue eyes. The eyes of a sociopath.

She puts on her best face, similar to the ones she wore when meeting fans. "How was your first night in the Tower?"

"It was great!" Really, it had been a great night. Probably the best one in your life. After the delicious dinner Homelander took you out around the city, giving you an aerial tour. Then he got ice cream for the two of you to enjoy back on Vought Tower's roof. You listened to the urban music it made at night. Honking of cars, sizzling of food, the chatter of people; the city was so alive. Your nights at home were spent quietly.

The warmth that Homelander made you feel took you by surprise. From the moment he showed up at your house, you felt an immediate connection. Like the two of you meeting was fated, written in the stars. In a short amount of time, Homelander had embedded himself in you. Last night all you could think about was spending the next day with him and the rest of the Seven. He gave you comfort in a way your parents never did. They loved you sure but they never really understood you. They were fearful when you started flying. You didn't even want to remember the conniption your father had when you'd accidentally fried an expensive painting with your lasers. To them your powers were somewhat of a burden, not something to revel in.

Yesterday you'd used your powers more than you have in your entire life. Homelander encouraged you.

A bit of a cliche, you already felt yourself really falling in love with him. You'd already been fairly attracted to him to begin with. When you saw him on tv, he was your ideal of the perfect man. Well spoken, handsome, chivalrous- everything you thought your future partner would be. He ticked off all of those boxes.

Chances though that he reciprocated such feelings so soon was low. He must see you as still a child. The age difference didn't help either.

"She'll be shadowing me today." Homelander tells Starlight as she stops by the breakfast buffet that was set up for the Seven. Her hand lingers on the cup of coffee she'd poured herself. "Just to get an idea of what we do on a daily basis."

She raises her brows. "You're taking her out on the field so soon?"

It's obvious that Homelander doesn't like Starlight questioning his choices when it comes to you.

You cheerfully nod. You memorized the schedule Homelander had given to you a few moments before Starlight had entered the conference room. Holding out the sheet of paper to her, she takes it and looks it over.

Starlight doesn't remove her eyes from the paper. "Don't you think she'd benefit from shadowing myself or Maeve one of these days? It looks like she's mainly going to be with you and Black Noir."

He keeps his tight lipped smile. "I'm giving her the basics. Once she's advancing to my satisfaction she can work with you and Queen Maeve. For now I want to be hands on with her training. After all, anyone would kill to be taught by America's number one hero." Homelander's smile that he gives you sends your tummy in a flurry.

Taking everything in you to maintain a professional appearance, you hide your blush by taking a sip of your coffee. You didn't want Starlight to see you obviously simping for him. That would be embarrassing. You wanted to be taken seriously during your time here. This was a once in a life time opportunity that you didn't want to squander. You planned on absorbing everything you learn during your time with the Seven. Maybe one day. . . you'd be able to join their ranks. Wasn't that every little supe's dream?

Starlight was actually happy to see Black Noir and Maeve walk in, A-Train trailing behind them; his eyes glued to his phone.

You straighten in your seat, showing them that you understood the great privilege it was to be there with them. Your heart raced being around so many big names.

You listen attentively as the Seven get down to morning business.

The next few days are spent integrating yourself into the lifestyle and schedule of the Seven. Homelander took control of your training in the beginning, but he had other priorities that pulled him away from you. Much to both of your chagrin. He handed you off to Maeve during his busy hours. Unlike Homelander, Maeve isn't quite as warm. She's a tough teacher. Even when you walk around with her in public she keeps everything professional. She holds herself perfectly which you catch yourself trying to replicate. Maeve had you learning the different districts of New York. Important to understand the diversity in each and the crime statistics that reflected upon it.

"You need to know the streets like the back of your hand. Especially when criminals try to run. They'll do whatever it takes to shake you from their trail." Maeve explains. "Since you can fly, it'll be especially important for you to memorize an aerial map too."

You diligently studied any and all maps you could get ahold of. Even went as far as spreading all of them out around your apartment.

Problems came at the prospect of Maeve sparring with you. With someone like Maeve it was necessary to take care to not use the full capacity of your powers on her. She wasn't completely indestructible, unlike you and Homelander. Physical training would have to wait until Homelander's schedule freed up.

He texts you as you wait for him in Vought's state of the art gym. The both of you make plans after training to hang out.

Finding yourself internally swooning, you shake your head free of any thoughts of that ilk. You wanted to remain professional. He's just being friendly and must know that you might be missing your family.

And it was weird that you hadn't received any calls or texts from either your mom or your dad. When you'd attempted to contact them yourself they never answer. Your messages go unreturned.

You'd thought about paying an actual visit with this concerning behavior. They'd gone from helicopter parents to ghost quiet. Your schedule was just so busy. Maybe you'd take the time to ask Homelander if you could take time off to go.

When Starlight shows up, gym bag hanging off of her shoulder, she's pleasantly surprised to find you alone in the locker room. "Hey! I feel like I haven't seen you in a while."

