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#but you can’t tell me that Trump would care

scientia-rex · 2 months

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When I was in ninth grade I wanted to challenge what I saw as a very stupid dress code policy (not being allowed to wear spikes regardless of the size or sharpness of the spikes). My dad said to me, “What is your objective?”

He said it over and over. I contemplated that. I wanted to change an unfair dress code. What did I stand to gain? What did I stand to lose? If what I really wanted was to change the dress code, what would be my most effective potential approach? (He also gave me Discourses on the Fall of Rome by Titus Livius, Machiavelli’s magnum opus. Of course he’d already given me The Prince, Five Rings, and The Art of War.)

I ultimately printed out that phrase, coated it in Mod Podge, and clipped it to my bathroom mirror so I would look at it and think about it every day.

What is your objective?

Forget about how you feel. Ask yourself, what do you want to see happen? And then ask, how can you make it happen? Who needs to agree with you? Who has the power to implement this change? What are the points where you have leverage over them? If you use that leverage now, will you impair your ability to use it in the future? Getting what you want is about effectiveness. It is not about being an alpha or a sigma or whatever other bullshit the men’s right whiners are on about now. You won’t find any MRA talking points in Musashi, because they are not relevant.

I had no clear leverage on the dress code issue. My parents were not on the PTA; neither were any of my friend’s parents who liked me. The teachers did not care about this. Ultimately I just wore what I wanted, my patent leather collar from Hot Topic with large but flattened spikes, and I had guessed correctly—the teachers also did not care enough to discipline me.

I often see people on tumblr, mostly the very young, flail around in discourse. They don’t have an objective. They don’t know what they want to achieve, and they have never thought about strategizing and interpersonal effectiveness. No one can get everything they want by being an asshole. You must be able to work with other people, and that includes smiling when you hate them.

Read Machiavelli. Start with The Prince, but then move on to Discourses. Read Musashi’s Five Rings. Read The Art of War. They’re classics for a reason. They can’t cover all situations, but they can do more for how you think about strategizing than anything you’re getting in middle school and high school curricula.

Don’t vote third party unless you can tell me not only what your objective is but also why this action stands a meaningful chance of accomplishing it. Otherwise, back up and approach your strategy from a new angle. I don’t care how angry you are with Biden right now. He knows about it, and he is both trying to do something and not doing enough. I care about what will happen to millions of people if we have another Trump presidency. Look up Ross Perot, and learn from our past. Find your objective. If it is to stop the genocide in Palestine now, call your elected representatives now. They don’t care about emails; they care about phone calls, because they live in the past. I know this because I shadowed a lobbyist, because knowing how power works is critical to using it.

How do you think I have gotten two clinics to start including gender care in their planning?

Start small. Chip away. Keep working. Find your leverage; figure out how and when to effectively use it. Choose your battles, so that you can concentrate on the battle at hand instead of wasting your resources in many directions. Learn from the accumulated wisdom of people who spent their lives learning by doing, by making mistakes, by watching the mistakes of their enemies.

Don’t be a dickhead. Be smarter than I was at 14. Ask yourself: what is your objective?

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eternally-racing · 4 months

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keep her safe | lando norris

pairing: dad! lando x wife! reader (+ their teenage daughter!)

genre: fluff & angst-ish

warnings: racing crash, reader/lando's kid is in the hospital, some swearing

wc: 1.4k

summary: Nothing prepares you for the feeling of watching your daughter's first crash in formula 3.

note: this fic can be read as part of the racer girl series or as a stand alone as well!

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Lando always hated pulling the “I’m a celebrity” card when you two were out in public. He's never wanted the special treatment that companies wanted to give him before, but the minute he sees his daughter crash in her first Formula 3 race, he’s trying to pull out every trump card he has to get his way into the medical tent.

“That’s my fucking daughter in there, you can’t keep her from me! This is absolutely insane! I’m Lando fucking Norris, don’t you know who I am?” Lando is yelling and yelling and you hold him back by the wrist because otherwise you think he might actually charge at the door to try and get through it.

He more than anyone here knows what a bad crash looks like, and from the minute he saw your daughter, Piper, go into the barriers he knew that it was a rough one. There’s cameras swarming around you both but he doesn’t care (It’s not like he was a PR team’s dream when he was a driver himself). That’s his little girl in there and she’s hurt. There’s now a full commotion in front of the medical area and Lando admits defeat as he sinks back into the wall behind him and crumbles to the floor with you following suit.

“She’s afraid of needles, Y/N.” Lando says no louder than a whisper towards the shut doors “Who’s gonna tell them that she’s afraid of needles if I’m not there?”

You know that if she’s in a state where they’re not letting you see her and she’s being transferred to the hospital that she likely has already gotten a lot of needles and wasn’t conscious enough to feel them, but you keep that information to yourself once you see the worried look on Lando’s face. This exact moment is something you two had worried about ever since your little girl first stepped in a kart, and somehow it was worse than you had ever imagined it would be.

By the time you and Lando make it to the hospital it feels like hours have gone by, even though in reality it hadn’t been more than a handful of minutes. Lando’s never been more grateful for his success when a nurse recognizes him and immediately guides you both in the direction of Piper’s room. He’s not sure he would’ve been able to make it through a conversation right now anyways.

The scene inside is every parent’s worst nightmare. There are lines going in and out of Piper’s arms and bags of fluid are hung next to her bed; there are too many machines beeping and showing numbers and graphs that you just can’t understand. You feel Lando’s knees buckle beside yours and you keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady. You both need each other right now, there’s no doubt about that.

When Piper cries out for her daddy from the hospital bed it brings a fresh set of tears to your eyes. You can’t remember the last time Piper actually called Lando daddy, it had been “dad” for the most part or “Mr.Norris” if she felt like being cheeky, but hearing those words from her mouth brought you right back to when she was a little girl, your little girl.

Lando rushes to her side and has both hands caressing her face. He knows that she’s been checked over by the doctors, but he needs to see for himself that she’s really okay. He presses his forehead against hers as they cry together. You’ll never fully understand what Piper’s just been through, but the man standing in front of her does all too well.

You hang back a bit to talk to the doctors, who try to give you a comprehensive update on her status, but as soon as you hear the words “she’s fine and on track to make a complete recovery” you zone out as you finally let out the breath that it feels like you’ve been holding this whole time. You’re about to go rejoin your family once you hear the next words out of your daughter’s mouth.

“I’m sorry dad, I know this meant a lot to you.” Piper sighs as she pulls the hospital sheets up to her chin. “Did I at least make it around a lap? Am I the youngest ever female formula 3 driver to complete a lap in a grand prix?”

