some of the questions in this press conference is just

Painted Faces

Part Three of the Anthony Meets Tony Series made based on @one-piece-of-harry ‘s ideas. Part 1 here, and part 2 This was supposed to be a oneshot. Anyways have some fluff.

“Are you sure he’s your kid? He doesn’t look much like you.” Christine Everhart calls. Tony’s jaw drops.

“Of course I’m sure. Do you know how many people have claimed to have my kid? Also he looks just like me. What did you expect my kid to have a goatee?” Tony says, questioning the intelligence of the human race. The kid is literally a carbon copy of him. Why is this even a question.

The next day there are accusations on the front page of every major news source about Tony’s kid. Some say he was adopted, others say stolen.

Tony calls a press conference.

“I have gathered you all here today to prove a point, this is Anthony.” Tony says, holding the kid on his hip.

“Hi!” Anthony calls, waving at the crowd. A few people coo at him.

“Anthony here, is my son.” Tony says. “Too prove it, I’ve called in my friend Tom. A professional make up artist.” He walks over to Tom, who opens up a huge makeup kit.

“Woah.” Anthony whispers next to his ear. “That’s a lot.” Tony smiles at the boy and nods. They face away from the reporters as Tom quickly applies the makeup, Anthony giggling at the sensation.

“I think that you all forget that I was not born with this magnificent goatee.” Tony says, scratching at his chin. A few reporters laugh, and he turns around, showing off Anthony’s drawn on goatee. “Does he look like me now?”

Cameras flash, and Anthony giggles, waving at them all and striking a pose.

“I’m dad Tony! Look!” He wriggles around so his arm is out straight his legs kicking out behind him in a classic flight pose.

“Whoosh. Ironman here to save the day.” Tony says, clinging to his waist as he spins Anthony through the air. Anthony laughs loudly, delighted. The reporters are smiling too, a few more are making cooing noises than before.

“Anyways, this is my son, and we’re awesome.” Tony calls, before pulling Anthony up onto his shoulders and stalking out of the room. Anthony giggling with his hands gripping Tony’s hair.


On April 9, 1959, the Mercury Seven were introduced to the world (and each other) for the first time. Scott Carpenter, Gordo Cooper, John Glenn, Gus Grissom, Wally Schirra, Alan Shepard, and Deke Slayton were announced as NASA’s original astronauts, “selected to begin training for orbital space flight.”

I’ve never seen anything like it, before or since. It was just a frenzy of light bulbs and questions. It was some kind of roar. I know I stumbled through a couple of answers.

What was the real surprise was watching John Glenn. Someone asked if our wives were behind us. Six of us said, ‘Sure,’ as if that had ever been a real consideration. Glenn piped up with a damn speech about God and family and destiny. We all looked at him, and then each other.”

–Deke Slayton on their first press conference

I Want To Write You A Song - Harry Styles Mini Series (Part 21)

Originally posted by starry-eyed-waltz

Part 20

A few days later, you were back in the studio. Harry had some interviews that morning, but he would be stopping by once he was finished. He had been super busy these past few weeks and it was only going to get crazier with his album coming out in a few days. 

It also didn’t help that you two had been on the outskirts a bit, but after the other night, things were looking up. The few arguments that you two had since coming to the UK were really the only ones you two had as a couple. You both are just glad that they made you stronger instead of tearing you apart. 

However, there was still one major issue that had gone unspoken about and that was if you would come and stay in London with Harry. Harry knew that it would be a huge step for you, especially since you two had only been dating for a few months, but he couldn’t imagine between half a world away from you. 

He was sure that the distance would more than likely drive you apart. 

He had been in interview after interview that morning and was finally free. Before heading to the studio, he decided to grab some lunch, smoothies, coffee, and cupcakes to bring for everyone. He knows how grueling it could be in the studio, so he wanted to bring in some refreshments for a bit of a break. 

After getting everything, he got into his car and drove straight to the studio. When he got there, he carried all the stuff into the studio and went into the recording booth you were in. He nodded to the producers and put the food on the table before making his way towards them. 

“How she doing?” Harry asked. 

“Amazing,” they said. “We’re just about to start another take.” 

Harry nodded and listened as the music started up. 

“You’re the light, you’re the night. You’re the color of my blood. You’re the cure, you’re the pain. You’re the only thing I wanna touch…” you sang softly. “Never knew that it could mean so much, so much.” 

Harry smiled as he watched you. Your eyes were closed as you belted out the rest of the song as you apporached the end of the song the notes were getting higher and higher and Harry couldn’t help, but feel a little turned on. 

Once you hit the highest note, everyone in the studio was blown away. Harry had the biggest smirk on his face before taking off his shirt and practically stripping. He knew that you would laugh and plus it was getting hot in there. 

You had finished the song and looked out into the studio, where you saw your half naked boyfriend with his arms in the air and shouting. You laughed shaking your head as you took your headphones off and walked out of the booth. 

“Uh, what are you doing?” You laughed. 

“Nothing, nothing,” he smirked wrapping you in his arms. “You’re were fucking amazing and damn sexy.” 

“So, that caused you to get naked?” You giggled drinking some water. 

He laughed pulling his pants up. “Yep,” he smirked. “Anyway, I brought some things if you all would like them.” 

“I thought I smelled food,” one of the producers smirked. “Let’s take a good break, shall we?” 

“Sounds good,” you said walking over and grabbing some food for yourself and  joining Harry on the couch. “How did your interviews go?” 

“Okay, I was mostly asked the same questions over and over again,” he laughed. 

“You should just do a press conference and get it all out of the way,” you laughed. 

“I don’t exactly have the best experiences with those,” he joked. 

“True,” you giggled. “I’ve seen the videos.” 

“But back to you,” Harry said. “How do you feel with everything?” 

“I feel…great,” you smiled. “I don’t know, I can’t really describe how I feel.” 

“I’m really proud of you baby,” he whispered. “And I can’t wait until I’m able to hear the entire thing. Just sitting back with a glass of wine and having it play in the background.” 

“Well, you might be waiting a while for that,” you said. “I’ve only gotten about three songs recorded… I have plenty written, but I don’t know if they should go on the album.” 

“I could help you, if you want,” he said. 

“Are you sure? I know your schedule is going to be hectic these next few weeks,” you said. 

“Yeah, it well be, but baby, I’m here for you when you need it,” he smiled. 

“Thank you,” you smiled. “And thank you for giving me the push to do this.” 

“I only did it because I knew deep down that you’d want this,” he smiled. 

“I love you,” you whispered leaning towards him. 

“And I love you,” he smiled. 

“Okay! Break’s over, let’s listen back over this track,” the producer said. 


After you left the studio, you and Harry decided to head to the store and grab some things to make dinner at home. 

“So, what should we make?” You asked. 

“I’m making a surprise,” he smirked taking the shopping cart from you and walking through the shop. 