She was still in her supe outfit but lacked her long lashes that she wore to public events and patrol. Still she was so pretty.

"I've been shadowing Queen Maeve during the day. And then training in the afternoons whenever Homelander's available. I tried sparring with Queen Maeve, but even when I tried not to punch so hard. . ." You rub your knuckles. Even when you held back you still sent Queen Maeve a couple of feet away before she steadies herself to get back up. Really, it was you who insisted to train with Homelander after that. You knew nothing you did would seriously hurt him.

Pressing her lips together, Starlight suggests "You know, I may not look it,, but I'm pretty tough." She offers you a tentative smile. "If you want to try sparring with me? I don't have much to do today."

"Really?"

"Sure! You're supposed to be learning from all of us, right?"

You enthusiastically nod and close your locker door before you hop to your feet. "Okay! Guess I should get a warm up in before Homelander gets here."

Both of you laugh as you exit the lockers side by side. It was odd when you remember that Starlight is only a year or two older than you. She carries herself with such confidence. Each stride she takes is strong. Every block she makes, calculated. She'd only been in the Seven for little more than a year and she fit in so easily.

As much as you idolized Homelander, you loved Starlight. Even after Vought decided to change her supe uniform to something more scandalous. From the first photoshoots she'd done in her new outfit, there was a look of contempt that shadowed her eyes. Clear that this change wasn't her decision. Whatever Vought was trying to make her out to be, Starlight would remain herself. She was still the bad ass girl that gave you hope that you could one day join the Seven officially.

Starlight proved to be a competent sparring partner. Dodging any of your offensive attacks. You had to move quick around her. She was fast, even impressing you.

Neither of you noticed when Homelander strolls into the gym where supes honed their skills. You don't see the twitching of his jaw or the haughty way he folds his arms in front of his expansive chest. His eyes are particularly glued to Starlight, the interloper. It was one thing letting you follow and learn from Maeve. Homelander didn't trust Starlight one bit. He'd always felt something off about her. She just felt fake to him. And he didn't like how her expression had become hostile when he introduced you. Like he was doing something wrong by bringing you to the Tower. He wonders if she knew the truth about you.

A trickle of sweat was rolling down the side of your face when you finally turn to where Homelander was standing. "Oh! Hey Homelander!" You use the front of your tank top to wipe your face.

He forces his iciness to melt just enough so that he could return your bright smile while still shooting Starlight eyes that could only mean 'watch yourself'. "I thought you didn't feel comfortable physically training with anyone but me?" Homelander puts on a tone of faux hurt.

"Starlight assured me that she's sturdier than she looks. And she was right! Plus she's fast and I hardly landed any serious blows to her." Confidence made your smile widen and Homelander felt that familiar clenching in his chest. How precious and perfect you were to him. Starlight threatened that. She could be a bad influence on you. He could already see you dressing in a skimpy outfit like Starlight wore. And while he wouldn't mind seeing that, he would mind everyone else's penetrating gaze. That was something he couldn't risk.

"You almost got me a few times." She chuckles in return, already feeling the both of you were becoming actual friends.

"Well," Homelander inserts himself between you two "thank you for warming her up, but I'm here now. I'll take over."

Starlight's smile waver, her dark eyes hardening toward the leader of the Seven. "Of course." Her warmth returns when she addresses you. "We should do that again. I had fun."

You felt like you could explode. "Y-yeah! I had fun too. I'll see you later!" You didn't have many friends, at least not organic friends that you made yourself.

Yeah, your friendship with Starlight was definitely not Homelander approved.

The entire time it takes Starlight to leave the gym, Homelander's glare didn't move from her back. He didn't like her around his sister one bit.

"Alright!" Your cheerful hum brings him back to you. "Now I can really go all out. You ready?"

Corner of his mouth curling up into one of affection. He'd put a pin in it, wait until later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy being around you and having you beam up at him like he was your own personal deity. Your main god whom you would always rely on.

With Homelander distracted, Starlight takes the opportunity to slink out of the Tower and to the Boys' hideout. Her gray hoodie covers her signature gold hair. Hopefully that and her ripped pants would deter anyone from her identity. What she was doing was not only stupid but dangerous. For her, for Hughie, even for Butcher who wasn't exactly her favorite person.

"Annie! I was about to call you." Hughie immediately opens the door once he spies her through the peephole. "That girl-"

Annie holds her breath, waiting for what information they'd scrounged up.

"Another fuckin' supe." Butcher steals Hughie's opportunity as his heavy gaze lands on Annie.

She blinks and turns to Hughie. "What's he talking about?"

Hughie ruefully glances at Butcher before finishing what he was going to say earlier "That girl is Homelander's sister."

"That's. . ." The air in her lungs was stolen for her as it sunk in. Homelander's predatory claim of her, his hovering. But did you even know? It didn't seem likely.

Sitting her down, Hughie goes on to divulge more of Vought's dirty secrets that they tried to bury. A lot of hard work went into finding anything about you. All they had to go off of was your name. Any lead they managed to get was followed up. It was a wonder that they ever came upon the truth of your origin.

