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softquietsteadylove · 1 year

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We all know how buff Gil is build right? So how about Gil goes shopping for himself and Thena decides to go with him and he is struggling to find something fitting? Would be a funny story! You choose in wich AU it’s happening 😂

"Thena, thank fuck you're here!"

Thena laughs as Gil rushes over to her as soon as she steps foot into the department store. He called her at work, which had really freaked her out given they hadn't been back home for too long. And they had been keeping Gil in the flat as much as possible, careful about who might see him out and about if he roamed too freely.

But he likes running errands, like getting groceries and little household supplies. He keeps the flat immaculate and prepares beautiful meals for them, since what else is he supposed to do with his days, she supposes.

"Why are the sizes so complicated?" he frowns at her, holding a few different shirts of the same make in his hands. "I just thought I was stopping by to grab some clothes for around the house. But now I've been here for 45 minutes and I don't know what size I am anymore."

Thena laughs, taking the shirts from him to at least physically alleviate his burden. She flips through them, looking at the tags of each. "Did you really pick up one in every size?"

"Except small," he shrugs, joining her as she walks them back to the men's section.

"Does a medium fit you?" she asks, her eyes just starting to drift over him before she stops herself. That's not a good idea.

"Well, sometimes American sizes will fit me," Gil offers helplessly. "Korean shirts basically always had to be tailored for me."

Thena's eyes flicked down to his arms for just a second. Yes, she could see how that might be a problem for him. "Let's start with a regular old large for now."

Gil sighs, though. "That's the problem, though."

Thena raises her brows.

"Just," he takes the shirts from her hands again and leads her back to the changing room he had abandoned to go wait for her, "come with me."

Thena sets her purse down as she takes a seat outside of the stalls. She can see a mess of other articles of clothing in the room before he closes the door. She wonders if he's really only been here for 45 minutes.

"See?" Gil practically whines, holding his hands out in front of him in a helpless gesture. "They're too tight."

Thena blushes, although she tells herself not to. It's silly, really. She was so used to seeing Gilgamesh in business suits all throughout her time working for him. But just a t-shirt and jeans are working for him.

Gil pouts as she stands to examine the way the seams of the sleeves dig into his biceps. "It's kind of fine otherwise."

Actually, it's already a little looser everywhere else than he would like, she thinks. She tilts her head, "I don't know, Gil."

Gil slumps his shoulders again. "See?--this is exactly why I called you. I don't know what I was thinking trying to come here by myself."

Thena shakes her head; this is exactly the kind of thing that made her develop feelings for him in the first place. This man and his stupid sweetness. "Maybe this just isn't the type of shirt for you. Sometimes different brands will fit different, too."

"Why's it so difficult?" Gil bemoans as she sends him back into the changing room.

"I couldn't tell you, I'm afraid," she laments. She has her own troubles with clothes simply with a female body. "I did a lot of my clothes shopping online in Korea."

That and sometimes things wouldn't quite fit her in the bust, so she had to take up buying dresses and learning to live with a revealing neckline and just wearing a cardigan or sweater over them.

"Maybe I should just do that," Gil mutters as he emerges, all of his finds - and failures - piled up in his arms.

"We'll find you something," she assures him, taking his picks from him and leaving them in the bin to be sorted before returned to the shelves. She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow (just this once, she tells herself).

"What about you, Naekkeo?" he smiles at her.

This isn't the first time he's used some cute little pet name on her like it's nothing--like it's normal for them. She tells herself not to let it get to her every time. "What about me?"

"We're here," Gil states, gesturing to the store around them. "We should shop for stuff for you too."

"I don't need anything," Thena laughs at his eager face.

"But Thena," he pleads, as if he's asking for something for himself instead of trying to convince her to let him take her shopping.

"These might actually be a good choice for you," she muses as she feels the soft material of the thick-knit sweaters and cardigans. They'll stretch to accommodate those arms of his without them having to go two full sizes up from his usual.

"Huh," he notes as he takes one from her, slipping off his jacket and slipping the cardigan on in its place. "What do you think?"

Goddammit, it looks great on him. Despite the very mundane article of clothing, he makes it look borderline salacious with it unbuttoned around him, the sleeves pulled partially up his thick forearms.

Thena bites her tongue; he looks damn sexy, is what she thinks. "It looks nice."

Gil beams at her approval, proudly laying it over his arm as he continues to float next to her. "Maybe I should just be a cardigan guy."

Thena smiles, pawing through a few more stacks of sweaters and knits. "That's quite a shift from your usual attire."

"Well," Gil sneaks a look at her and slides their hands together. "I have to look the part if I'm gonna be a househusband here, right? Soft clothes and aprons and oven mitts?"

Thena just laughs, although she's already getting a little too use to thinking of Gil like that. She tries to tell herself not to, of course. They're not married--they're not together. She's protecting him by moving him here.

But whether they're together or not, his hand tightens around hers, and she lets it, smiling all through the rest of the store.

#Thenamesh Receptionist AU #when they first move to London #a few installments ago now #because I don't understand size conversions either Gil #also #in that clip and gifset of them during Eternals promotions #when Angie is in that beautiful white dress #and Don is in a white t-shirt and blazer to match #first of all the matching outfits I love it #but also #his jacket is visibly too small for him #like the sleeves are too short #but I think it's because of this #like it fits his arms and shoulders #but it would be too big on him if they sized up to account for them #I assume the suit he had on for the Eternals premier was custom fit

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taylorswiftstyle · 5 months

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RENAISSANCE: A Film By Beyoncé premiere | London, England | November 30, 2023

Anita Ko 'Large Pear Diamond Drop Earrings' - $32,150.00 Anita Ko 'Quinn Graduated Pear Diamond Drop Earrings' - $13,500.00 Anita Ko 'Triangle Eternity Ear Cuff' - $3,850.00 Anita Ko 'Diamond Twist Ring' - $10,625.00 Anita Ko 'Princess Eternity Ring' - $4,775.00

To coordinate with her silver metallic look, it only made sense for Taylor to stack on the white gold jewelry. Since adding a few new lobe piercings to hear ears in August (two in the right, one in the left) this is her first red carpet appearance that changes out her stack.

All her jewelry was courtesy of Anita Ko who Taylor has worn on a number of red carpet appearances since 2022 including this year's MTV VMAs and iHeartRadio Awards. Another fun crossover moment? Anita Ko also provided jewelry for last year's 2022 MTV EMAs - the last time that the Giuseppe Zanotti heels Taylor wears here were worn.

Worn with: Balmain gown and Giuseppe Zanotti heels

Photo by Getty

#taylor swift #event #jewelry #anita ko #november 2023

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morallyinept · 2 months

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Shoot: GQ Spain September 2017 & GQ Mexico November 2017 Issues (Same Interview I believe, correct me if I'm wrong)

Photographer: Giampaolo Sgura

Interviewer: Maria Contreras

Grooming: Not Confirmed

Full interview, behind the scenes, outtakes & shoot photographs below. 👇🏻

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

• Cover shot and original images used in the magazines.

Video Translation: "Hi, I'm Pedro Pascal. Here doing a photo shoot for GQ Spain... He's very shy, but very talented. And, well, I hope you like the photos, and I had a great time doing it. GQ Spain. She dressed me... all very shy. There it goes!"