“I thought we were supposed to make this together,” you laughed. 

“You can make the salad and dessert, but I’m cooking the main course.” he smirked. 

“I think you’ve already offered dessert back at the studio,” you joked. 

“You know you loved it,” he smirked looking at you. 

“Oh yeah, so if I ever get interviewed about the recording process, I’m going to have to mention my boyfriend getting naked in the studio,” you laughed. 

“And the bedroom,” he smirked wrapping his arm around your shoulder. 

You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, let’s get the food and get back to the house because I’m hungry.” 

He leant down to kiss you quickly before heading over and getting what he needed to get. 

You had gotten everything you needed for your salad and then got some fruit and melting chocolate for desserts. You met Harry up at the checkout counter and started putting everything on the counter. You just so happened to look over at the magazine rack and saw your face in the corner of it. You were confused, so you reached over and grabbed it. 

“Harry Styles Dating Secret Songwriter? But Is She Using Him To Get Fame” Was the headline that was below your picture. You opened it up and started to read the article that went along with it, while noticing pictures of you and Harry at his Mom’s place. 

“Did you see this?” You said to Harry as he took his card out of his wallet to hand to the cashier. 

He looked over and saw the article. He sighed. “No, I didn’t. Don’t worry about what it says,” he said. 

“It’s not just what it says, but the pictures are of us from your Mom’s,” you said. 

“Are you serious?” He said looking over at the pictures. “I can’t believe this.” 

You put the magazine back on the rack and you both grabbed the bags once Harry paid for them. 

“So, I take it you didn’t know about any of this?” You asked. “No one asked you about them in your interview?” 

“No, but it could be because my personal life is blacklisted for interviews,” he said putting the bags in the car. 

“The headline on the front is questioning whether I’m using you for fame,” you sighed. “But how did anyone find out about my past songwriting jobs when I’ve been writing under a pen name.” 

“They probably went searching and sleuthing because it’s been over a week since those pictures were taken, so they had to find something to write up with the pictures,” he sighed. “Are you okay?” 

You shrugged. “I mean… it’s a little weird, but it’s not like it’s saying anything bad other than I’m using you for fame, which we both know I’m not,” you said. 

Harry grabbed your hand and kissed it. “And that’s all that matters,” he smiled. 


Once you got back to Harry’s house, you both took the bags inside and starting prepping for dinner. You washed all the greens and veggies before chopping them up and throwing them in a large bowl, while Harry was cooking his meal. 

After you finished with the salad, you put it in the fridge and started making the chocolate covered fruit. You heated up the chocolate and dipped the fruit one by one in the chocolate before putting them on the plate. You had grabbed a paper towel to wipe up some of the mess, when you saw Harry stealing a strawberry.

“HEY! That’s for after dinner,” you laughed throwing the towel at him. 

He smirked at you with a shrug and a wink before going back over to the skillet on the stove. 

Soon everything was ready and you both brought everything to the table outside in his backyard, while he opened a bottle of wine. You smile and sat down at the table and Harry joined you. 

“Does this look amazing?” He smirked. 

“Yeah, the salad is top notch,” you said. 

“Well, yeah, but what about my chicken?” he said. 

“Eh, it’s alright,” you joked.

“Hey! You’re so mean to me,” he pouted. “You know there aren’t a lot of boyfriends out there who’d cook such an amazing meal!” 

You giggled. “I’m just joking, it’s really good.” 

“I knew it,” he smirked taking a bite. 

“This is really nice,” you smiled. “Having a date night like this.” 

“Yeah, it does. I like having date nights at home because we don’t have to worry about other people. We can just be together,” he smiled. 

“Which is good because I’m sure had we went out for dinner or something tonight, we would have been photographed or something since that article came out today,” you said. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he sighed shaking his head. 

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed. “Besides I sort of knew that would happen eventually when I said yes to going out with you.” 

“I wish it wasn’t though,” he said. “Just because you’re with me shouldn’t subject people finding out every little thing about you.” 

“I know, but I mean… eventually it would have happened right?” You said. “I’m working on my album, which is going to put me in the spotlight, so if it didn’t happen because of me dating you, then it would have happened then.” 

“I guess that’s true,” he nodded. “But either way, nobody should have to know everything about us.” 

You nodded taking his hand into yours. “So, I’ve been thinking…” 

“Uh oh,” he joked. 

You laughed. “Stop, I’m trying to be serious,” you said. 

“Sorry, sorry, continue,” he said. 

“I’ve been thinking about how you had asked me to come stay with you in London,” you said. 

“Okay,” he said looking over at you. 

“I’m not sure about it,” you sighed. “I’m worried and nervous about it, but I don’t want us to be apart and I don’t want you to come back to LA just because I didn’t want to live here. Instead of just saying no to it completely, I’m willing to give it a try for a few months.” 

“Really?” He smiled. 

“Yes, unless, you… don’t want me to anymore,” you said. 

“Yes, yes, of course I want you to,” he smiled. “Of course I want you to stay here in London with me. But I don’t want you to feel like, you have to do this.” 

“I don’t feel that way at all. It’s just hard for me to do things out of my comfort zone and to be quite honest, being with you was the beginning of learning to get out of there and then standing up to my parents and making my own album, this is just something else I need to do for myself,” you admitted. 

“I’m really proud of you baby,” he smiled. 

“I’m proud of myself,” you smiled. 

Harry leaned over and kissed you. You smiled into the kiss and soon pulled away. 

“I think it’s time for dessert,” you smiled. 

“How about we enjoy your dessert and a different kind of dessert in front of the fireplace?” He smirked. 

“Hm, I think that could work,” you smirked. 

“Hot damn!” He joked before getting up from the table and cleaning everything up, while you got the dessert from the fridge to bring it over to the living room, where you two spent the rest of the night. 

Something that really stood out to me about the press conference was the look on Artemi’s face when he got a question about how “some people say that [his] production is in part due to playing with Patrick Kane.” He was very controlled, and started out just by saying that he didn’t think he had anything to prove, pretty standard media line that his agent translated - then he added that throughout the last three years, including his last year at SKA, people have always said that he’s playing well because of someone else, so he doesn’t let it get to him. [narrator voice: you could tell it did, in fact, get to him] Finally, he added that it does make him angry/upset at times (and huffed out a little angry laugh just in case my heart wasn’t already fully broken). I’m still bitter every day about him getting traded from my hometown team but god damn if I’m not excited to see him prove the critics wrong on a team that supports him for what he can do personally. (Bonus: CBJ GM saying “Kane had two of the best years of his career when Panarin was on his wing, so I think it works both ways” and Artemi smiling and thanking him)

Kowloon Press Conference (Excerpts, Mothers)
The Beatles

June 8th, 1964 (President Hotel, Kowloon, Hong Kong): In the Beatles’ Hong Kong press conference, John and Paul face up to a couple of journalists’ questions about mothers. (Note: I hereby dedicate this post to @thecutteralicia.)

