Jeff Azoff: Sometimes when I’m in the studio with an artist and they’re smoking weed or drinking and they offer you a drink or a joint, I always feel like it’s a test, so I’m gonna ask you now, am I supposed to take it or not?
Irving Azoff: If it’s Harry you take it."
That was from the interview! I'm afraid that I can't find a clip but I found that on hsdaily. It's from 2018 Billboard Live Music, Jeff was interviewing Irving.
That’s it! Thank you. Here’s the clip.
He says that Irving “always gives the best business advice” right after that, so I think that’s where I confused the quote.
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@jegulus-microfic december 4 - glimpse - 1044 words - cw: mentions of sex and weed
another feat. of jegulus granddads because they set up camp in my brain<3 emjoy
James talks in his sleep.
Regulus feels very, very bad.
They’re currently crowded in front of the living room door with their grandkids because—
Because they’re a bunch of useless, horrible adults that have gotten way too tipsy on mulled wine last evening over charades. Regulus was riding high on his win over Harry in Monopoly and so he might have had one or two or three sips too many. Or cups.
And so when they’d all bid their Goodnights and gotten ready for bed, pleasantly tipsy and airy-minded—distracted what with James nosing at the dark curls behind Regulus’ ear as he was brushing his teeth and then the press of him, a hard line against the seam between Regulus thigh and bum, when he’d bent Regulus over to spit out the toothpaste into the sink—well, there’s no pleasant way to say that they forgot to put the bloody presents under the tree.
And Regulus often doesn’t wake up anymore after all the years of sharing a bed with his husband but he remembers having woken up to James babbling about ‘The gifts, honey- wait, the gifts’ and Regulus in his barely state of consciousness had simply told him to shut it, pulled James head into the crook of his neck and forced him to fall asleep again, goddamnit.
The looks on their three, round, big eyed, little faces had just about nearly broken Regulus’ heart and that was before he’d seen Harry blanch and turn white as a sheet.
Luckily Regulus has married someone who’s good at improvising and so James had casually draped against the doorframe and told them that, “Ah, don’t worry, loves– It’s a leap year! Santa always starts a little later to deliver the presents during those years!”
Which leaves them hiding out in the hallway right now while Harry quietly brings in the presents through the kitchen.
“Just a glimpse, Pops!” Louis whispers loudly, leaning his little body with all of his 5 year old body strength against where James has a single broad palm over his small chest.
“Nah-uh, Louibear,” James whispers back from where he’s squatting behind him.
Regulus knows his knees will pop something horrible when he stands up but the sight of his husband’s thick thighs filling out the pleated pyjama bottoms is making Regulus selfishly keep his smart mouth shut.
“But Grandpo-ops!” Louis whines.
Chelsea shushes him immediately and rather aggressively. She’s between Regulus’ knees, bouncing up on the balls of her feet every now and then, her pigtails tickling Regulus’ nose.
Teagan is draped over James’ wide back and continuously throwing Regulus conspiratorial looks and mischievous little smiles. She’s 8 now, the Santa bubble has already been burst for her.
Regulus winks back at her every time.
“We have to wait until Santa is done putting all his presents under the tree, bug.” James drives placating fingers through their grandson’s wild hair before he goes on in a gentle murmur, “If we go and disturb him now he’ll bolt out through the chimney, up on his reindeer sled and whisk away with half of the presents that were meant for our family, you see.”
Louis gasps horrified.
James bites down on the smile trying to break to the surface. It’s unfair how handsome he looks in the dim light with his hair sleep mussed and his trimmed beard sprinkled white like the snowflakes making their way onto the ground outside.
Regulus forces his eyes away when Chelsea makes a little pained, squirming noise. Like she’s barely suppressing ripping herself from Regulus’ loose embrace and dashing through the door back into the living room.
There’s a clatter of wood and then a badly imitated Hohoho from what Regulus recognises to be Harry.
Louis and Chelsea look at each other with wide eyes and then back at James and Regulus respectively, vibrating with anticipation yet waiting politely for permission.
His husband throws Regulus a warm grin, a hint of teeth and a glint in his chocolate brown eyes that makes his heart stumble a little in his chest.
Regulus rolls his eyes and gives him a single nod. He kisses the side of Chelsea’s head and tells her to go on.
She barrels through the door with a squeal followed closely by a skittering Louis where he’s hasting over the smooth linoleum after his sister in his too big, woollen socks. Teagan throws Regulus another excited grin and then rushes after her younger siblings as well.
When Regulus pulls out of his seat there’s only a faint sting in his lower back while as James follows the motion his husband instantly buckles under his renewed weight, joints predictably cracking several loud pops.
Regulus snaps out his arm for James to steady himself as this one grunts and pants under the pain and slowly lifts himself into an upright position.
Regulus snorts. “Getting old, Potter? Shouldn’t have been so enthusiastic with bending me over that bloody sofa ledge last night, huh…”
James growls playfully as he yanks Regulus closer by his arm though he catches his husband wince at the sudden motion of that half step.
He squeezes Regulus hip bone, right over the teeth mark he put there a few hours ago and then it’s Regulus’ turn to suck the air in through his teeth.
“Worth it,” James rasps low into his ear before kissing a fluttering path up Regulus’ jaw until he finally reaches his mouth, tilting his chin back with two fingers.
Regulus sighs happily into James’ mouth, shivers at the familiar sensation of beard rasping against his own stubbly skin.
They’re ripped out of the moment by Chelsea’s voice droning around the corner, “Gramps, look! Santa brought you dried cat grass for Mochi!”
“Cat grass?” comes Harry’s confused voice from the living room.
Regulus scrunches his nose at James, sharing the cluelessness. James shrugs.
Crinkling sounds, then Teagan’s voice, “It smells weird.”
“Fu– That is not cat grass, Chelsea!” Harry responds panicky, “Honey, please put that down right now. I’m not joking, sweetheart. No, gimme– unhg.”
Regulus raises his eyebrows at James but his husband simply tugs his lips in and hurries into the living room, presumably to help his son purloin the weed from his six year old little grandchild.
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What is with hArrh potter and its ability to cause artistic stagnation?
Context: currently on 10 mg thc, saw a trailer for Wonka today at the movies and thinking about how shit it looks.
Like. It was jhst barry potter again. The vfx made it clear it was 90% animated, and they did the big stupid fwooshy movements all the time, everyone had the posh tv British accent, there was unexamined perpetuation of racist tropes, the aethetics are vaguely steampunk pop victorian/dickensian, everyones costumes look like shit and made of velvet, so pretty much the only visual difference was that they didn't have any wands.
And then they showed in the trailer that one of the guys making it worked on harry potter like it was a draw. Like one: yeah we could tell. Two: that's not really the draw that it once was. Like i and every trans person i know actively avoids pretty much everything even tangentally relates to jk rowling.
Also it just looked bad.
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