Ricky Whittle talking about Gillian Anderson as Media, in American Gods

What was it like working with Dana Scully herself, Gillian Anderson?

Do you know how hard it was, to not call her Scully? So the first scene was the Lucille Ball, the ‘I love Lucy’ scene in the store and I was so excited. I, like you, have grown up with Scully, X-files, you know. Mulder and Scully were my jam, that was my thing and I was so excited. And I saw her make-up, we were talking about her charity and I  drew a doodle for her charity and I was like ‘Oh my goodness, Gillian Anderson just asked me to do something for her charity’ and she was so cool in the make-up chair and she is so wonderful and so we went to set and we kinda went through it and stuff and then when we went to, go for the take she was ‘You can go home’ and I was like ‘Excuse me?’  She was like ‘Well, it’s only me talking to the camera so don’t worry about it. You can just go. I don’t need you here’ and I was like ‘Oh, okay.’ That’s fine, I get it, I get it’. I don’t wanna distract you.’ But I was really gutted. I literally worked all day, every day for like a whole month, I hadn’t had any time off and then the one time I actually really really really wanted to work, Gillian Anderson gave me the afternoon off. So I was very grateful but I was really gutted because I really wanted to work with her. You know, she was talking straight down the lens so she didn’t actually need to see me. And she said it’s just gonna be distracting if I was the side of the camera. 

But she is a phenomenon. She is incredible. You know, when people exceeds your expectations like that…Sometimes you are scared to meet your idols and these great actors ‘cause you don’t wanna be disappointed. Gillian Anderson will blow your minds. And I eventually did get to work with her and it was fantastic but I think, I’m not sure how much I can say about her different personalities as Media coming up but David Bowie blows my mind. Her as David Bowie is one of the best things you will see on TV. She is incredible and I’m looking forward to the world seeing that. I think Gillian Anderson dressed as David Bowie T-shirts will be everywhere. 

Bryan Fuller, Micheal Green have already gave all the cast these David Bowie T-shirts. Well Media, they are Media T-shirts actually. But she is dressed as David Bowie. They are great T-shirts and people are gonna lose their minds when they see it. They’re gonna want them everywhere. But as down to Gillian just doing an incredible job of portraying these kinda iconic stars of the past. (X)

ceriphena-underbough  asked:

You know the post where people are tracing batman & Bruce Wayne's ass and they're like "the asses match!! Secret identity revealed!!!" ? If ur feeling up to it, could you please write foggy realizing Matts the Daredevil via the ass I've been thinking about it all day and it's so fucking funny to me (((if not that's ok ur still my fav writer!!! Ur doing amazing buddy)))

So this is 1) long 2) off topic and 3) Elektra kept wanting to play, but I hope you like it. 

“I’m back with dinner,” Matt called, kicking his shoes onto the rack with his customary unerring accuracy. “Come take it away before I eat it all.”

“Uh-huh,” Foggy and Elektra called back. Foggy had spread a bunch of eight-by-ten photos all over their kitchen table, all marked up with a grid of red crayon, and Elektra’s (chunky, reinforced metal, possibly stolen from the FBI) laptop was running a facial recognition program of the grainy image; the software sending little blue measurement dots flying over the subject’s face and body. Elektra’s fingers flew over the keyboard at approximately the same rate as she–Foggy squinted at the screen–argued with someone in a chatroom

“Guys, when I’m the one telling you to stop with the studying and eat, it’s really time to–” Matt put his hand down on the table, encountered a shiny photo with greasy crayon. “–this isn’t reading for class.”

“Sure it is,” Foggy lied, trying to squeak the photo out from under Matt’s hand without smudging his careful ruler-work. “It’s an, uh–” he looked helplessly at Elektra,

“It’s a thing for my Econ class,” she said, lifting Matt’s hand by his thumb and thrusting the incriminating evidence at Foggy.

“It’s a photograph,” Matt said, kicking out a chair and sitting down. He hands a sandwich each to Foggy and Elektra. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s of that guy you’re all obsessed with.”

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” Foggy quoted, unwrapping a fresh banh mi and digging in.