Q: You’re taking your mothers to Australia, is this right?

JOHN: Well, Paul and I aren’t.

PAUL: It’s incorrect. No. Um…

GEORGE: John’s—

JOHN: It’s just my auntie.

PAUL: It’s a little bit mixed up. Just his auntie.

JOHN: Just my auntie [inaudible] stay, that’s all.

PAUL: [quiet] Actually, we haven’t got…

Q: [inaudible]

JOHN: She’s resting.

Q: But we have reports that some of you are bringing your mothers—

PAUL: Yeah.

GEORGE: We heard that too.

JOHN: Ah well, you see, you’re on the wrong agency.

GEORGE: That was the Daily Mail. 

Q: I would like to know how do your mothers feel about the business that you’re in?

PAUL: “Now look, son. Look here, son.”

JOHN: “Leave it to your dad.” [laughter] [inaudible]

PAUL: [wry] Good effort.

Reversal of Roles: Tony Stark

Tony Stark x Reader

Assumed female reader

Word Count: 2286

I am so excited for this series! I think you’ll understand the idea of the series more as you read this one, but each of these is going to be different.The next one that I have lined up is Bucky.

“Iron Man,” you fumed. “Just because the suit doesn’t have curves doesn’t mean that the person inside it is a guy.”

“(Y/N), you’re overthinking this. Does it matter that they think you’re a guy?” Pepper, your PA, reasoned, taking the remote from your hands and turning off the television. “It just means that they won’t think it’s you.”

You snorted. “They’ll be so busy looking for a guy smart enough to make the suit that they won’t realize that local genius (Y/N) (L/N) is behind the whole thing. Serves the sexist jerks right.”

Keep reading

monkshoodr  asked:

I wish you would write a fic where...a reporter asks Ginny if she can confirm the accuracy of the gossip blog tell-alls from Lawson groupies about his dick size...

(omg Rachel. My brain went in approximately 4000 directions with this one, and somehow i didn’t go with the secret dating scenario?? [sidenote: there’s no eyebrow wiggle emoji, but if there were, I would definitely put it in.])

“I’m sorry, what?” Ginny managed not to sputter the question, but it was a close thing. Had she really just heard what she thought she did? Was she dreaming? Did someone spike her water as some ill-advised prank?

The smiling woman just repeated her question, apparently seeing no problem with demanding answers to something like this. “Any truth to rumors about some of your teammates’ endowments?”

Endowments? Was she for real?

This was why Amelia’d told her to never stop for questions outside of scheduled press conferences. Well, lesson fucking learned.

Still, Ginny laughed, awkward and at a loss. “Sorry, they don’t keep me up to date on all their charitable causes,” she hedged, trying to sidle away. 

Keep reading

Trauma: Sing (angst)

Title: Sing (S.coups/Seungcheol)
Genre: Angst
Words: 335
A/N: Yass! It’s the final chapter of Trauma!! sjdfjsfgj!! Btw, this was really difficult to write. It was very difficult to find a line that would give me a prompt. Enjoy!
p.s. Listening to Too Good at Goodbyes by Sam Smith. I’m crying.

| Boxed In (Vernon) | Stuck (Mingyu) | Exist (Wonwoo) | Sing (S.coups) |

Originally posted by verngyu

Everything was red. White walls tainted. Hopeless short breaths.

Seungcheol stared at the professional. He wanted to scream. Throw things around. He couldn’t believe everything would just disappear like that. His voice is his profession. His anchor. His life.

Seungcheol gulped down his pain, “Are you…are you sure? It might be just a cold.”

The doctor nodded his head, his eyes pitying the rapper, “Yes, I’m positive. Vocal Cord paralysis is really that bad. But, a surgical treatment would be able to help treat you, Mr Choi. It’s expensive, though. But we could avoid the death threats it brings.”

Seungcheol nodded vigorously. The next few days were filled with papers and press conferences and just red. Then the day came. A lot of his fans were filling their social media accounts with questions and stuff. He was dressed in a hospital gown, ready to be a subject to pins and needles. His friends were looking at him in the white waiting room. Some were sniffling.

Joshua squeezed his hands. It doesn’t calm Seungcheol, though. He wished he had the singer’s calmness. He wished he had more time. Seungcheol wished for a lot of things. So much.

“You’ll be okay,” Seungcheol noticed the quiver in his friend’s voice. Seungcheol faked a smile, “Of course.”

Nothing turned out to be right. As soon as Seungcheol woke up from the anaesthesia, barely shaking it off, he was greeted by long faces of the ‘professionals’. After that…it wasn’t okay. Nothing was.

Seungcheol lost his voice.

They said it was temporary. It was nothing temporary. It was devastating. Disastrous. Painful. Awful. Pathetic. Tragic. So many words, Seungcheol can take from the dictionary. So many words. Yet no voice to speak out.

“I’m sorry, S.coups. You have to be cut off from the team,” the company’s executive said. “But you can help write songs. You’re a bright kid, Seungcheol. I know that.”

Seungcheol remained silent. What else can he do? He was actually dragged down by a coup. Except, he was the ‘government’, the leader overthrown by voice trauma.

Everything was red. White walls tainted. Hopeless short breaths.


•Boring Daddy• Neymar

A/n: Shoutout to Riley Curry and her daddy Steph Curry this is modeled after her press conference crashes during last seasons NBA championships lol this is coming extra late but I hope this is close to what was asked for–oh we’re gonna pretend Davi is 5(he actually turned 4 in August) just so this flows correctly, cool? Cool. moving right along…






The celebratory screams and cheers that filled Berlin’s Olympiastadion were deafening. Every Culé was currently losing their minds–and with good reason.

Barça just defeated Juventus 3-1,  winning the 2014-15 Champions League title. It was the first time since 2011 the Blaugrana would be lifting the trophy. it was all so surreal; for the fans, the players, the entire organization—but especially for a certain 23 year old Brazilian.

Neymar was overwhelmed but in the best way. How could he not be? He went from a trophy-less, lukewarm at best first season–and a horrific World Cup experience shortly after–to spectacular second, where he was a vital part of his club winning not one but three trophies. This was probably the biggest achievement in his career so far He was ecstatic. Nothing could bring him down.

Once the champions were officially crowned and the official photos were taken, personal ones with one another and love ones began. The pure happiness and joy  In the midst of all the excitement and slight chaos–Neymar spotted his beautiful girlfriend, Y/n as she made her way towards him.

He smiled as they locked eyes, watching the smile that was already on her face grow beautifully. She had their three year old daughter, Roseli, securely on her hip and  Davi held her hand. If it was possible, Neymar’s smile grew. He always was in awe of the relationship Davi and Y/n shared.

