#what was the need to bring back the interview when those host were trying to make drama with louis and the 1d boys?

[savebylou]

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Louis Tomlinson made a low-key arrival into Sydney ahead of his national tour on Friday morning. The former One Direction star, 32, played down his rockstar credentials as he was spotted making his way through the terminal in a graphic t-shirt and sweatpants. Louis attempted to hide his famous face by wearing a cap and sunglasses. The singer is scheduled to kick off his national tour in Melbourne on Sunday. He will then play arena shows in Sydney and Brisbane.

During his last visit, Louis made headlines after he accused The Project's Carrie Bickmore and Peter Helliar of stirring up a One Direction feud. Peter asked: 'There's been a bit of 1D beef recently thanks to Liam who's been speaking out about the band a little bit. When you look back on your experience about the band, how do you feel about your experience of those days?' A suspicious Louis replied: 'Oh, so the fishing's begun already! Yeah, I see what you're doing. No, listen, I'm immensely proud, as I know Liam is, I'm immensely proud of those days, obviously.'

'It was an incredible thing to do, especially at such a young age and I have amazing memories, amazing memories.' Pushing Louis further, Carrie asked if he ever gets fed up that he's still linked to One Direction despite their split in 2016. She asked: 'Louis, when you say, 'Aw, the fishing's begun,' I imagine it is so annoying having to answer retrospective questions like that. Do you want to talk about that time in your life to the media versus how much you never have to want to talk about it again?' Louis responded: 'I'm more than happy to talk about it in every interview. It's something I'm immensely proud of, as I'd already said, it's just when you mentioned the beef before, it sounded like you were getting ready to stir some s**t up, that's all I'm saying.' Peter chimed in: 'No, I'm not a s**t stirrer Louis, do I look like a s**t stirrer?'

x

[wayward-dreamer]

Hi, I was wondering if you could write a story where soilder boy is dating Y/n, and they start talking, and he asks her if she thinks he would be a good dad. Which leads to them talking about starting a family together. And then one of them says something along the lines of "Why don't we try now?" Then it turns into smut. If not it's okay, thanks!

Father Material

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Word count: 1,468

Summary: Curiosity from the public and media has Ben expressing his dream to be a father. Y/N wants to make his dream a reality.

Warnings: Swearing, some angst, mentions of SB's nefarious actions, smut: dirty talk, rough sex, breeding kink.

A/N: This request has been in my inbox forever, so I apologise for long it took! I hope you like it Layla! Happy reading! :) Thanks to my besties/betas @hintsofhoney and @makeadealwithdean for looking over this. Sorry not sorry for killing you hehe

also there's plenty more Soldier Boy content on the way because apparently I've become an SB smut dealer lmaooo

“Do you think I’d make a good father?”

That was the question that sparked the sex marathon they had been in for hours now. Given that he was a supe, Soldier Boy had the stamina for withstanding just about anything, and if he had it his way he could probably last well into the night. She on the other hand was flagging quickly, the downside of being 100% human, but she really couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop. Not when he always knew just how to make her toes curl and her body quake with euphoric bliss. He may have known what buttons to push to get her going, but that didn’t mean their encounters were predictable. They were far from it, and that day was no exception.

The day started out like any other. He had meetings with hero management, followed by filming a commercial for Cracker Jack, which then led to interviews with different channels. She finally stepped out of their penthouse that night to join him on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, draped in an emerald green dress to match his suit, complete with gold accessories. Usually interviews weren’t really her favorite thing to do, but being America’s golden couple meant that they needed to be seen in public in order to keep that status. So they did what they always did. They laughed and joked with quick-witted Carson, charmed the audience and made the nation fall deeper for them with each caress of a hand or sweet kiss. Some may have thought it was just for the cameras, those cynical spectators that didn’t have any business commenting on what goes on behind closed doors, but they both knew the truth about their relationship.

They were in love. They had been since the moment he propositioned her in the elevator of the Vought American building, leading to one of the wildest nights she had ever had. Most would call it lust, but when you understood someone on a deeper level like they both did, it was most definitely love. A warped, messed up kind of love, but nonetheless, that’s what it was. She wasn’t stupid; she knew the kind of man he was, what he had to do during the war, and in Vought’s name since he joined their roster. She knew there were some off the books black ops missions he had gone on, even if she didn’t know the details. She heard the rumors about Dealey Plaza, too. She knew that he was fucked up despite his God fearing, all-American persona for the public, but she didn’t care.

In order to love someone like that, she had to be a little fucked up too. Well, more than a little.

Despite distracting everyone with their incredible charisma, questions of settling down and starting a family came up, and she knew she had to think of an answer fast when she saw Ben’s face go blank. With her biggest grin, she turned to Carson and said “Well, if anything happens Johnny, you’ll be the first to know!” They covered it up with hearty laughs as the audience joined in, along with the host, before he thanked them for their time to raucous applause.

The drive back to the Vought building was quiet, her concern growing for him until his words: “Do you think I’d make a good father?” broke the silence.

“Why do you ask?” she questioned in return, softly as to not scare him from broaching the subject.

“That fucking Carson,” he muttered, staring out the window at the bright lights. “I just… I guess he got me thinkin’, that’s all. Forget it.”

She wasn’t going to. She knew there was something he wanted to tell her, something he wanted of her, and she needed to know what it was.

“Thinking about what?”

“Thinkin’ about… about how I’d do it better than my father ever did,” he confessed. “We’d make some perfect fucking kids, that’s for damn sure.”

She smiled softly, her hand curling over his as she slid across the backseat and pressed herself against his side. She nuzzled her nose along his jaw, leaving small kisses along his stubble as she reached his ear, her breath fanning against the shell as she whispered her own desire to do the same.

“Then let’s start right now.”

And that was how they found themselves in their bedroom twenty minutes later, with her holding herself up on her quivering hands and knees as he pounded into her from behind, his fingers digging into her skin with a bruising hold as his pelvis smacked against the curve of her ass. He had contorted her into every position possible since then for the last couple of hours, with barely a few minutes to breathe between each romp in the sheets. She had lost track of how many positions, and she was about to lose count of how many times he had spilled inside her, both of them getting closer to that release once more.

“Oh god, oh god!” she moaned wantonly, her forehead pressed against the mattress as her hands fisted the sheets. She was completely unbothered about how loud she was and the fact that people had probably heard them by now.

“No need to bring him into this, doll,” he chuckled, the sound broken up by his groans of pleasure. “Just me and you here…”

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” she mumbled, a guttural whimper escaping her at a particularly angled thrust against her g-spot.

“You fucking love it,” he countered, smirking as he suddenly pulled out of her.

Ignoring her whine of protest, Soldier Boy flipped her over onto her back and grabbed her legs, bending her in half as her calves rested on his shoulders, sliding back into her tight heat with a quick, hard thrust. The sounds that left them were nothing short of pornographic, as he began to pick up the pace with each push of his hips against her. He squeezed his eyes shut as her walls clenched around his throbbing cock, both of them balancing on the edge of their blissful climax, ready to go over at any minute.

“So fucking good, so fucking perfect, Y/N,” he growled, their faces close as he leaned over her. “You love the way I fuck you, don’t ya?”

“Yes!” she cried out, nodding frantically as she stared up into his green orbs. “Love the way you fuck me… you fuck me so good, Ben. So deep, and hard, wanna feel it for days.”

“Oh you will, sugar,” he groaned, between rough kisses against her lips. “Gonna fill you up, make you feel so full, make you full and round with my babies. You want that?”

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“Fuck, yeah you do,” he husked. “Tell me, tell me you want it.”

“I want it, I want it so bad, Ben,” she whimpered, the sound practically a sob with how desperate she was to finally let go. “I want you to fill me up, give it to me.”

“Cum for me, doll, soak my cock,” he said, looking deep into her eyes.

Y/N finally felt the dam breaking as a loud, shrieking moan escaped her, her walls contracting around his shaft as her arousal spread over him. He grunted loudly, his hips snapping harder against her, as he tried to hold himself back. His eyes fluttered, about to close, but her hands on his face stopped him, making him pay attention to her as their gazes locked. As she had with each time he had reached his peak that night, she stroked her thumbs along his jaw, slowly nodding her encouragement and desire to feel his seed deep inside her.

“S-Say it,” he stuttered, his neck straining as he held on just a little longer. “Fuckkk, s-say it-”

She bit her lip, knowing how it drove him crazy, before she parted them and uttered the words that sent him over the edge at the end of round that night.

“You’re gonna be a great dad… better than your own.”

Soldier Boy threw his head back, the veins in his neck pressing against his skin as he let out a guttural moan, his cock pulsing deep inside her tight canal. She moaned softly as she felt the warm spurts of his cum coat her walls, filling her up as he had done several times that night already. They both breathed heavily, trying to calm their racing hearts, neither of them wanting to move away from the other. He buried his face in her neck, planting soft pecks along her pulse point, bringing a smile to her face as they basked in the afterglow.

Both of them hoped that it wouldn’t be too much longer before their dream became a reality.

[piratefishmama]

I Wish | Part 5

It felt like he was underwater.

Everything moved by so quickly, the sounds of an applauding audience, the greeting of their host, the friendly back and forth his friends engaged in. His friends attempted to pull him into and failed because he’d checked out the moment his backside hit the cushion, it all sounded so muted, all muddled together.

He sat on the couch, nobody questioned it, although Jeff gave him a curious once over before he took the lone chair closest to the host, allowing Eddie to sit between Dougie and Gareth, safe, secure, protected by the scrappy little one and the big protective one.

It wouldn’t have been too far from the truth to assume him fragile enough to need protection.

The Host was lovely, just as Steve had predicted, just as he'd promised. The host held up a little foam board prop with an image of what Eddie assumed to be an album cover printed onto it, asked questions that Jeff answered.

If anyone thought Eddie's awkward quietness was strange, nobody mentioned it.

Even the host, whose job it was to engage with them all seemed to realise that Eddie wasn’t quite right in the moment, so he naturally glossed over him, let him be to give the others in the band the limelight.

They couldn’t pin point when it started, and so there was no point in trying to bring him out of it there and then and risk a blow up that could have the appearance cancelled.

It was only after the laughter inducing back and forth regarding a broken arm Gareth sustained on their last tour thanks to an unfortunately aimed stage dive, well into their interview now, that the spotlight finally landed on Eddie.

“So, Eddie!” Eddie jerked to attention, eyes snapping to the host as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar “A little birdy told me that you and the rest of corroded coffin, are all seasoned Dungeons and Dragons players, is that right?” Eddie’s eyes widened a fraction further, as the audience cheered, forcing Eddie’s gaze away from the host to the audience in surprise.

It was… something to be excited about, now? Their nerdy little game, that’d seen them ostracised society, caused panic among the god fearing crowds, and had suburban mothers clutching their pearls overdramatically, was something to be excited about?

The muddied sound seemed to clear just a little. He knew this. He knew DnD. Even if they hadn’t played for a while, even if they had played recently and he just didn’t know, he could spin something with that!

What many in the audience would have called Eddie’s signature toothy grin lit up his face, and for the first time during that interview, he seemed to come alive. “Hell yeah we are, Jimmy! Although many a lost little sheep have come and gone from those hallowed halls of my legendary domain, we’ve been playing since middle school! Garebear not so much, he came to us in high school, guided by my good man Jeffinner over there with a character that so utterly not him that he died way too fast in the game to have been any note.” Jeff rolled his eyes at the nickname, but seemed happy that Eddie was finally talking.

“That was how we became friends really!” Gareth chimed in “Me an Eddie anyway, he thoroughly wiped the floor with us on my first campaign so I thought that was it, they were kickin me out, but NOPE he cornered me and helped me out rolling another character in one of the empty labs, made something way more myself, it was… really cool of him. It was my first year of high school, first attempt at making friends, I was terrified an he just… he’s always been really good at that, bringing people in, making them feel accepted.” An if Eddie felt himself getting just a little choked up at how fond Gareth spoke of him, well… that was between he himself and him.

“Well GOOD, because few of my friends an I, have been playing a campaign—” the audience collectively oooh’d as the cameras opposite them swung around to face a now lit up set of what could only be a campaign mid-way through. The map was down, the DM screen was set up, the mini’s were placed, dice were available, there were even character sheets and binders full of information on them resting neatly at each station along with drinks and snacks. It looked like a party had just got up and left mid-campaign. “—An we’re kinda new to it! But I’ve seen on your Instagram that your narrations are something of legend… so I think, we would all just love it if you’d DM a little for us.” Interest piqued, Eddie looked back to the host. “I simply do not have the gravitas to pull this off the way it ought to be done.”

He didn’t know what Instagram was, but he sure as shit knew how to DM something.

“Race you” was Eddie’s only comment, before he was up and scrambling over like a kid who’d just been greeted by a mountain of presents under a Christmas tree, definitely not the 50-something year old ex-addict he now was, earning laughter from the audience that felt real instead of prompted.

For the first time since waking up in that older, weathered body, Eddie felt like maybe not everything had to be bad about that possible future. At the very least he still had DnD.

He made it to the table first, granted he was the only one racing, but he set himself up at the head of the table behind the DM screen and immediately got to work while his bandmates found their own seats for the cameras and their audience. He skimmed through the pages in front of him, the scene their host had set up, the campaign they were working on, or at least what little notes they had on it as it clearly wasn’t a full campaign.

Just a set piece, an activity to fill the time, something to do, but Eddie could work with it.

“Oh hell yeah…” Eddie crooned to himself as he looked over the notes, it wasn’t much, but it was more than enough, he had a town name, he had a list of NPC’s both living and deceased, he had notes on his bandmates new characters, he even had a little script to make his own for the scene itself, but best of all… he had the details of the enemy. Something he hadn’t heard of before, something that didn’t exist yet in his own time, something that definitely didn’t belong in a little snippet scene like that one. It looked to belong in something long, but… soaking in the details of it… he was gonna fuck his friends up when he got home.

“That doesn’t sound good for us” Gareth sighed with a gentle shake of his head, already counting down the minutes before his poor little gnome would meet his inevitable end. Poor thing only had a few hit points left, which was curious considering their mini’s appeared to be situated at the gates of of a simple town by the sea. No dungeon to be seen.

“Tell me about it” Dougie groaned, head in his hands

“Alright alright, are we ready boys?” Their host seated himself on the left of Eddie, his own sheaf of papers in front of him, looking exactly as Eddie had done initially, like a kid at Christmas.

Eddie looked up over his screen, a glint of mischief in his eyes “dim the lights please! Spotlight on me, I require atmosphere.” The lights dimmed save for one lone warm white spotlight on him, the star of mayhem to come.

“Was nice knowin you, gents” Jeff sighed, already accepting the fate of his poisoned ranger. This poor party were in dire straits despite there being no clear villain, or any potential followers of it to be seen on the board.

“The Haunting bell of the town square clocktower rang thrice, echoing through the misty din of Rainwund Harbour’s early morning air” Eddie lifted the mic on his jacket closer to his lips and with the back of his throat, made a sound not dissimilar to the chime of a clocktower bell, once, twice, a third time, and then silence “You walk the deserted lamp lit cobblestone streets, your once sure footed steps wearied, your bodies strangely tired, worn, exhausted, trudging your way through eerie silence until you come upon your destination, The Seabird Inn…” He smiled with a devilish glee, the point of his canine tooth brushing his bottom lip, cheek dimpling with the pull of his smile if any of them felt comfort before he smiled, it was gone now. “Roll for Perception.”

Part 7

[hazbinhotel-bitch]

Alastor x (Name) podcast

Head cannon:

Alastor making fire segues to sponsors

(Name) both loving and hating the segues that he comes up with on the spot.

The two have a lot of banter and sometimes will have arguments live on the broadcasts.

(Name) having to convince Alastor to try and revamp his broadcast by having sponsors.

(Name) also happened to be a well known journalist before she died so she tends to be the bringing in new stories circling the rings of hell.

Alastor eventually learned to enjoy having a co-host for his live broadcasting to help the exposure of the hotel.

(Name) is a Fox Demon (Might Draw what she looks like)

(Name) is a very creative woman who also enjoys the arts of music and dance.

Unlike Alastor she is rather fond and open to many genre of music and has an appreciation of all things old and new.

They often bicker about what sponsors to take on, (Name) was newer things that are deemed more modern but Alastor surprisingly prefers things a little more outdated or a little more sustainable in nature.

(Name) passed away around 21st century, she was roughly in her early 30s when she passed after a bad lead that ended up killing her. She had always been a very cunning woman and knew how to get what she wanted and would do anything to get the information she needed for her articles.

She was a very selfish woman when it came to her career and her promotions but aside from her greed and her pride she was sent to hell due to her questionable behaviour in obtaining said information, it’s a detail she still keeps vague from those around her.

(Name) managed to come across Alastor after she saw the news interview of Charlie prompting her little hotel of redemption, the Hazbin Hotel. She originally pretended to be a sinner who was on the path to redemption, but her original motives were to write a paper giving the inside scope to twist and tarnish the silly cause, but after meeting Charlie (Name) started to rethink her motives.

Alastor as an Overlord scared her when he fought on to her snooping but eventually the two dispute coming from two different eras were able to become the unlikely of friends. (Name) still does write her papers on other subjects and publishes them anonymously until she ends up pissing off Valentino and Vox.

Above all Alastor and (Name) have a very platonic relationship but it can tiptoe around almost being romantic as they are both very protective of each other.

--------- ---------

** Alastor in this Head Cannon I am creating for this Fanfiction is that Alastor is part of the Ace spectrum in his sexuality/orientation. I am not well versed in asexuality aside from what friends have told me about their experience. Alastor in this fanfic is not someone who feels sexual attraction nor does he find any interest in romantic relationships. Not because he dislikes the idea but because he doesn't understand romantic relationship and just doesn't find romance important (this is subjective to change as the story progresses when he and (Name) start to develop a closer relationship). If I had to label his asexuality for this fanfic it would be Demisexual.

I just wanted to be clear here so I don't get anyone getting mad at me. I am aware back in 2018 the creator of Hazbin hotels said Alastor was Asexual and that at some point someone said that Alastor was Aro-Ace (Aromantic-Asexual) which is fine but for the sake of this Fanfiction he is Demisexual **

(Photo of (Name) the fox demon writer)

[oscarisaacasimov]

Hozier's interviews, radio & podcast & tv, August 2023

Aug 3, 93.1 WYEP, Joey Spehar hosts

https://wyep.org/feature/an-interview-with-hozier/

On the power of music to unite us globally:  “I wish I had a more decisively optimistic outlook on it. If we’re looking to musicians for the answer or the cure, for the real serious challenges we’re facing, to heal them or fix them, we’re really in trouble…That being said, a song can really capture a collective moment, a collective experience, and maybe it can bring people together on an issue, or resonate with large amounts of people, and hopefully then those people could collectively turn to those who do have power and hold them to account.”

Aug 8, RadioEins

“De Selby part 1 more resonates with that character…he’s this lunatic philosopher, has an Alice in Wonderland way of seeing the world. Because light moves at a certain speed, when you look in a mirror you’re technically looking back in time, and then if he had enough mirrors, he could see himself as a child…That nighttime is not an absence of light, but the sky secretes “black air” and the world is wrapped in that…The song is writing from his perspective, when you can sit in complete darkness and complete quiet, you can establish for yourself that you no longer exist and that’s very freeing.”

Aug 8, FluxFM, Wencke Fiedler hosts

"It was important to allow each song to be what it needed to be instrumentally, texturally, each song fulfilled itself."

Aug 10, My Turning Point, Steve Balkin hosts

“Alex Ryan the MD would come in at sound check and say I want to try something - what if in this section you do that. Once upon a time, I would have said, let’s not deviate, but watching the set change is part of our experience of the tour. You become less precious, less dogmatic in the way you want to do things…It’s way more fun if you’re with people smarter than you.”

Q: Which Tom Waits song do you wish you had written?  H: Soldier's Things…it's him listing all these items that belong to an unnamed soldier, "this one's for bravery, that one's for me, everything's a dollar in this box." It's this subtle anti war song, there's a terrible sadness to it, but it doesn't preach. There's a brilliance to that.

Aug 12, RTE Radio One, Brendan O'Connor hosts

H: “The early demos were far too concept, were a little too prog, a little too music theater."  BC: "You nearly did a rock opera! Maybe that's next." 