This is when Lando has to face the music - he got so excited about his daughter dreaming of Formula 1 that he may have pushed her a little too far if his daughter is more worried about beating records than she is about her own health. Lando tries to calm his own breathing as he grabs both of Piper’s hands to lay on his own to get her full attention. He wants to make sure she fully understands what he’s about to say.

“You’re always going to be my little girl, Pipes. Racing or not, I am always proud of you. I never want you to feel like you have to impress me.” Lando doesn’t even answer Piper’s question about the record because frankly he has no idea. He’s never once cared about awards and prizes and all of the fancy shit. All he’s ever wanted is for her to be happy, and he tells her exactly that.

Piper stops crying long before Lando does, and you’re amazed by the maturity your daughter shows as she starts wiping the tears from your husband’s eyes. You all just need a little family cuddle so you do exactly that, and take a moment to appreciate the lives that the three of you have and how precious that is. The sentimental moment is only broken by your daughter, who says that she has a little request for the two of you.

“Do you think you can ask the doctors if they can give me the good stuff that you got back in Vegas all those years ago, dad?”

Moments like this remind you that Piper is her father’s daughter and it earns a laugh from you both.

“Not a chance, kid, but good try.”

For the first time in what feels like years, the 3 of you sleep in one bed together. It’s one teeny tiny hospital bed made for a teenager, so you both wake up with extremely sore backs but very full hearts. Piper’s the first to fall asleep, understandably spent from the day she’s been through, but you notice Lando’s eyes never leave her, as if he’s worried she’ll disappear if he looks away. You reach over to grab his hand, you get it. Call it parental instinct, but that feeling of anxiety after something bad happens to your child is just something you can’t push away, and you want him to know that you’re here for him. You both wordlessly take turns watching over Piper throughout the night, holding her hand through blood draws and med deliveries.

Lando spends all day and night at Piper’s side while she’s recovering, and it’s only when you and your daughter tell him that he smells absolutely horrendous and needs to go shower do you finally get him to take a beat for himself. He still calls 3 times on the drive home from the hospital alone to check how Piper’s doing, and you have to threaten to not pick up the next time he calls before he finally takes a bit of a break. So often it feels like children drift away from their parents in their teenage years, but Piper’s recovery has given you both the opportunity to spend some much needed time with her as she grows up.

The minute Piper is cleared by the medical team she’s instantly back in the simulator. She’s a little daredevil like her daddy after all. Lando of course asks over and over again if she’s doing this for herself and not him, the fear of making the same mistakes as earlier weighing heavy on his mind. Your daughter is nothing if not honest, so she tells him about how she loves the sport itself but also loves the way she’s able to connect to her dad through it. Lando makes her pinky promise that she’ll let her know if she ever changes her mind on the subject, and lucky for you both, she never does.

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author's note: this was based on a lovely request from a reader! if you have any requests feel free to drop them in my ask box :) If you liked this piece and haven't read racer girl yet, give it a read because I'm sure you'll love that one too!

Until next time! - Em <;3

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gretavanlace · 3 months

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Sugar II (part 8)

Jake Kizska x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult content, language, brief illusions to sex, angst, jealousy, etc.

Only two chapters to go and an epilogue, everyone. I’m so grateful that you have taken this little journey with me. Thank you so much for all your kind words, support, and care. You’re all so wonderful ❤️

“Oh my god, Jake,” your eyes are darting around the room like a mouse with a rabid alley cat slinking, famished and cruel, into its path.

Your unease trumps his delighted gloating instantly, “What do you want me to do, sugar? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

When you steal a glance at the window, longing to climb out and disappear, he hops on the train of your thought process right away, “You want me to duck out?”

You know Jake through and through, and staring into his eyes as your heart drums paranoid vibrations into your rib cage, you’re stunned to watch him offer to give up this chance to square off with whom he has come to see as his most bitter rival. That he would do that for you? That all you would have to do is ask and he would crawl out and wander off into the golden afternoon sunshine like an afterthought…

You really do own his whole heart, you realize at the most inopportune of moments. Your grip on his soul is just as tight as his fingers have always clawed down inside yours…fierce and beautiful in their unrelenting grip.

But haven’t you always known? Hasn’t it always been written across his skin? Etched in his gaze? Sculpted into the bow of his lips when he whispers your name? Evident in his touch?

“No,” you shake your head, willing the mess inside of it to go away, rejecting the thought of him leaving. You want him near, you need him near. To let him go right now, even for a second, seems an agonizing punishment that you cannot bear to suffer. No matter the consequences.

“Stay. But please…” you rush over to him, helping him to his feet while stealing glances at the doorway, “Please just behave and follow my lead, okay? Please?”

”Normally, I like it when you use your manners,” he sighs, smoothing out his clothes, as well as a lock of your hair that has fluttered out of place, “But that’s too many pleases and you look petrified. Why?” His voice is suddenly intense yet careful, as is his grip on your arm, “Does he hurt you?”

They idea is entirely laughable, but there’s no time for that, so you brush him off with a swipe of your hand and a flippant, “Don’t be stupid, Jake.”

Without allowing yourself to think it through, you begin ushering him down the hall towards the front room, but what will you find there? Doom or salvation?

How will these pieces fall together? Something solid and heavy in your heart tells you Jake will do as you have asked and play nice, but another facet buried even deeper inside is rocked with anxiety and screaming that it’s only wishful thinking to believe such a fairytale.

”Hey hon,” jovially rings out as he steps in through the garage, “I saw your car! We’re both home early? Looks like the universe knew how much I missed you!”

Jake turns to catch your eye as you shove him along, but you refuse to meet his gaze. You're unsure of what you’ll find there and this isn’t the time for uncertainties.

Would you find sadness threatening to roll hot tears down his cheeks? Anger threatening to boil over in his fiery chocolate irises? Accusation and resentment for what you’re about to subject him to?

Oh god, you can’t do this! Suddenly, and absurdly, you wish you could fade into the gentle, lush, green paint that you had once rolled upon the hallway walls, paying meticulous attention to detail. Build this home, had been the plan…bury him away under paint and sanded cabinets. Art perched on the walls and throw pillows piled on the bed.

You’d love to disappear and leave them perplexed and confused, wondering what became of you. To vanish into nothing like a dust mote blown away upon the lightest, softest breeze.

You’re a coward.

While your thoughts are busy with that, Jake’s are grappling with each other. Tangled up and struggling. He’d very much like to stomp into the front room and shut this man up. With his booming voice calling out how much he’s missed you like he has some claim over you. Like you’re his. Like he doesn’t understand that you could never really be anyone’s because you’re much too good for this whole goddamn world. That you’re precious, like the rarest of stones and anyone who is lucky enough to hold you in their palm should fall on their knees in thanks.