From the moment they were introduced,Y/n treated the young boy like her own. In her eyes, he was an extension of the man she loved so how could she do anything but fall in love with him too? Even when Roseli came along Y/n made it a point that Davi knew he still had and would always have a special place in her heart. Her love for him was unconditional. Neymar felt the  most indescribable type of joy as his little family joined him in this amazing moment.

Parabens, Juninho. congratulations, I’m so proud of you.” Y/n  said with a kiss when she was finally standing in front him. Neymar grinned, enveloping her in his arms as he returned the kiss. Their moment quickly came and went as the kids almost immediately stole away his attention. “Parabens, Daddy!”they shouted happily. Davi clung on to his legs while Roseli all but leaped from her mother’s arms into his.

Neymar laughed; celebrating this with them was gift and knowing his parents, sister, friends, and Davi’s mom were in the stands was the icing on an already flawless cake. Even when he was told he was expected at the post match press conference–something he was usually less than ecstatic about– Neymar complied with the biggest smile on his face. How could he be anything but happy?

When Neymar finally made it into the conference room a little while later, long after the celebrations had come to close.  He had changed into a 2014-15 championship shirt, some jeans and some nikes. Neymar walked into the conference  room. with a table with a mic on it upfront facing a whole bunch of reporters sitting who had their mics, and recorders ready as photographers took pictures. He sat down at his place and adjusted the mic on the table. Before he knew it the press conference started questions official began. There were congratulations, praise, inquiries of the future and of course mentions of the past.

Neymar had to consciously stop himself from grimacing when some of the reporters continuously found ways to bring up his disastrous World Cup experience experience. He objectively he understood why it was tied in—especially with Copa America just around the corner–but it didn’t make them any less annoying. He not so subliminally shut down all talks of it with mentioning lessons were to be learned from the past but it’s hard to if you continue to relive it. After that the focus of the questions were about this moment, and hopefully a successful Copa America. And he was grateful.

He was in the middle of answering a question about rebuilding Brazil’s national squad when Roseli suddenly ran into the room, disrupting not only his train of thought but the reporters focus as well.  

Flashes from cameras taking pictures came more  frequently at the sight of the little girl in her new 2015/16 Barça kit and a 100% Jesus headband not unlike her father’s. Neymar raised an eyebrow in surprise; he didn’t bring his kids along to press conferences for a reason. the atmosphere was anything but exciting, and would most certainly spell out for disaster for his restless offspring. the young girl wasn’t deterred by him or the commotion she stared. she only cared about one thing.

“Daddy! Up!” she demanded arms raised for emphasis, earning chuckles all around the room. Neymar gladly complying with her order as he placed her in his lap. He than turned his attention back to the media in front of him, starting to answer the question only to be interrupted by Roseli  tugging at his shirt.

“Yes princesa?”he smiled down at her. If there was one thing he knew it was when his daughter was competing for his attention. He knew it was best to give in a little so she wouldn’t hijack the entire presser. It was cute in some instances but he was trying to do his job and not waste the time of reporters trying to theirs.

Beijo"Roseli puckered her lips expectantly.

Neymar chuckled giving her a kiss before saying,“você tem que ficar quieto agora.” Roseli nodded her head with her index finger to her lips in a motion to be quiet. Neymar  smiled, putting his finger to his lips as well, hoping she would behave.

“She’s so cute,” a reporter spoke up earning a murmur of agreement throughout the room. There was no doubt the little girl was absolutely adorable so much so nobody seemed to mind the distraction she caused.

“Thank you,” Neymar smiled appreciatively before lightly adding,”she gets it from her mother.”

“Thank you!"Roseli chimed in, craning her neck so she could speak into the mic. The whole room got a chuckle out of the young girl’s antics as Neymar casually moving the mic out of her reach.”Não faça isso. don’t do that,”He gently reprimanded her.

“Daddy I’m cute!” the little girl said cheerfully, ignoring her father’s words. “Roseli,“he cut her a disapproving look, not taking light to being ignored,”Fique quieto, be quiet.”

Okayyy.” she said with an exaggerated sigh as she slouched in his lap. Neymar shook his head with in slight amusement than signaled for the questions to continue. Roseli remained quiet a whole two minutes before letting out another sigh and placing a small hand over Neymar’s mouth,“quieto Daddy.”

You would’ve thought Neymar was droning on and on about nothing the way she said it.–then again that was probably exactly what she thought he was doing. Either way he couldn’t help but smile as the whole room burst into laughter.

“you want me to be quiet?” He couldnt help but smile; Roseli nodded vigorously causing her curls flying all over her face which only amused Neymar even more.

“Daddy has to talk a little to more then I’ll be quiet okay?”he tried to compromise with her that way he could finish up and then they could leave. “boringgg.” Roseli sighed dramatically as she plopped her head onto the table. “Roseli Natália.” Neymar warned.

Okay Daddy.” she  pouted.

And for the rest of the conference Roseli was quiet but no less distracting. She fidgeted, patted his hands, pinched his cheeks and ran her small hands in his hair. Neymar couldnt even be upset with her, one because she was just a little girl, staying still wasnt a skill she mastered just yet and two he loved having his baby girl with him despite her craziness.

“And that’s all for Neymar,”One of the team representatives finally announced the end of the presser.  He sighed in relief as he pushed his chair back and stood with his daughter in his arms. Once he got out of the conference room, he was met with a frantic Y/n.

“Oh my God, Ney, I’m so sorry!“ She immediately apologized, "One minute she was playing with Rafa and the next she she bolting for the conference room. She slipped in before I could catch her.” Y/n explained before turning a scolding gaze towards her daughter,”Roseli Natalia I can’t believe you—”

“Baby,”Neymar cut in as he pulled her into him with his free arm, “it’s fine.”

“Are you sure, Ney because–?” Y/n started again, not completely  convinced. Neymar cut her off again, but this time with a kiss, “It’s fine babe, everything was okay. even though this one tried to make it all about her,”He paused briefly to blow a raspberry on Roseli’s neck making her to giggle, “nothing was ruined. if anything she made the whole thing more enjoyable— for everyone in there.”

“Okay…”Y/n nodded reluctantly before turning her gaze to their daughter, “this is the last time you do something like that, understood?”Y/n asked her daughter. “Yes, Mommy.”Roseli nodded.

“Good…well,”Y/n said as her sternness gave way to playful smile, “ did you have fun?”

Roseli scrunched up her face, “No! Daddy’s soo boring!”

Her parents and everyone within earshot laughed at the young girls revelation which in turn  caused her to frown. She didn’t understand what was so funny–she was serious.

Paulo attended the Juve’s press conference to answer questions about the team and himself but all he ended up being asked is continuous consecutive questions about Messi.

Paulo being from Argentina doesn’t actually mean he’s Messi’s Messenger. Maybe it’s just me but he’s worth being asked about I dk just a thought.