BC: “How did the pandemic challenge you?"  H: “When you’re on your hamster wheel and you’re running, keeping yourself busy. When you step off, you’re forced to sit in the cage of your life that you’ve built for yourself.”

Aug 16, Behind the Song 

On De Selby

De Selby is part genius part lunatic, he sees the world through a very dreamlike logic, it’s a way to open the album with a reflection on darkness, as something that’s very freeing, all things are lost in that darkness…If I can’t see where my hand ends and the darkness begins, they become literally one and the same…The Irish expands upon that in the direction of a love song, you come to me like nightfall is saying, you & I mixed up together, you and I metamorphasize when you can’t see where one ends and the other begins…We’re lost together in this darkness, we are everything, there’s no beginning or end.

Aug 16, The Current On the Circles of Hell 

“It was hard to find a choice for heresy, because I was writing a lot of stuff that you could class as heretical, which is fun always to do.”

Aug 17, Hugendubek, Booket List

Discussing favorite books (Dante’s Inferno, Fairy Tales by Oscar Wilde, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Ulysses by James Joyce, 1984 by George Orwell) 

“I wish I read more. I’m not a good reader, I’m not a committed reader, but when I obsess over something, I allow it to ruin my life.”  

“With books, people could stand to gain a wider palette of understanding different human experiences.” 

Aug 17, Diffus magazine 

Reading Dante's Inferno, not a true interview but delightful. 

“That day (after he kissed me), we read no more.” A nice way of saying Netflix and chill for the medieval period.”  

“Dante is by our standards a fundamentalist thinker… Dante the character is sympathizing with people in hell, and yet Dante the poet put them there.”  

“Virgil is so taken with Beatrice and her perfection and her beauty, he says “So perfect is your command, if I already obeyed, it would have been too late,” how moved he is to do anything Beatrice would ask him.

Aug 17, Amazon Music

Q&A 

“An album I know by heart? Bon Iver’s debut For Emma, Forever Ago, I listened to that like an absolute psychopath when it first came out. Also Aretha Franklin's debut, and Moondance by Van Morrison.” 

"If I was a worm would you still love me?" "Of course, yes. As a fisherman, who needs to catch fish."

Aug 18, CBS, Anthony Mason hosts

Q- Did you make peace with it all?  Hozier - "Yes he says as he's welling up! I made an album."

Hozier - "As a teenager I fell in love with Tom Waits work. I was amazed that noise was coming out of his mouth." Q - Interesting because vocally he's nothing like you.  Hozier - "Well, we'll see!"

Aug 18, Good Morning America  brief interview + De selby part 2 performance

“The title Unreal Unearth got its hooks on me early in the process. I started writing some of the songs in the early parts of the pandemic which felt surreal. But then also some of the songs play with myths and fictional characters, so there’s the unreal in that. For unearth, I enjoyed that, to dig and uncover and explore.”

Aug 18, Hozier reads TikTok comments, Linda Meiden hosts 

 "Theres a lot for me to live up to, allow me to disappoint!" 

"I have an amazing mum, but she is married to my dad." 

*I should show them to my exes, I don't know if they'd agree with you."

Aug 18, Chicks in the Office 

“I used to covet alone time, what I found out in the pandemic was the upper limitations of what solitude can give me…. I was energized to work with other people when I got to LA…I haven't jammed like that since I was 15.” 

“A good idea is like putting your ear up to an abandoned well and going, oh something's in there.”

Aug 19, NME  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-HlEYnU8n7g   I am a private person but I haven’t had to work hard. People work hard to be famous, I don’t have to do that, I don’t want to do that…I do reveal a lot of myself in the work and in interviews like this, most people don’t sit down and do a chat.

Aug 24, Spotify UK TikTok

"Victoria Canal, Swansong switched me into her work, The Last Dinner party, I'm excited what's ahead for them, Rachel Lavelle, I'm excited for her career, I'm excited we have artists like her." 

Aug 27, Lipps Service, Scott Lipps hosts 

"Take me to Church was the first song I released, and I think we worked extra extra hard to catch up. Something I’m very proud of, somebody does an aggregate of how many miles a touring group has travelled and how many shows it’s done, and based on that, we were the hardest working touring group of 2015. We’d do two radio shows a day and then a gig that night, it was inch by inch. Looking back, I thought everybody did it that way. "   

Q: Top 5 Irish acts ever for you?  A: Christ, no I can’t. In no order, Thin Lizzy, Rory Gallagher, Van Morrison, the Pogues, U2… it has to be top 7…Sinead O'Connor, the Cranberries. For more traditional acts, Paul Brady.

Q: Top 5 greatest voices in music today?  A: I’m always astounded by Yebba, by Brandy. You've got to look at soul and r&b, when you're talking greatest vocalists. Aretha Franklin, I think greatest vocalist ever to have lived. Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday was a huge voice for me, Otis Redding was a huge voice for me. I can’t give a solid five. An old favorite is Nina Simone, for what she carries.

Aug 28, Apple Music, Zane Lowe hosts 

Z: In 2020 most of us were drinking wine, watching family feud, pretending this wasn't gonna last more then two weeks, homie went straight into Dante's Inferno.  H: One line that really spoke to me at the time was "Through me, you enter into the population of loss." Anyone who lives long enough will go through their own hell and out the other side. 

H: There is a spot called Glendalough, and something hums in that valley. Z: Like a lay line almost? H: For those who believe in that, Ireland is very rich in lay lines, there's a thrumming, these sites that have been centers of worship and burial for thousands of years.  Z: Well there you go, thousands of years would suggest - and why would you not want to believe in something way bigger than ourselves? I'll never understand people trying to disprove it. Why would you want to think, this is it. Don't you want to believe in magic?  H: As you get older, you cultivate a relationship with joy and wonder that you never had as a child. 

H: The hard work is nothing, you love what you do, it's fine. The work gets done, you've got no choice, nothing in your body says I can't or I won't. It's the sacrifice, the relationships, the time you never get back…To be in step with yourself, to be fulfilled, to feel whole, to feel connected, to feel in place, the biggest part of that is community.

Aug 31, KXRW, Chris Douridas hosts

"With Ella, the ease with which she would forget a lyric and just riff in that empty space, do an impression of Louis Armstrong…The fresh invigorating runs, this incredibly creative way she uses her voice as an instrument, Ella Fitzgerald as a vocalist, is somebody I don’t think we’ll ever see the likes of again. I love those old jazz standards, how cyclical their lyrics are, setting up a premise of a lyrical motif and then concluding it in a successful way."  

[saucylittlesmile]

Please post your reflections on the podcast! Love to hear your thoughts always

Finally finished listening late last night so this is train of thought but also just whatever I remember lol.

as always the host spoke a little too much for me, to the point where sometimes I thought T would have spoken or said more, but was too polite to interrupt and then they moved on. On the other hand, perhaps the more conversational interview is what lets T open up more, who knows lol.

I’ve always defended Tessa’s social media presence and am glad she didn’t try to pawn off her choices on her partners; if she has chosen to do something for a cause I don’t necessarily think she needs to post about it online but it’s a weird grey area that she occupies in which she is a minor celebrity and there tends to be expectations on her to post about important topics (even though she will then be accused of being performative). Shantelle’s defence however was awful.

Tessa talking about how she doesn’t relate food with how she feels/her ability to compete or perform - she used to push past incredible pain to compete so I guess that she just won’t give herself any excuses. Guess it’s good she had dieticians telling her what to eat lol.

I think time is messed up for T too since as far as I know, her dad remarried a number of years ago, but then time has no meaning for a while and I suppose it’s recent relative to how long her parents were married

the revelation of how she found out is just terrible; you’d think he could have at least let her know in an informational way if not a personal one

’stubborn about things that matter’ vs stubborn in general… just an interesting distinction

because I saw the trending articles before hearing the rest of the podcast and due to one of those articles, I kept wondering when she would reveal they met in Vancouver (spoiler alert: didn’t happen lol)

the kissing question was either a very strange segue or a (personally) awkward question; didn’t like it either way lol; I don’t know what Tessa’s plan was to acknowledge the engagement; she seemed to be going for low-key and Shantelle was the one grabbing her hand; I did find that the car honking interrupting was amusing just from a timing perspective, and then Tessa’s very short answer about how they met which was a clear lockdown on any further questions.

Tessa (and Scott) may say they love 2014’s Olympics and I believe them. They may say that they are as proud of their silver medals as their gold and I believe them. But when they say the judging was fair and DW had a better skate, I do not believe them lol. ;)

I must admit I was wondering what coach Scott was seeing for him to bring up surviving the fs environment due to Kate’s conversations with them (me thinking back to Kate and Alma agreeing that at least one of them would always attend a comp when VM were starting on that competitive circuit… they were clearly aware of some of the dangerous pitfalls of that world and trying to keep VM as safe as possible)

I appreciated both the honesty - no not going to skate again, better to gave gone out on top and not willing to put in the energy to train into shape for even shows - and yet I loved the pause as she thought through the what if Scott did call with an interesting offer lol

eta: oh I forgot my favourite thing lol! loved hearing her talk about the joy she felt skating in the comeback - made me remember how I felt watching them skate and how different it all seemed from earlier - and wanting that loving relationship with MF-P ❤️

[erodasfishtacos]

#HendallReunited

prompt: request was to write broad but to write something angsty

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: language, sexual content, angst

Harry always had issues with saying ‘no’ to people. He never quite grew out of his manners even when he should have.

He said ‘yes’ to way too many things- signing autographs for rude fans and paparazzi, and agreed to way too many things Jeff suggested.

Saying yes to everything didn’t make his life any easier is the thing. Especially when it came to his wife. She was usually left with the aftermath of him being too nice.

The media painted Y/N in a negative light occasionally and so did the fans because she would stand up for Harry and not let him say ‘yes’ to every single request.

She would tell disrespectful fans he’s not signing autographs because of the way they were screaming and interrupting his work.

Harry wished he could do it himself - admired that his wife didn’t give a fuck what people thought about her. He cared entirely too much what the world would think.

The couple didn’t fight about much - no, not really. Normal couple stuff for the most part. But this was the exception, this is where Y/N found most of their turmoil.

Every few months it would rear it’s ugly head and they’d find themselves in the same position over and over again.

This time - it was really fucking bad.

The couple had been staying in their Los Angeles home for the last few months whilst the singer finalized his album and began promotion.

It was boring meeting among boring lunch outings to get all their ducks in a row. Jeff - his manager the main orchestrator.

He was a great manager and a good friend, but it was also business too which Harry didn’t always comprehend.

At the end of the day, Harry was making Jeff millions upon millions of dollars. But Harry didn’t think that way.

**

Harry was in a stuffy conference room at the The Late Late Show to work on the script and ideas for the show. Promo had been nonstop.

He was a bit tired as it was nearly just hitting eight in the morning and he had been up late with you - having some late night loving in the hot tub.

“As for guest - Kendall Jenner,” James Corden’s producer states. All the men agree but Harry is taken aback.

“Why...why would we have my ex-girlfriend as one of my guests?” Harry interrupts, confusion knitting his brows.

Kendall and him didn’t end on a bad note - not at all. They hooked up a few times after their ‘break-up’ but once he’d met Y/N she was understanding when he cut it off.

Y/N wasn’t necessarily jealous of the model, but didn’t love when they’d run into each other at events. She was still overtly flirty with Harry without much shame. 

Harry also didn’t have an desire to see her or host her as a guest on the show. She was nice but he wasn’t interested in being friends with her. They didn’t have much in common and he was head over heels for his wife.

“The media will eat it up, dude. Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner reunited on a show after four years?” Jeff smiles, the others nodding in amicable agreement.

This is one of this times where Harry needs to say “no,” that it’s disrespectful to his significant other to use an old flame for promo for his album.

He already knows ‘hendall’ will be trending within minutes and he can’t imagine how that would make his parter feel.

“I just...this doesn’t seem like a good idea?” Harry begins hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than a statement. 

“Why not?” Eric, one of the writers asks.

“Y’know, I’m married. I don’t think m’missus would appreciate if I did somethin’ like that just for promotion,” he states, scratching at his jaw uncomfortably.

“Look Styles, we’re not asking you to fuck the girl. It just a interview, c’mon,” The executive producer gruffs - wanting those guaranteed views.

Harry swallows - looking at his manager and then at everyone else at the table looking at him for an affirmative answer.

“Uh-sure,” Harry fumbles, feeling anxiety rise into his throat. Fuck, he’s such a god damn pushover.

He’s trying to find his voice to go back on his agreement but the meeting wrapping up and people are leaving with final handshakes.

**

Harry doesn’t know how to tell Y/N what is going on. He’d been keeping in stored in the back of his mind, not ready to have a blowout.

He never found the perfect time to bring it up and now it was too late. It was the morning of the show and he was due to be at the rehearsals this afternoon.

Harry had finally decided he was going to tell her this morning over coffee but forgot that she had a girl’s day planned with a few friends.

She was already out to breakfast with them when he woke up. His phone had one text from you.

Hi baby. I’m out with the girls. See you at the show tonight. I’ll meet you there around six! Love you!

He was fucked royally and he had no one to blame but himself. Maybe it’d be okay, maybe she’d roll her eyes and tell him he’s an idiot.

Realistically he knew that was just a sweet dream at this point.

—

Harry was fidgety and kept mucking up his lines during rehearsal as it got closer to the showtime and his missus arriving.

Kendall had arrived for hair and makeup without seeing her ex-boyfriend yet. He dreaded seeing the model.

Kendall and Y/N had met a few times at different events. It was always cordial. Kendall was always casual - their relationship was never more than a couple fun dates and sex.

They were kind to each other when they met but he couldn’t deny how much harder his partner kissed him on the mouth afterwards.

Before he know it, his wife is hugging him from behind as he talks to a producer about which cameras to look at.

Y/N noticed the way he tensed up at first and thought about how unusual that was for him. Normally, he’d lean back into her with his full weight causing them both to stumble and laugh.

He slowly, cautiously turns around and his face  relaxes a little bit but not completely. “Hi baby,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss.

“You look so handsome,” she replies, admiring his brown pinstriped suit and her pearl necklace that he’d snagged awhile back. She thought it looked better on him anyways.

“You look even better, s’fuckin’ pretty, love,” he gushes, coming back in for another kiss - a little too sensual for the setting.

She was donned in a cropped white shirt, showing of the smooth expanse of her tummy. An oversized blazer of Harry’s, ripped jeans, and heels. 

Harry thought fleetingly he couldn’t wait to fuck her after the show. Then remembered that mostly wouldn’t happen.

Reggie, the musical lead, slides up to you two. He smiles wide at you, saying, “Can’t believe you agreed to the guest this evening.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, Harry’s raise nearly to his forehead, but when she opens her mouth to ask him to explain they’re interrupted.

“Harry!” The leggy model trots over to the little group. Dressed in an interesting one-piece suit that has sewn in heels. She looked beautiful as ever, of course she was a model.

Both of them turn towards the oblivious girl, “Kendall,” Harry replies with a twinge of anxiety - eyes repeatedly looking at his significant other’s profile as multiple emotions flash.

“Hiya, you’re Y/N right?” Kendall smiles kindly, offering her manicured hand.

She accepts, “Yeah, uh-good to see you again.”

Harry knew she had connected the dots quickly in her head. The hurt, confusion, had hit her eyes before narrowing into full-blown rage at her partner.

“I promise I’ll go easy on him,” Kendall jokes before pinching at Harry’s cheek teasingly. The model was a natural flirt with everyone she got along with.

“Oh, sure,” she replies lamely, attempting to not let her feelings burst out in that moment with her husband . She knew it wasn’t Kendall’s fault.

“I’m going to go grab a bite to eat. I’m probably gonna puke when we do ‘spill or fill’. See you guys soon,” the model waves before trailing off with her assistant.

“Did you kn- of course you knew she was your guest,” Y/N seethes, turning to fully face the guilt-stricken-singer.

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, “I did.”

“How long have you known for?” She demands to know, keeping her voice at an angry whisper to not draw attention.

Harry wasn’t going to lie to his love, “About two weeks.”

Y/N replies with a laugh, “let me guess, you let Jeffrey talk you into this bullshit, again.”

His silence is all she needs to know it’s true.

“For Christ’s sake, of course,” She huffs bitterly, “what’s even worse is you didn’t fucking tell me. What the fuck?”

Harry bites his lip, not able to rasp out anything but a pathetic, “m’sorry, love.”

He wasn’t usually good at taking responsibility during a fight. He was stubborn at best but he couldn’t deny his way out of this.

“You will be, you-“

They were cut off by the staff, the audience was trailing in and Harry needed to get mic’d up now.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she points her finger at his chest before storming off to the side of the stage where she’d watch from.

Fucking shit.

**

Harry was a performer. It’s easy for him to push things to the back of his mind so he can entertain a enamored audience.

But tonight, he was struggling. Eyes flicking over to the teleprompter more than usual, his demeanor not as vivid and carefree.

Not when his wife was glaring daggers at him from stage right. Her hand constantly at her mouth, biting at her nails - a nervous tick of hers.

“Next up, the one, the only, the beautiful model and one of my good friends, Kendall Jenner!” Harry introduces when she walks out and waves at the crowd.

They hug and when they pull apart they step over to where they were playing the game. Either answer the question or eat a nasty food picked out by the other.

They weren’t allowed to see each other’s questions before the game started- both going on blind which put Harry more on edge.

“Okay, Kendall. Rank the members of One Direction on most to least attractive or you will be eating...” Harry spins the table, “Cow tongue.”

She flinched at the disgusting plate, smirking up at Harry before considering her course of action, “I think I can answer this one.”

He wasn’t looking forward to her answer. Neither was Y/N by the way she nearly shaking her foot off her leg.

“Okay, I got this. You - the most attractive, then uh- Zayn....Louis...Niall...Liam,” she laughs, “but all of you are hot!”

Harry fake laughs and acts like he’s impressed by her answer as the crowd roars and cheers. 

When Kendall picks up her notecard - she laughs in surprise at the question before looking at him with bright eyes.

“Okay, um, bull penis!” She giggles before starting the question, “I’m dying to know this answer. So...your first album HS1 was released four years ago, correct?”

He nods, apprehensive.

“Which songs were about me? Especially was only angel?” She laughs at Harry’s pale expression before without another thought he shovels the rancid food into his mouth.

Harry looks off to the side to see that his missus is no longer sitting there. Just Jeff - who gives him a thumbs up.

**

The first thing he did when the show ended and the lights dimmed was bolt off to Jeff - ignoring Kendall who was about to say something to him.

“Where’d Y/N go?”

He thought she might have went out to get a breathe of fresh air but for the next hour and a half he hasn’t seen her once.

“She said she wasn’t feeling very good. She told me to tell you she’d meet you at home,” Jeff shrugs unbothered.

“Damnit!” Harry curses loudly, ripping out of the microphone and the little pack in his back waistband.

“Harry,” Jeff scolds at his unprofessionalism that was abnormal for him.

“No! Don’t fucking ever ask me to do shit like this again. You fucking knew what questions were on those notecards and you said it wasn’t anything about our previous relationship.”

“Harry-“

“Don’t fucking talk to me. You’re a real shit manager sometimes, you know that? Do not contact me tonight or tomorrow for that matter, you douchebag,” Harry barks before storming off towards the dressing rooms.

All the employees were standing around in shock, staring at the popstar as he ignored everyone around him.

Harry was famously known for being a kind, amicable guy. So it took everyone by surprise to hear him speak like that. Even Jeff was shaken up a little.

—

The house was pitch-black as Harry pulled up. The house’s first floor was lined with large, bay windows and not a single light was on.

He could find one room illuminated which was your bedroom. A dim side lamp must have been flicked on. He imagined her purposely turning off all the lights on the trek up the staircase.

Harry didn’t want to admit how much he was trembling with awful nerves and anticipation as he slowly turns the knob of the shared bedroom.

Y/N wasn’t laying in bed as he expected but found the bathroom door shut tightly. He noticed a little yellow bag with tissue paper off to the side by a dresser.

He knocks on the oak door, not daring to enter without permission.

“What do you want?” Y/N answers, tone flat and emotionless. 

“Can I come in, baby? Please...” He wasn’t ashamed to beg for forgiveness at this point. Hearing the emptiness in her tone scared him shitless.

“I really could care less,” She replies coldly from her spot in the scalding water decorated with bubbles.