He sounds so fucking common. Does he think you’re common as well? Jake can’t stomach the thought.

So, yes, he’d like to stroll into the room, casual as you please, and announce that he is taking you away from this ridiculous illusion where you play house and pretend to be satisfied. He longs to tell him how he’s made love to you, how he’s fucked you. How you’ve begged for him and swore no one could ever be him. Jake wants to tell him that the ring he put on your finger has been in his mouth, that he spat it out and you didn’t even care. That you hardly even noticed. Jake would almost kill to watch Mr. Wonderful’s face crumple in defeat and loss…

But he loves you far too much, and to say all those things would hurt you, too.

Scar your heart he will not.

He’s shrugging off his suit blazer when you both appear. It’s a mundane action, one that repeats itself nearly every evening, but you stand still and shellshocked, unable to jolt yourself into some semblance of normalcy until Jake subtly nudges you with a ginger elbow.

“Hi,” you begin, a touch too loudly, “Yeah, you’re early! I actually didn’t end up going to work today. Old friend in town. We went to the movies. And then we came here. He wanted to see the house. I…I told him about it. I was just giving him the tour.”

You sound robotic and ridiculous, but he doesn’t appear to notice. Rather, he looks delighted when his eyes land on Jake and recognition settles in.

”Ah, I know you!” He laughs, marching forward with an outstretched hand. “The almost brother in law. Good to finally meet you.”

His grasp on Jake’s hand is strong and sure as he pumps it up and down. The genuine gladness in his gesture makes you want to tear your own hair out in penance.

Or is it the ‘almost brother in law’ moniker that has made you nauseous?

Yes, that’s what you boiled Jacob down to. You had held nothing back about your relationship with Josh…but Jake? You just couldn’t. To speak of him, to share him that way…it had seemed incomprehensible. And how could you ever put it into words, anyway? How could anyone ever understand what he was to you? What he is to you? No, it had seemed best to keep him locked away, silent and safe in your memories. Tucked away in your heart. The boy in the bubble.

Jake’s face is unreadable as he sizes up this opponent before him. This rival who has just unknowingly stepped into the ring. This blissfully unaware adversary. He is a doe who has wandered idly into the path of a dangerously ravenous mountain lion, and he doesn’t even know it. Ignorance really does seem like bliss in this moment, and you long for it.

“Yes, the almost brother in law,” his tone is slightly clipped, but no one, aside from you - and perhaps his brothers - would ever notice. “That’s me. And you are?”

Here we go. He’s going to love this.

They drop hands and a friendly clap lands on Jake’s shoulder. “I’m Jake, too. What are the odds?”

A sharp, satisfied laugh bursts out of Jake, head tipped back, adam’s apple bobbing gleefully, and you long to tell the smug bastard to just shut the hell up, but it’s over quickly enough.

”Yes,” he sighs, with a shake of his head that ends in his eyes blazing holes into your soul, “What are the odds?”

”’Course this one over here calls me by my middle name, James. Says it fits me. No one else does, though, so choice is yours. Man, it’s so great to finally meet you.” He’s prattling on now, never having met a stranger, “You know we’ve got all your work over there in the case. You’re a hell of a guitar player. I tried to learn in high school, mostly to impress girls…never could get it. Anyway…”

Jake is eyeing him like he doesn’t know what to make of this man standing there, cordial and warm, tossing out compliments and bids for conversation.

His eyes are traveling over this unfamiliar being, now so tangible and real, who has had his hands all over you. Who has had his mouth pressed to your precious body, who has whispered against your skin, who has made love to you in the still of the night, and held you, and rested beside you, breathing in tandem. Who has gotten down on one knee and asked you to be his wife.

And you said yes...you said yes.

He wants to hurt him. Both physically and emotionally. He wants to level him. To crush him into nothing. And though this Jake, James, or whatever his name is, isn’t to blame, he wants it all the same. He wishes he could lure him into his palm like a revolting insect and squeeze until he was no more than something vile to be wiped away with a Kleenex.

Instead, he tilts his head in the direction of the vinyls and shrugs off the accolades, “Fuckin’ Zeppelin cover band.”

James laughs uproariously and gestures into the room welcomingly, “Why are we all standing around like this? Have a seat…please. Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink? Water? A beer? Whiskey? I know it’s early, but special occasions call for special circumstances, I always say.”

Eyes on you, he shrugs out a response that would be lost on anybody but you, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Once you’re alone for a moment, he shakes his head with a gorgeous, if not self-satisfied, smirk sparking to life upon his face. “His name is Jake? Oh, sugar…” he’s laughing softly now, and sinking down into the cushions of the couch, “creature of habit, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

”Shut up!” You hiss, eyes flickering towards the kitchen doorway, “Coincidence. That’s all. Don’t be so fucking full of yourself. Now, please just be nice.”

He quiets down, drawing the back of his forefinger beneath his eye dramatically as if he has laughed himself to tears, “I’m being very nice and you know it. Don’t push it.”

You sit, as far away from him as the couch will allow, but instantly he’s leaned in close. “What do you think he would do if I got down on my knees right here and buried my face in that gorgeous little cunt of yours? Showed him how it’s really done.”

”Jacob!” You barely make a sound as you admonish him with a clipped shove to settle him.

He slinks back into his seat with another laughing shake of his head, “This is perfect.”

”I hate you.” You lie.

”Sure you do, sugar,” he winks, crossing his legs to get comfy, “Sure you do. Almost brother in law, huh? Is that what I’ve been reduced to?”

He’s still chuckling quietly to himself while a strange mix of panic and tears begins to churn around inside of you like a slow moving summer storm. He’s gearing up, you can feel it, and the thought of it all is too much, your metaphorical knees are beginning to shake. This could end so, so badly.

“Later, Jake…” you’re beseeching without shame, pleading with your watery gaze. “We’ll talk about it later. Please just stop.”

His palm cradles your cheek so softly you wonder if anyone has ever touched someone as gently as he touches you, “Settle down, baby. I won’t make trouble for you.”

How laughable that he can’t seem to recognize that you’ve brought this trouble on all by yourself. No help needed.

He has moved to create a respectable distance between the two of you by the time James is sweeping back into the room bearing a tray flush with drinks and snacks.

”Here, sweetie,” he drops a kiss upon the top of your head, presenting a glass. “Made you a mimosa…I know you like to keep it light through the week.”

You somehow manage a thank you and sip at the sweet, bubbly mix, praying it calms your frayed nerves.

”For us,” he extends the tray and you watch as Jake plucks a low ball glass from it, “bourbon. Unless you’d rather browse the bar. Plenty to choose from.”