Cat Pleads ‘Not Guilty’ In Property Damage Case

In court proceedings held Wednesday morning, Taco the cat entered a plea of “not guilty” on charges of negligence and vandalism connected to the destruction of a dinner plate in December of 2015.

The plea came as a shock to many following the case, as investigators had long been in possession of compelling photographic evidence depicting Taco standing over the shattered plate with what some have described as a “frantic” look on his face. The prosecutor in the case submitted the photo at the hearing today.

“It’s entirely circumstantial,” Ronald Eisley, Taco’s attorney, said at a press conference held shortly after the plea. “Just because my client was near the scene of the incident has no bearing on whether he is responsible for it, and we intend to fight these charges all the way to the highest court if we have to.”

Mr. Eisley did not respond to follow-up questions from press.

via Kali Nicole

Tell Me

Request: Hi :) I love your blog and your writing. I was wondering if you could do a Calum smut where you’re fighting but end up having hot sex? Only if you’re not busy of course. Thanks :)

I’ve been thinking about this story of 3 days straight. Sorry to flood you with stories, I just want to post them while I actually have wifi! And thank you for your message, it was unbelievably sweet. It means more to me than you know. Okay, enough being mushy. Hope you love this story (:

Warning: R for Calum smut and some language

-  -  -

Press conferences always took so long. For you, it was just a lot of sitting around and waiting. You couldn’t hang out with the guys, but you couldn’t go home because you wanted to support Calum. So you hung out in the back of the room and listened as they answered questions. It was about halfway through when a reporter came up to you.

“Hey, how are you?” He asked quietly, so he wouldn’t disturb everyone in the room.

“I’m fine, thank you. And you?”

“Just fine. You seemed a little lonely, I thought I’d join you.” He was younger than most of the people in the room. He was pretty cute, and he made you laugh, which you appreciated after being alone for most of the day. “So what company do you work for?” He asked.

“None, I’m here as a date of sorts.” You glanced at Calum, who was looking at you too. He didn’t return your smile, and you shrugged. Maybe he didn’t see you all the way in the back. The conference was winding down, and the guys were getting restless. As they took the last question, the guy handed you a business card.

“You should call me, and we could maybe get lunch together sometime.” He smiled sweetly, and the invitation caught you off-guard. Luckily, his boss called him over, and you didn’t have to come up with an answer. You flipped the card between your hands, laughing that you’d accidentally picked up a guy at this thing. The guys left the stage and you followed them behind the curtain to a dressing room.

“Good job guys, you made it!” They all gave you tired smiles and thank you’s, except from Calum. He avoided eye contact with you, his brow furrowed. You could tell that he was mad, but you couldn’t figure out why. You set your bag on the counter and walked over to him.

“Good job babe.” You hugged Calum from behind, resting your head on his back, but he didn’t wrap his arms around yours like he normally did. He just pushed you off and left the room.

“What’s the problem with him?” You asked Ashton. He shrugged and looked at the other guys, who all avoided your question. “Fine.” You huffed, and followed after Calum, who was standing at the very end of the hall, rubbing his face with his hands, which he normally did when he was frustrated. He ignored you as you walked up. “What are you doing out here?”

“Nothing. We’re leaving.” He snapped at you. You followed him out to the car, and he drove you home, not saying a word. He didn’t look at you once, and the tension in the car was high. You didn’t know what was going on for him to be in such a bad mood. When you finally got home, he had stopped in the hallway and pulled out his phone before you’d even made it into the house.

“What is up with you?” You asked as you walked up the stairs.

“Nothing. Just looking up your lunch date tomorrow.” He snapped.

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?” He handed you the card that the guy had given you before, and you rolled your eyes. “Really Calum?”

“You were flirting with him the entire time, right in front of me.” He still wasn’t looking at you.

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“A guy comes up to you and talks to you while he should be working and then asks you out to lunch? You couldn’t have been just talking.”

“Calum, you’re over reacting. I wasn’t going to say yes.”

“Or you could have not talked to him. I’m your boyfriend. Did you forget to mention that to him?”

“You’re impossible. I wasn’t going to do anything! You’re just jealous.” A light bulb went off, and you walked in front of him until he was forced to look at you. “Calum Hood is jealous!” You poked his chest and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m not jealous. I’m just mad.”

“No, Cal, you’re jealous that another guy talked to me. You’re mad that he made me laugh while you had to work, you’re jealous!” You poured over every word, the fire in Calum’s eyes growing hotter. You were just about to continue when he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above you head, pushing you against the wall behind you, and kissing you harshly.

“Shut the fuck up.” He growled. You let out quiet moans as he started kissing down your neck, sucking harshly as he got lower. “He may have made you laugh but I’m the only one who can make you scream. Let’s go.” He practically dragged you down the hallway and into your bedroom. Once inside, he kissed you roughly, his tongue dominating yours. You moaned into his mouth, and he pulled away.

“You were very bad today. You’re going to be punished.” He unbuttoned his shirt, and you instantly felt a wetness between your legs, even as he stared you down. “Strip.”

You quickly discarded your skirt and blouse, leaving you in just your blue bra and panties. He walked towards you, kissing down your neck until you had fallen back on the bed. “On your knees.” He commanded, and you eagerly got into position as he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down, revealing his red-hot hard on. You licked your lips, and he pushed into your mouth. You hallowed your cheeks and moaned as he thrusted in and out. What you couldn’t fit into your mouth, you took with your hand, rubbing and pumping in pace with his movements. He grabbed your hair into a messy pony, making you take him deeper. He wasn’t going easy on you, but the way he was taking control was turning you on. He pulled out with a pop from your lips and laid you down on your back, unhooking your bra and panties and throwing them across the room. Leaving a trail of hickeys and love bites down your body, he made it to your already soaked core.

“You’re so fucking wet. And who made you wet? That wanna be reporter?”

“No, you.” You sighed.

“I didn’t really hear you…” He teased your entrance with his finger and you squirmed.

“It was you Cal, fuck.” You whined loudly. He smiled and licked your entire slit, sending a shiver through your body.

“Good girl.” His tongue searched your entrance and you moaned, gripping the bedsheets so tight your knuckles turned white. He curled his tongue in you, tickling your g-spot. He started to hum, and the vibrations made your legs start to tremble. Your walls started to clench, and his tongue was replaced with one finger, followed by another. You gasped as he curled his fingers, running perfectly across your g-spot.

“Shit, Cal.” You panted as he flicked his tongue on your clit.

“Do you want to come?” He asked with a devilish tone.

“Yes!” You moaned loudly, nodding frantically as your toes started to curl.

“Tell me how good I make you feel.” He asked as he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking hard until your legs started to tremble again.

“It’s all you Cal, you make me feel so good.” You quickly moaned, the familiar knot in your stomach coming undone. You moaned Calum’s name as you hit your high, your legs clamping tight around Calum’s head as he pumped his fingers faster across your g-spot, his mouth still working magic on your clit. He moaned into your heat, and you felt another wave rip through you. Your head was thrown back in pleasure, but you never came back down. Calum was still working your entrance and clit, not letting up as you rode the waves of pleasure.