Harry had never felt more unsure in his life as he enters the bathroom.  Y/N had gotten proper pissed at him or vice versa before - right before a concert, an award ceremony but she’d never left without him.

Her head was laying against the foam headrest and her body was covered by the soap water. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy from crying.

Harry kneels next to the tub, “look at me, please pet.”

 Y/N takes a moment before turning her head and opening her eyes. They were distant, disappointed in the man in front of her.

“I should have told you about Kendall. I should have put up more of a fight to get someone else on instead,” Harry admits, his hands desperately wanting to reach out for her.

She shakes her head with a heart-wrenching sniffle, “it’s not just tonight, Harry. We’ve had this conversation continuously for three and a half fucking years. You try to please everyone, despite them giving no fucks about you.”

“Are you that much of a pushover? You let your ex-girlfriend flirt with you in front of millions. Do you know how embarrassing and unfair that it to me?” She wipes at her eyes to stop the tears spilling over.

Harry hadn’t thought of it like that - to be honest. But he agrees, it wasn’t fair and downright cruel to do that to her.

What? All because he couldn’t say ‘no’ because he didn’t want people to be mad at him? It was pathetic and ridiculous.

“I-I won’t let it happen again, lovie. I mean it, I truly do,” Harry whimpers reaching over to cup her cheek and wants to cry when she pushes him away.

“You’re a broken record. You’ve said that a million times before but don’t change,”  Y/N points out, eyes boring furiously into his wife’s.

“I’m goi-“

She cuts him off with a sharp edge in her tone, “Just leave me alone, get out.”

The man’s face crumbles and for a second, she wants to just end the fight and makeup but then nothing would change.

“Baby-“

“Get out!” She finally bellows, tears streaming down her face steadily.

He obliges, head hung in defeat as he closes the door behind him. He stands there’s blankly for a second before going to the walk-in closet.

He’s pulling out a fresh pair of cotton underwear and a large sleepshirt for his partner, laying them neatly on the bed.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself while he waits so he pulls out his phone to mindlessly scroll.

He throws it against the wall when he sees #hendallreunited is trending number one on Twitter at the moment.

The singer strips down to his briefs and sits with his back against the tufted headboard, staring blankly at the wall.

His eyes catch a neon pink pair of his swimshorts tossed carelessly on the decorative vase in the corner of the room from the night before .

“Fuck, baby - no need to rush,” Harry groans into Y/N ‘s mouth as she pushes him until he’s sat on the edge of their California king.

She reaches impatiently for the tie on his neon pink swimshorts and yanks them off his slim, peach-fuzz thighs before throwing them onto the vase without a care that it was worth over twenty-thousand pounds.

After edging her in the hot tub with his fingers and mouth, she wasn’t waiting any longer before clambering onto his lap, pulling her swim bottoms to the side, and sinking onto him.

He felt guilty when his cock twitched at the thought of it. But when reality set back in, the arousal with the memory evaporated.

It isn’t much longer until the door is pulled open and  Y/N’s padding into the room with a towel secured around her.

She looks at the clothes Harry set out for her and pointedly walks past them to pick out her own nightwear. 

That really shouldn’t make his eyes tear up as he watches her slide on a similar pair of panties and an oversized shirt. Spotting a purpling bruise on her upper in thigh from his mouth.

 Y/N silently walks past the bed and to the bedroom door, looking back before bleakly stating, “I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”

He frowns, wrinkles appearing on his forehead, “You can sleep in here, love. I’ll take the guest room.”

Harry doesn’t get a reply as she just shakes her head and closes the door loudly behind her. 

It’s just - he’s never seen her this upset. She was usually fantastic at communicating her feelings and hashing things out.

She wasn’t one for the silent treatment or ignoring the topic. It had his chest rising faster than usual with anxiety. The serious of it overwhelming him.

He states at the wall for a very long time without wiping the fat tears brimming over his trembling lips.

*

He couldn’t sleep - it was half past three and he hadn’t even laid down or clicked off the lamp.

Harry accepted sleep wasn’t coming so he begins to tidy the already clean room. He picks up the shorts and tossing them in the hamper.

He refolds some joggers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer and when he went to move the little yellow bag - curiosity got the best of him.

There was no card and he wasn’t sure who it was for or if it had been a gift already give to Y/N that she had returned home with.

Harry really shouldn’t - but he does. Gently tugging out the paper and reaching in to feel fabric.

Pulling it out, it takes him a minute to identify what it is - two baby onesie. Who was having a baby?

He lays them in front of him, eyes widening in surprise as he reads what is printed across the black cotton.

The first one was the colors and font of his upcoming tour merch with the photo he used on his tour announcement with the heeled boot and white pants.

Love on Tour - Due Date: September 2025

With Special Guest Appearance from Baby Styles

The second one was simple and read across the chest:

I’m having your baby (and it is your business) with embroidered kiwis all of over it.

He frantically reached back into the bag to pull out a bundle of pregnancy tests tied with a silk bow.

They weren’t necessarily trying for a baby but they’re weren’t not trying either. Harry wanted a baby as soon as his missus was willing to give him one.

“No, no, don’t one,” she’d whined into his mouth when he’d reached over to grab a condom off the nightstand.

“Oh sweet thing, you want me bare? Fill you up?” He croons happily, coming back to grip at his thick base and tease at her entrance.

“Ye-yeah, H. Please,” (Y/N) whimpers, bucking her hips in the hope he’d slip inside her.

Harry hums, “Might give you a baby though, y’want me to knock you up?”

“Want it, wan-“

He cuts her off with a hard, blissful kiss as he thrusts all the way inside before pulling out to do it again. 

“Gonna give it to you, whatever you want, lovie,” he promises.

The two had never used protection afterwards. It had start about seven months ago and from his knowledge she’d still been getting her periods regularly.

Occasionally, he would palm at her flat tummy and pout, “Haven’t put a baby in you yet, ‘ave I?”

He was so ecstatic but disappointed in himself for ruining everything and pleasing everyone other than who he should be.

Harry needed to fix this. He didn’t want Y/N to lose the excitement of having their baby over a dumb choice of his.

The man’s out of the room and not knocking before entering their guest room. His now pregnant love is laying on-top of the covers.

One hand subconsciously on her belly - which she removes and places next to her when her wife walks in.

The television was on but the volume was low and Y/N wasn’t watching it in the first place anyways.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, “I opened the yellow bag.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, a little taken aback. she was going to surprise him tonight and forgot to store it away for another time after the fight.

Harry has happy tears dribbling down his cheeks, “you’re having my baby?”

Y/N nods, running a slight hand through his curls. She still had a nasty knot of anger and uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.

It pains her, wanting to share this moment of excitement with Harry but she just couldn’t. The uncertainty of whether Harry would put everybody’s needs before his own baby.

“Come back to bed, want t’talk and celebrate. M’so bloody excited,” Harry murmurs, a large smile decorating his face as he smooths a palm over the expanse of her tummy.

His wife shakes her head and places a hand over his, feeling the cold metal of all of them. “I want to be left alone.”

The twinkle in Harry’s eye diminishes to devastation as he realizes that he’s fucked up so badly that she doesn’t even want to celebrate.

“Pet, can...we just forget about it tonight and be happy ‘bout the baby?” Harry asks selfishly, knowing it was unlikely she’d agree.

She didn’t, a firm expression on her face, “no, I have a lot to think about.”

“Like wha’?” He asks anxiously, unknowing of quite the reason she was so furious.

“Like how you say yes to everything and everyone. We talk and talk about how you need to say ‘no’ and do what’s best for you - for us. You agree to and never follow through”

She takes a shaky breath and continues, “it’s affected our relationship before when you’ve had to cancel our vacation away from all this for a charity concert you’d agree to perform at last minute, dinner reservations because you told your friend we’d be at their art showing they wanted you at.”

Harry knew she was right. He did those things. He wanted everyone to be happy with him - to a fault.

“Tonight was just icing on the cake, you allowed your manager to talk you into hosting your ex on that show. Out of all the people in the world - her. With flirty questions and jabs from her. You let that happen. You care about making everyone happy but in return you don’t care how it affects me. That’s pretty shitty.”

“I’m...I’m really fucking scared you’ll do that even when we have the baby. I need you to put them first and right now...I’m not sure if you’re going to. You can’t put the person you want to spend the rest of your life with first now, how do I know you’ll do it with the baby?”

Harry chokes out a sob as he presses his forehead against the bed, his broad shoulders shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this hard - years ago maybe. He felt like his wife didn’t have any faith in him and he was to blame.

He looks up at her with swollen eyes - at a loss for what to do or say. He loved her so much and was over the moon that they were going to have a baby.

“How do I fix this, darling? You’re right, I really fucked up. M’sorry,” Harry cries, grabbing at her hands and she allows it.

“Just saying you’re sorry won’t fix it,” Y/N replies flatly, letting Harry squeeze and kiss at the backs of her hands.

“Then what do I bloody do to fix this?” Harry raises his voice in frustration, staring in bewilderment at his wife. 

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “Do not raise your voice at me, Harry. Actions speak louder than words.”

Harry swallows harshly, pressing one finally kiss to her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She repeats.

“I love you, I’ll fix this,” he promises with conviction. He knew what he needed to do and do it tomorrow. So he and his wife could enjoy her new pregnancy.

“I need space tonight, I just...please”Y/N says quietly, rubbing at his shoulder.

It wasn’t the first time they’ve slept in separate rooms because they weren’t getting along but they normally found their way back to each other before sunrise.

Harry nods, lip still tremble with the residual anxiety of the conversation. She allows him to press a soft kiss to her mouth before leaving the room.

—-

Cafe Habana was busy - but no one was paying much attention to Harry and Jeff. It was the morning after and Harry had demanded a meeting over breakfast with his manager.

“Y/N pregnant,” Harry states bluntly after their drinks arrive.

“Oh? Congratulations, dude. That’s exciting!” Jeff leans over to pat him on the shoulder, a big smile.

“The baby is due in September. My next tour starts in next July. The baby will be about nine months. I want to be at home with them for the first year.”

Jeff doesn’t look pleased, “what are you getting at Harry?”

“Reschedule the July and August tour dates. Tack them on to the end of the tour,” Harry lays out flat. 

He hadn’t talk to his wife about this but he knew this was how he could prove that he could say ‘no’ and not be a pushover.

“No Harry. Look I get you’re excited about the baby - but that will be such a fucking hassle,” Jeff frowns, sipping his mimosa.

“I’m not asking, Jeff. I’m telling you that’s what needs to happen,” Harry replies firmly, tone strong and unwavering.

Jeff is definitely taken aback by his client’s conviction. 

“While we’re on the topic, do not ever put me in a situation like you did yesterday. It affected my wife and I. And I will choose her over this career any day.”

The manager nods in surprise, “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking for an apology but if you ever pull something like then I’ll be looking for a new management team. Are we clear?” 

Jeff once again nods, unsure of where this is coming from but at the thought of losing his biggest client would be disastrous so he’d do whatever to accommodate him.

“Consider it done,” he tells Harry before clearing his throat in a slight panic.

—

Y/N woke up to an empty house. She was restless, she asked Harry to prove to her that he could be what she needed. However, it was a bit unfair because she didn’t know how he could do it.

It’s just…she had a baby to think about. They both needed to be put first and if it took a gnarly fight for Harry to realize it...so be it.

“Baby? Love, where are you?” She hears Harry echo through the whole house. She was sat in the kitchen, on a stool by the island, idly sorting through mail.

“In here!”

Harry jogs in, panting like he sprinted from the garage up to the kitchen. He comes to stand in front of the love of his life.

“I might have not completely fixed everything but...I tried,” Harry tells her, cradling her face in his large palms. “ I just got back from lunch with Jeff. I told him about the baby.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I rescheduled tour dates so I can be with you guys at home in London for the first year. Then...maybe you guys can join me after?”

“Harry…” she’s at a loss for words.

“And I told Jeff that if he ever puts me in a situation like that again, I’m firing him.”

Y/N stares at him, in awe and admiration of the man she chose to marry and keep forever. His face was so sincere and vulnerable.

Harry didn’t know whether it would be enough. If it wasn’t he’d keep trying but all he could do was hope. He waited with bated breath as she processed his words.

“Baby, you-for me?” She murmurs as she stands up and crowds into his space. He instantly wraps her up into a tight hug, missing her touch.

“Of course, pet. I’d do anything for you, I mean it. I’d quit this whole career if you wanted tha’,” he tells her truthfully - lips brushing her forehead.

“I love you, so so much,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re havin’ a baby,'' Harry sighs dreamily into her mouth, tongue sliding against hers. A large hand came to palm at her belly.

“Yeah, m‘having your baby,” She giggles as he begins to trail the kisses down her jaw and neck - pressing her into the marble countertop.

“Should we name it Kiwi?” Harry rasps as he slides the tank top strap off her shoulder so his lips can meet the cap of her warm shoulder.

“We are not going to be that celebrity couple who names their baby something weird,” Y/N groans as he grounds his hips into hers with intent.

THE END

[pingutats]

For the “ways to say i love you” prompts, 43 please!

thank you for the request! from this list, prompt 43: "I picked these for you."

warnings: none! this is just fluff!

word count: 1.8k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

This is definitely Harry’s domain.

Y/N hugs her shoulders as she stands in her bedroom-turned-dressing-room, staring at the rack of expensive clothes that have been left for her. Through the door, she can hear the noise of the crew bustling around her living room. This house has, of course, been the site of many Harry-hosted parties that had packed in a lot more people than there are present here today — despite that, this smaller group is threatening to become overwhelming for her.

She’s doing this for Harry. A couple of months ago, he was approached by AnOther Magazine to do a big feature with them — a kind of sequel to the one that he did when they were still called Another Man — and he’s been pouring his heart and soul into it since then. It feels like every single day, he’s been off chatting with a writer or meeting with the creative director. He dragged boxes out of storage to rifle through for mementos of his life as a solo artist last week. Y/N knows that some of their friends have been interviewed to talk about Harry. She’s pretty sure Stevie Nicks is one of them.

The centrepiece, though, is a photoshoot more intimate than he’s ever shared before. In the same way that the shoot set in his hometown years ago illustrated where he came from before he rocketed to stardom, this one will reveal who he is underneath all the make-up and glamour of fame.

Harry as he exists in private: in his home, with his girl, sharing this image of himself for the very first time.

Y/N was apprehensive at first — hell, Harry was too — but they’ve discussed it at length. He’s always been a private man, but his ethos is that honesty is integral to his art. He sings in detail about her in his music and puts that into the world with minimal censoring. This magazine feature, at its core, is just another artistic venture. He doesn’t want to hold back. When she understood it like that, it was easy for her to agree.

Her conviction that this is an important thing to do for Harry doesn’t stop the nerves, though. She’s never been a model, or even remotely a figure of interest beyond her connection to Harry. It’s his limelight that she’s stepping into. She can’t help but feel nervous about it.

The first outfit she’s wearing is a boldly patterned dress, custom-made by Gucci at Harry’s request. This isn’t the first time she’s wearing something this expensive (there are no compromises on fashion when you’re with Harry) but it still makes her feel like a fish out of water. She holds the hanger at arms-length for a moment, vaguely anxious that she might have put on weight since the fitting and it won’t fit her anymore, then carefully slips it off. She steps into it gingerly and shrugs it over her shoulders, then reaches behind her to pull the zip up as far as she can reach. She stands in front of the mirror and looks at her reflection, frowning.

Her make-up, which was done earlier, is colourful and dramatic. The point of this home shoot is to show the dichotomy between Harry’s celebrity persona and his private life, illustrated through the elaborate costuming inside their relatively normal home. She doesn’t recognise herself in it.

There’s a knock at the door, startling her out of her thoughts. She whips around, back straightening. “What is it?”

“Can I come in?” It’s Harry’s voice, and just those four short words in his gentle tone are enough to dissolve some of her anxiety.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself into a calmer headspace. “Yeah,” she answers.

He opens the door discreetly and slips inside, careful not to reveal her to the people in the living room while she’s not properly dressed. She appreciates his caution. Although he’s apparently comfortable enough to walk around near-strangers half-naked—he’s only wearing his boxers right now—she definitely isn’t.

“Everything alright, darling?” he asks. Every step that brings him closer puts her more at ease. She’s always been an anxious person, but he’s like a drug to her. From the very first time they met, he’s been the person she feels most natural with. They just work. Things feel right with him.

She smiles at him. It’s a weak stretch of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah. Can you zip me up, please?”

“Of course.”

She turns back around to face the mirror and reaches behind her head to pull her hair out of his way. His fingers are warm against bare skin of her back, finding the zipper and dragging it up, his knuckles brushing against her skin more than is probably necessary. He fixes the way the straps sit over her shoulders with the same attention to detail that she’s seen his stylists give for him a hundred times before. His lip is tucked between his teeth as he does so, glancing from the mirror back to her, his face the image of concentration.

Finally satisfied, he takes a step back and rakes his gaze up and down her figure. “Y’look gorgeous.”

She shrugs, staring at herself. “Thanks, H.”

“I mean it.” He plants a kiss on her cheek, holding her by the waist as they look at each other through their reflections. “Pretty dress for a pretty girl.”

Heat rises in her face and she drops her gaze to the floor. “Now you’re doing too much.”

He shakes his head. “‘M not. Promise I’m not.”

She hums, appraising their reflection with a frown. Even in his underwear, Harry is Harry, and she… She feels like she’s playing dress up in someone else’s wardrobe, dipping her toes into someone else’s life. Harry is at ease in a place like this but she certainly isn’t.

Harry seems to sense this. “Something the matter?” he asks her gently.

“No, just —“ she wrings her hands in front of her, searching for the words. “I don’t feel like me.”

He furrows his brow. “I know what you mean. ’S weird when you do all this—” he flutters his hand around the room, at the rack of clothes and towards the door where they can hear someone giving directions to shift the couch slightly to the left “—just to get a photo done. And I know you’re not used to it.” He squeezes her waist gently. “But you look beautiful. Just like you always do.”

She can’t suppress a small smile at that, bumping her head against Harry’s shoulder with a quietly mouthed, “Thank you.”

He turns his head to kiss her hair, then releases his grip on her waist and moves over to the rack of clothes. “But did y’see…” He bends down to pick up a plastic container marked Look 1 from the shelf at the bottom. He opens it up to reveal various pieces of jewellery inside, and delicately picks out a couple pieces with nimble fingers. “I picked these for you.”

They’re her earrings. More specifically, they’re the earrings that he gave her for their first anniversary. A couple of dangling pearls—he’d bought them during his obsession with the gems. They’re a sweet memento of that time of their lives, of the honeymoon phase that felt like it lasted forever, that never really fizzled out even to this day. They’re her favourites.

She realises her mouth has dropped open. “When did you sneak those in?” she asks.

He shrugs, smirking. “I have my ways. I’m sneaky.” He returns to his previous position standing behind her, nudging her hair behind her ear with his knuckles. “May I?”

She nods, trying not to shiver as his fingers brush against her ears.

“There we go,” he says, stepping back. “Is that a bit better?”

The girl in the mirror looks familiar now. Despite the make-up and the dress, she can see herself. The same face, framed by the same earrings, that has accompanied Harry through all sorts of days and nights. Today is just another one of those things. Something they’re doing, together, and isn’t that all she wants, for them to do everything together?

Being with Harry is a dream she never wants to wake up from. They’ve built a paradise together and now they get to share a tiny part of it with the world—not for the world to share in it, but to see just how beautiful it is.

There’s a little part of Y/N that hopes it makes the rest of the world jealous. They should be, she thinks.

“It’s perfect, H,” she tells him, glancing over her shoulder so she looks at his real face, not just his reflection. “Honestly. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He looks proud of himself—his eyes are shining and his dimples are on display as he looks her up and down once more. “It’s all you.”

Y/N mirrors him, her gaze travelling down his body. She bites her lip.

Harry seems to remember suddenly that he’s only in his underwear—his hands fly to cover his thinly-clothed privates and he looks at her, his mouth open in a sly grin. “This is not the time,” he scolds, his shoulders shaking as he suppresses laughter.

Y/N rolls her eyes, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him to turn around. “Go get dressed, you dork.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

The suit that Harry wears is made out of the same material as Y/N’s dress, bright and bold colours. The photographer is accomodating of her nerves as he has them sit on the couch. The window is wide open to allow the natural light to illuminate their faces, and the Y/N can feel the warmth of the sun on her face. The sky is a brilliant blue. It’s a perfect day.