“He prefers the name Daredevil,” sniffed Elektra. Foggy waggled his sandwich at her in a yes, dear sort of way.

“How do you know that?” Matt demanded. 

Keep reading

m a t t y // s e x

Merely weeks later - the first time he felt you, all of you. Fucked you into oblivion. A fight with your boyfriend, Matty had wanted to kill him. Mattress - back of his van. Pleading for him to stay with you, fingers - reaching.  Eyes - glazed, but there were no tears, too proud. That night wasn’t the first night he had seen you cry. But the first night he had seen a crack, break in your mind. A hint of vulnerability. A need to be needed - to be good enough, and maybe he could relate. Validation.

His lips on yours - harsh, steady. Aimless - rolling around the mattress, heavy breaths, tongue kisses. Sat atop his stomach, leaning back against his knees - hair springing loose from your hair tie. Begging for a distraction, he offered to smoke some with you, or there was tequila in the front. Shaking your head - you had said you didn’t want to feel numb, you wanted - needed to feel something. Something real. At first - he hadn’t quite understood what you were asking.

Faces - mere inches away, fingers grasping his jaw, warm breaths on his lips, your eyes - lost. Flickering between both of his and it’s a whisper, hopeless tone, “You care about me Matty, right?”

He swallowed, nodding - of course.

Your teeth tugging - your lower lip, gaze not letting up, intensifying. A crack, “Then show me.” - and your hands - down his jeans. A gasp - against your lips, muffled murmurs on his, you’re begging - again. A tragic sound, “Matty - please.”

It wasn’t the first night he made love to you either.  That wasn’t what you were asking for - wasn’t what he was capable of. He had started with the intent of taking it slow, fervid kisses, heavy touches - reveling in the sounds he was causing you to make. But you were beseeching - harder, craving to feel something and his fingers left imprints, teeth left marks. Asking for him to fuck you, and maybe that’s when he lost it. Any ounce of control he had left. Brutal, desperate - carnal. Until the only sounds falling from your lips - breathless whines, pants - his name. His thoughts - incoherent. Your face, legs trembling around him - something more than lust surging - his veins. Everything blurred - only you.

Laying on his side - you sat alongside him, naked, legs entangled. Tequila, blunt between your lips - his tongue, a freckle where your thigh meets your hip. Nine Inch Nails. Gaze drifting over you - smoke swirling, glazing your eyes, and he recalls thinking you looked so alive. Infinite - that moment. Alive - contrast to the circumstances, reasoning. When the tequila was gone - you begged for more, wanting to feel him again.

Alcohol buzzing - his veins,  smoke clouding - his thoughts. It’s a vague memory - you on top this time. Fingers, blunt nails dragging - your hips. Your face - hazy, lips parting. Sounds of ecstasy, rapture - distant. Time lapses - lasting longer than the first, or maybe that was just the alcohol, drugs. Windows fogging.

An obscure memory - fuzzy around the edges, soft breaths dancing over his chest - asleep. Goosebumps - your thighs, his heart thrumming, contrasting to yours - rhythmic slow. Dark. Recalling - maybe this was the start. And he was okay with that.

But -  come morning, you were gone. It became a familiar scene.

But - it was the start of something, the start of tequila induced numbness, sex to counteract the numbness, eventually something stronger than  weed, conversations - life and death, and Matty falling apart over you - and hating every second of it. Hating you. A perfect storm - the beginning.

Now, if someone were to ask about the first time he made love to you - he’d give one of two options. Ask a younger Matty: he’d say July. Your garage.

In hindsight - he realises that night was amidst the final build up, the build up to your final triumph, how you broke him down completely. Maybe it was the calm before the storm, or maybe that night was the eye of it. He was nearing twenty, you nineteen, in truth - that whole year had been chaotic - heartbreaks, and on that night, maybe you just went crazy.

Garage - your space, art. Now it was paintings, drawings, before - you wrote, stories, poems, before - filming, photography. There was a constant new phase with you, and even he found it hard to keep up at times.