Full Interview Translated

First ‘Game of Thrones’, then 'Narcos’ and now glory. We spoke with the Chilean actor about succeeding at 40, his 'little brother’ Miguel Ángel Silvestre, and his non-existent training routine.

The actor has arrived at the London studio hosting this shooting from Seattle, where he has just shot an indie film, and as soon as the interview is over he will fly to Los Angeles on his way to San Diego Comic-Con. An intense schedule for an actor who, until just four years ago, considered that appearing in a chapter of 'Nikita’ or 'Law and Order’ was like a winning lottery ticket.

Seasoned in theater and television, Pascal had developed “the professional ability to survive. I have been going to castings since I was 20 years old, and I had begun to assume that maybe my dream was not viable and to consider that making a living from acting, even anonymously, could also be considered a success. Also, in New York I was sheltered by my sister and my friends, whom I could always count on when I ran out of money. But then 'Game of Thrones’ came along and everything changed for me.”

His brief appearance in Westeros as Prince Oberyn finally caused him to leave the ranks of the eternal aspiring stars. His popularity has only strengthened with 'Narcos’, of which the third season premieres on September 1 on Netflix. Without Escobar, and without Murphy, the plot now centers on the Cali cartel: “It’s a different empire that has more money, more power, more control and more discipline, so it will be much more difficult for my character to dismantle it, because they have their hands in everyone’s pockets."

The Spanish Miguel Ángel Silvestre, Javier Cámara and Tristán Ulloa have joined the cast, and to say that they have got on well with Pascal would be an understatement. “Miguel Ángel in particular is like my little brother. We met in the United States a long time ago and became instant friends."

However, getting famous around 40 also has its advantages, for example, you think more about squandering your salary on sport-cars and yachts. “I can’t afford yachts. Yes, I have bought a car, but it’s a Mini Cooper, so it’s not terribly extravagant. I’m already very used to my habits, and I think that’s the luxury; experiencing a certain level of exposure when you’re older, you’ve already become the person you are and there are certain things that it’s too late to change. A nice new thing about not being under financial pressure is that I can do things for the people I care about. I know it makes me sound noble, but what I like most in the world is being in a position to help someone."

In these troubled times, there are many people that Pascal believes must be helped. When he was a few months old, his family left Santiago in Chile to escape the Pinochet regime. They received asylum in Denmark and later moved to the US, where Pedro and his three siblings grew up as gringos, first in Texas and later in California.

Today, the political climate in his adopted country literally robs him of any dreams. “We are living in a terrifying time. I have no idea what the future holds, I just know that at every opportunity I will stand up for what I think is right. And that includes the fucking fabulous diversity in North America."

Every successful actor knows which role changed their lives, and Pedro Pascal’s was the scene stealer of the fourth season of 'Game of Thrones’. His bloody death by the hands of The Mountain has been burned into our memory, for sure. (Trivia: the actor who plays the huge Lannister bully had been chosen as the third strongest man in the world in a championship shortly before filming that fight.) Several actors on the series have admitted that they read scripts with apprehension, but Pascal knew from the first audition that Oberyn Martell would die in that season.

What he didn’t know was how - he learned that his brains would end up on the ground almost in passing. "I was talking to the showrunners and in a very casual way they told me, 'we'll have to send you to London to do a cast of your head.’ And I was like 'and why my head?’ And they said 'because we're going to have to gouge out your eyes and smash your skull in...' And I said, 'so, this is how I die? You sick bastards!" He remembers between laughter.

Another experience that he will never forget was the filming in 2014 of the video clip 'Fire Meets Gasoline’, by Sia, in which he starred alongside Heidi Klum, including a bed scene. "What was it like? It was good. It was really good (laughs). To put it mildly, she has been a popular figure in my life over the years, so just seeing me in my underwear and running around with her was very surreal."

As if all of the above were not enough, very soon Pedro Pascal will also look at us from the bus stops in the new Solo Loewe fragrance campaign, a collaboration that has only rekindled his attachment to Spain. “I have a tremendously romantic relationship with Spain. My grandfather’s family was Basque, my grandmother was born in Majorca, and I studied there as a young man one summer and immediately felt at home. So having the opportunity to collaborate with such a creative and stylish Spanish team has been really special. I have to figure it out how to move there once and for all."

Perhaps a shoot will facilitate the transfer. Pascal is a great admirer of Spanish cinema, but with Almodóvar’s he has a personal connection. “My parents took me to see 'Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown’ at the only art-house cinema in Orange County, and I no longer stopped going. I lost my mother 17 years ago, and the way in which she identified with Almodóvar’s characters means that his cinema has always played a very emotional role in my life."

At 42 years old, another of his pending subjects is to find a trainer who will help him. "Discipline with sport has always been very difficult for me. You know what pisses me off? The asshole of Miguel Ángel Silvestre, who is physically like a superhero. Sometimes I would kill him, but I also want him to teach me to follow a routine."

Are you asking Silvestre from here to become your personal trainer?

"Exactly. What’s more, I’m going to call him as soon as we finish talking."

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal interview #pedro pascal magazine #pedro pascal shoot #pedro pascal photo shoot #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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maraschinocheri · 2 months

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It was 20 years ago today :: The One Party :: The lights of my life embrace and are embraced by an extremely happy horde of fans. We were treated to an unlikely serenade from Dominic Monaghan going Supersonic, a rather more likely serenade from a rollicking Billy Boyd thrilled that we'd let us get lucky with him, some sweet and gently spicy Q&A from Dominic and Elijah, and massive, rousing ovations for Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and the rest of the LOTR creatives who'd come to party with us reprobates as well in the end. I've written thousands of words about this night elsewhere, so I'll keep it (relatively) short here and say that it was a crowning event for so many and so much; the love in the room was surrounding, electric, and so very special. By no means was it the End of All Things, because neither any of those who'd worked to make these films what they were nor any of those who'd loved every moment of them would've wanted that, or could let it happen. There is something to be said for being eternally bound in friendship and (Spontaneous, Violent™) love.

#lotr: rotk #elijah wood #dominic monaghan #billy boyd #peter jackson #fran walsh #I wanted to say so much more #if you were there with me actually or in spirit you KNOW #you know and you remember #for those who were there and whom the ships have carried home #we remember you as well #and yes. my feet STILL hurt.

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zeldahime · 3 months

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Highway to Pail Bonus #1

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

Bonus prompt 1: Thought I'd found a dinosaur skeleton, but it turned out to be a fossil arm.

The oddest part about being on the outs with Crowley for the last year and change was that the Arrangement was still on. They weren't speaking about anything but work, as though work were a safe subject. It was only safe in comparison to the fight itself, dull with familiarity, but still more dangerous than Crowley appeared to want to realize.

So, here Aziraphale found himself in America, carrying out the work of angel and demon both. Blessings in Rhode Island and New Jersey, followed by a temptation in Connecticut. If he hadn't seen the orders, he nearly would have thought the temptation specifically cooked up to make him feel guilty: the target was a nephew of a gentleman he'd known socially in London some years ago, an academic studying to make sense of the bones he knew to be a divine prank, a confirmed bachelor.