“Okay, look this way,” the photographer tells her, drawing her attention from the window to the camera. “A little closer, Harry.”

Harry shifts over, his thigh pressing against hers. His hand comes to rest on her knee, then lifts suddenly as if he’s remembered something. “Hang on a minute,” he says to the photographer, holding up a finger.

He twists around to face Y/N and carefully sweeps her hair back over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear to ensure the pearl earring is on clear display. She smiles at him, which he returns in a quick unspoken exchange of gratitude and care.

“Alright,” Harry says, settling back to face the photographer. His hand finds Y/N’s and he squeezes it. “We’re good.”

The camera clicks and the flash goes off. Their hands remain joined on Harry’s lap.

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, a reblog & any kind of message would be really appreciated. i'm open to any requests, from the prompt list linked above or from your own imagination, which you can send here. all my other writing is linked on my masterlist. have a lovely day!

[no-reply95]

I was scrolling through the Beatles topic on Twitter the other day and came across a tweet from Mark Lewisohn referring to a talk he’d given to the Fab4cast podcast on the Get Back sessions and Spring period of 1969. I assumed that it was a recent talk so I gave it a listen but the talk is actually from 2019.

I tend to find Lewisohn’s podcast interviews to be very interesting. He’s obviously got decades worth of Beatle knowledge stored up so you’re almost guaranteed to learn something new or hear an anecdote that you’ve never heard before but more than the factoids he’s accumulated over the years I find his interpretations of the band extremely telling.

The part of the conversation that really caught my attention was when the podcast hosts brought up the fact that John and Paul’s weddings were really close together and wondered if the two events were connected in any way, I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that this probably got the biggest reaction out of Lewisohn, the main points of the exchange are outlined below (time stamp 47:12)

Host: “Well also in this period there are two events, the marriages of John and Paul, within 8 days of each other… I read that John wanted to marry on the 14th, two days after Paul’s wedding but couldn’t do it because of legal issues, how much was his [marriage] a response to Paul’s marriage do you think?”

Lewisohn: “I’ve read that people say that it was but never heard John say that it was so there’s no validity to those claims they’re just people assuming that John didn’t want to be outdone by Paul… that’s the kind of writing that annoys me because it becomes part of the fact and it’s some writer thinking that’s what it probably was… Unless someone out there can find a Lennon quote in which he actually says it in which case I stand corrected and I’ll be very happy to do so”

There’s a lot going on in these quotes so I’m gonna break down my thoughts on this further:

The illusion of John’s honesty

What Lewisohn displays here is something I believe is pretty common within the Beatles’ authorship. I believe in Revolution In The Head Ian McDonald referred to John as “truth” and Paul as “beauty” and I think a lot of writers do tend to assign those attributes consistently to John and Paul. Reading (or listening) to the Lennon Remembers interview now, it’s hard to believe at one stage people took what John was saying as fact and never even questioned whether there were emotions or agenda behind what he was saying, despite the contradictions (“Me and Paul stopped writing together in 1962” vs “Me and Paul worked really closely together on Sgt. Pepper”) and because John was so charismatic and would speak openly in interviews and to people he knew about both the good and bad in his life I think people, and in this case Lewisohn, assume that John told us everything of note that happened in his life, which I don’t think is a realistic expectation of anyone, let alone someone as famous as John. I think it’s problematic to take John’s or anyone else’s words, especially when they’re said in public, as the gospel truth because everyone has an agenda and John was no different. I also think it’s unrealistic to believe that John would ever announce that the reason he and Yoko got married when they did was in any way connected to Paul, that would have sullied the sanctity of “John and Yoko TM”, I mean, how can you be the greatest love story ever if the reason you decided to get married was because your musical partner who you may have unresolved romantic feelings for got married? I don’t think John would publicly embarrass Yoko like that or risk undermining the strength of the brand he was trying to create with his new relationship by admitting that Paul’s marriage spurred them on. That Lewisohn is apparently holding out for a lost interview of John stating that Paul was involved in the timing of his marriage to Yoko just sounds pretty far fetched to me.

The timing of John’s wedding in relation to his and Yoko’s divorces

As discussed in this podcast, Paul and Linda got married (pretty unexpectedly I believe) on 12 March 1969 and John and Yoko got married 8 days later (and apparently they wanted it to be sooner) on 20 March 1969. Aside from the extremely close proximity of John and Paul’s weddings it should be noted that John’s divorce from Cynthia was finalised in November 1968 and Yoko’s from Tony Cox was finalised in January 1969.

So why am I bringing up John and Yoko’s divorces? Because it meant that they were free to marry each other from January 1969, there was no longer a legal issue preventing them and if John’s bursting out in song about it, you would assume that they would have started planning their wedding ASAP… but curiously they didn’t. How do we know John and Yoko weren’t planning a wedding before Paul married Linda? Because once Paul was married John and Yoko started scrambling to get married ASAP, suddenly there was a rush and need to be married that hadn’t existed before, John suddenly wanted to marry Yoko on a ferry but they couldn’t be married there, then John wanted to marry Yoko in Paris but they needed to be resident in Paris for a period of time before they could get married there so eventually they settled on Gibraltar as they could get married there at short notice. Clearly there was a sudden need for John and Yoko to get married that didn’t materialise until around March 1969, am I and countless other people (including Paul himself) crazy for assuming that Paul’s wedding impacted John’s sudden desperate need to be married? If it wasn’t Paul’s wedding, what was it?

Authorial interpretation and assumptions

I’m really fascinated by the visceral reaction Lewisohn had to just the suggestion that the timing of John and Yoko’s wedding was connected to Paul and Linda’s. For Lewisohn to state it annoys him was pretty shocking to me because, given what is publicly known about this period and the lack of any other logical reason for John and Yoko’s wedding to be so close to Paul’s and Linda’s, I don’t think it’s bad writing to point out the proximity and suggest that the timing was more than a coincidence.

Based on his reaction, you would assume that Lewisohn would be set against any form of interpretation where the principal in question hadn’t confirmed that the interpretation was in fact correct but that would be an incorrect assumption to make. Some of you may be aware of the Hornsey Road shows Mark Lewisohn was giving in 2019 around the 50th anniversary of Abbey Road. During these shows Lewisohn played a clip from the, now infamous, 4-4-4-2 meeting tape and gave a presentation on the Abbey Road period in the Beatles’ history. One of the points Lewisohn raised during the show was that during the sessions, after the car accident in Scotland, a bed was brought into the studio for Yoko so she (and sometimes John) could rest while work on the album progressed. According to Lewisohn, one morning they turned up to the studio and someone had removed one of the legs from the bed, leaving it with 3 legs *dramatic pause* which was him heavily hinting that he thought Paul broke Yoko’s bed on purpose and then bragged about it on the Ram album by including a song called 3 legs, I’m not going to go into the validity (or lack thereof) of this claim but I find it very interesting that Lewisohn was annoyed about authors suggesting that the timing of John and Yoko’s wedding was connected to Paul and Linda’s but he seems happy to publicly speculate that Paul was sabotaging Yoko’s bed in the studio based on the title of a song that he would release on Ram two years later and nothing else.

Is there any evidence that connects John’s wedding to Paul’s?

I’ve already outlined the suspiciousness of John and Yoko choosing to get married right after Paul, when they had been free to marry for weeks prior but is there any other evidence that either proves that the weddings were connected or is Lewisohn right to deem that suggestion as lacking in validity?

Interestingly there actually is unverified eyewitness testimony that does connect John and Paul’s weddings (something not mentioned by Lewisohn in this podcast). I believe there’s an anecdote from Les Anthony (John’s chauffeur at the time) about him driving John and Yoko around when news of Paul’s wedding suddenly came across the radio, to which John apparently said to Yoko that “we have to get married now”… I couldn’t track down the exact source for that story (if anyone knows the source please let me know) so I’m not sure how credible that anecdote is but, assuming it is accurate, then that would suggest a correlation between John and Paul’s weddings that Lewisohn is adamant doesn’t exist.

Why does this matter?

I do think that this podcast interview could be indicative of a few future concerns I personally have around the way the Beatles discourse will progress in the future. Firstly, this was only a podcast interview so it’s unlikely that when Lewisohn releases the final book in his trilogy that he’ll discuss the weddings in this manner (I.e. although he’s adamant the timing of John’s wedding had nothing to with Paul he failed to offer any sort of explanation regarding why John and Yoko were rushing to get married when they’d had weeks to prepare a wedding).

It’s a slight worry that Lewisohn seems to believe that John announced every single thing that happened in his life of note, especially concerning Paul and Yoko. If John had told us everything of interest about him, surely his Dakota diaries would be the basis of a Netflix series by now and not locked away in a vault (assuming they haven’t already been destroyed). To me, like several authors before him, Lewisohn seems to be mistaking John’s emotional honesty with factual honesty. It didn’t escape my attention that several clips of the Lennon Remembers interview were inserted into this podcast and Lewisohn quotes extensively from it in Tune In as well. There’s nothing wrong with using Lennon Remembers as a source but if you do use it you should be analysing the veracity of what was said as we know that John was in a torched earth mentality at that time and even he himself has said what he said in that interview wasn’t meant as a timeless manifesto. It’s a shame that given his ability of analyse sources Lewisohn has never (to my knowledge) critically analysed Lennon Remembers, given that other sources have been analysed this makes LR a strange omission.

Finally, Lewisohn does tend to make some good insights and does have the ability to read between the lines (I.e. him noting Paul’s tendency to say “we” when in most cases he means himself) but with John I do think he has a bit of a blindspot. Why Lewisohn is happy to speculate without evidence in some cases (3 legs) but he draws the line at the suggestion that John and Paul’s weddings being connected is anyone’s guess. If Lewisohn can turn his attention to reading between the lines with John and the other Beatles too and connecting the dots then we should get a Beatles biography that finally addresses a lot of the issues we cover on this site. However, if we take the approach of only using John and Yoko’s PR to understand the events that transpired before and after the band broke up then the story hasn’t moved much further than 1970 and given all that we know now I think that would be a huge shame.

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Slap Me - Tobin Heath x Reader

Prompt: Hello, I don't know if you are taking requests right now but if you had the time could you consider the idea of writing one imagine with Tobin where reader is a sports television host who says on every media about having this big crush on Tobin and so when they meet she haves this huge gay panic and Tobin asks her out? (Had this idea after watching the video of Katie Nolan first meeting Tobin). I really loved your imagine where reader is a photographer, your writing is amazing!

“Like, you’ve seen her, right? You have eyes, you’ve seen her,” Y/N excitedly ranted into her microphone, talking to her co-host.

“Yes, I’ve seen her,” her partner rolled her eyes, teasing, smiling back.

“So, you get it. How the entire world is in loved with her? How people want to be her, and under her,” Y/N winked and bit her lip.

Her partner cackled loudly, “that seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”

“You’re saying, Tobin Heath walks in here and propositions you, you’d say no?”

“Propositions? Gross, I don’t want anyone that propositions me,” her partner crinkled their nose.

“Ok, wrong word. Asks you out? Picks you up? Flirts? Seduces?” Y/N lists, smirking the more she seemed to irritate her co-host.

“You know what I want to see?” her partner watched Y/N with a grin, mirth in her eyes, waiting for Y/N to nod, “I want to see you proposition Ms.Heath.”

“Tobin Heath could walk into this studio and slap me across the face and walk away and I would be totally ok with it.”

“No one needs to know about your bedroom habits,” Y/N crinkled her nose this time in response.

“Now who’s gross,” Y/N pointed at her partner, before leaning back in her chair, “besides, you don’t know what Tobin Heath is into,” a smirk on her face.

“We could find out tomorrow,” her partner mentioned nonchalantly, but the sly grin on her face showed she meant more.

The smirk left Y/N’s face slightly, eyes beginning to narrow the more she stared at her partner, their grin growing.

“How are you going to find out what Heath is into?”

“I’m not, you are!” her partners grin grew, pointing at Y/N, “you said you would let her slap you, so when she is here tomorrow, we can see it happen.”

“What?” Y/N sat up straight in her chair, palms flat on the arm rest.

Her partner grinned widely at her, nodding her head, “yea, you and Tobin can seduce each other all you want tomorrow.”

“Great, that’s great, perfect,” Y/N nodded, randomly shifting things around on her desk, not looking up, “that’s… great,” she looked up across the desk, forcing a smile onto her face.

“Is it great Y/N?” the partner mocked.

“Yupp, great is what I said, so it’s, uhh, it’s great,” she stopped shifting her, leaving her palms flat on the desk.

The next afternoon, the podcast host kept moving around the booth, shifting papers around and adjusting the microphones around, tucking and untucking the chairs.

“I will slap you myself if you don’t settle the fuck down,” her partner kicked their feet up on the desk, leaning back in her chair.

“Keep the desk clean!” Y/N rushed over and smacked the feet down, sending her partner tipping forward, feet crashing to the ground, drawing out a grunt from the co-host. Y/N quickly brushed the non-existent dirt off the desk.

“Are you ready for me to come in? They told me out there that I could just come in,” Tobin motioned to the door as she walked in.

“Nope, come on in,” Y/N’s co-host smiled, leaning back in her chair and putting her feet on the desk again.

Y/N stood silently off to the side, posture stiff.

“Ahh sweet, I’m Tobin,” the brunette stepped forward, shaking the co-hosts hand before turning and offering it to Y/N.

Y/N remained stiff for another second, starring at the offered hand , high fiving it just before Tobin pulled it away.

The co-host let out a loud laugh, Tobin giggling as well, Y/N blushing deep moving to her seat.

“I’m here?” Tobin awkwardly pointed to the empty chair and microphone.

“Yupp, that’s you, Y/N will get you all set up,” the co-host making no move to take her feet off the desk.

The blushing podcast host, looked up, eyes wide, “yea, uh, have a seat,” she abruptly stood up, knee hitting the desk, almost knocking the chair over, catching it, she walked towards Tobin, “I’m good. You can put these one,” Y/N picked up the headphones, beginning to awkwardly out them on Tobin for her.

Tobin ducked slightly, lifting her hands to try and help guide the headphones on, her hands touching Y/N’s. Y/N abruptly pulling her hands away, knocking the headphones into Tobin head, “you could probably put those on yourself,” Y/N awkwardly began to shift the microphone, swinging it too far, almost hitting Tobin in the head.

The midfielder laughed and pulled her head back, bringing her hand up to protect her face, awkwardly chuckling as Y/N frantically apologized and pulled the microphone away.  

Smooth the co-host mouthed, shooting Y/N a thumbs up across the desk. Y/N sunk into her chair, blushing deep.

“I know you’ve done tons of these Tobin, so you probably know the drill, we’ve given you the list of questions. We’ll try and keep it light and casual, like a conversation,” the co-host took over, having watched Y/N blunder enough for the time being.

“Sounds good to me,” Tobin nodded, adjusting the microphone better.

Seeing that Y/N wasn’t prepared to start, the co-host took over, motioning to the producer on the other side of the glass for them to start. Y/N came to a little bit, enough to introduce herself and Tobin.

As the interview went on, Y/N loosened up even more, the interview flowing nicely, Tobin and Y/N playing off each other well.

“So Tobin, do you listen to the show?” the co-host asked near the end of the interview.

“Yeah, I’ve listened to a couple episodes,” the brunette nodded along.

“Did you happen to listen to yesterdays?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide when she realized where her co-host was going with the question.

“No, I didn’t get a chance to listen to yesterdays, sorry.”

Y/N let out a sigh of relief, thankful that Tobin didn’t know anything about what they talked about yesterday.

“Aww that’s unfortunate, but out of curiosity, on a slightly related note, how do you feel about slapping?”

“Slapping?” Tobin repeated, confused. Y/N shaking her head.

“Yeah, slapping, like palm meeting flesh, face or otherwise.”

“I think I might need more context,” she gave out a nervous chuckle.

“Like would you slap someone?”

“Oh no, definitely wouldn’t slap anyone,” Tobin said firmly, shaking her head no.

“Darn, Y/N was really looking forward to you slapping her today.”

“And we are all out of time,” Y/N finally spoke up, frantically motioning to the producer to turn of the recording, already pulling her headphones off and pushing the microphone out of the way, “Tobin, I am so sorry, it was a stupid thing we were joking about yesterday.”

“Y/N wants you to slap her,” the co-host filled in, smiling.

“Sorry dude, I’m a lover, not a fighter,” the midfielder shrugged it off, not phased about the joke.

“Stupid joke, it shouldn’t have even been brought up,” Y/N blushed deeper, shaking her head, she began to rush out, knocking her desk chair over, “fuck,” she fumbled to pick it up.

The co-host let out a deep laugh, head tilted back as they left the room.

“I’d slap someone,” Tobin sauntered over to Y/N and the tipped chair, “but only if they ask nicely first,” she bent over and helped right the chair, brushing her hands along Y/N’s and walked out the door.

Y/N watched the door, mouth open, she tracked Tobin through the studio window. Tobin paused, giving her a wink.

[cromulentbookreview]

Lost in a Cheese Trance

*wakes up*

*looks at internet*

Maybe I should check that book review blog I’m supposed to be working on. Huh, looks like I haven’t updated this book review blog since *shuffles papers* last November?

Wait, what is it now? 

July? Oh. Shit. 

I’d like to say my absence was for a good reason. But there wasn’t. I’m just lazy. Plus, there were so many digital advanced review copies for me to choose from and along with those are the already released books that I need to read...that and I just didn’t feel like it. I do that sometimes. One minute I’ll tell myself I’ll write one review a month and the next minute it’s been eight months of “...I’ll get to that later.”

And I never got to it. Until now! Yay!

(all those crickets and tumbleweeds you’re hearing are because nobody reads this, but I’m going to keep writing these anyway).

If there was any book that could bring me out of my laziness-induced hiatus, it is Sona Movsesian’s hilarious memoir detailing the downfall of her own ambition.

And by that, I mean: The World’s Worst Assistant by Sona Movsesian!

How does someone who worked so hard to get her foot in the door end up as the World’s Worst Assistant? Keep reading and I’ll show you a brand-new world, one where deadlines are spurned, professionalism is seldom upheld, and you’ll never have to miss an episode of your favorite TV show.

-From the uncorrected copy of The World’s Worst Assistant.

Sona Movsesian is the first to admit she isn’t great at her job. Which is a bit of a problem when you’re the assistant to comedy legend Conan O’Brien.

Sona is a boss who doesn’t give a single fuck. But she didn’t start out that way. She came into her job as Conan’s assistant as someone eager to do a good job. But, like so many of us, as the years passed, she got comfortable in her job. 

Comfortable enough to no longer give a shit.

Now, before I get into Sona’s book I should explain: I’ve been a fan of Conan O’Brien practically since birth.

Not only is he responsible for some of the best episodes of The Simpsons, ever, (Marge vs. The Monorail, Homer Goes to College and New Kid on the Block), he’s also my favorite ever Late Night host. Growing up, they’d play last night’s Conan at 6 PM and we’d watch it religiously. In high school, we’d watch the monologue, the post-monologue bit, and then, during the interviews, my dad would try to help me do my math homework. Unfortunately, I’m both easily distracted and terrible at math. 

Now, I’m not saying Conan O’Brien is the reason why I did so poorly in math during high school but, I mean...

Who could possibly focus with that going on in the background?

I still remember being heartbroken when Andy left the original Late Night show, and how elated I was to see him come back for The Tonight Show.

And as for that debacle, well...let’s just say that was my entire sophomore year of college and I even wrote a term paper about it. I am not kidding. 

Anyway! I’ve been a Conan fan forever. I have a Late Night shot glass, a Tonight Show T-Shirt, the OG I’m With Coco shirt from back in 2010, and I went to the very first Legally Prohibited from Being Funny On Television Tour show because, lucky for me, it was held in Eugene, Oregon. I mean, major tours almost never stop within driving distance of me, but oh man. I still have merch from that tour, but they’re a bit beat up now (my Team Coco bottle opener has long since lost all its orange lettering so it’s just a plain black bottle opener now) but still. 

Fun fact: for roughly half a second you can see actual human me in the Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop documentary waiting outside of the Hult Center. That ticket was the best money I, as a broke college student with exactly zero dollars to spare, ever spent.