Fingers - ripping, tearing everything down, tears running hot, chest heaving. His old Bowie t-shirt, underwear, paint splattering - dried on your skin. Begging - yelling for you to stop. You wouldn’t - destruction. His fingers - curling around your wrists, turning you to face him, struggling against his hold. Hair wild - eyes wilder, broken sobs. He had been frightened.  Calling your name, demanding that you look at him, pleading. When you did - it scared him. Your eyes, his heart ached. Gaze drifting - you’re pulling against him and it’s sudden. Your name falling from his lips and - “ - look at me, I love you.”

Eyes snapping back to his, and it’s desperate, lost - burning. But - his fingers, cupping your jaw, spanning down the back of your neck, holding your gaze - burning, but he’s repeating. Voice cracking - “I love you.”

The first time he’s said it - said it to you. With a proper meaning behind it. Fingers - curling around his wrists, voice hoarse, quiet - asking him to say it again.

So he did, again - and again.

Lips - against his, salt - tears lacing through the kiss. He says it again. “I love you.”

Fingers - undoing his jeans, pulling the shirt over your head. Again - “I love you.”

Crashing to the ground, next to the couch, torn canvases, newspapers - his lips, trailing, tongue exploring, every inch of skin, every mark, freckle, scar. Again, muffled murmurs - “I love you.”

It’s passionate, fire trailing with every touch - slow, craving. But you’re asking for more, and he kept saying it, reassuring. Reassuring in the only way he knew how - the only way he knew how to make you feel needed, wanted - loved. In hindsight, he realises that wasn’t enough.

Because - even on that night, you were still loving each other lustfully, not selflessly.

If you asked an older Matty; he’d say January.  The rather shitty one bedroom flat - London. Almost three years later. Kitchen floor. Him nearing twenty-three, you twenty-one.

The roles had somewhat changed - for the majority of his teenage years, he reckoned he had been the anchor for you, but now - you were, for both sides, something he’d watched you perfect over the years. The art of holding everything together.

Kitchen floor - one in the morning, he had broken a promise. The one thing he had promised you, couldn’t do it. Ripping him apart from the inside out. Jack Daniels and cigarettes. Dark. You were asleep with George.

A light flickering on - you, his boxers, a tank top, rubbing your eyes - and there’s a gasp resembling his name. His heart dropping - in sync with you, dropping to your knees in front of him. Bloodshot eyes, blown out pupils - and he doesn’t realise he’s shaking until your hands are on him. A whisper, voice cracking - eyes flickering, a hint of pain. The sound still lingering around his ears - “Oh, Matty.”

Blood - trudging under his nose, you had wiped it away, your shirt, putting out the cigarette. Sniffles. Sat alongside him - hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Your hand - reaching for his, his trembling, fingers lacing. It took a few minutes - tears fell, voice quivering, wavering - calling your name, admittance. “I’m high.”

You just nodded, pressing kisses to his knuckles. Fingers - grasping his jaw, asking him to look at you - he couldn’t, wouldn’t. Fingers pressing - turning his face, meeting your eyes. There’s worry, fear - but your hand squeezed his, voice steady, gaze not faltering. “Matty - look at me. I love you.”

And maybe that hurt worse, that was the knife in his gut - because you shouldn’t. He wasn’t worth it. He shook his head, your grasp tightened, firm. “Matthew - I love you, and I.. I..”

Trailing off, defeated tone. A smile - not reaching his eyes, telling you that you shouldn’t have come with him, be better off without him. You refused. Another stab. Forehead to his, warm breaths, mumbled I love you’s. You promised, swore to him that it would be alright, and he believed you.

Hands, lips - starting to wander, silent reassurances. Skin to skin, soft sounds.

Maybe, it was that night. A new beginning. It wasn’t touches, kisses - sex, out of lust, carnal urges. It wasn’t about getting off. Not about getting off to prove the other was needed, wanted. Because that was already certain - decided on, he knew he was yours and you his.

It was slow, sensual - intimate. It was all the unspoken words, frustrations. Eye contact, heavy whispers. Coaxing - building each other up.