Still, needs must. Work must get done, or else both their bosses would be breathing down their necks, and if Crowley insisted on believing him so, so, well, transactional about it all, Aziraphale would live down to his expectations. Anything to keep death out of his hands.

Connecticut's Yale University was not unlike Cambridge or Oxford in appearance; he supposed that was to be expected. Also to be expected were the academics in tweed suits and beards, the students in the quad studying or playing lawn sports, the small offices in which the teaching staff eternally suffered a lack of space for their packrattish tendencies. The eternal aura of professional envy toward their peers, even their friends, which Aziraphale usually politely disregarded but which currently he found useful.

He found the correct door and knocked. "Mr Marsh?"

"It's unlocked," came an irritated voice from inside. Oh. This was going to go swimmingly, Aziraphale thought sarcastically. I shall wind up tempting him to kicking an Angel of the Lord out of his office, which can hardly be written up in the memo.

He smiled politely as he entered. "Hello, Mr Marsh. I'm A. Fell; I wrote you that I would be coming?"

"Did you now," Marsh said flatly. "I remember, Mr Fell. I don't recall my uncle ever having mentioned you, but you seemed quite familiar with him in your letter."

"We met because of the nasty bit of business in Baltimore, you see," Aziraphale tried to explain, and Marsh's eyebrows raised.

"Forty years ago?"

"I try not to count the years; it does make one feel rather old, and it seems as though it were only yesterday. But yes." Not a lie; well, except the man bit, but that was purely social convention. He'd simply forgotten it had been so long. "Your uncle made quite the impression."

Marsh gave him a long, appraising look, then nodded. "I'm certain he did." Aziraphale looked appraisingly back, feeding the obvious impression Marsh had formed of him, and let his smile turn a little sharper at one corner.

They spoke for a while. Aziraphale's cover of a potential wealthy donor but scientific ingenue was quite truthful. He had plenty of money, knew next to nothing about natural history or the sciences, and had centuries of practice delivering fawn eyes to anyone (well, one particular someone) who he knew wished to explain them to him and only needed encouragement or excuse. Marsh grew comfortable with him quickly, seeing the like-mindedness bachelors tended to see in each other in these days, and invited him to continue their interview over dinner.

Eventually, their conversation turned to other academics, and Aziraphale found his opening. "How about that fellow Cope?" he asked, setting down his fork. "Some of those I represent had thought Haverford may be a recipient of future funds, but they were concerned their premiere paleontologolist had resigned. Are you acquainted with his reasoning?"

Mr Marsh smiled patronizingly and looked so like Gabriel for a moment that Aziraphale blinked repeatedly to center himself, hoping it looked more like the batting of eyelashes than a sudden gesture of fear and distrust.

"Cope is a good friend and a fair enough scientist, but it's hardly worth throwing money around on his account," Marsh said with more than a hint of judgement. "He's no anatomist and has a habit of destroying his work when he gets into a mood. Haverford is probably better off without him, though don't tell him I said so."

Aziraphale swallowed hard. Suddenly he no longer felt any need to be guilty about whatever the fate may be of this particular man's eternal soul. His attitudes were not at all incompatible with those of some in Heaven.

"In fact," Marsh continued, "I'm due to meet with him in New Jersey in a few weeks. He's found a quarry that might hold some undescribed species, he says."

"Could he be trusted with such a find?" Aziraphale asked, all innocent curiosity. "If he's as poor an anatomist as you say, surely he wouldn't do the animals justice." Marsh looked thoughtful. "In fact, if I might be so bold," Aziraphale said, sliding his hand across the table towards, but not to, Marsh, who watched its movement with a sharp inhale, "perhaps it would be best if you could arrange for new finds to bypass him. In the interests of science, of course."

"Of course," Marsh said to Aziraphale's hand. Marsh licked his lips.

"Where are you staying, Mr Fell?" he asked. "If you haven't yet found lodgings, I have a fairly spacious home."

Flattering, of course, and exactly where Aziraphale had pointed him, but....

"You're very kind to offer, Mr Marsh, but I'm staying with friends who will surely notice if I don't return. Perhaps I might call on you the next time I am in town?" Aziraphale looked at Marsh and thought as hard as he could of Crowley, trying to replicate his friend's strikingly flirtatious demeanour, and judging from the somewhat glazed look in Marsh's eyes, it seemed to work.

"Please do, Mr Fell. Let me give you my address; you could come straight there next time, if it pleases you."

Aziraphale took his card with a flourish and a smile. He then retreated from the restaurant, teleporting himself to his actual lodgings as soon as he was out of sight of Marsh, and locked the door.

He wanted to talk to Crowley dreadfully, about anything other than work, not about memos or missions or that dratted Marsh but about the fashions Crowley had decided to mimic this decade, or what made the stars burn, or the ethics of using carrots and string to direct a horse. He wanted to be in his bookshop in London, with its soft dim lighting and worn-in furniture and books that had seen him through both better and worse times. He wanted his spectacles and his house-coat and the Sauvignon Blanc that Crowley had picked out last time they were in France together. Most of all, he wanted to simply be Aziraphale, not all the things he was supposed to be instead.

Instead, alone and exhausted from a day of pretending on Earth as intensely as he did in Heaven, in a hotel room in America, he pretended that tears did not escape from the corners of his eyes.

Author's note:

Aziraphale started the Bone Wars? Nope. Marsh started the Bone Wars. He 100% chose to play Cope for a sucker and it's not Aziraphale's fault he chose to backstab his friend and then humiliate him in front of the entire American Philosophical Society.

Othniel Marsh was a life-long bachelor, but I made up him being gay and also his entire personality in this fic. Any resemblance to how he was in actual real life is basically coincidental. Also, look at his beard:

He is making Choices with that beard, let me tell you.

#my writing #do it with style events #highway to pail #aziraphale #good omens #good omens fanfiction #the bone wars

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andguesswhat · 7 days

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The shield that you own - 5

The first time Jack slept with Tim, Tim had just broken up with Armie. The situation with Armie had all become too much for him, he couldn’t handle it anymore.

After Jack had taken Tim to his room, Tim had been very stubborn about how exactly he wanted to be rescued in addition and Jack finally gave in, secretly being only too happy to play his savior.

But Jack knew that this break up didn't change a thing. Tim wasn’t looking for someone new, Tim still wasn't meant for him. He’d just needed someone to rescue him from his misery.

That night, after a busy day of promo interviews, Jack had already been in his hotel room when Tim had sent him a message from the hotel bar.

I might be drunk.

Accompanied by a photo of an empty cocktail glass.

A zany smiley below.

When Jack came down to the bar, Tim smiled at him with heavy eyelids, his voice happy like a child who got exactly what he wanted for Christmas. “You came to get me?”

That night, holding a lost, love-starved Tim in his hands, he only wanted to give him peace, the same peace Jack had stopped feeling since he met him. He knew Tim's sexual nature that allowed him to do what he wanted with his slender body and made him feel desired, taken and sheltered at the same time. Jack didn't know if Tim was thinking about Armie at that moment, but he didn't care.

Then when Armie decided to get his life back on track and Tim and Armie got back together, Jack hadn't expected things to continue with him and Tim, but he wasn't exactly surprised either. Because he knew Tim for some years now and Tim was someone who didn't like to be alone for long, who wanted very much to be loved. It was the smallest consolation for Jack that Tim somehow needed him because Armie couldn’t be his 24/7 partner.