”Bourbon is fantastic,” Jake nips at his glass. “Thank you.”

There is a palpable disdain hovering around Jake like a murky aura, but there is heartbreak there too. Aching and black. Heavy and weighing down the light that normally follows him around like a strange shadow…and you’d give anything to take it away.

For just a breath, you intend to do just that. To rise to your feet and stomp all over James’ open, trusting heart. To tell him the truth. To tell him you’re leaving. You nearly take Jake by the hand and drag him towards the door and leave everything else behind without explanation…simply to end his suffering.

Your lips nearly part to say the words when you’re cut off.

“Oh. I almost forgot,” James leans forward in his chair and grabs for your hand, absently running his thumb against your own, “Erin called. She said you guys had a great time the other day, said you’d planned something for this weekend? Wedding planning?”

Erin. His sister. You’ve grown close but it wouldn’t hurt to leave her behind. It wouldn’t even sting…not for Jake.

You squeeze his hand with a tiny smile and fight rolling nausea at the mere mention of the wedding in Jake’s presence. From the corner of your eye, you watch him tense, but he recovers quickly and drains his glass to the dredges in one pull.

”Well,” suddenly, he’s on his feet. “I’ve taken enough of your time today. It was good to see you.” His eyes are unreadable and shift quickly away from your own. “James, good to meet you and thank you for the hospitality.”

”Don’t run off on my account,” James is on his feet now as well, “We’d love to have you stay for dinner. I make a mean chicken Kiev, and…”

”No,” Jake interrupts, gaze jumping towards the door as if he can’t get away fast enough. “I’ve got a flight to catch in just a few hours, need to head back…you know how it goes.”

He sounds ineloquent and so unlike himself… and you can feel it - his heartbreak - in your bones as though you’ve crawled inside his body and curled up beside it like a clinging lover.

“Jake,” you can’t seem to move from your seat, your body uncooperative and rebellious, “Your car is still at the theater, let me drive you…”

”Drive me?” He is staring at you, white hot and desperate…the mask is finally slipping. He has played pretend all he can for the day. “And then what?”

”And then…” again, you are a coward. A fucking coward. “I don’t know. What do you mean, and then?”

The room is silent for a beat - with words unspoken crashing into the space between yourself and Jake, and James struggling to understand this strange exchange.

With the slightest nod of his head, Jacob silently encourages you. Urges you. Come with me, sugar…it seems to say, come home.

But still you sit, frozen and paralyzed. A horrified doe staring down the hunter’s muzzle.

Another nod, clipped and more obvious this time, responds to your inaction. “I’ll walk. Again, thank you for having me.”

The door closes behind him in a blink, and he is gone. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined him completely…

Looking down at your shaking hands in your lap, you realize you never even made it to your feet. You sat, unmoving, and watched him go.

Hours later, you’re standing outside an unfamiliar door, anxiously clutching at the straps of the bag tossed over your shoulder.

And when that unfamiliar door swings open, your heart unclenches, for there he stands. Showered, smelling of soap and warmth, hair curled into dampened, loose ringlets, beat to hell jeans riding low on his hips.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “If it isn’t Mrs. Wonderful…”

“Hi,” it comes out meek and small, but flush full of the comfort that is being near him.

”How’d you find me?” His arms cross loosely, with a faded smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

”Were you hiding?” Why hasn’t he turned to lead you in?

”From you, pretty girl?” He scoffs as if the very idea is preposterous. “Never.”

Yet, on he stands as though barring your entrance…as though he intends to send you on your way any moment.

”I called Josh,” you offer, wringing at your bag’s handles idly, simply for something to do with your hands. “He told me where you were staying.” Your gaze skitters over the house. “It’s nice. Cozy.”

He nods, “Airbnb. You mentioned something about us always being in hotels, before. I thought, if there was a chance I’d be hosting you, you might like something a little more…domestic. Though, I see now that you have plenty of that going for you already, right? Domesticity?”

“Do I deserve that?”

His shoulders hunch inwardly slightly, he knows you’re right, and he knows he’s being a bit of an asshole as well. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

”Are you going to invite me in? I feel a little stupid standing out here.” Vulnerability seems of such insignificance when it is Jacob in question. He knows your bare soul so well anyway.

Still, he allows you to dangle on his string, twisting languidly in the soft, evening breeze. “Why’d you call Josh to find me? Why not just call me? Missing my better half now that you’ve had a bit of fun with me?”

Now there’s a slight irritation traipsing along your nerves, and damned if you’re going to mask it. “Alright, either let me in or tell me to go to hell. I’m not going to beg for your good graces.”

”Are you coming in to stay? Or are you here to say goodbye? Because my heart has had enough for one day.”

”Oh, fuck off, Jacob.” You huff, pushing past him into the house. You slump your bag off your shoulder and onto the floor and then turn on him. “Sorry to have interrupted your pity party, but what did you think was going to happen today? Did you think it was going to be spectacular and wonderful to walk around in the life that I live with someone else? You practically fucked me in the bedroom I share with him. You lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree when you realized he was home. You wanted this, and you know what I think your problem is? I think you liked him.”

”Fuck you!” He slams the door closed and looks you over like you’ve lost your mind entirely. “You think I liked him? I couldn’t give a fuck less about him. He made my skin crawl. Do you know what it was like for me to watch him touch you? The way he looked at you…”

He falls silent and suddenly refuses to meet your eyes, and your heart breaks right alongside his.

Tentatively, you reach out and rest your palm against his cheek, “The way he looked at me doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It never really has.”

His hand floats up to meet yours, “He looked at you with so much love. Like he would give you the entire world. It made me feel not good enough. It made me feel like I should leave and let it be. Like I was wrong for showing up and rattling your whole life around.”

You’re backing him up against the door now, his gorgeous, stricken face held fast in your sure and gentle hands. “Not good enough? You? Oh, Jakey…” you pet at his face worshipfully, “We have a garden, remember? And you help me harvest, and I know you feed me those tiny tomatoes I like. You know? The little yellow ones? And they’re all gone before we even get inside.”

He’s nodding along as you pepper kisses upon his cheeks and forehead.

“And we have a porch swing, and a piano, and beautiful babies, and a cat…and you sing to us, and love us hard every single minute of every single day. And you make us so, so happy. And I wake up every morning with a smile on my face because I packed this stupid bag,” your foot darts out and kicks it, “and shoved my way inside when you refused to invite me in.”

”Don't say things you don’t mean, sugar…” his hands are in your hair now, guiding your mouth to his own so that he can lick inside it. He needs to taste you - needs to feel the silken velvet of your tongue, “I can’t take it, baby.”