It was selfless. He may have been numb - but it was different from anything from before. Forever etched into his memory, because it should have been the night you walked away. Left him for good. But that would come later.

Maybe This Time -- Chapter One “Random”

Tom Hiddleston x Plus Size OFC

No real description yet, It is going to be sweet and fluffy for the most part… but you guys know me… that never lasts haha

Chapter One - Random

It was just a random Thursday night. Why do the best things seem to happen on the most random days and the most random times? If it were a scene in a scene in a movie it would have been a rainy night. A chance meeting in a smoky bar or cafe. A sudden spotlight on the perfect girl in slow motion.

It wasn’t a movie though, so it had far less fanfare. It was a clear and quiet night, it was a hole in the wall cabaret in a neighborhood about halfway to being gentrified, and it was just a woman with a voice.

Keep reading

And now I’m kind of in love with the idea of future video game compposer Michael Mell. With his musical nook, piled high with notebooks and surrounded by instruments. His longer hair and stubble on his face. His glasses perched on the end of his nose as he writes notes down frantically, in a David Bowie t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, sipping at a melted slushie his fiance picked up for him at 7/11.

anonymous asked:

Could you pleaseeeeeee write one of Remus being the most oblivious and all of Sirius obvious attempts of wooing him and he just doesn't see it please? Fluff fluff fluff! Your Trans!remus & genderfluid!Sirius are the best

Yesssssss! I’m so so sorry it took me so long to write and post!!

- Sirius was going out of their mind.

- They had tried e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.

- Everyone in Gryffindor knew how they felt

- So did everyone if Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin too.

- In fact, so did every Professor, Ghost and Portrait in Hogwarts!

- Heck, even Peeves knew!

- The only person who didn’t know how they felt was Remus-Oblivous-Lupin!

- Sirius had tried the subtle way: Soft touches, little flirtatious comments, complimenting him all the time.

- They had tried the obvious way: Kissing his cheek, taking ahold of his hand when they walk down the corridor, asking him out on a date, heck, he even TOLD him that he loved him once!

- But still, nothing.

- Was Remus just trying to let them down gently?

- Or was he really this dense?

- Sirius decided it must be the latter

- (Because the other was too heartbreaking for them to accept)

- Prongs and Wormtail knew how much their friends loved each other.

- If Sirius wasn’t the one going on about how amber Moonys eyes were that day, then it was Remus who was spewing sonnets over how shiney Sirius’ hair was.

- They watched Sirius try very hard to tell Remus their feelings, but Remus always thought they were just joking and being friendly

- Remus wouldn’t even attempt to tell Sirius how he felt because he was too scared of rejection and thought Sirius deserved better than him.

- James had had enough and had come up with an elaborate plan to show Remus how Padfoot felt about him.

- Sirius was abit dubious since the plan involved doing it publicly, and they didn’t think their Moony would appreciate it.

- But James assured them it was fool proof - he had seen it on the felly-box that Lily brought in one time and it worked then to “get the girl”, it should work to “get the boy” too!

- So that night, they planned Operation: Moony for Moony. 

- (James was too proud of himself for that name …)

- Peter was the distraction 

- He would stick by Remus’ side like glue and keep the conversation going at all times so he doesn’t ask where James or Sirius is and to get him to the Great Hall in time.

- James and Sirius would spend the night learning how to cast a strong enough Sonorus spell to be heard all around the Great Hall.

- James convinced Dumbledore to make an announcement before the big reveal, and had convinced Flickwick to have the Hogwarts band play the music and the choir to do backing vocals.

- And Sirius practiced and practiced and practiced until they had the song they would sing down perfectly.

- Now, they had to wait until Dinner time to see if this plan would work.

- “Hey Remus!” Peter bounced over to his friend.

- Remus was currently curled up in the common room arm chair reading the latest Quidditch Through the Ages. 

- (Not because he was interested in it, more because a certain ‘friend’ of his was …)

- Glancing up from his book, he smiled brightly to his friend.

- “Hey Pete, everything alright?” 

- “Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t it be? …” His eyes shifted.