Tim was also someone who needed constant reassurance. A prince who wanted to be treated like one.

Alluding to Jack’s high risk profession, Tim had asked Jack on that very night, his voice still a little slurred, his grin cheeky and almost proud, “Soooo would you die for me? Give your life for me?” And of course it had been a joke, but as it was with those jokes, there was also a lot of truth in it.

Jack hadn't said anything, just rolled his eyes and smiled, but that smile was apparently treacherously affectionate enough, because Tim smiled back at him with relief, a pure, innocent and happy smile. Jack could almost hear the bolts bouncing off his shield, disarmed by the happiness he saw in Tim's eyes.... For a few moments, losing himself was an option for eternity.

Now they were in New York for the Dune 2 premiere and Tim was sick, too many flights with too many air conditioners. Jack's job would end earlier than planned. They went through with the premiere in New York anyway, but canceled Colbert and Canada.

While Tim lay in bed in his New York apartment and slept, Jack wandered aimlessly through the apartment from the window front overlooking Central Park to the couch in the living room, rummaged through Tim's bookshelf and went back to the window front. As soon as Tim made a sound, he was there. Helped him with his medication, brought him something to drink and ordered food.

Tim was happy for the company but foremost happy that someone calmed him down.

He wasn't tearful, but he was anxious. What if his voice got affected and he couldn’t do the Dylan movie? So Jack reassured him over and over again that it was just a cold and everything would be fine.

On the second day, Tim's mom took over and Jack was sent home to London.

It wasn't the ending Jack had imagined, but the originally planned ending wouldn't have been so much different. Maybe they would have fucked once more.

But this was the way of things: When his work was over, they went their separate ways until Jack was needed again.

The fact that there were no more promo tours coming up all year and Jack could only hope that there were other opportunities where he was needed, didn't make it any easier.

Jack knew Tim would sneak his way into his thoughts with painful insistence. News and gossip would do the rest.

It wasn't that they were completely out of touch, but the opportunities were few and far between.

On his birthday a few weeks later, Jack was having some drinks with his friends at a pub when Tim called.

Jack briefly apologized to his friends and went out the door. A cold April wind blew around his nose as Tim's soft and cheerful voice wished him a happy birthday.

“Happy birthday, man! I hope you're having a good time. Sorry I'm calling so late, we've been shooting all morning. How are you, man?”

“Good, thanks. I'm in a pub with friends. Having a couple a beers.”

“Good, man. Glad to hear you're having fun. Wish I could be there, too. Celebrating with you.”

It didn't sound too snivelling, but Jack hadn't expected it to.

The conversation went on, Tim told him about his movie shoot, asked him about his upcoming jobs, it was a nice conversation, a harmless conversation.

“I miss you, man. Don't forget that, okay? But it is how it is, right?”

Jack nudged the brick wall with the toe of his shoe. Yes, it was what it was. “Thanks for calling!” was the only thing he could think of.

“Sure thing, man! Did you think I would forget my guardian’s birthday? You're my shield, man. I wish you weren’t so far away so that I could come over!”

There was a pause, a pause so vast that it could mean the whole world.

Jack nudged the wall some more. “Yeah, that would have been nice.”

“Yeah…”

Jack shared Tim’s silence and listened to what was in it.

The moment stretched, for seconds, or years.

“Love you, man.” And then Timmy hung up.

Then Jack heard Tim taking a deep breath and saying, “Okay, my favourite buddyguard, it was nice talking to you. See you soon, okay?”

Soon. “Yeah, thanks again for calling.”

For a while, Jack just stood there and did some nudging against the wall, his hand fiddling with the ring on his left little finger. The ring had been a present from Tim.

Once, when Tim had been given a particularly large number and a particularly fancy choice of rings for an outfit, Jack had apparently looked a little too interested and Tim had had a lot of fun making Jack try them all on. A little later, Tim had given him this simple ring to add ‘a little glamor’ to his outfits. "A tiny cock ring for your tiny cock!" Tim had grinned and Jack had shaken his head with a laugh because Tim was never above dirty jokes, good or bad.

He often wondered if it wasn't healthier for him to move on from this.

Or at least not go down so deep. Keep some distance.

But if he had to say whether it was more of a blessing or a curse that Tim allowed him to love him, he would choose blessing.

He was happier to love him than for the stitches to hurt him.

But he also knew that although yes, he would give his life for Tim, he couldn't forget to live first.

He would live and love, for he had no other choice.

Their shields were there everlasting, tailor-made for each man, but he treasured the moments where he had seen them fall.

Jack looked up and the stars looked back at him from the dark rooftop of the city. He smiled melancholically but happily, tenderly brushed over Tim’s ring on his finger, and opened the door to the pub.

and of course @gatoenlaciudad thank you for everything! 😘😘😘

@ my five readers who at least partially enjoyed the story: I'm sorry if it didn't turn out the way you had hoped. Thank you for your interest and effort to follow until the end though, I know it's not an easy story!

@ the rest: The accident scene has been cleared up, you can stop looking and move on.

#timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet fanfic #timmy and his bodyguard

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rebeccalouisaferguson · 10 months

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With a trio of extraordinary looks, Rebecca Ferguson is emerging as Scandinavia's reigning red carpet hero

While Margot Robbie’s Barbie press tour fashion moments have dominated our feed for what seems like an eternity, another notably less pink blockbuster film tour also serves unmissable looks. We’re talking about that of Rebecca Ferguson, who’s been travelling the globe promoting Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One. Donning dramatic and sculptural gowns, the Swedish actress is emerging as a bona fide red carpet hero.

Working with Ferguson to bring these looks to life is Belgian stylist Tom Eerebout. “Rebecca is someone who loves to play with fashion and try things out. She is never afraid to have fun, which is so nice to have in a client,” he says. “Every fitting is fun. She thinks about everything from hair to makeup to her manicure.” That attention to detail and willingness to experiment shines through in the actress’ trio of premiere looks.

Ferguson’s first major moment came via Emporio Armani. Set against the backdrop of Rome’s Spanish Steps, the floor-skimming black velvet gown from the house’s autumn/winter 2023 collection was the epitome of Hollywood glamour. Ferguson modernised the look with delicate yet sculptural jewellery from British jewellery house Shaun Leane, most notably his silver Quill Cuff. Effortless side-parted hair and a dark berry lip for a hint of extra drama completed the moment. As for wearing heavy velvet in the midst of an Italian summer? When you look this good, why not.

Next on Ferguson’s tour was something rather unexpected: a wedding dress. The actress wore a corseted gown from Vivienne Westwood’s 2023 bridal collection for the film’s London premiere. The pearls and draping, the undone centre parted bun, the glimmering barely-there makeup – goddess-level perfection. Eerebout was especially proud of how this look came together, noting, “The Westwood gown looked amazing on her, and the London energy is always special.”

Last but certainly not least, this glimmering strapless glittering couture number from Belgian label Maison Natan. With its structured bodice, cinched waist and exploding skirt, this could very well have been a straightforward Hollywood glamazon moment if it weren’t for that show-stopping Cristophe Coppens-designed necklace. Eerebout was not able to travel to New York and had to style the look “from afar”, but in the end, it came together, and he was “super pleased”. A slicked-back bun and subtle smokey eye was a non-distracting complement that let that neckpiece do its thing.