“Shit Calum, I came already, stop.” You tried to wiggle out of his reach, but he took his free hand and grabbed your hip, holding you down. You hadn’t recovered from your first orgasm when the second one started to rush through you. You squealed Calum’s name, as you hit the second high in a row, your vision filling with stars as you screwed your eyes shut. He continued to flick on your clit with his tongue while you became a moaning, screaming mess beneath him. You finally pushed him off, panting as you tried to get yourself together. He sat crawled over with a sly grim on his face, kissing you again while you came down from your double orgasm. “What the fuck?” You managed to whisper.

“Just showing you I could do it twice as good as he could.” He smirked against your neck as he gave a harsh suck, smoothing it out with his tongue before continuing down. He still was hovering over you, and you reached and took his length in your hand, massaging it slowly while Calum groaned into the crook of your neck. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.” He lined up his length with your entrance and entered you swiftly, wasting no time. You didn’t have time to adjust to him filling you as he thrusted into you fully again and again. You moaned, still sensitive from before. But it just heightened every feeling. He was sitting your g-spot perfectly, and you didn’t think you were going to last long. But by the way Calum was acting, you knew he wouldn’t last long too. You gripped the sheets again, as Calum massaged your breasts with his hands.

“I’m close Y/n, shit.” He leaned down and licked the sweet spot beneath your ear. “Who makes you feel this good? Tell me.” He growled, and you gripped his back, leaving half moon crescent marks with your nails.

“You, Calum, you make me feel so fucking good.” You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed his neck, returning the favor for the ones he’d left on you. He groaned, and the sound made you hit your third high. It ripped through you, and you could only manage to gasp and moan his name. Your walls clenched tight around him, and he came not long after with a string of profanities and your name falling from his lips onto your neck. His thrusts were sloppy as you both rode out your highs, your toes curled tight as you finally managed to make it back down to earth. Once Calum had relaxed, he pulled out of you, and you whimpered at the loss. He laid beside you and wrapped his arms tightly around you.

“Shit.” He finally muttered after a while. He kissed the top of your head.

“That was… yeah, fuck.” You laughed quietly, exhausted from the multiple orgasms.

“Sorry I got jealous.” He said quietly. You rolled over, throwing a leg over him and resting your hands on his chest.

“If that’s how you are when you’re jealous, I wish you’d get that way more often.” You smiled before leaning down to kiss he neck. He grinned and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down until your chests were flush together. “I love you.” You sighed.

“I love you more.” Calum traced circles onto your back as you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the arms of the guy who you loved more than anyone.

Headcanon: Kaiba and Kaiba Corporation


Kaiba changed the very nature of Kaiba Corporation from weapons to games. Mokuba and his PR department have a simple explanation for why.  Kaiba’s never been sure he agrees.

Kaiba glanced at the clock on his computer monitor.  It was the anniversary of the day he’d torn down the last of Kaiba Corporation’s weapons factories, the day their corporate name had officially changed.  It was almost time for his grand entrance.  The press was already gathered downstairs; like orphans on a meal line, they were ready to accept whatever was dumped on their plates.

After the first anniversary, Kaiba had learned it was preferable to hold a press conference, to collect them together instead of answering each inane question separately over and over throughout the day as if it was some new form of penance.  By the third anniversary, he’d learned to invite a gaggle of humanitarian groups to share the spotlight.  They were eager to talk about their mission to anyone who’d listen.  They made a good distraction.  

Kaiba accepted being shoved under their umbrella once a year.  Although he’d never admit it to his PR department, he understood why it had become the annual feel good story.  It had the simple appeal of a fairy tale and was just as carefully packaged: Orphan boy makes good, chooses peace over war.

And simplicity was often mistaken for truth.

Because the old Kaiba Corporation had also been the story of a dog collar pulled suffocatingly tight, of a riding crop placed carefully under his jaw or swung across his back, of the sting of a switch or a slap when his eyelids had started to droop, of sleepless nights and worse dreams.  

It was a tale of constant worry over Mokuba’s safety, constant guilt over the designs that came from somewhere deep inside what was left of his soul, constant fear over what he was becoming.  And the narrator was Gozaburo, his voice taunting and cold, reminding Seto Kaiba of his own complicity in it all.

The door opened with a bang.  Kaiba’s head lifted at the sound.  Mokuba bounced into the room, beaming.  

“It’s time, Nisama!” he called out.

Kaiba smiled back.  They left the room together. Isono followed a couple of paces behind.  Kaiba faced the sudden glare of lights with practiced ease as he entered the press room.  He let Mokuba field the first question.  It was always the same.

“Why did you do it?”

Mokuba loved answering.  And each year the simple story became more firmly established in local legend.  Orphan boy chooses peace.

Kaiba let Mokuba’s answer wash over him as he silently faced the questions no one ever asked:  What if Goizaburo had been kind, had welcomed them into his house, had treated them as sons instead of pawns?  What if he’d been a father instead of an enemy?  Would Kaiba have been as eager to destroy Gozaburo’s empire, as driven to prove he was nothing like the old man? Or would he have taken his place by Gozaburo’s side, would he have used the same pride and determination to ensure that Gozaburo’s legacy survived?

Kaiba pondered the question each year.  He still didn’t know the answer. There was only one thing he was absolutely sure of: It was so much easier to reject the values of a man you despised.

im sure someone already did this but Neil being conscious about the girls’ needs when they are on their period

  • so it starts off with allison complaining about how bad her period cramps are during practice one day
  • as soon as practice is over neil goes and researches what helps alleviate the pain and takes andrew’s cars and buys tea, chocolates, ice cream and basically everything he read about online
  • he drops them off at allison’s dorm and she’s just so confused but so overwhelmed with happiness
  • another time dan is sleeping over at their dorm and she gets her period so neil offers to go to the store to her some pads and tampons for her
  • when they were on the run neil was used to getting pads for his mom so he isn’t even bothered
  • so dan just texts him the brand she wants and neil gets them for her
  • renee is normally a peaceful and calm person but during one particular practice Kevin is being extremely hard on them and renee is suffering from severe cramps so he keeps snapping at him
  • Neil immediately jumps to her defends
  • also neil carrying pads and tampons in his backpack in case any of the girls forget theirs during away games
  • also during a press conference one of the reporters questions dan’s authority of the foxes because ehe might make bad decisions during her period
  • and neil doesn’t even wait for dan to dignify that comment with a response before he tears the reporter a new one
Women's March LA
This is "Women's March LA" by Bryan Konietzko on Vimeo, the home for high quality videos and the people who love them.