Anyway: big Conan fan. Cried when he ended his show on TBS but I listen to Conan O’Brien Needs A Friend every day during my morning commute. 

But enough about Conan.

Let’s talk about the Queen herself: Sona Movsesian.

Sona has been part of some of the best bits of Conan’s TBS show and on his podcast. If you haven’t seen some of the bits they’ve done together, I highly suggest you stop reading now and watch a few. Or just leave this page altogether, watch the Conan Without Borders they did in Armenia. 

As you can see from some of the bits they do together, Conan and Sona exist as foils for one another: Conan is the anxious, highly-strung workaholic, and Sona is the chill assistant who shrugs and goes “eh” and figures everything will work out fine in the end. Hilarity inevitably ensues. Throw in Matt Gourley, the podcast producer who exists somewhere in the middle ground between Conan and Sona, and you’ve got one of the top 50 podcasts ever! 

At number 46. 

Honestly, my favorite bits of the podcast are when the trio of Conan, Sona and Matt just BS amongst themselves. Together, the three of them are absolutely hilarious. I’ve always found Conan to be at his most hilarious to be when he’s interacting with others, and Sona and Gourley are perfect foils. Also, listening to them just reminds me so much of me and my siblings talking together - where we’ll banter and rag on each other and make sure one is taken down a peg when they need to be, just as Sona, Conan and Gourley interact with one another. And it’s never mean, either, it’s in that way that you see with siblings - everyone cares about each other, but by God they will poke fun when there is fun to be poked. 

Fun to be poked? Sounds disgusting, but whatever. At least I’m writing and not sitting around for eight months going “...yeah, I’ll write another post later...”

What was I talking about?

Oh, right, The World’s Worst Assistant!

Sona’s memoir isn’t just a book about being a terrible assistant. It’s a manifesto against the shitty working conditions lower-level employees face on a daily basis. Sona encourages her readers not to take shit - she uses a pretty apt Human Centipede metaphor to describe how mistreatment in the workplace is often perpetuated: the lowest employees are treated like shit, they eventually get promoted and then they treat those below them like shit…shit rolls downhill, the abused always kick downwards, etc. etc. But, as Sona points out, the way to stop this cycle is to STOP TREATING PEOPLE LIKE SHIT. Employers, quit treating your employees like shit. Employees, quit taking your employers’ shit. It’s not worth it. And, if you’ve taken shit from your employer and got promoted? Don’t immediately start treating those below you like shit. 

Reviewer, you probably aren’t asking, do you have to keep using the word shit? 

Yes. Yes I do. If you don’t like it you can leave. 

Wait, no, don’t leave! How else will I get people to read this dumb review blog? No! Come back! 

Aside from her hilarious, but very, very real take on how bosses often abuse their power when it comes to the staff who work below them, Sona also details the best ways for an assistant to get away with doing as little as possible. As someone who has worked their fair share of admin jobs (my boss referred to me the other day as their “assistant” and I was like...fair...) I am definitely familiar with some of Sona’s methods, but some are just next level. Being able to pull off a nap at work? That is the absolute dream. Alas, my current workplace has no sofas to crash on. Also I don’t believe in sleeping during the day, nighttime is for sleep, sleeping during the day wastes daylight hours that could be spent toiling in the fields. Sorry, my ancestors were all dirt farmers and I’m convinced that this is the reason why I don’t like napping during the day. But having spent so many years having to be up at, like, 4 AM to get to work on time, sometimes you need a nap around noon so you don’t fall asleep during the drive home. Someday I hope to use Sona’s nap-during-work-hours secret. Someday.

If you think that these methods are a sure way to get fired, don’t worry! Sona has a solution for that. She details all the ways you can make yourself indispensable at work while also gathering up all the things you need to make yourself unfireable. Is unfireable a word? There’s no red underline on in my google doc, so it is now. We lowly admin types are often under-paid and neglected, but, as Sona reminds us, our power lies in the fact that we know everything. Credit card numbers, where the good office supplies are kept, all the passwords, everybody’s schedule...of course, we’d never actually use any of this as a weapon, but sometimes it helps to hint that we could. Maybe. 

In all, The World’s Worst Assistant was an absolute joy to read. Sona’s writing is uproariously funny and her stories are incredibly relatable, especially if you (like me) have ever been an admin or someone’s assistant. The only criticism I can think of is that if you come into this book blind, you will have no idea what is going on. You have to be familiar with Conan O’Brien, his shows and his podcast to know a lot of what Sona is talking about - as a lifelong fan, I loved it. However, if you are like “Conan O’Who now?” then you’re probably not going to be too geared up to read a book by his assistant, even if it is one of the funniest books I’ve read in a long time. 

RECOMMENDED FOR: Fans of Conan O’Brien needs a friend, anyone who has ever worked as an assistant or any sort of admin position, anyone who has ever worked in or wanted to work in entertainment.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: people who have never watched Conan, people with no sense of humor, bosses, people who inherited all the money and have never had to work a day in their life, people who have ever even thought the phrase “Jay Leno is funny”, people who have something against fun and joy.

RELEASE DATE: July 19, 2022

RATING: 5/5

TOTALLY UNBIASED TEAM SONA RATING: 500,000,000,000 / 5

NUMBER OF TIMES I SPAT OUT MY DRINK LAUGHING WHILE READING THIS BOOK: 8

WHAT THIS REVIEW BLOG REALLY IS:

OBLIGATORY PODCAST REFERENCE:

KEDAKAI!

AS GOD MADE HER.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Son of none

Based off this post: Aka Percy Weasley was abandoned by his family and I don’t think they realised just how much danger an 18 civilian blood traitor son would be when stuck behind enemy lines. Well never fear, a fic is here as if I don’t have any other drafts...any whoooo

@transparentfreakpursepanda

Warning for blood, torture, self loathing. Mentions of bullying and neglect. Cursing.

(Also while writing this I was listening to Polaris by Natewantstobattle and...yeah if you want more angst while reading this listen to them and think of Percy :)  )

Percy deserved this.

Knowing that didn't change things. It didn’t make it easier to make it duck past the office that had once belonged to Barty Crouch Sr without feeling dread and greif. As harsh as the man could be and that he had not bothered to learn Percy's name... Percy still mourned his loss. For all that he was, Barty Crouch Sr had been a good man.

Life at the ministry taught him quickly, that kind of wizard was few and far between.

He wondered if the look Barty Crouch Sr had shared with his son before his death wax the same his father had shared with him the day he left.

Maybe it wasn't wise to compare yourself to a deranged murderer, but if that's the kind of wizard his family thought he was...

"Weasley"

It was stern, drenched in spite that was not unlike his old potions professor. But sadly even Snapes treatment of him in class did not hold a candle to what was happening now.

Percy lifted his head, it felt heavy. Infact all of him felt that he was on fire. The figure infront of him came into focus, not that Perch could quite recall his name. Edward? No that didn't seem right. Not Edward was his wand in hand and looked very annoyed, his dark mark was on full display.

Percy became very well aware in that moment that he couldn't move. He was bound to a chair in a room that looked very much like a cellar. He was still in his ministry robes, though they were dirty and tattered and stained in something.

It took Percy longer than he should've to realise it was his own blood. Not that he knew where he was bleeding from. "You Gryffindors and your bloody stubbornness" sneered Not Edward, he was a broad man, towering over Percy.

"You're wasting my time, and yours of you don't hurry up and tell me where your family is hiding." Percy shook his head, defiantly even if his body protested at the sudden movement. "Like I said before, even if I did know, I would never tell you." 

And than Not Edward would shout profanities all the while using his subordinates to use Percy as target practice till he passed out. That had been the cycle for... Well he wasn't sure for how long. Apart from the first time when Percy had weaved a convincing story about the family heading to Romania to hide away with Charlie...a whole false hunt that ended with the brand he now had on his arm. 

But this time was different.

Not Edward smirked "thought you'd say that, no matter. We've found out how to get there attention, and they'll hand themselves over." Percy laughed, it was a strangled and it sent another wave of pain through his body.

Not Edward was still smirking, in fact if anything his confidence grew. "And better yet, you're going to the bait that brings them here." And that stopped Percy laughing at once, he was quieter. "What makes you think they'd come" the words were barely above a whisper that echoed throughout the room.

Not Edward (Percy really needed to learn this man's name for his own internal monologue's sake) rolled his eyes "don't pull that on me, you Weasely's are more attached than a bunch of grapes. Rest assured, they'll be coming one way or another."

With that he left. Percy tried not to think about the fact a death eater had more confidence in his families arrival than he did. His mind wandered to the day he left, guilt pooled in his stomach. No amount of head trauma would erase the disgust and rage in Arthur’s eyes, Percy knew at that moment he had lost all right to call the man father. 

He could never look him in the eye again, he couldn’t even look himself in the mirror without seeing him staring back. His mothers eyes haunted him, she’d been the only one to try to reach out but he had slammed that back in her face. Not that Percy should have been surprised, he’d always been a parasite. 

If anything they must’ve been relived to be rid of him. 

They wouldn’t come, he knew that. Than why did his heart race, did tears threaten to fall and his stomach churn at the thought? Percy thought of his siblings, young and old...they wouldn’t have given him a second thought. Fred and George would mourn the loss of their favourite target, but they would move on they all would if they hadn’t already. 

For Percy though, this was the end of the line. 

_______________________________________________________________

Weasley family dinners were always something else, Bill knew this better than most. He smiled to Fleur who sat at his side, amusement on her face as they both watched Molly do as she does best. It was organised chaos at its finest, and while Shell cottage was a far cry from the Burrow, somehow it all came together. Harry was laughing at a story Ginny and the twins were telling, Charlie and Hermione were actually helping Molly along with Arthur. 

But even with how familiar it was, it was missing a certain brother rolling his eyes at the story and telling the true ending to the annoyance of the twins. Who would than direct the others to helping out with dinner to there mothers amusement. 

Percy. 

Ever since the watch, a muggle watch at that had arrived on his wedding day, with no name for the sender but only Bill’s name signed by an all too familiar handwriting...Bill hadn’t been able to take his mind of his little brother. His absence at his wedding and just seeing him around the house stuck out like a sore thumb to Bill. He wasn’t the only one either, he could see how his Mum would pause her eyes searching before looking down and moving onto something else.

Much like now when she put down the plates and realised that she’d left a little extra to the side. “Mum, I get that you miss him but you can’t keep doing this. Percy’s not coming back” the first to say it was Charlie, his voice soft like he was talking to an irate dragon. “Good riddance” that came from Ginny, in that whisper that wasn’t even trying to be quiet. 

Instantly Molly became much like a dragon. “Ginevera Molly Weasley, don’t you dare speak about your brother like that!” She yelled, hot tears burning in her eyes. “Molly...” Interjected Arthur, putting a calming hand on his wife’s shoulder “you can’t blame her for her anger. Come on, let’s dig in.” And that should have been the end of it but Molly turned to him, her own temper boiling. 

“Don’t you start, Arthur. Don’t you tell me I should be sat eating dinner while my son is out all alone.” She spat. “Mum, it’s fine Percy’s probably having high tea with the new minister, talking about the importance of  cauldron bottoms” snickered Fred, “pfft yeah, just sat around telling the dark lord about his book report” agreed George. Bill frowned, as did Fleur but that was nothing compared to Molly. 

Her gaze hardened and the twins shut up instantly, they’d never seen her this mad. “I dont care if you hate him, I don’t care if this isn’t my home...you speak of my son following HIM, get out of my sight now.” She said, slumping into a nearby chair. Bill stood up, putting his own hand in his mums which she took gratefully. “Percy may be the most ambitious lion around, but he wouldn’t join you know who. He left to join the ministry because that's what he believed in, death eaters isn’t even in the equation.”

And Bill meant those words. More than he ever thought he would. 

“Though is there any difference between the death eaters and the ministry anymore?” Asked Harry, the place was filled with them after all. “Yeah? Might be but they’ve kept the employees, not that I know what’s going on in there anymore.” Said Arthur, adding his 2 galleon’s into the mix. “And there not going to take kindly to a Weasley” Said Hermione, making everyone look down as if they hadn’t just realised that. 

It didn’t matter if Percy had disowned himself, his family was very much publicly fighting the people he was now stuck with. 

And that was when fate decided to be extra cruel and the radio burst into life. 

“Greetings from the Ministry. Our daily transmission has already been received today but we have an exceptional treat for the wizarding public. We will be instead hosting an interview with one of our newest employees, give a hand folks to Percival Ignatius Weasley.”

Everyone in the room froze, and yet Ron who was the only one of the family minus Fleur not to speak, ran to the radio and put the volume as loud as he could. 

“Say hello your family, Percival.” Taunted the voice, it was very gleeful as it spoke. No response was heard. “Oh, silly me I forgot how many hours you young people work, not to worry let’s get him up boys.” 

A splash was heard and a shuddering scream. “Morning Percival, sorry do you prefer Percy? Don’t care, lets start the interview. So Percival, how are you finding the ministry?” Everyone sat with baited breathe.

And yet it was there Percy who, through shuddered breaths managed to whisper a “fuck you...fuck you and your ministry”

“Well that is very rude, and here I thought your mother would have taught you manners” “don’t...don’t you talk about her.” Said Percy, Molly broke down into tears and Bill held her close. Unable to tear his gaze from the radio, no one could. 

“What do you want to say them? I’m sure they’ve missed you. In fact, just for you we’ll be hosting a party. And there all invited to the ministry, so long as they bring a certain Mr Potter.” 

There was a silence before “don’t come...don’t. Whatever you do, don’t... it’s fine. I’m fine, I love it here.” He laughed, everyone cringed at the sound he made, as if he was choking. “It’s fine, don’t come...parties are overrated yeah.” The transmission started cutting off, Ron frantically along with the twins tried to get it working. 

They heard “too busy. Don’t come, Harry don’t...stay where you are!” Before the  transmission cut off.

No one could speak, horror was etched into all of there faces. The twins were scrabbling over themselves with wand in hand to track where the transmission had come from. 

The Ministry. 

“We’re going...now” said Molly, standing up. Her tears were gone, grabbing for her wand and coat. “Molly...be rationale, we need to plan this.” Said Arthur, Molly spun on her heel and glared. “I am not going to sit here while those...monsters torture MY son! Planning will take to long, did you hear him Arthur?! Did you hear your son crying out in pain...he doesn’t have long left...” Arthur looked down, unable to respond. 

Molly looked at the rest of the family, her gaze saying it all: You can come with me or you can stay. The first to stand was Bill, closely followed by Fleur who met his thankful gaze with a determined smile. Charlie and Ron were next, grabbing there wands with Harry and Hermione following. Ginny and the twins exchanged guilty looks but stood. Arthur couldn’t look at any of them, he simply picked up his wand. 

“Harry, I understand if you wish to stay” said Molly, he shook his head. “I might not know him well but Percy’s family 2...I cant sit here while you guys go even with the danger.” He replied, and somehow that was all it was, Percy was family...enough said. 

And so the family of lions got up and left, to find the one they left behind. 

_______________________________________________________

Percy was terrified.

A part of him argued that he should be grateful they came at all for him. Maybe it was out of pity, out of ensuring that he wasn't able to be used against them.

Yes, that's all it was. He was nothing afterall, he was merely a civilian in a war.

And yet hearing Molly tearfully and frantically whisper his name. Hearing Hermione yell the counterspell to his imprisonment to Ron who did so perfectly. Seeing the light of spells cast by Ginny and the twins to stun Not Edward... (Who was apparently called Edgar... Eh close enough.)

Feeling Charlie carry him in his arms, mumbling curse words. Smelling Arthur's cologne.

It all felt right. It was warmth that he couldn't remember experiencing. It was enough to lull him to a facade that everything was fine.

But when his wounds were healed and he saw them all looking at him... Percy knew he had to shelf that dream. "I told you not to come" was the first thing he said, averting his gaze. (Couldn't look them in the eye)

"And you must've lost a few screws if you thought we wouldn't" said Bill, meeting Percy's gaze. "You shouldn't have" is all he replied. "And what, let you be killed by the ministry?" Gaped Ginny. Percy shrugged "wouldn't have made much difference, you've only gone and put yourselves in more danger."

"Are you... Are you fucking with us right now?" Asked Fred, incredously. "No, im too busy ranting about cauldron bottoms to do that." And if Fred paused, Percy didn't see it.

Seeing as no one was getting anyway, Bill sat beside Percy who immediately felt on edge. "Thanks for the watch" he said simply. Everyone blinked in confusion and than realisation as no one has known where Bill's new watch had come from. Percy smiled faintly "You're welcome, reminded me of you."

"Although, I do wish you could've gave it in person" continued Bill, testing the waters. Percy surprised him by shaking his head "no you wouldn't have. It was your day, I wasn't going to ruin it." Bill frowned "is that what you think?" Percy shrugged again "it's what I've been told."

"You are way to chill after being tortured" said Charlie, Percy looked at his bandaged arms and snorted. "Eh? It's nothing new. That guy was just there for the theatrics, sadist if you ask me." Charlie raised an eyebrow "nothing new?" Percy nodded "yeah, what you think the ministry that's so far up Voldermorts ass would allow me to work there without some 'interviews'."

Everyone paled.

"But than why stay there?" Asked Arthur, Percy froze. Steeling himself, switching from calm to panic to calm in an instant but they all saw. "I've got business there, things I need to get done and ensure are done. Speaking of which, thanks for the rescue but I should be off."

He didn't belong here. Not anymore.

"Percy, you can stay." Said Molly, already standing up to get his room prepared. "No, I can't. I have work, I have a duty... And I'm no longer part of this family." When he said that, Percy felt like the wind was knocked out of him but stood his ground. "Percy... That's not true.."

Percy met Arthur's gaze, his father's eyes. "Really? Than pray tell why did no one tell me you were all in hiding... Or a warning? And don't say it was impossible because I managed to send a parcel to a location I didn't even know about nor knew existed."

No one could answer that.

"I'll be off, and don't worry I won't tell them anything. Just do what you do best, and leave me alone." Arthur managed to grab Percy's wrist though he hissed in pain and pulled his arm back like he'd been burnt. "Don't.. Touch me, Arthur Weasely."

Arthur recoiled, Percy looked away. "I spent my whole life wanting to be someone you could be proud off...I listened to all the critism and yes I was a prat. But the moment I made my own choice you already made me aware I didn't belong in my own house. I’m sorry...that I’m not athletic like Ginny, I’m not smart like Ron or as successful as Bill and Charlie, I’m not a hero like a Ron or fun like Fred and George. That I’m just plain ol prat Percy.”

He began to walk away. Just like he did before.

"That choice was against following Dumbledor, turning against the light." Said Molly, wanting him to understand. Percy laughed, with no humour at all but glaring hard. Rage emanated from him.

"I'm sorry if I choose not to stand behind an old coot who routinely sends an abused boy to his abusers, who nearly got 3 11 yearolds killed because he wanted to weed out a possibility. Who nearly got thousands of children killed and did nothing to save Ginny with the chamber. The man who wouldn't give an innocent man a trial and got him sent to the worst prison for 12 years... Who put teenagers in a death game and let an underage kid join because why not. That man is a monster and I refuse to follow someone like that. But no that means I'm blindly following authority." He sneered, staring at them all.

"And the ministry? Because as corrupt and fucked up as it is I know I can do something. That changes can be made in the systems to benefit everyone, Dumbledor is someone who breeds child solider’s and let's a known abuser teach at his school and somehow I’m the only one who isn't okay with that."

And with that Percy left, no one knew what to say. They simply sat in silence, absorbing everything they just heard. Ginny thought about how Percy had profusely apologised after she was free from the chamber, how he’d made time for her since than. Ron thought of all the times they’d have an adventure and Percy would watch over them like a mother hen. 

Bill and Charlie recalled when Percy would still come to them for help before he started Hogwarts. When they found him bruised and broken from bullies except this was because of them. “He really thinks that doesn’t he...?” Said Fred, George nodded. Neither could smile, guilt pooled in their hearts that they didn’t think he felt like that. 

Molly sobbed for her son who was once again lost and Arthur wondered where he had gone wrong to lose his son all over again. 

________________________________________________

Meanwhile Percy entered a muggle flat in London. Alone again just like he belonged, laying on his bed and looking at the brand on his arm.

'Son of none'

And if that didn't hurt most of all.

Suffice to say they all things to think about for when they’d meet again. 