And with that Ferguson solidifies herself as a red carpet ruler who has the range. We’re a bit sad it’s over, but luckily we have the Dune: Part Two press tour to look forward to in a few months.

#rebecca ferguson #tom eerebout #appearance #fashion #2023 mi7 rome premiere #2023 mi7 london premiere #2023 mi7 nyc premiere

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threewaywithdelusion · 10 months

Text

Keeley and Jamie Meet

I've been writing so much Ted Lasso fan fiction, but seem to be totally incapable of focusing on one project at a time. So here's a JamieKeeley pre-canon fic I was working on today (feel free to brit-pick or critique, it's a rough draft)

The first time Keeley saw Jamie Tartt, she’d just come off a shoot with Shandy and Ellie and they’d gone to get drinks at a nice club to celebrate the end of the long workday. She was in her own club clothes — a single-strapped bodysuit paired with a pink miniskirt and strappy, tall hells — but her hair and makeup was all from the shoot, which had been eighties themed, and made her whole outfit look a bit odd.

Shandy and Ellie were out on the dance floor but Keeley’s feet hurt from her shoes and she decided to sit at the bar, sip overpriced drinks, and people-watch.

That was when she noticed Jamie. He was impossible to miss, in a loudly-patterned graffiti shirt unbuttoned far enough that Keeley could confirm he had a six-pack. He was at a table with a group of men, but he didn’t seem to be talking to any of them. He was scowling moodily and that should have been a red flag, but frankly it made his cheekbones look fucking fantastic.

It took Keeley only a moment to realize the group of men was a football team and then she had to roll her eyes at herself. She didn’t even care about football, but somehow football players were always exactly her type. Maybe some evil witch had put a curse on Keeley where she could only date sexy, sexy football players for all eternity. It was probably one of those curses that looked like a nice spell at first.

Keeley’s last boyfriend, Harry, had been a player for Brighton. They’d been together for six lovely months before Keeley had walked in on him fucking another girl and ended it on the spot. He’d blamed their long-distance relationship, never mind that Brighton was only an hour and a half away from London and he’d been in town almost every other weekend playing some London team.

After that, Keeley had decided she was done with football players. Maybe it was time to go back to girls.

Keeley finished her drink, the straw making a sucking sound against the bottom of the glass. A quick look around showed Shandy and Ellie were still dancing and didn’t seem put off by the men dancing on them, so Keeley began scanning the menu.

“Can I buy you a drink?” asked a man’s voice with a thick Mancunian accent. Keeley turned and saw it was the man from before, with the abs and the cheekbones, grinning cheekily at her.

Up close and with the helpful hint from his accent, Keeley realized she recognized him. This was Jamie Tartt, the kid from Man City who Harry had complained about for a whole week last season. Keeley had watched the Brighton- Man City game like a dutiful girlfriend, so she had seen when Man City had put Jamie Tartt on the field with ten minutes left on the game. The pundits had called it mad because though Man City had been leading 4-1, the cup hadn’t been secure in their hands, with the fate of the Premier League trophy depending not only on the Man City-Brighton game, but the Liverpool-Wolverhampton game as well. It was madness to put substitute a starting line player for a young benchwarmer like Jamie Tartt.

But Jamie had gotten the ball and run past Brighton’s defense — meaning Harry — and taken a shot on goal. The goalie had caught it, thank God, but Harry had been criticized in the papers after for letting a second team player like Jamie Tartt slip past him.

Keeley had quickly gotten tired of hearing Harry complain about Jamie Tartt. Then Harry had gotten into bed with some random girl and his complaining hadn’t been her problem anymore.

“You’re Jamie Tartt,” Keeley said.

Jamie grinned smugly, tongue between his teeth. “I am. I saw you looking at me. Thought I’d come over and say hi.”

Keeley scoffed and shook her head. “What? So you hit on any girl who looks your way?”

“Only the fit ones,” Jamie said. “And there’s no one fitter than Keeley fucking Jones.”

Keeley’s eyebrows went up. She wasn’t sure Jamie’s exact age, but it was getting more and more rare for young footballers to recognize her. Harry had been 26, almost her own age, and had no bloody clue who she was when they’d first met.

Right, Harry. Keeley was done with footballers, no matter how fit or flattering they may be.

“You can buy me a drink,” she said. “But I’m not going home with you.”

Jamie pouted, his bottom lip actually sticking out. It was ridiculous. It was endearing. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t owe you anything for a drink,” Keeley said. She’d been in this position before, with far too many men who thought spending a few pounds on drinks meant they’d bought the right to take her home.

“What about a dance?” Jamie asked.

“No.”

“A chat, then?”

“No.”

“Come on,” he pleaded, pressing into her space with a smile. “You might like me.”

“Jamie,” Keeley said tightly, holding up a hand to stop him. “I said no.” She’d been right to establish boundaries right away, because it was clear he didn’t know how to respect them.

Only Jamie surprised her. He stepped out of her space and flagged the bartender down. “One shot of vanilla vodka. And whatever the lady wants, yeah?”

“I’m not having sex with you,” Keeley reminded him.

The bartender, a pretty blonde woman, gave Keeley a supportive thumbs-up.

“It’s not a sex drink,” Jamie said. “It’s a sorry-for-being-a-dick drink, yeah? I didn’t mean to push. I thought we were playing, like.”

He seemed sincere, hands twisting in the bottom of his shirt, eyes wide on her like he was trying to read her expression. Maybe it was stupid of her, but Keeley believed him that he hadn’t meant to push her after she’d said no.

She turned to the bartender. “What’s your most expensive drink?”

The bartender gave Keeley a wicked smile. “If you want a cocktail, it’s the Elderflower-Plum Highball. If you mean overall, we have some bottles of champagne that cost near 200 pounds.”

Keeley raised her eyebrows at Jamie.

“Champagne, please,” he told the bartender.

The bartender smiled and winked at Keeley. She really was pretty. Maybe Keeley should take her home instead.

It only took a moment for the bartender to return with a bottle of champagne. She presented it to Keeley so she could read the label, then popped it carefully so the cork didn’t fly, the way they did at all the fancy places. Keeley had waitressed for a bit as a teenager, before her modeling career took off, and she knew that was harder than it looked.

The bartender pulled out a champagne glass and filled it, setting it in front of Keeley.

Keeley sipped the champagne. It was cold and bubbly and sweet. Keeley probably wouldn’t have spent £200 on it, but it was very good.

Beside her, Jamie did his shot of vanilla vodka with his eyes on her, looking pleased that she’d liked the champagne.

“I’m going back to my mates,” he said. “It was nice to meet you, Keeley Jones.”

Keeley didn’t know whether or not it had been nice to meet Jamie, so she didn’t say anything at all. He nodded his head and walked away, back to the football team that hadn’t even seemed to notice his absence.

The bartender leaned over the bar, smiling. “That was well clever of you.”

Keeley shrugged. “He was a dick. He deserved it.”

The bartender rolled her eyes, gesturing at the group of footballers. “They’re all dicks.”

“Yeah,” Keeley agreed. “Thanks for being my partner in crime.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled. “My pleasure.”