You’re breathing each other's breath, lips like feathers dancing together soft and sweet, holding on to one another as if you might both just vanish into nothing in an instant, “I mean it, Jake…” you promise, “I mean it. You are everything,”

You can almost hear the pounding of his heart as the heat of his need begins to radiate and warm you, “Because I can’t stand the thought of leaving, of thinking you’ll follow, only for you to change your mind. It would kill me, sugar. So, please don’t say these things to me if you—“

You silence him with a deep, feverish kiss and then break away, forehead to forehead, “I’m not following later. I’m coming with you. This is where I am now…with you.”

Tears well in his eyes and spill over, hot and saline, as you lick and kiss them away. “I love you, pretty girl…” it chokes out of him, rasping as he swallows thickly, “I love you so fucking much. I’ve imagined this moment in so many different ways, but it was never as perfect as this. Tell me you know how much I love you.”

”I know, and I—“ it is he who interrupts with a desperate kiss this time.

And you know that later he will ask, and when he asks you will tell him what was said back at that house that broke his heart in two - how you ended things with the one who really never mattered at all…

…but for now all that matters is the taste of him on your lips. His air-drying hair looped through your searching fingers. Your hearts and lungs syncing, with his tears like brackish diamonds in your stomach because you have finally swallowed his sorrow and unburdened him from it.

He seems lighter in your arms already…closer now to the sun than he had ever been to the moon before.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove @josh-iamyour-mama

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfic #greta van fic #greta van smut #gvf fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiskza #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #josh kiszka #josh kiskza smut #gvf josh #gvf one shot #gvf smut

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ourflagmeansgayrights · 7 months

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ok so like objectively yes ed did things wrong but not only do i personally feel no negative emotions about any of that, i swear it would make more sense tonally with the rest of the show to NOT make a huge chunk of s2 be about ed facing the consequences for and redeeming himself from the marooning/pushing lucius overboard/izzy toe thing. like if im wrong i’m wrong and it’s whatever but i really really think the focus will be more on ed’s internal emotional state and how his choices were informed by trauma and how he’s going to learn to heal more than it’s gonna be like, Ed Learns It’s Wrong To Maroon People And Force Feed People Their Own Toes. like if anything i think it’ll be Ed Learns That He Deserves To Be Happy And He Also Realizes That Marooning People And Force Feeding People Their Own Toes Is An Unhealthy Coping Skill That Negatively Affects His Mental Health And He Learns New, Healthier Coping Strategies. like i think the focus of coming out of the kraken era is going to be almost entirely on ed’s feelings, and any mention of how his actions harmed the rest of the cast will be brief and/or it’ll primarily be played for comedy

which yes irl this would kinda suck to have some guy respond to getting his heart broken (and other stuff) by killing and maiming people and then have his whole journey of self-discovery be solely abt him and not any of the people he’s hurt. HOWEVER a biiiiiig part of the humor of the show is that the characters are experiencing some very real and very relatable self-esteem issues and insecurities and vulnerabilities, and all of that is placed on a backdrop of comedically gratuitous pirate violence. like this is a romcom and ed is basically going through the classic emotional beats of the romcom heroine getting her heart broken and eating a whole tub of ice cream and crying in her room for days before becoming cold and distant and “love is dead” edgy, only the joke is that bc he’s a pirate his “love is dead” romcom era includes some people actually literally dying. izzy and the crew all just happen to be in the blast radius for this joke, and while we as fans might love and care abt those characters too, the plain fact is that ed and stede are the main characters and the other characters’s feelings or storylines or internal motivations simply do not matter nearly as much to the show as theirs (with the exception of maybe jim, and also maybe olu depending on how s2 goes). and that’s literally just how romcoms work. this sort of “protagonist bias” is like, a core part of this kind of story.

and there’s nothing wrong with not vibing with the story because of that. if season two comes and goes and you aren’t happy with how the show handled the consequences of ed’s actions in e10 that’s fine, nobody has to feel any specific way about this show. but if i’m right and this is how s2 plays out and some of y’all don’t like this, the problem is not that ofmd is bad. the problem is just that this is not the story you wanted or expected to be told.

i DO think, tho, that there’s something very powerful abt a character like this being a queer indigenous man. he’s a gay romcom protagonist and narratively speaking his feelings trump all. this is a queer romcom that uses gratuitous slapstick violence as a punchline and where the queer main characters are allowed to get violent and unhinged about their feelings, and at the end of the day they ultimately get a pass bc it’s a gay romcom and the show is about them. like literally that description itself is more than i could’ve ever dreamed of from any tv show ever, and THEN you’re telling me that one of the main characters is indigenous???? it’s been a year and a half and s2 is right around the corner and i swear to god i still can’t believe this show actually exists. we don’t GET shows like this, we don’t GET characters like this. ed teach is such a fucking blessing of a character and i love him with all my heart.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #ofmd s2 #ofmd speculation #ofmd s2 speculation #edward teach #ed teach #edward teach born on a beach #s2 predictions #txt #meta #mine #og #this is why im unironically on team “ed did nothing wrong”#the show gives us very realistic depictions of emotional trauma #and slapstick looney toons depictions of physical trauma

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laurenfoxmakesthings · 1 year

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ID: A thread of tweets by PinkRangerLB, a trans lawyer, that say the following.

"We in the LGBTQ+ community must understand that our dead were real people. Vital, awake, worlds unto themselves, like us. They didn’t live and die for the sake of our learning, but they have a lot to teach.

I want to tell you about Hart Island and hope in the darkness. /1

When I say they were real people I mean I do not believe they are necessary sacrifices, or that our dead paid a cost for us. They loved, they feared, they had favorite TV shows and candy bars. They were here and it will never ever ever be okay that they’re gone. /2

They’re not symbols or metaphors. They had books to write, vacations to take, meals to cook, and the world would be better with them still in it. We aren’t enriched by death, but we can stand in their shoes and see the future. /3

Hart Island, if you don’t know, is where New York City buries bodies that aren’t claimed by a licensed funeral director. At the height of the AIDS epidemic funeral homes were urged not to embalm AIDS fatalities. /4

In New York, as elsewhere, stigma toward the queer community was at a level that even now it can be difficult to remember. Many queer people who died of AIDS had been disowned by their birth family because of their identity, their HIV status, or both. /5

To make matters worse, their partners and found families had no rights to their medical care or their bodies after they passed. The hateful families that could claim them often didn’t, and the families that loved them were powerless to see to their wishes. /6

You can read more about all this at the memorial’s website, here:

hartisland.net/aids_initiative

You can feel their weight, can’t you? The absence is heavy. And it’s important we understand that weight, because it’s a flat fact that current attacks on LGBTQ+ rights, trans rights especially, will kill people. There will be more absence, and it is not okay. /8

And when we say we have hope we are not saying it’s okay that they will be gone.