Staring at the blotchy piece of paper that Frenchie handed her, Annie felt her mouth go completely dry. The page was weathered, an old copy that held stains on the surface. Some words were so faded that they were intelligible.

John [the Homelander] failure uncontrollable neutralize

Lack of normal childhood had greatly damaged the psyche of Homelander. The problem lay in the fact that Homelander was indestructible. There was no known way to seriously maim him.

That was where the conception of you was truly developed. You would be raised entirely different than how Homelander was. That was Vought's mistake.

This was a tightly held secret. No one was meant to know about it. It sounded like Stan Edgar and his gaggle of scientists did everything they possibly could to ensure that you being related to Homelander would never come out.

"I guess with the truth of Ryan, he must have grown even more suspicious and found the information himself." quietly mused Hughie.

"Where did you get this document?" Annie forces her eyes up to him.

That has Butcher scoffing "What's it to you?"

Hughie intercedes. "We broke into Vogelbaum's home. Wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do. He was one of the scientist in charge of Homelander when he was growing up."

Worriedly chewing on her bottom lip, Annie closes her eyes to replay all of Homelander's interactions with you. Something still wasn't right. Why didn't you know? And why hadn't Homelander told you yet?

All of those questions plague her trip back to the Tower. It was never a good idea for her to be gone for too long. Others might grow suspicious of her outings.

She shouldn't be poking her nose deeper into Vought's business. But she couldn't let you be influenced by someone like Homelander. He was lying to you like he was lying to the rest of the world about how much of a good person he was. He wasn't golden. He was tarnished and distorted. And by how you gaze at him, Annie worries that you'd be all too willing to be corrupted by him. Eventually Homelander will show his true colors. When he does it will be too late for you to back out. He won't let you. Annie could see your future unfold before her. How you'd be stuck in the Seven similar to everyone else, including herself.

Slipping back in easily, Annie had to shed her sweatshirt and pants to dawn her Starlight uniform. Well, it felt more like a costume to her now. Losing all meaning when she discovered the Seven were not as honorable as she'd first imagined.

You'd done so well during your training, Homelander deemed it only right that you get a special treat: a special viewing of the new Vought supe movie. Better was that it would be screened in Vought's private theatre that was only accessible for the higher ups in the company. For tonight, he'd call in a favor to reserve the whole room just for you. Gourmet treats would be included and anything else you wanted.

Going back to your room to shower and change, you show up in a comfortable pair of yoga pants and an old graphic tee. You're about to put on a lightweight jacket until you catch the buzzing of your phone.

Hope that it's your mom and or dad, you rush to where your phone was charging only to be disappointed. Just a useless app notification.

You try not to let it get to you but it was already nearing a month since you got there and you hadn't spoken to your parents once. Weighing the phone in your hand, you contemplate trying to call them again. Mind changing when you notice the time. You replace your morose mood to one of giddiness and slip your phone into the pocket of your yoga pants.

You were a little surprised to see him still in his uniform and partially embarrassed for yourself. Maybe you should have dressed up a little bit more?

Homelander didn't appear to mind. In fact his smile grew.

"Should I go back and change?"

"No, you're perfect. Just the way you are." His smile disarms any concern you may have previously had. "In fact I feel overdressed."

"Next time we'll have to coordinate outfit aesthetics." You chuckle and follow him in. The theatre was no yet darkened. This wasn't like any screening room you'd been in before. Each seat was the size of a couch that were capable of reclining. Except for the two of you, the room was completely empty.

Seeing Homelander in such a setting was a bit weird. Homelander was doing something as normal as sitting down and watching a movie was bizarre. He even used the reclining button for his own seat.

Before the movie started, he calls in for food and drinks be brought to the both of you.

Once you were in possession of your snacks, the room darkens and the screen comes to life.

You like when Homelander becomes your personal commentator. He tells you behind the scenes bloopers that others would not be privy to on the special features. Both of you are loud and don't care when you laugh or talk. Honestly you didn't pay much attention to the movie. You were more entertained with talking to Homelander and spending time with him.

The feeling was mutual. Homelander had never felt as carefree as he did when he was with you. Your laugh was a beautiful one that he wanted to hear all the time.

And with you looking at him with eyes that shine lightening strike blue from the light of the movie, he really couldn't hold himself back. He removes one of his red gloves and moves it to tenderly brush against your cheek, asking without using his words for your lips.

From that single point of contact, your entire body is set aflame. Your breath lodged in your throat as you realize what is about to happen. To show your consent you tilt your face up and allow him access.

Homelander doesn't waste a second in closing the gap.

Taglist:

@the-maladaptive-daydreamers

@demodemo909

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #the boys series #homelander fic #homelander fanfiction #the boys homelander x reader #homelander x reader #the boys fanfiction #the boys fandom #the boys fanfic #homelander #the boys homelander #the boys homelander fanfiction #the boys homelander fanfic #tw dark content #the boys

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