“I’m Keeley,” Keeley said. Introducing herself was a bit out of place in a casual conversation with a bartender, but Keeley had a feeling this wasn’t going to end here.

The bartender smiled. “Alice. You dead set on going home alone tonight?”

Ooh, yes, Keeley had been right. She leaned into the bar. “Not if a better option presents itself. Why, you got someone in mind?”

By the time Alice’s shift finished and she and Keeley fell into bed in Alice’s flat together, Jamie Tartt was the last thing on Keeley’s mind.

***

Keeley didn’t want to admit it, but she was getting old. Not old for a real person of course, but old for a model. The shelf-life for a beautiful woman didn’t go much past 30 and Keeley felt that birthday looming closer every day. She’d turned 29 last month and had to force a smile while she pretended to eat cake that wasn’t on her diet plan.

She wasn’t too old just yet — she still got gigs, including the modeling gig she’d just done earlier that day. But the offers had slowed down, companies turning to prettier, younger models to try to sell their merchandise with the promise of sex.

It meant Keeley had let her manager go, and was now scheduling her own gigs. She actually quite liked that part — maybe in a few years when she was too old for all of this, she could help the pretty young thing who’d taken her place to fill her calendar with modeling gigs, club appearances, and commercials. But all that meant that Keeley was standing morosely at the bar, feeling just a little too old and a little too drunk, when the man from last week came up to her again.

“Jamie Tartt,” she said.

“Keeley Jones,” he said, in that cute Mancunian accent of his.

“Are you stalking me?”

“No, I swear,” Jamie said, putting his hands up like he was protesting his innocence. “You’ve just got good taste in clubs, I guess.”

Keeley hummed. “Buy me a drink?”

She was pushing it, but he laughed and flagged down the bartender. He ordered a double shot of vanilla vodka and she ordered a jaegerbomb on his tab.

“Is this still an apology?” she asked.

Jamie’s eyes went wide. “Shit Keeley, are you trying to drink me out of house and home? How expensive is an apology?”

Keeley laughed. “It’s not like you can’t afford it, playing for the winners of the Premier Cup.”

The smile faded from Jamie’s face. “I’m not at City right now, actually. I’m on loan to fucking Richmond.”

He looked genuinely annoyed about it.

“Sorry,” Keeley said. “Even my ex said Richmond aren’t great, and he plays for Brighton.”

Jamie brightened. “You know football.”

“A bit,” Keeley admitted. “I’ve dated a lot of footballers.”

Jamie frowned. “So it’s just me you’ve got a problem with?”

“No,” Keeley said. “I don’t have a problem with you. Buy me another drink?”

Jamie frowned, his head tipping to the side. “Aren’t you going to tell me you’re not going home with me?”

Keeley shrugged. “It’s a new week. I might.”

Jamie’s eyes went wide. He really was fit, with a narrow waist, abs she could see through his shirt (open down to his navel again), and a jawline that could cut glass. He wore his hair gelled up like a dick and Keeley had sworn off footballers after Harry, but he was young and talented and fit and he didn’t seem to care that they’d had to photoshop Keeley’s smile lines at the shoot today.

He didn’t care that she was old.

Jamie bought her another drink and Keeley gave him a smile and went off to dance with her friends. The music was loud and the lights were bright and on the dance floor, Keeley still felt young. She danced with a few men, dodged a few kisses and groping hands, then made her way to the loo. When she came out, she walked past a table of footballers.

Jamie, with two others she didn’t recognize. She went up to Jamie again. “Buy me a drink?”

The two other boys whistled and Jamie got a cocky smile on his face but still shushed his friends. He bought Keeley another drink and she waved and him and went back to the dance floor.

She danced for another hour before her feet started to hurt and the dance floor began to feel too hot. A quick glance showed Jamie was still sitting at a table with his friends, so Keeley went to the bar, ordered a drink, then made her way over.

“Vanilla vodka for you,” she said, pressing the shot into Jamie’s hand and sliding into his lap at the same time. He sloshed the drink a little as he moved to catch her, one hand stiffly at her shoulder like he wasn’t sure she wanted to be touched but was even less sure she wanted to be dumped on the floor.

Keeley leaned in to whisper in Jamie’s ear. “Take me home.”

Jamie pulled back, genuine surprise in his eyes. “Yeah?”

It made something warm in Keeley — something besides all the alcohol. He’d actually listened to her — he really hadn’t been buying her drinks just to get into her pants. Maybe that was a low bar, but fuck it, Keeley was drunk and she wanted to feel young and stupid for one more night.

“Yeah,” Keeley said, biting her bottom lip and nodding.

Jamie knocked the shot back and stood in a hurry, lifting Keeley to her feet with those fancy footballer muscles.

“G’night lads,” he told the other two boys. Then he led Keeley out of the club.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #jamie tartt #keeley jones #jamie x keeley #jamiekeeley #mia writes fanfic

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queenshelby · 2 years

Text

Oppenheimer (Part 31)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Fluff, Angst, Pregnancy

Words: 1,507

Note: We will be having two short parts 31 and 32 in lead up to some big drama! Also, sorry about any typos and stuff. I am still on pain meds and my mind is playing tricks on me.

Please interact and comment! It means a lot to me!

You tiptoed down the stairs with a small blanket wrapped around your shoulders. It clearly had gotten colder you thought and the loud whirring sounds and occasional curses coming from the reading room let you know just what you had feared. Cillian hadn’t taken the news of your pregnancy too well.

He’d done a decent job faking it at dinner, but you saw the fear in his eyes. And was that disappointment too? Upset? The rest of dinner had been quiet and as soon as he helped you finish cleaning up, he had disappeared.

When you arrived downstairs, you made him a cup of tea nonetheless and then pushed open the door separating the kitchen from the reading area which is where your boyfriend liked to hide when he needed to be alone.

Cillian didn’t hear you enter. He was using his headphones to listen to some music while going through one book after another, not knowing himself what he was looking for.

Unsure of what to say, you stood in the room quietly when you reached Cillian’s side, waiting for him to notice you and, after what felt like an eternity, he turned off the music on his phone. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned around and saw you.

“Y/N” he said, removing his headphones. “What are you doing down here?” Cillian asked before he accepted the cup of tea from you.

“What are you doing?” you countered. “It’s been hours, Cills. You just disappeared” you pointed out while he sipped his tea so that he wouldn’t have to respond to you. Cillian hated seeing the look of hurt on your face. He’d thought he’d bought himself some time after dinner, but clearly you had picked up that something was wrong.

You sighed and shrugged your blanket off your shoulders. Your nightgown reminded Cillian of when you had first met on set in New Mexico. It resembled the dress you were wearing that day and he recalled that this initial time he had spent with you was a whirlwind. But it was also incredible, passionate and exciting.

It wasn’t until after you left the US in order to move to London that things had calmed down and you had spent a good chunk of this time settling into your relationship. You were happy together, just the two of you and, according to others, you were a dynamic duo. Cillian honestly wasn’t sure whether babies would fit into that and neither were you. Yet, here you were. You were pregnant with his children and there was nothing you could about it now!

You knew that, having children together, would change everything. Cillian knew he would have to take time away from his career to help you out but he also knew that things were just beginning to get even more busy in his professional life. Oppenheimer was going to premier in nine months’ time and, before that, he was going to film the Peaky Blinders movie to which he had already committed.