None of this ignores intersectionalism, higher rates of infection in targeted communities, death rates higher still. When I say things *can* get better I am not ignoring that improvement favors /9

the privileged.

Things got better. ACT UP and other activist groups organized and gained ground through community building, mutual aid, and grassroots action. Culturally, the tide began to turn. Federal action by Reagan and then Clinton contributed very little /10

(and in fact often caused harm). Direct action by activists galvanized AIDS research and the tide turned with very little government help.

In New York City, the death rate for HIV/AIDS patients fell by 62% from 2001 to 2012. So here’s what I’m saying. We’ve been seeing /11

an escalating backlash against LGBTQ people for years now. It gets very easy for us to come to expect the worst case scenario. Trump won, states are attacking trans kids, Roe was overturned. So now we say WHEN the Supreme Court overturns gay marriage, WHEN a national /12"

abortion ban passes, WHEN trans healthcare for adults gets criminalized.

And don’t get me wrong, those are all very real threats. We have to fight like hell. I am not pretending that times aren’t dark, that people won’t die, or that it will ever be okay that our people will /13

suffer and die. But things can, and do, get better when we fight, when we look after each other. The tide will not inevitably turn, but *we* can turn it. We can say that when the wall finally fell, our hands were there, pulling it down brick by brick. /14

And those we lost, if we remember them, honor them, we are their hands too. /15"

#lgbtqia+#trans rights #transgender #activism #lgbtq #queer community #queer activism #lgbt #queer history #AIDs Crisis #you should share more of her threads on here they are often this anti-defeatist #I've been trying to use twitter less and go to tumblr more to get away from twitter's defeatism #I don't want any of you to start importing and accepting that defeatism here

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jimmy-dipthong · 10 months

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罠英語・Trap Words pt 1

和製英語（わせいえいご）are Japanese words that have some origin in English, but have been appropriated by the Japanese speaking community. Often, if converted from katakana to English, they won’t be real English words (which can sometimes lead to funny mistranslations on signs).

シャーペン → shar-pen?? ❌ → mechanical pencil ✅

トランプ → trump?? ❌ → playing cards ✅

ベビーカー → baby car?? ❌ → stroller/pram ✅

However, there is a subcategory of 和製英語 which is particularly insidious, as a japanese learner. I’m gonna call them 罠英語 - trap words. They appear to be a normal English word simply converted into kanakana, but although they look like a regular old loan word, they are actually a Japanese misinterpretation or reinterpretation of an English word.

マンション → mansion ❌ → condominium/apartment ✅

The most well known example is probably マンション. Each of these words has a history which explains how they became trap words. In マンション’s case, it was business. In the 1960s, Japanese developers were building luxury housing complexes, but wanted to differentiate them from other housing complexes that had a low-class image, like public housing.¹ As far as I can tell, it wasn’t just one company, and マンション wasn’t a brand name. They created a whole new word, borrowing from English. Since then, the word マンション evolved to have a wider and wider scope, now including not just luxury housing complexes but any housing complex.

ジュース → juice ❌ → juice/soft drink/sports drink/mixer ✅

This one drives me up the wall because of how different it is from English. ジュース is a huge umbrella term which includes Coke, Aquarius, ramune, flavoured milk(!!), and actual orange juice. It does NOT include coffee, tea, anything with alcohol, or lemon juice(!!). Why not lemon juice? Because ジュース kinda means “beverage”. You don't usually drink lemon juice straight, so it’s not ジュース. Instead, you call lemon juice レモン汁. There are plenty of recipes on the japanese recipe sharing website Cookpad for レモンジュース, and most of them involve diluting actual lemon juice in carbonated water and mixing it with sugar or honey.²

Apparently, up until the 1960s (〜昭和40年), the word ジュース was not regulated, which meant Japanese brands were free to label fruit flavoured drinks as ジュース, even if they had no actual fruit juice in them. This changed in late 1967, when, thanks to pressure from consumer groups, the Japanese Agricultural Standard Law (JAS法) was revised to include a regulatory definition of the word ジュース: 「果汁100%のもの以外は、『ジュース』という名称で販売できない」(100% fruit juice).³ Even the wikipedia article for ジュース defines it using the JAS definition.⁴ However, the word ジュース had already entered common usage before the law came into effect, and it’s still used today to mean any non-coffee, non-tea, non-alcoholic, sweet beverage, especially ones sold from a vending machine. I believe the prevalence of vending machines may have led to the spread of this word. Another reason ジュース has not been adopted in common use may be that Japanese already has a word for fruit juice - 果汁. Languages dislike redundancy, so it’s natural that one of the two would have changed to have a different meaning. Many native Japanese speakers are unaware of the regulatory definition⁵, (and even then, regulations shouldn’t and don’t dictate how language is used in everyday conversation) so it’s important to be careful!

ノート → note ❌ → notebook ✅

In Japanese, it’s rare that a common word will be longer than 4 kana sounds long (aka morae). Similarly in English, we don’t end to use words that are over 4 syllables long very often. In English, the word “notebook” is 2 syllables, nice and short. But when you convert it into Japanese, it becomes ノートブック, a whole 6 morae! No one has time to say all that! Since English can fit multiple consonants into a single syllable but Japanese can’t, when converting to Japanese, lots of additional vowels get added in, which extends the word. That’s why loan words in Japanese tend to get abbreviated: ビル for building, リモコン for remote control, ティアキン for “Tears of the Kingdom”.⁶ It’s only natural that ノートブック would get abbreviated to ノート. It’s just an unlucky coincidence that “note” happens to be an English word as well. The word for "note" in Japanese is メモ!

This is why the Death Note is called a note, even though it’s not a note, and also gives us this slightly おかしい translation.

I’m keen to post more about these trap words since dictionaries are often quite prescriptivist about the meanings, and it’s hard to get a good idea of what the word means without talking to Japanese people. I also find the histories quite interesting. Let me know if you’re interested! I have a feeling these words (besides ジュース) may be kinda common knowledge, but I hope the explanations were interesting! I think next time I'll talk about some ones that are less commonly known.

[1]: https://www.homes.co.jp/cont/buy_mansion/buy_mansion_00137/ [2]: https://cookpad.com/search/レモンジュース [3]: https://www.meg-snow.com/customer/center/communication/pdf/center12.pdf [4]: https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/ジュース [5]: https://macaro-ni.jp/36654 [6]: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_abbreviated_and_contracted_words

#langblr #japanese #language acquisition #language learning #linguistics #japanese language #learning japanese #language #jimmy blogthong #trap words

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haespoir · 11 months

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craving: kdy.