[evilzoldyck]

Fiancée

part II

Suppressing down a burdensome sigh, you  looked back at the establishment who regretfully informed you that you were not able to match the prerequisites that the job description required. You knew all too well the insinuation of that statement, coming from a zero educational background and a rather low income class, the echelon of the societal hierarchy was brutal in your pursuit of a second occupation. Instead of quality, values and work ethic, they chose to look at the brands of your shoes and your status in this highly polarised civil structure.

Perusing through the town for any opportunity you could sought out until your heels formed blisters was a normal part of your everyday life, this day though, you figured you could take a short break by resting underneath a shady spot at the bustling market. While you were rubbing on your sore calves you can't help but overhear the excited prattle of a group of girls nearby. They all adorned leathered purses and scintillating jewelleries; young, beautiful and free of any burdens and responsibilities. 

“Have you heard? The Zoldyck family are hosting a formal competition for the chance to win the noble position of becoming a wife to one of their son!” The blonde haired woman reported with wide eyes. 

“Really? That family of assassins are holding a public trial?” Another one with carefully manicured acrylic nails spoke up. “You’d think as an assassin they’d be less privy about this.” 

“That’s not all, I heard that the winner also gets ten billion jennys,” the last one stated. “The Zoldycks are always ostentatious as ever, probably a marketing strategy to lure more girls in to participate.”

“Who cares about some jennys. I’d want to see the groom in question and if he’s really as tall, dark and handsome rumours made him out to be. If I hadn't been engaged, I'd try it out in a heartbeat.”

The blonde woman scoffed and retorted back, “good luck with that, I heard there’s over a hundred girls coming in from all over the world intending on participating already, and that’s just the numbers on the first day. Who knows how many will actually end up in three days time when the trial officially begins.” The group of girls wandered away until you couldn't hear their idle chats anymore, but their conversation still replayed over your mind like a broken record player. 

Ten billion jennys? In three days time? Those numbers alone made you heart skip a beat. There was a strong urge for you to look further into this for a mere moment before you scolded yourself mentally afterwards. There was no reason for you to get involved with someone as infamous as the Zoldycks. ‘The costs far outweigh the benefits,’ you told yourself. Propping yourself back up to your feet, you began to head home once the sun sets beyond the horizon. 

“Mother?” you called out once you stepped inside the shabby hole in a wall restaurant you ran with her. The candle lights all but one had been melted down, making it hard for you to see through the small, dark space. Once you turned around the corner and into the small kitchen room you spotted her cleaning up after a rather large spill which looked like porridge from the stone pot. “Mother what are you doing? You know you’re not allowed to look after heavy tasks,” you reprimanded, guiding her up back to her feet and wiped off the spoiled food from her hands with a nearby towel.

“It’s fine, just a little accident is all.” she waved you off as you continued to clean her hands where you spotted a rather large bruise on her along her inner arms.

“What happened?” you demanded in bewilderment. “Did that bastard come here today? Did he do this to you?” your series of questions did nothing more than to drive her away from you, but the thought of that filthy loan shark landing a hand on your mother made your blood boil and hands shake until you couldn't see anything else. “I’m going to kill him the next time I see him.”

“Oh hush, there’s no need for that,” your mother dismissed as if it was a trivial matter. “I’ll just clean this up and head on to bed-” you stopped her from bending back down to clean up after the mess and insisted that you do it yourself as you directed her back into her bedroom upstairs. Supporting her weight all the way up the stairs you assisted in preparing her bed and tucking her in. 

“You’re such a good kid,” she suddenly cooed, bringing up her frail and roughened hands from labour comfortingly up to your cheek. You held onto it and smiled down at her softly in response. 

“How did the interview go? Did you get accepted?” Once your smile disappeared into a disappointed frown she immediately soothed you. “Opportunities will come and go, don’t fret about it, darling. You’ll get it next time.” Though you nodded along with her words with a small beam, you knew you couldn't survive on optimism for much longer. 

“Good night,” you kissed down on her temple and blew away the fire flickering beside her bedside table before closing the door. Though it may sound impossibly crazy and foolishly dangerous, you knew where you had to go in a few days. Though the chance of you winning may be less than one percent, you would take any chance you had in order for you both to escape the life you currently had. 

The next two days went by in a blur, monotonous and grey as ever, and when you finally arrived onto the grounds of the Kukuroo mountain on the third day have the reality finally knocked you into your senses. Around five hundred girls filling your very peripheral visions stood and crowded in front of the ill-famed gate. Their mere chatter mass assembled together sounded like a roar, intimidating you by the sheer size of the sound of your competitors. Nevertheless, with a determined spirit, you filled in with the massive crowd around you. 

Suddenly, the noise all but halted once an old, feeble looking man made an appearance before the participants, smiling joyfully as if he knew something you didn’t. “Welcome ladies to the first day of the public trial on behalf of the Zoldyck family,” he greeted mirthfully. “We have expected a big turnout and for that we are more than grateful for. Therefore, this morning and the next marks the first preliminary task.” 

“Without further ado, each of you will have one chance to open the Testing Gate, which all of you must know that the first panel weighs around two tonnes and the ones after weighs twice as more as before, you are free to choose which panel to open. If you fail in opening the gate within the first five minutes I am afraid you are immediately disqualified from the competition. There is no need to label numbers as we expect them to go down drastically, I will monitor the first task for the time being and to all of you, I wish you the best of luck.”

There was an unnerving glances shared with each other by the girls, anxious on how to overcome the first issue with their high end shoes and neatly done hair and makeup. Of course, the Zoldycks won’t be looking at appearance to fit the mold, rather it was strength that they were seeking for. You cursed at yourself for not realising it soon enough too, wearing the nicest clothes you had in your closet and even going as far as spraying a bit of your mother’s perfume.

As the time goes by, the numbers slowly decreased with each failure. Some even left without trying, those who went undercover as a news reporter, a media freelancer hoping to snap a quick picture and those who thought they didn’t bear a chance. So far there were only five who managed to open the gate with one or two choosing the heavier panels. Once it was decided that it was your turn, the sky had already turned dark with the moon and the stars hung high above the skies.

Narrowing your eyes in front of two tonne door, you began to lean all your weight and force into pushing it open. There were sweats beading up to your forehead already as you continued to push on forward. “One minute,” the man stated. The minutes turned into seconds and so far no progress has been made. Gritting your teeth you kept your force constant hoping that you could manage to get a crack soon. 

“Four minutes.” Those very words alarmed you, making you lose focus for a mere moment. Though as quick as it came, you fortunately caught yourself, instead you drowned out the crowd behind you, along with time, sound and your senses and the elements of the world. Carrying that energy you had, you honed in on pushing your momentum forward. Suddenly a gap shifted, making you focus on not losing that velocity.

The older gentleman was counting down the last twenty seconds but you couldn't hear him, the ladies in the back watched in awe as you were the first one in a while to make such progress in the last few hours. When the crack widened to a space that you deemed was enough to slip your body through momentarily before the door swung back and crushed your bones, you managed to squeeze inside within the very last second.

Gasping tremendously for air from the overexertion of your strength, you looked around to find yourself on the other side in a quiet, shrouded forests along with the other girls who made it through before you. Once they've acknowledged your presence, they were quick to assess you head to toe with their sharp eyes. 

Of course, you couldn't forget that this was a competition.There was thick tension in the air between you all knowing that these people did not view you as anything but a rival. Taking your spot wordlessly on a tree stump, you waited for the first task to finish with the others and that meant waiting all night and day until each girl has had her turn on the gates.

This waiting game continued on until the next late afternoon when the sun was about to set again. There was now a total of fifty three of you waiting on the other side, each anxious and tired as every second passes. Suddenly, a pair of finely dressed men arrived bearing a stone faced expressions while carrying finely ornate candlestick to light the way. 

“Congratulations on passing the preliminary round. We now continue on with the trial by heading to the estate. You'll do your best job to keep up with us.” Without any further questions, they swiftly turned around and headed into the direction to the top of the mountain. It took you all a second to process what they said before you all followed and began your long trek uphill.

You were no stranger to walking vast distances but as you were currently running without sleep or food it made it quite strenuous for your journey up ahead. Once you've arrived, you’re greeted with the sight of a gargantuan house and in front, somebody waiting for you. 

“These are the ones who passed?” a woman dressed in a Victorian attire with a mechanical visor implored with a testy tone. 

“Yes Madame, should we escort them to their quarters?” One of the worker asked. The lady raised her hand in objection whilst keeping a steady view on all fifty three of you. 

“No need, I shall take them from here, you may be excused.” Without another word they bowed respectfully and left. “You all are here because you wish to make space for yourself in this family. Before you can idly daydream of such foolish fantasies, I will be here to test you all. You will be subjected to many trials, as many as I deem necessary, it will take days, months or even years but the trial will not end until I am satisfied that one of you is worthy enough. Should you break, cry, slip, scream, fall- should you show any sign of weakness during these times you are immediately disqualified.”

“Those of you who are not prepared for such endeavours, I advise you to head back now,” she stated, waiting for anyone to back out of the competition and when no one did, she narrowed her eyes further. “Very well then, follow me.”

There was an insinuation in her voice that tells you no matter what any of you will achieve you may never be deemed worth enough to earn a place in the family. Following the lady of the house dutifully she showed you all to a large room where fifty three futons are laid out in perfect symmetry on the floor along with a concave wood with a stick attached on the middle of the back and a pair of small bowls, one filled with rice and the other with cherry blossom petals for each bed. 

“You shall all sleep here during your time in the competition, those items you see are crucial to your rest. Place the rice to your left and the petals to your right head. The sticks are to prop your head up while you sleep where you will not make a single movement or sound. We will monitor you all night while you do and if I such as find a grain of rice or a petal out of place from their bowls or even failing to keep your head upright by these sticks, you are finished from here on out.” She instructed and before she could add more, she sniffed and grimaced for a second. 

“Be ready by six in the morning, the showers are down the hall to the left.”

Once she left, everybody claimed their spots on the bed and you took yours near the end of the back where it was the quietest. The one next to you was searching for her bowl of petals and you spotted it beneath her futon, out of her line of sight. When you offered it to her with a small smile she snatched the wooden bowl from you and averted her gaze instantly. 

“You shouldn't be here,” she muttered, sinking in her blanket. 

“What?” You couldn't help but ask. 

She rolled her eyes and huffed out an air of annoyance, “you’re going to get yourself killed.” Propping her elbows up to level with you, she eyed you seriously, “you’re not a nen user. We could all sense that back on the gates. Everyone here is a user except for you and that testing gate was nothing compared to what’s going to come. You shouldn't be here, you won’t come out the same if you do.” 

You watched her carefully rest her head on the stick and shut her eyes. Silently you did the same and through the pain and stress of your neck from balancing your head perfectly upright should’ve bothered you, it didn't do as much as her words. Still, you're willing to put yourself through hell, there was no other choice and to back out now would defeat your purpose.

It was close to dawn, and though you were restless all throughout the night you fought the urge to move and stayed perfectly still. Once you woke up however, you saw ten less empty beds. Frowning a bit, you got up to put your bed away and wash yourself before the clock strikes six.

Forty three people now remain and once you have all assembled in the main room before the entrance, the lady from before along with two other butlers arrived. This time she formally introduced herself as Kikyo Zoldyck, the Madame of the house and family. They directed you all towards a large room where a bowl of rice and soup was already prepared for each one.

“You must all complete your breakfast with proper, courtly manners, anything less revolts me. That means you must at all times during the meal to not slouch or make a sound, sit on your heels and eat a grain of rice one at a time.” She ordered acerbically. 

You took a seat to the one nearest to you and waited for their signal for you to eat. Once it was given, you apprehensively picked up your chopsticks and ate a single grain and more or less swallowed as it was so small you could barely taste or chew it. Five minutes have not yet passed when suddenly a girl doubled over, spilling her food everywhere whilst retching into the floor. Everyone turned their heads over to her in horror as they realised what you have all been eating.

Poison.

The smell of bile filled the room as Kikyo fanned her face to waft the air away from her vicinity and gestured to the guards to take her away. The rest of the meal was unfortunate as you struggled to ignore the groans and nausea of the others who fell victim along with the putrid smell around you. Ignoring your innate instinct to reject the food you chose to focus on your mind over matter, no matter what they were going to do to you, it was not nearly as painful as seeing your mother suffer when you could do something about it. 

It was then that your body went on almost pilot mode as you could not recall having any more thoughts or memories of yourself subjected to various torture trials. The days increased into weeks and the number of girls that were here soon dropped like flies. The woman that you spoke to on your first day, she was gone too by the fourth night as you watched the now empty spot beside you as you went to sleep.

Every day was a routine of testing the limits of your strength. Every meal given was always laced with some poison, it has come to a point where you suppressed your urge to vomit so hard each day that now it had sit still in your stomach. 

The same could be made every time you are sent to the electrocution chamber down in the depths of the cold basement where you could spend the whole day being shocked in miscellaneous voltages by the workers who looked like they were enjoying it too much. Or when snow came in, they would strip you bare of your clothes and drench you all in cold water outside. The lashings were always held arbitrarily though, they would only stop until the markings started to show as Kikyo deemed the sight of a scarred back to be ghastly to gaze upon.

Then there were only three, this time however, the task you were assigned was definitely an odd one. Kikyo was known for her admiration of finer things in life such as traditional japanese and eurocentric arts, this task she requires you was to perform an intricate dance. Beauty and gracefulness came later in the part of the competition you guessed. 

Though the level of difficulty was just the same as the previous ones.There was an emphasis on how every movement from the slightest tip of your fingers could immediately expel you if you strayed from the original choreography. For days at night you practiced until your feet would give out or until you heard birds chirping at the sight of the first light of the day. 

When the day finally came to determine your performance you are finally escorted onto the Zoldyck estate, though only one participant must attend at a time and you settled with being the last. So when it was finally your turn, you arrived at a private room where there was a screen that divided you from your spectators. The room itself was beautiful, lit with red candles and carefully carved up wooden walls that tells infinite stories.

You could see before you that Kikyo was not alone this time, there was another sitting patiently beside her. Before you could pry more to try and make out the mysterious figure, Kikyo’s voice reverberated through behind the screen to instruct you to begin. You inhaled a small breath and blinked in shock momentarily. You hadn't noticed before but the floor was absolutely covered in small broken glasses. You knew better than to expect the least by this point.

Clearing your mind as you do with every single trial that you participated in, you stepped forward. You could faintly hear the sounds of small shards of glasses every time you moved as well as feeling the red liquid slowly pooling beneath your feet. Nevertheless, you began without a moment to waste. Twisting at every turn, sliding your feet across the floor while masking your emotions with a stone, cold exterior. Hanging to every last words of her instructions to follow the exact routine. 

You were halfway done with your performance when the other figure suddenly stood up and came closer to the divider. Though you presumed it was quite unusual, you continued on with your dance until the person swiftly cut the screen seemingly with his bare hands to reveal an expressionless, grim man with long midnight hair and as far as you can tell, endless deep eyes.

The strange man that emanated pure darkness stood before you uttered your name in a low breath. “That is your name?” you halted your routine once he had addressed you as you nodded politely in response, looking down out of respect. 

“A daughter of a mere commoner, you run a restaurant with your poor, ailing mother down on an unnamed street. You don’t come from an impressive background or lineage, nor martial training of any skills and your nen has yet to be awakened.” He stated matter of factly. You held your tongue for you feared that you would be the cause of your demise.

He stepped forward towards you, his bare feet coming on contact with the sharp glass and yet no blood came gushing out like yours did. “You know the ones before you, they were the exact opposite. They came in and used their nen skills to protect and form a barrier against their skin and yet you endured even without having basic nen training which I would find quite impossible until this very day.”

“I could sense you are determined, but your heart is set somewhere else,” he came in closer and Kikyo now stood up, her lips pursed disapprovingly. “It is not me that you desire, is it?” The man was impossibly close to you that you found it hard to catch your breath and answer promptly. Judging by the implication of his words, he must be the son of the Zoldyck family.

“No.” You answered truthfully, not knowing whether or not that was the smartest move. He let out a small hum before asking once again, “then why do you do it? Why do you subject yourself to such extreme affliction without any power? Why do you fight so hard just to live another day?” 

“There are those worth fighting for, for every horrible persecution you put me through I will continue to fight.” His demeaning words spark a gust of defiance within you. “And you're wrong, I am equipped with power, something far more greater that no other kind of nen could reach.”

Furrowing his eyes, he looked at you in disbelief, “you're misunderstood, emotions cannot give you strength, they are mere obstacles in life’s objectives. It makes you weak.”

“Emotions aren't weak, they make me stronger, love made me stronger.” Looking into his eyes you saw no trace of empathy within him, you’re not shocked to learn if this man knows no concept of it. “It’s what kept me standing here after all this time.”

He stood still for a quiet minute, silently staring you down with those cold, dead eyes. He raised his arms and for a moment you thought he would strike you down with it and immediately dispose of you for speaking out of turn towards him. Instead, you're startled to find yourself swept off of your feet and held firmly by him, relieving you of your pain while your droplets of blood fell languidly, making a subtle drop against the wooden floor and glass.

“Illumi! What are you doing?” Shrieked Kikyo, holding up her dress to run towards the both of you. 

“The trial ends here,” he responded absentmindedly. “I have found my fiancée.” 

“No! It's only been a month!” She refuted erratically “She is the weakest of the bunch, her luck will run out soon just give it more time! There are far others more deserving with noble titles and background. You are upsetting the order, she cannot take your place beside you, she is far lesser than-” A look from Illumi caused her to clamp her lips shut.

“The sole objective was to find the strongest one to take the place as my wife and strengthen the Zoldyck family, was it not mother?” he asked bluntly. When she didn't respond he continued, this time facing you as he spoke, “I have seen proficient nen-users crumble under the pressures of these tortures, imagine the strength that she possesses once her nen is awakened.” 

“There is no need to look any further then, send the others home.” Illumi finished and began to carry you away from the room and Kikyo who appeared as if she was about to have a meltdown. 

Once the heavy doors were closed behind you, you flinched once you heard her piercing screams that shook the manor as he gave you a small imitation of a smile all throughout the time. 

You did not know whether to let your heart soar as you won the indisputable prize that could set a proper life for you and your mother or shrivel for the future. You could not have imagined in your wildest dreams for the man you’re sent to be wed off to be one that personified death. Just being held by him shook your very core. His aura radiated nothing but darkness, you felt no light in it that you could almost choke from the tension. 

There was no telling that this man would ever show compassion, there was something that tells you days with him would be worse than what you've endured these past few weeks. Setting your gaze forwards you tensed as you looked upon a macabre painting ahead of you, ironically painting your future ahead. 

In sparing your life, you ultimately gave him yours in return, but he and all his family would be a fool if they think they could take your love away.