In addition to that, Cillian was 46 years old and, in his mind, this was too old to have another child. He didn’t know if he could do it again and he knew that he had to be honest to you about it. But what was he going to say? There was nothing to say. It was done. There was no choice now, or was there?

Cillian eventually realised that he had been staring at you for a while without saying anything. The look of hurt and embarrassment on your face made him want to say something, but he couldn’t find the words until….

***BEEP BEEP BEEP***

Your alarm went off at 7 o’clock that day following yet another pregnancy dream where your boyfriend acted distant and upset after having received the news of your surprise pregnancy.

Was this what his reaction would be like when you finally told him about it? Or was he going to be okay with the pregnancy? You didn’t know and, deep down inside, you feared that he would despise you for it.

You had already resigned from your position as a scientific researcher and, considering that you were not sharing your finances with Cillian, you knew that this, in itself, would become problematic as you had enjoyed a sense of independence for yourself.

You had no choice however. You had to resign for the sake of the children you were carrying inside of you. In your line of work, you were exposed to chemicals and, when you told your supervisor about the pregnancy, you were immediately asked to leave.

The lives inside you took away your career prospects and, whilst you had never planned to fall pregnant, you soon became to accept your fate. You thought that, perhaps, it was meant to be and, perhaps, you were meant to be a mother rather than a researcher.

***

Yet, this wasn’t what you believed initially when, two days ago, you had an appointment with one of London’s top gynaecologists, Dr Geoff Leu, in order to ascertain all of the choices available to you.

Immediately, you considered terminating the pregnancy especially since you knew that Cillian was opposed to having any more children at his age. But then, you were told that this wasn’t an option for you, at least not in the UK.

To your surprise, Dr Leu told you that you were already in your second trimester and, with that being the case, terminating the pregnancy would not only be immoral but also illegal.

“You can travel back to the US. I understand that, in some States, termination procedures are carried out legally until about 19 weeks of gestation. You are currently 16 weeks pregnant so it is an option for you if this is what you want” he told you but, as soon as you took a look at the ultrasound screen that showed your babies, you brushed him off.

You couldn’t terminate the pregnancy. There was no way.

Hearing your children’s heartbeats caused shivers to run down your spine and you were almost instantly filled with love for them. They looked like tiny babies already, so real, with hands and feet and cute little noses. You were in awe with your babies and you knew that it was going to be okay, at least from your point of view. You would need to make it work and you knew that you would be giving your all for them. You were their mother and this was going to be your future, no matter what.

***

Despite the fact that you started to feel rather strongly about the babies which were growing inside of you, you were terrified about telling Cillian about the pregnancy.

Cillian had already been home for an entire day and night and you didn’t say anything to him yet. You couldn’t. You didn’t know what to say and, instead, pretended to be sick and avoided him at all costs.

Considering that he was tired and jetlagged, he didn’t push you too far and gave you the privacy and time you clearly needed but, of course, he realised that something was wrong.

Usually, when you hadn’t seen each other for over a week, you would fall into his arms and immediately drag him to the bedroom. But this wasn’t the case this time around and he thought that, either, you were really sick or your presumed depression had gotten worse.

Of course, the latter concerned him more and, after trying to unsuccessfully contact his mother who had been visiting a church retreat for the weekend, he talked to his son Max about you.

Unbeknownst to you or Cillian, Max knew that you were pregnant. He had found the cues several days ago but didn’t say anything.

There was an order slip for a book you had purchased about pregnancies and, clearly, you were useless when it came to computers and didn’t delete your browsing history properly when you finished up on the large MAC inside the reading room.

There were many things you wanted to know and googled and one of them was how to tell a partner who doesn’t want any children about a pregnancy.

***

“Has Y/N been okay lately?” Cillian asked his son Max who put on his best acting face and nodded.

“She just had a stomach bug dad. Other than that, yeah…she’s fine” Max responded, causing his father to sigh. He wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him but decided to give his son the benefit of doubt.

“Hmm, right…” Cillian responded, wanting to give you a few days to see whether things were improving or not. He was worried. Worried about you being depressed and worried about whether you were reconsidering your relationship with him after you had just moved in together.

Did you change your mind? Was the age gap too much after all? What was wrong with you? He needed to know but, all he knew was that you weren’t forthcoming about something.

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#cillian murphy #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy x you

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redheadspark · 2 years

Note

Hawuuu can i request for Barry Keoghan with 26. “ hush, don’t think about that. ” and 29. “ don’t let the garbage they spew get into your head. it’s what they want. ”

Thank u :3

A/N: I LOVE me some Barry content!! It's a nice and cute little one for certain, I hope you like it, and thank you for the request!

Jitters

Summary: It's your first time going to a movie premier as Barry's date, yet your jitters are going crazy because of the tabloids and their rumors about you

Warnings: Just some cuteness with Barry :D

"Alright, dear. Let's touch you up one more time, shall we?"

You nodded a bit nervously as the make up artist was doing last minute touches on your face and neck, your hands were folded tightly in your lap as you at in the bathroom on a chair. Two others were in the room, one working on your hair and getting the strands out of the way and another on the phone, talking to your boyfriend's assistant for the night and making sure you both were ready together. In fact, you were inwardly wishing that Barry was here right now to calm your nerves.

This was a big deal: You going to a premier as his girlfriend. Publicly.

You two have been dating for barely over a year, and being out in the public eye with him was risky enough. You both were not outwardly extroverted people, maybe hanging with a few friends here and there. But most of the time you both loved and craved being alone, out of the eyes of his fans or the paparazzi. They were a bit of a nuisance sometimes, and you were merely the "Mystery Girl" to them when they took pictures of you two. Barry hated it, yet you calmed him to a point in justifying that they didn't know who you were or anything else about you. It was fine, at least it was at first when it was merely minimal.

But as time went on and Barry was gaining some popularity, rumors were started to move and spread about you and how you were as his "Girlfriend". The tabloids were notorious of making the rumors as ridiculous and get scandalous as possible. You were calling anything and everything under the book: Barry's baby momma, his side piece that he indulged in, all of it was far from the truth. Of course it would start to get under your skin after awhile, and the lingering fear of letting your relationship out of the bag seemed closer and tiptoeing right behind you.

“Don’t let the garbage they spew get into your head. it’s what they want.” Barry said to you one night as you were curled up in bed together, his chin on top of your head as you were suctioned to him, silent tears were down your face. The recent tabloids crumbled up on the floor next to the bed, your picture in an article with the description of you being some kind of "Hidden secret" that Barry had to hide so he wouldn't get his reputation blemished. That was low, especially since they brought Barry into it. Even thought he too was mad about it, he saw the pained look you were giving him and he placed his own anger on the back burner.

"I know they're lies," he said in his hold against you, "So do my co-stars on set. They all love you, right? Gemma and Selma adore you, Lauren raves about you. I swear she tells me I'm a lucky bastard for keepin' you in my life. But I'm lucky for you keepin' me, you hear me luv?"

So when Barry's recent movie, Marvel’s Eternals, was going to premiere out in London, Barry thought it would be the best time to have you on his arm. He didn't want to hide you in the background or in secret anymore, thinking it was best that those rumors were put to rest when you showed your face. Maybe he himself was wanting to silence the tabloids for their slanderous tales about you, or perhaps he loved you too much to let you stay behind.