⨯ pairing: doyoung x pre-med!reader

⨯ word count: 704

⨯ summary: you don't mean to overwork yourself, but when you do, doyoung is always there to bring you comfort

⨯ content: fluff, literally just cute doyoung being domestic

⨯ extra content: meant to be read alongside these texts

⨯ playlist: for days, rini / hope you do, oceanfromtheblue / more than enough, alina baraz

⨯ a/n: this was a request, i hope it's alright!

. . .

You didn’t mean to ignore Doyoung’s texts. Really, you didn’t. If you had to be honest, there weren’t many things in life that trumped your boyfriend. However, when it came to Organic Chemistry, he seemed to be beat.

It had been at least a week since you had last seen the man, and you knew more than anyone that he was going to complain about withdrawals the next time you saw him. Unfortunately, that would not be anytime soon.

Waking up from a nap after your shift at the hospital had you feeling like you were in a different dimension and not in a good way. Putting it simply, you were absolutely exhausted. You had spent hours this week working on your thesis paper, and the fact that you had to balance it with your volunteer hours at the hospital felt like hell.

doyoung [ 4:12pm ]: date tonight?

That was the last text that had been sent and left on delivered for at least 6 hours now. Thankfully, Doyoung wasn’t someone who was easily upset. He understood your dedication to your studies and career; in fact, he was most likely your biggest support. He loved to make your lunches before your shift, and more often than not, he was quizzing you with flashcards that he helped make. That thought alone made your heart nearly overflow with care and affection for the man.

With a small huff, you decide that it’s best to get some sort of sustenance in your system before you begin your dreaded study session. You expect your apartment to be void of any form of life, however, the familiar figure on your couch tells you to believe otherwise. It seemed that you were not the only one taking a nap at this time. Doyoung was fast asleep, a blanket wrapped tightly around his figure as he snoozed. You loved this man with everything.

Doyoung had essentially broken into your apartment, and knowing him, there was going to be a meal for you to warm up in the microwave. In his defense, you had told him many times that he was welcome to come over when you were studying; the fact that the code for your place was also his birthday helped him sneak in whenever he wanted.

You’re certain your heart is filled with nothing but love for the man on the couch as you eat the warmed up fried rice he had made for you. He had left an adorable sticky note on the top of the bowl, and you swore that you were going to marry this man as you read his messy scribble.

hi my love!! i asked for a date tonight!! while i would prefer taking you out for a nice dinner, i do have papers to grade soooooo…. a study date will work too. p.s i’m tired too TT wake me up AFTER you eat!

The smile on your lips doesn’t disappear as you eat, and even though you’re craving your boyfriend and his touch, you decide that letting him sleep in isn’t a horrible thing. So you take your time eating, and when you’re done, you take a quick shower, relishing in the way the hot water feels on your body.

But there’s something that would feel even better.

You can’t help yourself when you lift Doyoung’s blanket and squeeze onto the couch next to him, placing his arm around you. “Sleeping beauty, are you waking up anytime soon?”

“I don’t want to,” Doyoung hums softly, squeezing you in a tight hug.

You laugh at his words, sharing the sentiment. When you were in his arms, there was nothing more you wanted than to stay there. He was like your safe place, a place for you to let go of your worries and stress. “Don’t you have papers to grade?”

This only makes the male groan, and you swear he’s tempted to push you off the couch with the way he stares at you through half-lidded eyes. Before he can even think about doing that, you press a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Come on, we’ve got a lot to do tonight.”

#nct #nct scenarios #nct scenario #nct imagines #doyoung #doyoung fic #doyoung scenarios #doyoung fluff #nct fluff #doyoung x reader

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wardenparker · 1 year

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Bright Lights & Broken Dreams - pt 3

Dieter Bravo x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17k Warnings: *Contains flashbacks*. Cursing, food/alcohol, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, shower sex, praise/worship, mention of underage drinking, soooo much fluff. Summary: The press junket for your film becomes a coming out party for your relationship, and awards season is another turning point worth waiting for. The future is every bit as bright as you had hoped it would be with Dieter there. Notes: I will never give up the chance to write about Dieter at the Oscars, so yes that is in this chapter. And no I am not sorry. Not one little bit.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3

“Babe! The car is here!” For once, Dieter is the one who is on time and waiting downstairs, fiddling with his phone and reposting the trailer like the studio wanted him to.

"Junket tiiiiime." You swing down the stairs with a suitcase in one hand and your purse in the other, ready to spend an ungodly boring three days staring at the walls of one single hotel out in Newport Beach. The studio knows you only need one suite, but they had the presence of mind to book a three-bedroom villa for their two stars to share with their assistants. With you and Dee in one room and Sadie and Desiree share another, the third bedroom is superfluous. But at least it provides a sound buffer for everyone's vocal enthusiasm.

You've been careful. All of you. Nothing has been given away to the public over the last ten months, and your individual fan bases have no idea that you and Dieter are back together. Or that you were ever together in the first place. This has been going well and you have decided to keep it quiet for now, not wanting to spoil the happy little bubble you've both been living in. No one even knows that you moved into Dieter's Sherman Oaks mansion six weeks ago.

“God, you’re so late.” Dieter huffs at you, although his grin shows that he doesn’t mean it at all. “Why didn’t you have Sadie pack you?”

"I am not late. I'm exactly on time." Desiree may or may not have clued you in on her tendency to tell Dieter that he has to be ready for things a minimum of fifteen minutes earlier than is actually necessary, and you have to admit. It works brilliantly. "Sadie asked for some personal time before the junket to go home and meet her baby nephew. I figured that that trumped packing my suitcase for me. She'll meet us at the hotel, though."

His own bag is waiting by the door and it’s a junket that he’s not actually dreading. Feeling better because you are going to be there and because he’s got a ten month sobriety chip in his pocket with your help. He has been sober beyond drinking wine or champagne with you. Even weed has been off limits because he can’t regulate himself.

"Ready to go, Bambi?" He looks ready – bright eyed and smiling if slightly tired, but that's your fault. You kept him up last night. Not that you're apologizing.

"I need some coffee." Dieter admits. "Maybe we can stop by and grab some?" He asks, pleading with big pouty eyes.

"Drive thru, or are you pouting at me so that I'll go inside the coffee shop and see what cookies they have today?" The two of you head out the front door to the car sent by the studio with Desiree standing by.

"Cookies." Dieter groans. Since quitting drugs, his sweet tooth has gotten worse, but he begrudgingly sweats through the workouts with the personal trainer you had hired for both of you. Telling him that you wanted him healthy so you could keep him for a long time had done the trick so he didn't whine too much.