[angelicyoongie]

desolate (13)

— summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult. — pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x human reader

— genre: angst, fluff, smut — warnings: this chapter has very a brief insinuation of dom/sub dynamics. — word count: 5.7k

— tag list: @mrcleanheichou @ladymidnightt @cheese123344 @xanny91 @dinorahrodriguez @best-space-boy @dulcaet @moccahobi @keijaycreates @staytrillswag @xsmilebitesx @serendipityoreuphoria @jiminot7 @beyond-the-swag @nananaum1 @mult1wh0re @faithsummers11 @twomilkmen-gocomedy @theonewholovestoread @karissassirak @veryuniquenamegoeshere @yourlipssoirresistible @ayoo-bangtan @murderyoursoul @btsxdoll @see3milyblog @gukiyi @mtgforall @narcissism-iskey @sp3ak-yours3lf @cesthoney @imluckybitches @hd-junglebook @sugarrimajins @multifandomgirl29 @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @bangtansleftnut @theresa-nam-nam-me @angeltothecore @ghostkat23 @deathkat657 @awixxx @httpmedxsa @veronawrites @bubbletae7 @serious-addiction @chogiyeol-utopia @nomimits7 @lorielulu7 @1am9root6 @sana-b @diamonddia-mond @jiminiessipabo @myhearttteu @rainbowmagicpixecorn @lidda @rosiethefairy @lovinggalaxies @midnight1199 @trinityautumn @linniewritesficz @fearhoshi @ess-place @juniesoftbot @kingalls00 @toribug2020 @daydreambrliever @moonlight-mochi @sleepyje0n @yoonie-bby @alltimeyoongi @honestlyfuriousharmony @itsoktheresbts @suzziequeuie @miss–insanity @illnevertrustmyselfagain @annoyingpessimist @lovelikeyouwant @originalpersonawobblerduck @cigarettes-after-tears @kookie-vuitton @thefangirlsoul @lmna990 @luvshorses08 @nanananisstuff @marvelstuck @kissmeimwitchy @crazyxforxmyself @hxsxxk-180294 @ratking101 @brittaney341 @shameless-army @yuukihime2097 @adoorinyourheart @heimdoodle @toripeix @horanghae18 @redperson58 @awsome-small-k @salomea27 @johnnystolemywig @mihto @jisoosbitch @lyrxbz @forever-once-gone @sugalarity @out-of-jams @ithinkileftmycoatoutside @witchxlove @chocoflagcutii @alyboo-jpeg @ladyartemesia @tatiiz24 @boinko-boye @kaceyxmarie74 @fuckthatfeeling @makepastanotwar13 @airiguk @justliketheoceann @strawbewymiwk @skswriting @kofikats @mhmbrigitta @forever-yoongis @prybts @phatbussyincorporated @itsmethepancake @alterlovess @boredoomfm @furblrwurblr @moments-of-melancholy @barbikatherine @crookedstarlitnight @moonlightjoonx @ibsenova-nora @aphroditis-world @ramaali1 @inhalebts @gguksfilter @kerikaaria @paradise-writings @yoongisabby @childcorrectionfacility-school @eriiiichan @baka-chanismyname​ @sugaesthetichoe​ @junasaurusrex​ @fluffreader @justzeera​ @swoozleee​ @heimdoodle @rainbow-zebra-unicorns​ @btstxtgenre​

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part nine Part ten (M) Part eleven Part twelve Part fourteen (M)

Simply put, you’re restless. No matter how hard you try to distract yourself, it just doesn’t seem to work. There’s always a part of you that circles back to what you’re trying to forget. It’s annoying – it’s infuriating – that even your own mind won’t let you catch break. But then again, it’s hard to forget someone who doesn’t let you do it. You aren’t sure what you exactly expected to happen after the lawsuit ended, but you sure as hell didn’t expect Yoongi to become a minor celebrity overnight.

You didn’t realize until after the trial just how much social media had been all over the cases that had been reported on, and since Mr. Park’s was the first one to go to court, the focus on it had been intense. While you used to spend your fair share of time online before, you just couldn’t find the time after you brought Yoongi home. You didn’t really have a need for it either, not when spending time with Yoongi sounded much more tempting than mindlessly scrolling down a page for hours.

But apparently, Yoongi had become a hot topic after he both testified against his mother’s murderer, and got his ownership nullified in just the span of a few hours. Ownership nullification is rare in itself, so combining those two together in one case was bound to become the talk of the town. Or more precisely - the whole country.

Mr. Yang had kindly told you to go home after the trial ended; that waiting for Yoongi at the courthouse would take too long. You had protested of course, saying that you didn’t mind it, but Mr. Yang seemed adamant that it would be the best thing to do. And so, reluctantly, you had gone home. You knew Yoongi was in capable hands, that your co-worker would help him sort through all the documents he needed to deal with and that he would bring him back home afterwards. Except .. that never happened.

You were practically hovering by your phone all day after you returned home just to make sure you knew when Yoongi would be coming home. It wasn’t until late in the evening that Mr. Yang had called you to say that the process was a little more complicated than they had first thought, and that Yoongi would need to get a lawyer of his own to make sure the nullification process went smoothly. And so, since it would take a few days and Mr. Yang’s organization had volunteered to help out, Yoongi would be staying with him until everything was finalized. You could tell it wasn’t up for debate when Mr. Yang told you – it was obvious that it was Yoongi’s decision.

So you agreed – of course. But it didn’t make it any easier. You had been desperately hoping that you could finally talk with Yoongi now that the trial was over, but for each day that passed, it just made you more and more anxious. Maybe Yoongi doesn’t want to see you again, maybe that’s why he’s not coming home, seemed to play on a loop inside your head. You had brushed it off at first, but the thought began to take up more space the longer the distance between you two went on.

Mr. Yang did keep you updated on the progress though, and you’re not ashamed to admit that you started tearing up the moment you got the message that told you that Yoongi was officially ownerless again. Even if he wasn’t a free hybrid just yet, it was a step in the right direction.

But, Yoongi still didn’t return home. It was after the nullification was official that he was contacted for interviews, and as Mr. Yang had told you, “This is an important step for people to understand that hybrids aren’t just their personal playthings. Seeing Yoongi represent himself on TV will be a huge step in the right direction.”

And it was. Because one interview turned into five, and those five turned into ten. And maybe you’ve watched every single one of them, and maybe your heart ached a little more every time you saw Yoongi’s face on the screen in front of you – so familiar, yet suddenly so untouchable. You had a small epiphany during the third interview you watched. There had been something you couldn’t put your finger on, but the realization came once the interviewer said something that made Yoongi’s gummy smile appear; something you only had seen a handful of times yourself.

Yoongi was happy.

He carried himself better, the slouch in his shoulders almost gone. The fur on his tail was shinier, and there was a sparkle in his eyes that had threatened to knock the breath out of your chest whenever he turned to look at the camera. You hadn’t seen Yoongi in a week, and he already looked so much lighter, better. You could tell a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. You were so happy for him. So, so happy. But as you laid awake at night, you couldn’t help but wonder .. what if you one of the things that had been weighing him down?

You collapse onto the couch with a groan, letting your eyes fall shut for just a moment as you take in the silence in your apartment. The quietness was something you used to look forward to after a long day of work, a small break from the hustle and bustle of working in an open landscape office. But now, the silence almost feels eerily quiet. Like all the noise has just been sucked out and you’re left with nothing.

You reach out a hand to search for the blanket you know you’ve thrown somewhere over the backrest, a pleased sound leaving your lips as your fingertips wrap around the soft material. You waste no time it wrapping yourself up, the extra warmth more than welcome in your chilly apartment. You snuggle down further into your hoodie, breathing in the calming scent of your detergent. You can pretend all you want that it’s just the scent of vanilla and flowers that relaxes you, but you know deep down that it’s more than that. It’s Yoongi’s hoodie. Well, technically it is yours, but he more or less stole it away from you, and it’s not like you minded it too much. It looked better on him anyway. Yoongi packed up most of his clothes when he left to stay with Mr. Yang, and maybe it’s silly – a little sad – but it makes you feel close to him. His scent is long gone, washed away weeks ago, but it still reminds you so much off him that it doesn’t matter. It’s still comforting.

You pick up the nearby remote; turning on the TV to make sure you won’t miss anything of Yoongi’s latest interview. The program begins at six, so you’re left to mindlessly watch the abundance of commercials that plays out before it starts. Your eyes snap to attention as the intro for the program begins, your feet tapping nervously against the side rest of the couch as the host appears.

You can’t help but feel anxious for Yoongi, always a little scared that he’ll get put in a situation that will make him uncomfortable. But the cat hybrid didn’t even bat an eye at the questions that made you scoff or feel annoyed, the small smile on face never leaving his lips despite the interviewers being too invasive. So, maybe you’re worried for nothing – but you still can’t help it.

You suck in a small breath as the camera finally pans to Yoongi, the remote clutched tightly to your chest. His dark tail glistens under the studio lights, and his pale complexion has a healthy glow to it, cheeks faintly flushed with pink. He grins at the host as she introduces him, the dark green turtleneck bringing out the golden hue in his eyes. The host doesn’t exactly ask any groundbreaking questions, most of them you’ve already heard before in the other interviews Yoongi has done. There’s always a lot of ‘How do you feel?’ and ‘What will you do moving forward?’ and perhaps the best one yet, ‘What’s your grooming routine?’

They’re mostly shallow questions, and you have a feeling that the networks are more interested in having a hybrid on their show to spruce up their ratings, rather than actually advocate for any hybrid rights. But if it can at least make one more person understand that hybrid’s are as human as the rest of the population, then you suppose it’s worth it. You have a feeling that’s why Yoongi is keeping up with it too.

The next question the host asks is cut off as the screen starts stuttering, the image flickering on and off. You sit up on the couch, impatiently tapping your remote against your hand to see if that will somehow fix it. You try to switch back and fourth between channels, the screen finally going back to normal.

This isn’t the first time your TV is working against you, the thick screen severely out-dated and barely hanging on after years of use. But you refuse to switch it out until you absolutely have to – one because you’re not one for throwing away things while they still work, and two, you don’t have the money for it. You settle back against the couch as the host lets out an airy giggle, the sound making your stomach twist uncomfortably. You watch as she shifts forward in her seat, her dainty fingers touching Yoongi’s arm.

“Yoongi. Our viewers –“ Your screen goes black.

You scramble out of your blanket, kicking it away as you close the distance between the couch and the TV. You smack your hand against the side of the screen, cursing under your breath as it only begins to flicker with static. You need to hear that question. You could see it in the look the host gave him, that she was going to say something that hadn’t been asked before.

The pressure builds in your chest the longer the TV doesn’t cooperate, the force behind your hits growing stronger for each one. It can’t have been out for more than five seconds, but it’s five seconds too long. Please, please, please.You stumble back a step as the image flickers back in, the colours a little distorted but the sound working just fine. “–are you a taken hybrid?”

Yoongi’s smile falters, and then, “No.” He shakes his head, the corners of his mouth pinched, but the host doesn’t seem to notice.

“Oh? Such a handsome hybrid as yourself?” She laughs. You can feel something bubbling up your throat, your hands trembling as you retreat another step. She places her hand back on Yoongi’s arm; manicured fingers giving the fabric of his sweater a teasing tug.

“Well, do let me know if you want someone to fill that role.”

Yoongi’s ears twitch, looking like they might twist back at her words, but they don’t. And then the tightness in Yoongi’s face disappears, his eyes glittering as he grins back at the host, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You inhale sharply, the rush of air forcing itself into your lungs making you choke as you slowly sink to the floor. The little thread of hope you were clutching on to seems to float away right before your eyes, a strangled noise leaving your lips as you watch Yoongi’s smiling face on the screen. Yoongi isn’t coming back. Why should he? You were nothing more than a glorified roommate, and after what you told him, you can’t blame him for not wanting to see you again.

A sob rips its way out of your throat, your heart feeling like it splits clean in two as the realization dawns on you. Yoongi has already let you go, so maybe it’s time that you do the same. You fumble around for your phone in your pocket; quickly pulling up your recent calls and dialling the only person that will know how to help you. You keep watching the TV screen until it grows too blurry, your tears burning against your skin as they start carving out paths down your cheeks.

The moment the call connects, you sob out a pitiful, “Jihyo? Can you please come over?”

.

“It’ll be okay,” Jihyo’s arms is wrapped tightly around your middle as she holds you close. Sana is snuggled up against your back, her careful fingers smoothing down your hair as you cry into Jihyo’s shoulder. You’re exhausted; the kind only crying for an hour straight can make you. You had blubbered out everything to Jihyo and Sana the moment they stepped inside your apartment, all the hurt and insecurities you had been bottling up for the last weeks spilling out like a waterfall.

You told them about the silence and the distance between you and Yoongi, how you had barely spoken to him even a week before the trial. And maybe the worst thing to admit, the words that you barely manage to squeeze out between your lips - is how much you like him. And how much it hurts that Yoongi doesn’t feel the same way.

Sana had let out an angry squeak at your words, her hands cupping your face as she sternly told you that it wasn’t true. That Yoongi would’ve never chosen you as a rut partner if he didn’t like you. And maybe that hurt even more, that he had liked you, your already broken heart fissuring and splintering into tiny pieces.

“Maybe he liked me then, but that was b-before he knew,” You sniffled, and Sana let out a whine in protest as she rubbed her face along your shoulders, desperate to calm you down. While scenting didn’t work for you, you still appreciated the sentiment all the same, a watery smile tugging on you lips as Sana muttered, “It doesn’t change that easily,” against you skin.

You’ve never been more thankful for your friends than you are right now. There’s still an ache in your chest you know will take a long time to heal, but having Jihyo and Sana wrapped around you makes the idea of facing it a little easier. You finally pull away once your breathing has evened out, your skin under your eyes swollen and tender.

“I’ll get us something to drink,” You wince at the hoarseness in your voice, ruffling your hand through Sana’s hair as you get up. The dog hybrid’s ears finally perk up as you give her a soft smile, the sad frown on her face melting into a blinding grin at how you seem to be feeling a little better.

You squeeze Jihyo’s shoulder as you shuffle past her on the couch, almost feeling a little unsteady on your feet from how much you’ve cried. Once you make it into the kitchen you pull out a few drinks from your fridge, always keeping a couple of bottles of Sana and Jihyo’s favourites in the back in case they come by. You ignore the growing stack of bills you pass by on your kitchen counter, pushing down the wave of helplessness that threatens to wash over you.

You’re already falling behind on your payments, and you have a sinking feeling that you might not be able to keep your job for much longer. By testifying in court you had put a target on your head, and you know your boss is more than ready to pull the trigger. He’s probably aware that you know about his corruption, and you’ve seen the nasty looks he’s been giving you over the last week. You don’t doubt he’ll be able to find something legal to fire you over, making it so that you can’t even complain about being wrongfully let go.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts before you can have another breakdown, grounding yourself in the chilled drinks pressed against your skin as you make your way back into the living room.

.

You sink back down on the couch after Jihyo and Sana leave, your dark apartment illuminated faintly by the moonlight that reaches your windows. Your back will probably kill you tomorrow, but you just can’t spend another night alone in your bed. It had always felt like just the right size before, but after sharing it with Yoongi for so long, it now just feels too big and cold. Empty.

You wrap yourself up in the same blanket as before, the emotional exhaustion of the day finally hitting you with full force as you try to make yourself comfortable. But despite it all, you still can’t fall asleep. While your body might feel tired, your mind is still working overtime, running through all the possible scenarios and thoughts it can get its hands on. You huff, pulling the blanket up even higher until it covers your nose. The living room really is too cold, but your limbs feel to heavy to attempt to move and do something about it. Just as you feel yourself begin to slip, your mind finally quieting down – your front door unlocks.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing whomever it is to go away. God, why do you have to get robbed today of all days? You hear the door open and shut, the lock being twisted back into place. You grip the edges of the blanket tighter, hoping the intruder won’t be able to make out your form in the darkness. Your blood is rushing so loudly in your ears you can hardly make anything out, but then it feels like your body screeches to a halt the moment you hear something jiggle, the unmistakable sound of keys being dropped on the little shelf you have in your hallway. There’s only person you know off beside yourself who has a key to the apartment. Yoongi.

The familiar sound of Yoongi’s soft footsteps makes your eyes burn, the longing you thought you had managed to cry out earlier coming back tenfold as he moves closer. He pauses when he reaches the couch, your mind going blank as something plush and soft touches your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers, the soft exhale brushing over your skin before he pulls back. The words feel like lead in your stomach, the burning in your eyes almost unbearable as you keep them squeezed shut. The back of Yoongi’s hand trails gently down the side of your face once before it’s gone, and you listen as he makes his way into your bedroom, the door quietly clicking shut behind him.

You quickly press your hand against your mouth, muffling the sound of your cries. He must’ve come back to get the rest of his things. Why would he else get back to your apartment so late, and not wake you up? You use the sleeve of Yoongi’s hoodie to wipe away the tears from your face, not wanting him to know you’re awake when he leaves. If he wants to disappear into the night and not tell you, then fine. You’ll let him. You suppose it’s the least you can do.

You force your breathing to even out, trying you best to think of everything except for the hybrid in the next room. The spot Yoongi kissed on your forehead still tingles, and you can practically feel the ghost of his touch still trailing down your skin. You don’t want to be awake when he leaves. You know there’s no way you can go to sleep once you know he’s officially gone. If you fall asleep while he’s still here, well, maybe you can at least let yourself pretend one last time.

You can hear Yoongi quietly moving around in your bedroom, the mellow background noise and the knowledge that you aren’t alone proving to be just what you need to drift off to sleep.

.

You let out a confused grumble as you feel something heavy shift on your chest. The weight isn’t exactly uncomfortable, it’s just .. not something that’s supposed to be there. It must still in the middle of the night if the pitch darkness behind your eyelids is anything to go by, and the thing on top of your chest feels warm even through the blanket covering your body. Your eyes are almost glued shut from how swollen they are, and so it takes more effort than you would like to admit to get them to open up. You pry them open, slowly blinking up at the ceiling at few times to get them to focus in the darkness. You slowly tilt your head downwards, not sure what to think but definitely not expecting to find two golden eyes to be staring straight back at you.

You blink. The eyes blink back.

And then you scream.

You honestly shock yourself awake at your own volume, the creature letting out a loud hiss before something sharp swipes across your cheek. The sting makes the sound die in your throat, a strangled hiccup leaving your lips as you see the golden eyes widen in the darkness. The creature scrambles off your lap, claws skidding against the floor as it disappears into your bedroom. Hardly even a second passes before you hear a loud thud, and you twist your neck just in time to see Yoongi running out of your room – a sweater tugged halfway down his torso and a pair of sweatpants barely hanging on to his hips.

“Y/n, shit–“ Yoongi curses as he crashes into the coffee table, the sound making you wince even in your groggy state. He sinks down to his knees by the couch, fingers shaking as he reaches out to touch your cheek. Your mind feels like static, unable to comprehend what’s going on. Why is Yoongi still here? Why hasn’t he left– “Ouch,” You flinch as Yoongi’s fingers brush across the tender skin on your face. With your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you can see how Yoongi’s ears fall flat against his head as you pull away, his expression crumbling.

“I’m so sorry kitten, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Yoongi’s posture slouches, his hand dropping back into his lap as he hangs his head. You run your fingers gingerly along the scratch on your cheek, wincing as it burns under your touch. You take a moment to watch the top of the cat hybrid’s head, trying to commit to memory how soft the fur on his ears look and how they seem to almost glow in the soft moonlight.

“It’s fine, I just .. why are you still here Yoongi?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You shift around on the couch until you’re leaning against the backrest, facing the hybrid in front of you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to at least do it properly.

Yoongi raises his head to look up at you, dark eyebrows pulled tight in confusion as his gaze roams over your face, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, hands digging nervously into the blanket around your waist. God, does he really need you to spell it out for him? You never pegged him for being so mean.

“I haven’t seen you in weeks, Yoongi. The only updates I got were from Mr. Yang and that’s only because I asked for them,” You huff, some of the annoyance and concern you had buried bubbling back up to the surface. Yoongi seems to shrink in on himself slightly, a look of remorse flashing across his face.

“And I watched the interview – you said you weren’t a taken hybrid,” You pause, gathering up whatever little courage you have left before you let the words spill out of your mouth. “I know I was only helping you with your rut, that we never agreed on anything more than that, but still I thought that .. I thought that maybe you liked me too,” Yoongi’s tail does a quick flick behind his back, his dark eyes staring back at your silently, prompting you to continue.

You let out a shaky breath, forcing out a tight smile across you lips. “But I was wrong, and I can see that now. It was my mistake for thinking that you would want to stay; I know Mr. Yang has provided you with other places to live – better places. You’re free to leave Yoongi.” Free to be with someone you want to be with.

“Leave?” Yoongi looks like he’s bitten into something sour as he echoes you word back at you, “I know I can leave whenever I want to, but I don’t. Is this your way of telling me you’re kicking me out?”

“What? No!” You sputter.

“Then stop telling me to leave,” Yoongi says, his chest rumbling with displeasure.

“But–“ Yoongi cuts you off with a shake to his head.

“No. I don’t know what you think you heard, but it’s wrong,” He grumbles. Yoongi snatches your phone up from the coffee table; the screen illuminating the hard set of his mouth as he quickly types something out. The host’s voice fills the room before it begins to cut in and out, Yoongi skipping through the interview until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here,” He wraps your hand around your phone, fingers tightly closed around yours as he presses play on the screen. You squint against the light, watching with weary eyes as the host leans forward to touch his arm.

“Yoongi. Our viewers have been sending in questions, and what most people seem to be wondering about is what you’re going to do now that your previous ownership was nullified. They want to know whether you’ve found a new owner yet,” You suck in a surprised breath, dread filling your stomach as you watch her pouty lips curve around the next words, “So, are you a taken hybrid?”