"Ah, Barry! She's in here almost finished!" The woman on the phone said in a happy tone with her head poked in the hallway, you felt a sigh of relief on your lips when Barry popped his head in. Both the make up artist and the hair stylist moved out of the bathroom suite, giving you two some time alone as Barry grinned at your appearance. You watched his reflection from the bathroom mirror, seeing how handsome he was in his brown suit with a creamy shirt underneath and his hair smoothed over to the side.

"Ello, luv!" he said in a chipper tone, "You look gorgeous!"

"You think so?" You asked, Barry holding out his hand to help you out of your chair and have him drink in your appearance. You were wearing a dark blue dress, smoothing out your curves with your hair straighten and pushed back behind your shoulders. Your makeup was light with tiers of silver and blue, diamond earrings that Barry gave you for your birthday and a singular necklace along your collarbones.

"I'm one lucky bastard tonight to have you on my arm," he swooned at you, making you blush, "You're gonna make 'em sweat,"

"Not as much as you," You replied, smoothing out his jacket with your fingers as seeing him watch you with love in his bright eyes, "You are rather handsome tonight, Barry,"

"Thank you, m'darlin'," he replied smoothly, you resting your hands on his chest near his jacket as he reached up to lace your fingers together softly. You both took a moment and watched each other, about to go out in front of thousands of pictures and reporters for one of the biggest premiers of the year. Your nerves were getting the best of you of course, but seeing Barry smile in front of you made it a pinch better.

"You ready?" Barry asked you, seeing the hesitance on your face as you gulped and nodded your head, "It's gonna be fine, you know. I'll be with you the whole time,"

"I know you will," You agreed, "I just wanna be good enough for you out there at your premiere, in front of those cameras--"

"Hush, don’t think about that." Barry lightly interrupted you and made you eye him as he gave you a kind gaze, "They don't matter, in all fairness. What matters is you on my arm, looking as beautiful as the day I met you. Those photographers are not the stars tonight: You and I are? Plus, if any of them give you grief, you've got the rest of the Eternals cast behind you who adore you,"

You grinned widely, hearing the truth laced in his lips. Barry always did build you up, and you did the same with him. He made sure you were safe and you were happy in your own skin and mind. So to think of him on your arm that night, even amongst the glitz and glamor of the premier, you weren't as nervous or scared.

Not with him guiding you along the way.

"Let's go," You said lightly, pecking him on the cheek before you reached up to smear off the lipstick on his skin. He chuckled, then taking you by the hand to lead you out of the hotel room.

The next morning, your face made the tabloids, but with Barry kissing you soundly in front of the flashing cameras and you two sporting massive grins in the kiss.

The End.

Reassurance Prompt Found Here

#barry keoghan writing #barry keoghan fanfic #barry keoghan #barry keoghan x f!reader #barry keoghan x reader smut #barry keoghan x reader #barry keoghan x you #barry keoghan x female reader #druig fan writing #druig x reader #fanfiction #writing #my love #druig #eternals #marvel

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Disney, Altitude, Mubi win top prizes at The Big Screen Awards 2022

The Walt Disney Company, Altitude, Paramount Pictures and Mubi were among the winners at The Big Screen Awards, which recognises excellence in UK marketing, distribution, publicity and exhibition.

The Big Screen Awards were rebranded from the Screen Awards, last held in 2019, and were unveiled tonight (November 24) at a ceremony in The Brewery, London, with comedian Phil Wang on hosting duties.

Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures UK & Ireland won a special distributor of the decade award, recognising 10 years of achievement. The company has released 145 titles in theatres since 2013 totalling £2.21bn at the UK and Ireland box office, making it the decade’s top distributor with a 20.5% share. The award was collected by Lee Jury, senior vice president of studio content marketing and co-head of Walt Disney Studios UK/EMEA.

The distributor of year – independent award went to Altitude, which was praised for its support of cinemas coming out of the pandemic, including the release of Minari into cinemas when venues reopened last year. “[They] gave cinema audiences something to come back for at a time when new product was badly needed,” said one judge.

Paramount Pictures UK picked up the new blockbuster of the year award for Top Gun: Maverick. The award shines a spotlight on the studio campaigns that galvanised audiences to return to cinemas. Top Gun grossed a huge $102m at the UK box office after star Tom Cruise held out for its cinema release during Covid.

Kenneth Branagh’s Belfast, released in the UK by Universal, won the best British film award, voted for in an online poll by readers from a shortlist selected by Screen International’s senior editors. Jamie Dornan and Jude Hill appeared by video link to accept the award.

PHD UK & Warner Bros won theatrical campaign of the year (200 sites and over) for The Batman, with judges praising the villain-centric approach taken as ”ballsy”, “striking” and “brave”.

Mubi won theatrical campaign of the year for a title released into 199 sites or under as well as the international feature film campaign of the year awards for The Worst Person In The World. The film passed £1m at the UK and Ireland box office, in part due to a “cheesy but brilliant” Valentine’s Day marketing campaign.

Documentary campaign went to Dartmouth Films for Eric Ravilious: Drawn To War, with event cinema campaign going to Empire Street Productions and National Theatre Live for NT Live: Prima Facie, which starred Jodie Comer and was seen by more than 300,000 people.

For this year’s rebranded awards, several new prizes were introduced, including breakthrough British filmmaker, which went to Boiling Point director Philip Barantini, and breakthrough British actor, awarded to Honor Swinton Byrne, who most recently starred in Joanna Hogg’s The Eternal Daughter and The Souvenir films.

There were three other new categories for 2022. Big screen event of the year went to the 2022 edition of the Glasgow Film Festival, which achieved a record high of 73% audience capacity on its first in-person edition post-Covid.

The green screen award, honouring a company that put sustainable practices first, went to Lewes-based independent cinema Depot. The diversity and inclusion initiative prize, recognising inspirational work towards creating a more inclusive industry, was awarded to the BFI London Film Festival’s critics mentorship programme.

Other returning awards included PR campaign of the year, which was won by Premier’s “smart, funky and funny” campaign for Prano Bailey-Bond’s horror Censor.

The cinema of the year prizes went to Ilkley Cinema (for 24 screens and under) and Cineworld Basildon (for 25 screens and over).

Vue Entertainment won cinema marketing campaign of the year for ’Get Lost in Great Stories — Jurassic World Dominion’.

Cineworld’s Olivia Ter-Berg won the industry rising star category; Picturehouse Entertainment & Intermission Film took home the ever-competitive poster of the year prize for The Reason I Jump; Ali & Ava won trailer of the year for Altitude and Intermission Film; and Into Film & Universal Pictures UK won brand partnership of the year for their No Time To Die schools marketing partnership.

Finally, the Cinema First achievement award went to cinema programmer Roy Gower, who worked at ABC Cinemas (which became Cineworld in 2006) from 1975 to 2014, before joining Everyman Cinemas, where he worked as director of film until his retirement in 2021.

The full list of nominations is here.

Sponsors for the evening included: Eikon, MediCinema and Powster. The event was in association with Cinema First and the UK Cinema Association.

The full list of winners: Screen Daily