Here is a rough edit of phone video clips I took today at the Women’s March in Los Angeles, with crowd estimates of 500,000–750,000 peaceful demonstrators, making it the largest rally in the city in over ten years (since the immigration reform protest in March 2006), and part of what is being estimated to be the largest single-day protest in the history of the U.S.—and part of a coalition of international protest around the world, from India to Portugal (and even Antarctica). That especially matters as the boastful sexual predator Chump’s coronation yesterday drew historically low numbers, which may not matter in the grand scheme of things, except that his press secretary’s first “press conference” (it was, in actuality, a press statement, as Sean Spicer did not allow questions from the press—and was, more accurately, a flimsy propaganda stunt) was chosen to be a charade of lies about the size of Chump’s crowd and further feeble gaslighting attempts to undermine the credibility of the media, and really, FACTS in general. This isn’t happening in some far-flung dictatorship you’ve only seen on the news; this isn’t just some YA dystopian fantasy; this is right here in our fragile, susceptible democracy. Very glad to see what I perceive to be the forces of good standing up and uniting against fear-mongering nationalism. Let’s stay united, and show up at the mid-terms.

anonymous asked:

Have you seen the press conference in Ischgl, Austria? I just saw it and the only one talking one more time is J. SL and TM was just sitting there like some forniture or something. Why is that?

Please don’t take this as snarky, I don’t mean it to be at all - but darling, was that the first time you’ve seen them in an interview-format, on video, as a trio?

it’s pretty letostyle (that’s Letostyle, Jared-Letostyle) that Jared takes the lead in most (if not all) interview-type dealios.

obvs this is no reflection on tomo or shannon’s capabilities to handle the press - not at all. i just think Jared’s natural talents as an actor and frontman make him a lot more at ease to field questions from press - especially in a conference-like situation, where you sometimes don’t know where questions are going to come from next.

doesn’t hurt that he’s insanely witty and doesn’t mind listening to himself chat.

also, let’s be honest: most press when meeting 30stm, is expecting jared to be the one answering the questions – again, given the fact he is an internationally-recognized actor and the lead singer/frontman of the band.
i think the boys get this and let jared do his thing.

this isn’t always the case, of course.
like any relationship, i’m sure they can read one another incredibly well and know when to help the other out.

catch jared on an off-day, or shannon on an “on” day – and either Shannon or Tomo are more than able to jump in and handle things. i’ve witnessed a chatty-shannon at a couple of occasions in m&gs (as well as a nearly-mute Shannon, and a missing-Shannon) and obvs we know Jomo together is magic (i.e. Church of MARS VIP bonus acoustic show, and what I’m sure MARS in Moscow on VyRT will give us too). Tomo can match Jared wit for wit fo’sho - like none other.

so, no worries.
s & t are no pieces of furniture. they’re just letting Jared be great.

……..tho. if Shannon and Tomo and Jared were furniture pieces - what do we think they would be? 

(i’m a bit of an interior design junkie.)

i see shannon being a 1961 Eames Lounge & matching ottoman:
sleek. minimalist but lived-in. vintagely sexy.

i see tomo being a roche bobois urban sofa:
easily adjusts to a different setup depending on the whatever the situation may be; casual but structured. tons of pillows for comfy hockey-viewings.

and my darlingdoll, jared is totes a Phillipe Starck Louis Ghost Chair:
ahead of its time. modernly quirky. a spin on formality. acrylic - vegan. perfect for a home where you want the attention on the artwork, not on the furniture. tho the furniture itself is considered art too…

that was fun. let’s do this again. xo.

It means Victory: Nikita Kucherov lives up to the name, goes beyond the mark

Nikita is not Russian for Nicholas, it does mean Victory/Victorious

Killorn and Johnson were not wearing shirts, but they were listening to censored Drake

I was supposed to do this after Christmas, but he let me do it before. This was tuesday. 

the quote came in a fax machine, I don’t know who said it, but I’d like to kick his ass. 

“Though he has skill, he lacks dedication. He is willing to wait for a shot, he is lazy, careless, and a novelty. A player trying to play like Ovechkin but failing horribly. Riding the coattails of former players and faltering on his own. A second round pick would be a stretch.” –European Hockey League scout #124 post U18 Tournament (Released to writer from a confidential source n/m not released)

           Nikita Kucherov is a lot of things: he is a play maker, he is a sharpshooter, he is reserved and concerned about his English. He is not the talkative player that his centreman is, nor is he the quiet leader that his fellow winger is. Kucherov is put perhaps best in the words of fellow forward Vladislav Namestnikov; “Kuch is Russian”. Nikita Kucherov is not by any stretch of the imagination anything less than a Hall of Famer in the making. Night in and night out, Kucherov is moving up in the +/- standings, though some analysts will tell you +/- and Corsi have fallen out of relevance in the last few years. The thing Kucherov is perhaps most obviously is a beloved player, his name is just as seen as Stamkos’s, Johnson’s, and Palat’s. Kucherov is not “Lazy”.

           “I used to not talk. To me if I couldn’t say how [what] I wanted to say, I don’t [didn’t] say it.” That is one of the first things he tells me. His voice is softer than I expected to hear, he speaks quietly, as if I will chastise him for improper grammar. He looks at me with blue eyes that are only enhanced by the blue of the Tampa Bay Lightning long sleeve shirt he wears, the logo pulled a little and stretched with love. In his hands he holds a nearly empty water bottle, over his right shoulder sits a translator a few seats away, listening just in case. There are a few times I ask him something that doesn’t translate into Russian, that makes his eyebrows knit together as I try to find another word for the one I was going to use. The humour I use sometimes doesn’t hit the mark, but he smiles anyway when I do, maybe not truly understanding the joke but understanding that I mean to ease the tension.

           He is nervous. That is what I get when I first start talking to him, he’s nervous that there is a language gap between us. When he introduces himself, his voice and his hands shake a little, he looks around the conference room like it might be a jail cell. I realize that this is not where Nikita Kucherov likes to be, this is not his element. Having come back from a Pacific Division road trip that resulted 2-1 (taking 4/6 possible points) against the Ducks, Sharks, and Kings, he’s done his job. He’s been where he is most comfortable, in the presence of his teammates and on the world’s stage playing in the NHL. He’s not used to this, this  room with its painted walls. Overhead the fluorescent bulbs hum and the sun shines in over Garrison Channel. He looks like a trapped deer. He rubs his hands on his shorts, the fabric making a noise reminiscent of a faulty zipper as his calloused hands catch synthetic fibres. He rolls his shoulders and watches me. He never stops watching me as I set up my recorder, my back up battery, my notes and my pens. The battery catches his attention: “What’s that?” “This [I gesture to the battery]?” “Yes. What does it do? Why do you bring it here?” “It’s a backup battery for my recorder.” I show him the light and the beep that signifies the device being fully charged. He finds it interesting, it makes him smile as he looks at it light up on different levels as he talks, then I, showing frequency.