- Remus cocked one of his brows but didn’t push it. 

- “Well good, have you seen Sirius? Or James for that matter?” He rushed, blushing ever so slightly.

- Peter firmly shook his head as Remus’ shoulders deflated.

- “Nope!” He accidentally shouted too loud, “not seen them all day! Sirius and James who?” 

- “Peter …” Remus closed his book and fixed a stern look towards his smaller friend. 

- Peter attempted to avoid his gaze, but didn’t do a fantastic job.

- “What are they up to?” 

- “Yano, Remus,” Peter started, “you should trust your friends more. What makes you think they’re up to anything?” 

- Remus lips quirked with an amused laugh.

- “Because I know them? And I trust that they’re up to something?”

- Peter awkwardly shifted from foot to foot.

- This is why he hated being the distraction.

- He didn’t know how to get out of this.

- Unless he used dirty tactics …

- “You should tell Sirius that you fancy them, Remus.”

- Remus eyebrows flew up to his hairline as his eyes bulged.

- “What? Where the hell did THAT come from?” 

- Peter shrugged and sat down heavily on the arm of the chair.

- “Because, you’ve liked them since like first year, but you’re too chicken to admit it and tell them.” 

- Peter knew it wasn’t the nicest thing to bring up to Remus, but he really needed to avoid the whole ‘What-is-James-and-Sirius-Up-To” for the plan to work.

- “I’m not chicken!” Remus furrowed his eyebrows. 

- “You know why I haven’t told Sirius the way I feel. It’s because they can do better than me.” He whispered, looking away from Peter, completely forgetting about the previous conversation.

- Hook, line and sinker.

- “Oh, here we go around.” Peter rolled his eyes.

- “Well, it’s true Worm!” Remus protested. 

- “Yeah, we’ve heard it plenty of times, Moons.” 

- Peter coughed and straightened his back and began to mimic Remus.

- “It’s because I’m a werewolf, and trans, and gay, oh woah is me! I deserve no love in my life” He smacked his hand against his forehead.

- “Oh, shut up.” Remus groaned and pushed Peter off the arm chair and onto the floor with a thud.

- “Ouch!” Peter whined, rubbing his sore back.

- “I’m pretty sure Sirius likes somebody else anyway.” Remus chewed the inside of his cheek.

- “I hear them talk about it all the time so… it doesn’t matter how I feel.”

- Remus rose from his seat, shaking the thoughts from his mind.

- “C'est la vie. I’m going down for dinner, you coming?” He helped Peter up and walked downcast toward the portrait hole.

- “Wow … he really is dense.” Peter muttered to himself, following his friend out of the common room.

- Sirius was stood outside the Great Hall, peering in through a small crack in the door

- They could easily see Remus sat at their usual seat next to Peter and Lily.

- Remus looked a little on edge, turning around every so often, most likely trying to find James and Sirius.

- “Ready mate?” James smacked them on their shoulder, causing Sirius to jump out of their thoughts.

- “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess …” They rubbed the back of their neck. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

- “Of course it is! Lets go!” James insisted, giving Sirius a quick kiss on the cheek for encouragement.

- He opened the door and closed it and walked down to his usual seat, sending a nod to Dumbledore.

- “Hey Moons, Hey Worms, and Miss Evans.” He winked to the latter, getting a bemused eye roll.

- “Hey Prongs,” Remus smiled over his cup of tea, “wheres Sirius?”

- “Oh, you know Sirius,” he shook his head with a smile, “he’s probably chasing a ball somewhere as we speak.”

- Dumbledore rose from his seat and the hall fell silent.

- “Students,” he boomed, “before we enjoy dessert after our wonderful feast this evening, we have a treat for you all. So without further ado, enjoy your evenings entertainment.”

- There was a bustling of chatter around the hall.

- Remus turned to Peter to see if he had any idea what was going on, but he was quickly avoiding eye contact and smirking.

- Lily, on his other side, look just as confused as he did.

- “You’re just too good to be true.” The beautiful voice echoed throughout the hall. 