Heat starts creeping up your neck, embarrassment blooming in your cheeks as you realize just how wrong you were. Fuck. Yoongi taps the screen to pause the video, his slender fingers removing the phone from your grasp.

“I’m not leaving and I don’t have a new owner yet,” Yoongi states, his hands finding yours again.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come back home kitten,” Yoongi’s voice softens, “I needed some time to think, and I wanted to make sure that everything was in order before I did.”

“I never blamed you for what you told me Y/n, it was just a lot to process with everything else going on.” Something soft brushes against your wrist, Yoongi’s tail gently coaxing you to look up and meet his gaze, “You were a child, there wasn’t anything you could’ve done – if anything, I think I should be thanking you.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, why would you ever thank me for that?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, a frown settling on your face as you try to shake off Yoongi’s hands, but he doesn’t let you. He just tugs them closer to his body instead.

“Because at least someone cared enough about my mom to put her to rest. You cared,” Yoongi gives you a soft smile, his thumbs creating random patterns over your knuckles, “It’s fine if you don’t accept that right now, but I need you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened, and neither should you.”

A sense of relief washes over you at Yoongi’s words. Knowing that he doesn’t hate you, or blame you, for the actions you did or didn’t do, take what feels like a heavy weight off your shoulders.

“I– Okay,” You murmur. Even though you still feel guilty and not quite ready to accept it just yet, it’s still a comforting thing to know.

“Good,” Yoongi nods. “And the nullification took a little longer than expected, there wasn’t exactly anything that was done the right way in the original adoption,” He grimaces. “But now that I’m officially ownerless, we can finally do this right.” Yoongi releases your hands long enough to run and grab a stack of papers from your bedroom, flickering on a nearby light on his way back before he settles down next to you on the couch.

He hands you the documents silently, and you feel you eyes grow wide as you see the bold large font saying ‘Adoption request’ at the top of it. “Yoongi–“ You breathe, confusion colouring your expression as you turn to look at him uncertainly.

“I want you to,” Yoongi interjects, his dark eyes open and honest as he meets your gaze. You shake your head softly, biting down on your lip as you scan through the form. This one seems legit, pretty similar to the one Jihyo filled out when she adopted Sana.

“But you finally have the chance to be a free hybrid Yoongi, I don’t think this is right.”

“Y/n,” Yoongi sighs. “I don’t want to be one. Sure, you get rights you didn’t have before, but at what cost? The law might say you’re supposed to be a full citizen but you’re not. You think Ki-woo would still feel the need to shed his tail if the society we live in were fair to hybrids?”

Your hesitance answers for itself. “Wait – You talked with Ki-woo?” You can’t help but ask.

“Of course. Ki-woo might be a free hybrid but he still depends on Mr. Yang for most things. We talked about it a lot, and I don’t want it. Another year of courtrooms isn’t exactly tempting after these last few weeks,” Yoongi’s ear twitch, his tail doing an annoyed flick against his thigh.

“I’m not going to force you to adopt me if you don’t want to kitten, I know you never wanted a hybrid in the first place. I just want to stay here, with you.” The sincerity in his voice makes something in your stomach flutter, a certain kind of nervous excitement you haven’t felt in years. “Of course, but I’ll .. own you Yoongi. You do realize that, right?” You grimace.

Yoongi snorts, his eyes sparkling dangerously in the low light as he tilts his head to look at you.

“And? If you’re worried about power imbalance, then don’t be,” He reaches out to slowly trail a finger down your arm, an amused smile appearing on his lips as you barely manage to suppress a shudder from his touch.

“We both know who the dominant person in this relationship is kitten, and it’s not you. You have nothing to worry about.” He grins at the half-hearted glare you give him, gummy smile at full display.

The sight makes your whole body feel pleasantly warm – the chill that you’ve been feeling in your bones for the last weeks finally chased out. But one word stands out, one that your heart desperately tries to cling to.

“Relationship?” You ask.

“Yeah. I think we did this a bit backwards kitten, but spending your rut with someone isn’t something you do lightly. There has to be a certain level of trust and attraction for a hybrid to even consider someone to be their rut partner,” Yoongi explains.

“I know it happened a little fast and that we didn’t have a chance to talk about it afterwards, but, I would like to be yours if you’ll have me Y/n. I really like you.” Your breath hitches at Yoongi’s confession, your body singing with excitement over the fact that Yoongi feels the same as you do.

You take the chance to shuffle closer, your knees knocking into Yoongi’s. Gentle hands immediately cup your face, careful to avoid the scratch on your cheek. Yoongi slowly closes the gap between you, his lips brushing so softly against yours. The gentle touch is enough to make your heart feel like it’s going to fly out of your chest. “I really like you too,” You smile against his lips, your grin widening as Yoongi hurriedly starts pressing quick pecks against any skin that isn’t covered by his hands.

“Good. It would’ve been awkward if you had changed your mind in the last ten minutes,” Yoongi huffs playfully. You let out a low snort as you pull back, grabbing one of Yoongi’s hands to intertwine your fingers. You can’t help but marvel at how perfectly you seem to fit together.  

You glance at the papers in your lap, the prospect of actually adopting Yoongi legally as a hybrid and not a cat a little more daunting than you would like to admit. You give his hand a soft squeeze, his soft tail once again finding its way to your wrist. “Can you give me some time to think about it?” “Of course kitten. Take all the time you need.”

.

The couch isn’t that comfortable, and it definitely wasn’t made for two to sleep on, but cuddled up to Yoongi’s chest, his steady heartbeat underneath your ear and his arms wrapped around your waist, you think you’ll be willing to deal with a sore back for the rest of your life as long as you can continue to have this. You press your face deeper into the fabric of his sweater, drinking in the familiar scent.

You’ve almost drifted off to sleep when Yoongi lets out an annoyed hiss, a startled squeak escaping your mouth as your suddenly flipped around. Yoongi scrunches his nose as he hovers over you, a look of disgust flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry kitten, I’ve been trying to ignore it, but you absolutely reek of dog.”

The image of Sana rubbing her face along your neck earlier pops into your head, and you can’t help but giggle, Yoongi’s eyes narrowing at the teasing sound.

You open your arms wide, tilting your head to the side as you bare your neck, presenting the spot you know Sana was snuggled up against earlier.

“Do what you need to do,” The words have barely even left your mouth before Yoongi collapses against you with a grumble – and only a few seconds pass by before you start to feel soft vibrations against your chest, Yoongi purring happily as he finally gets to cover Sana’s scent with his own.

Yeah, you think you might even be able to move mountains as long as you can stay like this forever.

- - - - Only one chapter left to go! I know a lot of you wanted Yoongi to become a free hybrid, but Yoongi’s decision will be discussed even more in the next chapter, so don’t hate me too much just yet lol! And ah yes finally, the dorks are coming back together :)

PS. Something fun will be announced on August 1st, so remember to check back then!

As always, I hope you’re all well and my inbox is always open if you want to chat about the story or just fics or life in general! See you all soon! In case you maybe enjoy my stories and want to buy me a coffee, you can do so here! 💖

[goggles-mcgee]

Too Late: Nadja & Alec (Commission for miner249er)

Second chapter of @miner249er ‘s commission!

Chapter Summary: The TVi News Special with hosts Nadja Chamack and Alec Cataldi

Previous Work

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“Don’t be bemused, it's just the news! I’m Nadja Chamack and I am joined today with Alec Cataldi. Today’s hour special brought to you by this studio is ‘The Protector Really Paris’s Protector?’ This has been a hot debate amongst blogs, forums, and many more platforms. We bring you not only the public opinion but never before seen footage of the Protector.” Nadja gave her standard intro and she tried to put as much energy in it as she could but as soon as the words left her mouth she felt sick. If the words had tastes they would have been ash. She knew her studio wasn’t the best, her akumatization was a shining example of that, but her studio teaming up with Alec Cataldi? That was bad news waiting to happen. They sprung this whole ‘special’ on her only hours before so Nadja hadn’t even been able to warn Sabine and Tom about it. 

Ever since she was a little girl Nadja knew she wanted to be on TV. At first she thought she wanted to be an actor, she never thought she would become a reporter but when she did she fell in love with it. Following a story and being the one to let everyone know about it, it was a rush she sought for years. Then she had Manon, she still chased stories but she liked to think she had toned down the recklessness people told her she had before, but then Ladybug and Chat Noir showed up and her bosses demanded more of her. More shots of their fights, more close-ups of akumas, interviews with akumas, interviews with the victims, interviews with the heroes, the workload just got steeper and steeper. Of course Nadja was grateful for her city’s heroes, more than anything, Hawkmoth wasn’t just some silly villain like many thought, like her studio thought, he was a terrorist plain and simple and he had covered Paris in a blanket of fear.

Then one day he was gone, along with his accomplice Mayura, but with them was the disappearance of a girl that Nadja cared for deeply. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she had met the girl when she was a tiny little thing, a little younger than Manon when Nadja had first visited Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie Patisserie. Nadja had been just starting out at her studio at that time and she had just gotten through her first broadcast so she thought why not buy herself a little reward? A producer at the studio had actually been the one to suggest Tom & Sabine’s, she had been raving about their cakes and tarts so Nadja decided to see if they really were worth all the hype. No surprise here that they really were. What really made that day memorable besides the tasty treats was the little girl who came up to her and held out a hand to her shyly, she had never been great with kids but she did the only thing she could think of and put her hand out.

That was when she had gotten her first ‘Marinette Original’ as her parents had taken to calling her creations. It was a little hair clip with a bow on it, the bow was clearly taped onto the clip but it was precious all the same. She fondly remembered Sabine lightheartedly scolding her daughter for just making someone take something from her instead of asking if they wanted it but it was obvious the little girl didn’t fully understand. Nadja had laughed and laughed and had thanked the girl, she still had that clip, but now she had to keep it in a safe due to thieves who called themselves “modest collectors.” It pained her to see people forget the name Marinette Dupain-Cheng and only remember her as Paris’s last akuma, the Protector. It was hard enough trying to explain to Manon why mommy had to talk about Marinette on the news so much, it was harder to lie to her about when or if Marinette would come back. 

Manon had taken to writing letters for Marinette to ask her to come back because she missed her. Nadja had to call into work that day, in the early hours of the morning, Manon had awoken from a nightmare and had been crying. Nadja had gone into her daughter’s room to console her when Manon caught her off guard by asking if the reason Marinette wasn’t coming back was because Manon had been bad the last time Marinette had babysat her. It had taken a long time to convince Manon that that wasn’t the case, and when Nadja got a moment alone she let herself cry and pray to anyone listening to bring Marinette back home to them. 

“What do you think Nadja?” Alec’s voice ripped Nadja from her memories abruptly. 

“Well-,” She started keeping her face calm though inside she was stressing, she hadn’t been paying attention to what Alec had been discussing.

“If you ask me those kids are as bad as Hawkmoth was! The talk about what happened in that classroom is all the evidence I need.” Oh so he was talking about Marinette’s classroom, or as they have been dubbed, The Akuma Class.

“That’s not evidence Alec, and you should know since you host one of the most watched shows on television, Alternative Truth.”

“That’s right Nadja! Where everything isn’t always true, but nothing is really false! But really, what is your opinion on the akuma class being the reason behind the akuma The Protector?” Alec asked as he turned to face Nadja, though not fully so the cameras would still get a good shot of him. “Many have said they were at school that day and the Protector was there to speak her truth!”

“I...I know I don’t speak for every akumatized person out there Alec, but I do know someone can be akumatized for anything. If the rumors of what went on in that class, in that school are true, then it’s no wonder Mlle Dupain-Cheng was akumatized. I don’t know if anyone would have been able to withstand that treatment.” That was the answer she settled on, she didn’t want to feed any fires and she certainly didn’t want her studio to know she knew what happened in the classroom since Sabine told her everything. Nadja swore she would do her best to keep it off-air, this was her best she reasoned to herself even if she didn’t believe it. 

“Too true Nadja! I mean we’ve all seen how many times M Pidgeon got akumatized, or even Gigantitan. A literal baby. One has to wonder how sane Hawkmoth really was, which leads me to a juicy rumor! That our own resident hermit fashion designer Gabriel Agreste was the one and only Hawkmoth.” Alec announced with his usual flair and Nadja, not for the first time by any means, had to wonder how he didn’t get sued, or if he did how he never was scared of the possibility. 

“That is quite the rumor Alec. Is there any legs for it to stand on?” She asked per her vague instructions given by the studio's director. 

“Glad you asked Nadja! We have a video of The Protector going into the Agreste Mansion and after a period of time, leaving. Now we don’t know what happened inside but hours later we had you and your team there at the mansion along with other news stations when M Agreste and his assistant Mlle Nathalie Sancoeur were brought out of the mansion on stretchers. Then not long after, in your words,’ a dazed Mme Agreste was spotted coming out of the house.’ That was after the police search!” Nadja had to hand it to Alec, he sure knew how to run his mouth. 

“I do remember that day. But how is that connected to Hawkmoth?” Now she was genuinely curious about what he was insinuating.

“Think about it Nadja, why would the Protector, an akuma who proclaimed to protect the innocent, go into the Agreste Mansion. Then later it is found that M Agreste and his assistant just so happened to be “attacked.” From the footage we have of the two on stretchers, they were in bad shape and the only one who visited them was the Protector! After that we haven’t heard from Hawkmoth or Mayura. Plus the Protector promised she would get rid of Hawkmoth for the people of Paris.”

“So you don’t believe it was just a random attack that happened at the same time that an akuma was loose in Paris?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that there are a lot of big coincidences. And I’m not saying definitively that Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth, but the rumors do make a compelling case! He had the time to himself to akumatize anyone he pleased, he had a partner, if we are inferring that Mlle Sancoeur was Mayura, and he had a motive. But again this is all speculation.”

“Speculation. Right.” Nadja could feel a familiar sense of dread in her stomach, in her chest, in her throat as she got ready to segway into her part of the special. Her and Alec would continue to go back and forth on their subjects but Nadja had been wary since they started. “Speaking of possible secret identities, recent evidence has shown us that...that may just confirm the popular rumor and theory that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, The Protector, was actually our one and only Ladybug.”

Nadja hadn’t wanted to believe it, that Marinette was Ladybug, not because she couldn’t see the girl as their hero, but because it made too much sense and that scared her. It scared her because it meant they had all placed their lives in the hands of a teenager, they had placed a responsibility that only adults should have to handle, on a child. They took a normal childhood away from her, or as normal as it could be with a villain who preyed upon emotions but the point still stood. It was weird, before Marinette had disappeared, if Nadja had seen a picture of her and Ladybug next to each other she would have said they were obviously different people, but now it was like a slap to the face because of how obviously Marinette was Ladybug and vice versa. 

“Now, I know that it is a lot to process,” I’m still processing it, “but let’s go over the evidence and as promised viewers video footage of The Protector in action. This footage was donated to us by an anonymous source who had happened upon The Protector out in the open when she was akumatized. I want to warn everybody, the footage may be shocking to some viewers. Roll the clip please.” Nadja felt like the words shot out of her mouth before she could even think about them but she knew she was supposed to say them so why did they leave such a foul taste in her mouth? She couldn’t even force herself to watch the video a second time, her and Alec had to review every video or post they were going to show on the broadcast and she had barely kept it together then. Now? She felt like she was being held together by cheap scotch tape. 

Even if she wasn’t watching the video she could still hear Marinette’s cries, her sobs, she lost the fight as she had a tear fall. She did her best to be discrete as she brought her handkerchief up to blot the tear away but that was a mistake. There on the edge of the handkerchief was Marinette’s signature, she forgot that she had been given it when Manon was born. It was a present from Marinette, the girl had joked it would be a help for all the tears she was crying because she had actually given birth and actually made a tiny human being. The same tiny human being who was distraught that not only was her favorite babysitter gone but Ladybug who she adored. That only caused more tears.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding Nadja...Nadja are you okay?” Alec asked, it was actually the first time she had ever heard or seen him care about anyone else other than himself and she didn’t even know if it was genuine or just for the cameras but it still got to her.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She stammered as she wiped her tears before giving the camera a practiced smile. “Now before we discuss everything in that video I will say we do have many more to share so stay tuned Paris!”

As soon as she was given the sign that they were on commercial Nadja couldn’t hold it in anymore, she let herself cry. She had tried to be so strong for Manon, for Sabine and Tom, but it was too much. She was vaguely aware of someone talking to her and pressing a box of tissues into her hands but what snapped her out was her boss’s voice. “Snap out of it Mlle Chamack we have a show to do.”

“Snap out of it?” She asked hollowly, out of her peripheral vision she could see Alec glancing between her and her boss before wiping his hands on his legs and pulling out his phone. “You sprung this on me. You knew I had connections to Marinette and her parents. That’s her name you know? Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She’s not just another akuma, hell she’s not Paris’s last akuma like you have named her! She is a teenager, a little girl! A little girl with a mother and a father who are probably sitting at home watching this wondering why their baby has to be seen like this!”

“The Protector is a public figure, Nadja.” Her boss lamely responded back.

“And what? That makes it right? I have worked here for a long time, I had been pressured to work harder, get the stories, get the results and I did. Never have I felt such shame. I love my job but you make me hate it. She’s a child for crying out loud! Do you not realize that? Ladybug was a child! And all you’re worried about is the story!” Nadja knew she must have sounded hysterical but it was so hard to reign in her emotions once she got started. She knew it wasn’t a rare occurrence nowadays but she hated feeling out of control. “She babysat my daughter, my daughter has been asking me everyday when Marinette, when Ladybug, will come back and I don’t have an answer. But she thinks I do because of how much I report on everything!”

“Nadja...I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” her boss began.

“No you didn’t. And you haven’t. But for once in your life think now. I can’t get through this the way you want me to. I know her, I know her parents and this is probably breaking them. So if you want me to continue reporting, let me do it my way. Or I swear I will take those job offers I have been getting recently and I won’t look back.” Nadja’s voice felt a little hoarse but she didn’t care.

No one spoke for awhile until an intern shakily told them that they would be back on-air soon. Then everything was back in motion. Alec hastily took a drink of his water while Nadja’s makeup artist came out to do touchups, she was very gentle, almost hesitant. Even though everyone was doing their best to relieve the tension in the room, Nadja’s gaze from her boss did not waver, not even for a second, even as he ran a hand over his face. There were murmurs going on, probably about the spectacle she created but she really couldn’t care less. 

“...Okay Nadja...You do this how you want to. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” He finally said.

“I appreciate that.” She breathed out. “When we report on her, please just...say her name. She isn’t the Protector, she isn’t just Ladybug, she’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng and she is still missing. Yes, she was Paris’s last akuma but that’s not all she was. Yes she was Ladybug. Our hero who did everything to keep us safe, even when she was akumatized. She is also a daughter, a granddaughter, a friend. Not an icon. Not a celebrity. So for the love of God have some empathy. Yes we are reporters but we are more than that as well.” 

Again it was quite but then there was a chorus of murmured agreements, even from her boss and Alec. She gave a firm nod at everyone as she took a deep breath to steady herself for when the cameras would be turned back to them once more. This time though she would get to talk about Marinette as more than what every other news station, magazine, newspaper, and blog had been painting her out to be. Her and Alec would still do their parts, they would still talk about what they were assigned but Nadja was determined to put more humanity into the special. 

“I’m sorry Nadja. I have never thought about it the way you have. I guess I was always in the mindset of the akuma being separate? If that makes any sense?” Alec admitted.

Nadja gave him a sad smile and patted his hand. “It’s okay Alec. I understand...when I was Prime Queen...I didn’t want to believe it was me. For a long time I refused to believe it was me, but it was. The akumas are people and I think it’s time we start acting like it.” 

“Yeah...yeah I think you’re right.” Alec mumbled. Nadja wasn’t sure if her words truly did anything, everyone in the TVi studio knew how Alec was, but maybe now that Hawkmoth was gone, maybe everyone could move on and grow. 

Nadja turned to face the cameras when the cameraman waved to get their attention and started his countdown, when she knew the cameras were on Nadja gave them the most sincere smile she could. “Welcome back everyone, Nadja Chamack here with Alec Cataldi as we continue our special, ‘The Protector Really Paris’s Protector?’ Before we continue on I would like to start off with I lied before when I said I was fine before the commercial break. I knew Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one you all like to refer as her akuma name, before I continue on with the rest of my report I would like to tell you about her.”

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