           “Johnny is more patient than Pally. Pally was learning English too, so when I say something he didn’t get, I say [it] to Johnny and he say to Pally. That’s how it was.” While playing Slavic telephone seems like a fun idea for all, I asked Johnson about Kucherov’s English “He is very shy about it. They both are, when we first started playing together it was kind of hard, he didn’t want to say more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’, sometimes I’d do something he didn’t like and he’d be mad. He’d just glare at me from across the ice, or in the room. I was scared he’d walk up behind me, or I’d have a horse head or something in my bed. That didn’t last. (offside) Stop laughing, Killer, I’m being serious!” As I walked back to the conference room and away from the sound of crashing weight plates and laughter  only broken up by “Horse head”, I thought how concerning it must be to not be able to tell someone what you really want to say. This has been an issue in the NHL for as long as players have been coming from Russia and Eastern Europe.

           “Do you wish that the NHL taught players and journalists Russian?” I somewhat shock Kucherov as he’s slipping his phone back into his pocket. “How you mean? Like school? I know some, but I don’t speak it at home”. ‘Home’ to Kucherov is Russia, more specifically the city of Maykop. When he was playing in the KHL, he played in Moscow, in 2011 he was drafted in the second round by the Tampa Bay Lightning. He was then sent to the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League (QMJHL). The young Kucherov went from speaking primarily Russian, to a region of Canada where the top language is, French. He was sent to the QMJHL to transition to the style of North American hockey he’d play in the AHL and eventually the NHL.

           Russian hockey is played on a bigger scale. In North America, a regulation rink is 200ft long by 85ft wide. An International Rink, like those used in the KHL is 200ft long by 100ft wide. I’ll save you the math, and tell you that is a 15ft difference across. When you watch any NHL game, your announcer will tell you that one of the keys to the game is a “North-South game”, up and down the ice to reduce opposition scoring. It’s one of the main reasons your forwards play such short shifts. If you’ve ever watched Pavel Datsyuk or Evgeni Malkin, or ‘The Great Eight’ Alex Ovechkin, you’ll notice they like to move laterally. It’s something that you have to know how to do, you cannot teach the Russian style of play. Regardless of how many years Kucherov would spend in the Q, you cannot stop playing like you were taught to.

           At this point Kucherov is still looking at me like I just said “You and I are getting married, we’re going to go to Mars and start the human race on a planet outside of our own” So I rephrase my original question. “Yes, I kind of do. I have people who can help me [he gestures to the translator who has been watching a Brady press conference on his phone], I have Vladdy, we talk to each other, but some don’t. It’s hard, the languages are different.” If you look at the numbers of players in the League, you’ll notice that there are more and more European players coming in year after year. Mostly they come from Russia, from Sweden, the Czech Republic (It is not Czech-Slovakia, it hasn’t been for decades, stop saying it), a select few from Finland, Switzerland, and smattering from Norway. The names on the back of jerseys are becoming less ‘Crosby’, ‘Smith’, ‘Orr’, ‘Shanahan’, ‘Boyle’ and ‘Callahan’, and more ‘Panarin’, ‘Kuznetsov’, and ‘Tikhonov’. Gone are the days of ‘John’, ‘Bobby’, ‘Steve’, and ‘Jack’, and here are the days of ‘Viktor’, ‘Artemi’, ‘Pavel’, ‘Nikita’, and ‘Alexander’. If we’re being serious, it’s ‘Aleksander’, but that’s fine.

           We’re becoming better at saying names that would’ve stricken fear into the hearts of our Grandparents years ago, but we’re not treating the players any better. The players still have to rely on someone who might know the language they speak, and given the spread of European players in the NHL, you don’t have to look hard to find a ‘Henrik’ or a ‘Pavel’. Still, I am sitting here across from a man who can’t say what he fully wants to say; someone representative of the rest of the NHL in the last 20 years with the new class of players coming over from Russia. He thinks a little more on the subject “Maybe if we taught you some phrases you should know to make it a little bit easier for me.” If it really only took a few phrases to learn to make it easier for your favourite player to talk to reporters, wouldn’t you want them to do it?

           I turn to the impressive season Kucherov is having. I tell him how fantastic it is to net your seventh and eighth goal of the season on the same night, and his ears turn red. He looks down at the shiny table and I can see a smile spread across his face. I decide to make matters worse and talk about the ASTOUNDING turn around he made between the 2013-2014 season and the 2014-2015 season. In the 2013-2014 season, Kucherov netted 9 goals and 9 assists in 52 games for 18 points. In the 2014-2015 season that culminated with an Eastern Conference Championship and a run at the fabled Stanley Cup, Kucherov more than TRIPLED his numbers scoring 29 goals, 36 assists for 65 points in 82 games. With his numbers being mentioned, he looks towards the ceiling, smile now visible on his face,  eyes a little misty over his breakout season, and says just loud enough to be heard, “it was a good season.”

           ‘A good season’ is how the future looks for Kucherov, sitting right behind Steven Stamkos with 17 points spread across 10 goals and 7 assists in 29 games. If this is anything indicative of what the season with Kucherov in your canon looks like, then I think that despite a disturbingly slow start, the Tampa Bay Lightning are going to be okay. Kucherov follows me out of the conference room, I shake his hand once more, his shake a little less, and as he passes the weight room, Killorn and Johnson still inside, I can hear him ribbing his teammates for not lifting the heavier weights. Maybe Kucherov is lazy, but it’s not on the ice.

George Harrison and Madonna, Shanghai Surprise press conference, 6 March 1986

Photo: Dave Hogan/Getty Images

“I don’t like people who think they’re big shots.” - George Harrison

* * *

“[George] Harrison was uncharacteristically curt in summing up the two stars. ’[Sean] Penn is a pain in the ass,’ he complained to the Hollywood Reporter. Of Madonna, as quoted in Cleo magazine, he said, ‘All this aloofness and star stuff… it’s bullshit. I’m not trying to be nasty, she’s probably got a lot in her that she hasn’t even disovered yet, but she has to realise that you can be a fabulous person and be humble as well.’” - Very Naughty Boys: The Amazing True Story of HandMade Films by Robert Sellers [x]

* * *

George Harrison: “…We got the wrong actors…”
Q: “But as actors you had Madonna and Sean Penn.”
GH: “That’s what I mean! [Laughs]” - Countdown, 22 February 1988

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Someone tries to get Sherlock to wear The Hat for a press conference/photo op, and he’s like Ugh let’s just get this over with, but John grabs it and jams it on his own head, and it gets a big laugh. And some cheeky reporter yells, Does he make you wear the hat, John? And John’s like, He’s the one who wears the outfits usually, but we’re not that into the hat actually. And someone else is like, What kind of outfits? And Sherlock’s like, Ahem did you lot have a question about some crime thingie or w/e because I had an outfit I wanted to wear, and frankly you are keeping us from it so.