- Everyone strained their necks to find where the voice was coming from.

- Remus stilled. 

- He knew that voice anywhere.

- “Can’t take my eyes off of you.

- Remus was searching the hall with his eyes, but couldn’t see Sirius anywhere.

- “You’d be like heaven to touch. Oh God, I want to hold you so much.

- Remus felt his heart race

- “Our long last love as arrived, and I thank god I’m alive.

- He heard the hall door open slightly.

- He swung his head around to watch Sirius holding their wand to their neck, wearing Remus’ David Bowie T-shirt, their own leather jacket and skirt, fish-net tights and black combat boots.

- They looked drop dead stunning.

- “You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.

- Their eyes were staring directly at Remus, making his breath hitch.

- Then the members of the Hogwarts band stood up in their seats with various instruments, joining in with the song.

- Sirius ran and jumped up onto the Gryffindor table to the sounds of hoots and whistles, bouncing and dancing down the table until they stood directly in front of Remus.  

- The hall burst into cheers and giggles

- Remus was outright laughing at the prank Sirius and James had somehow managed to get the whole of Hogwarts in on.

- He only wished he knew who Sirius was declaring his love for.

- “I LOVE YOU, MOONY!” They sang, pointing at Remus

- Remus eyes widened and his laughing stopped.

- “Oh god no, please no.” He muttered to himself.


- Remus covered his face with his palms, utterly embarrassed. 

- Why would Sirius do this to him? 


- They sunk down to their knees in front of him, pulling his hands away from his face and staring him directly in the eye.

- “Oh, pretty Moony. Now that I found you, stay.” 

- Their smile whilst singing seemed to genuine, that Remus almost thought they were, dare he say it, serious.

- “And let me love you, baby, let me love you.” 

- Sirius jumped down off the table between Remus and Peter, and tugged Remus up to his feet.

- “You’re just too good to be true,” they whispered, nudging their nose against Remus, making him pushing them away playfully with a laugh.

- Sirius was beaming.

- The rest of the hall, the music and cheers, seemed to disappear.

- “You’re such an idiot!” Remus laughed. “Who even put you up to this?”

- “Well, it was Prongs idea …”

- “Of course it was,” he chuckled. “It’s good practice for when you’re actually trying to ask the person you like out, I guess. Not sure why I was the one you decided to test it on, though …”

- Sirius smile fell off of their face and they took a step back.

- Then let out a manic laugh, throwing their hands into their hair.

- “Why are you so … dense, Remus John Lupin!” Sirius shouted.

- “What?” He tilted his head.

- “Moons! I was singing it for you! Because I love you!” They sighed exasperated. “I’ve been trying to tell you for years!”

- Remus eyes blew wide open.

- “But … but you …? You mean when you … oh god, that makes so much sense now I think about it …” He cringed. 

- “Oh god, I’m the idiot!” He face palmed himself.

- Sirius laughed and nodded.

- “Come here,” Remus grinned, pulling Sirius by his own shirt, and planting his lips firmly on their’s.

- Sirius was shocked at the sudden kiss, then through both fists up into the air in victory.

- The entire hall (bar the Slytherins) burst into cheers, whistles and Cat calls, but neither of them heard it.

- Sirius smiled into the kiss, wrapping their arms around Remus’ neck, deepening the kiss.

- Remus swear he heard fireworks go off during their kiss, only to pull back abruptly to realise that James had actually set off Fireworks.

- He forgot they were stood in the middle of the Great Hall and the fact Sirius hadn’t cancelled the Sonorus charm.

- Pushing his forehead again Sirius’, they both shared a laugh and searched for each others hands.

- Remus tugged on Sirius hand and pulled him toward the door and away from the rest of the school.

- Nothing could wipe the smile from his face now.

- Sirius had his Moony, and Remus had his Sirius.

- “Hey, Padfoot?”

- “Yes, my Moons?”

- “Did you really just fist pump the air?” He chuckled.

- Sirius blushed red.

- “Shut up, you!”

Sorry it took so long, but I enjoyed writing this so much! I hope you liked it and it was worth the wait