"I'm sorry, did someone say cookies?" Desiree, as magical as she is, is sometimes nearly psychic. She has a paper bag in her hand that she wiggles in Dieter's direction before reaching forward to grab his suitcase to load into the trunk of the Town Car. "There's only one each so you don't get in trouble with your trainer, but I did not hold back on your coffee orders," she promises. "They're in the cupholders in the backseat already."

"Des, I love you." The way you hug her is nearly reverent, and you absolutely mean it. As much as you sing Sadie's praises, Desiree might be the only assistant in the world to rival her. And together? They're unstoppable.

"God." He groans happily and nearly dives into the car so he can get to the coffee, a nonfat two pumps white chocolate latte with two extra shots of espresso. "I love her more!" He calls back, happy to have his coffee and the prospect of a quick make out session in the car before having to pretend to be just your co-star for the next few days around others.

"I made him get up early to work out before we left," you explain, sending his assistant a grin before tucking your own suitcase into the trunk and climbing into the backseat after him. You've been on a cinnamon latte kick lately and the shop by his house – your house – makes an amazing one with just a touch of brown sugar steamed into the milk that tastes like heaven. The two hour drive will be a lot less tedious with Dieter in a good mood, and you have to admit that you could use the little caffeine boost as well.

"This is just what I needed." Dieter groans, sipping the latte like it is the key to eternal life but he picks up your latte to hand to you as you climb in beside him. He doesn't mind waking up for sex, he's always up for it, but he also knows he has to be on his A game to make sure he doesn't say anything. Dieter's management team has been ecstatic about the change in behavior of their client and doesn't want to break your good girl image with his still tarnished reputation.

“Thanks, love.” In the back of the car with the divider up, it doesn’t matter what you say. The only person back here with you is Desiree and she knows everything. Well – mostly everything. There are some details even she doesn’t need. “And thank you, Des.” When she climbs in after you and shuts the door, the car takes off right away. This weekend is running on a very tight schedule and LA traffic can be brutal, so there’s no time to spare.

"I hate press junkets." Dieter grumbles as the car speeds towards the freeway. "It's the same damn questions over and over by different people." The monotony of it bores him, wanting to be challenged by the questions rather than just trying to come up with new ways of repackaging the same shit.

“I know.” She sat through a hundred of these things with him, always hustling around to make sure things go smoothly, but she knows this time will be better. “At least you have good company this time.”

"That's the only good thing about this." Dieter winks at you. "As well as the soundbites for when we win our Oscars."

“You’re feeling very confident about that.” Comfortable enough to lean against his side as the car glides along the highway, you have to smile at his positive attitude. “Maybe this won’t be three days of torture after all?” The thing you always look forward to most is the cocktail party on the first night, usually because you get to mingle a little and spend time with your costars. This time? As long as Dieter is there, you’re game.

"I know you are going to win." He's confident of that, having watched the rough cut in its entirety. It was raw, real. The type of story that the Academy loves. "Hopefully the rumors that swirled during filming aren't brought up."

Unfortunately, it seemed like every kind of rumor was attached to you at some point during filming. You hated Dieter, you hated the director, you were dating your other costar, or you were dating your assistant – that one was immensely funny to Sadie, who thinks of you as a sister. “If they are, we’ll take them in stride. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” Rumors are only rumors, after all.

"I know." He murmurs, reaching down and threading his fingers with yours gently. "I just don't want my shit to splatter onto you."

“Your shit is my shit, babe. They just don’t know that yet.” Not having decided when to reveal your relationship to the world, you just know that for now, the key is to respect each other as much as possible in front of the camera.

He chuckles and sends you a grin. "Doesn't Kevin Hart have a bit that is something like that?" He asks, remembering some kind of standup special he had watched when he was baked a few years ago. "But it was like 'your bullshit is my bullshit, motherfucker'. Or something like that."

“I think it was about best friends, but this definitely applies.” You lift your joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles and grin. “Your bullshit is my bullshit, baby.”

"Anything you want to do after the first round of interviews?" He asks, wanting to take his mind off of the upcoming questions.

“You.” The beaming grin you aim at him is unapologetic. “I’d be more graphic, but Desiree doesn’t need to be any more traumatized by our sex life then she already is.”

His chuckle is dirty and he sneaks his hand down to your thigh to give it a rough squeeze. "After the party, right? I know you want to go to the party."

“I always like to go to the party.” He knows that about you – that you don’t always like a lot of social situations but that you love a good party.

"Then we are going to the party." Dieter decrees, like he had never not been going to go to that party with you. "We just have to survive the first round of interviews."

“I promise that I packed something skimpy.” You shoot him an evil grin but just sit demurely in your seat and sip your coffee like a perfect angel.

Groaning, he rolls his eyes and huffs. "That's just mean." He pouts and crosses his arms over his chest.

“It’s not mean when you get to be the one who peels it off me at the end of the night.” It’s too cute. You can’t help but giggle, and even Desiree snickers in amusement.

"What happened to your good girl image?" Dieter asks, lifting a brow. "You know the press is going to be at this party as well and I'm going to have a hard time keeping my hands off of you."

“There will be swirling rumors that you’re desperately in love with me.” You tease, knowing that the dress you packed was chosen specifically to make him drool.

"That's not a rumor." He reminds you with a grin. "I am hopelessly in love with you. Desperate and hopeless. Never wanting to be out of love again."

“Well then, for once the Hollywood press corps will actually be telling the truth.” It’s not as though that’s a common phenomenon, so it’s worth teasing about. “I love you too, baby.”

“You know that story about the squirrel was totally fake, right?” Dieter frowns, leaning in to kiss you.

"Of course I know the squirrel thing was fake." You promise him, leaning into the kiss and relishing the small moment of tenderness. "That would be utterly ridiculous."

“Good.” He’s relieved you don’t believe that and kisses you again before snapping his head towards Desiree. “Cookie?”

"Cookie!" She hands over the bag with a flourish, knowing that getting Dieter in a good mood before a junket is vital. "And while Cookie is happening, maybe you'll let me go over your schedule for the day?"

Dieter huffs. “But that ruins the taste of the cookie.” He grumbles, perking up slightly when he sees it's a peanut butter chocolate chunk. “Fine.” He whines when his assistant doesn’t respond but just stares at him like a disappointed mother. She’s really good at guilting him without saying a word. Especially now that he’s sober, which is complete bullshit in his opinion.

The lemon shortbread cookie with lavender sugar makes you hum in contentment when you see it, and you sit back to listen dutifully. Sadie had already emailed you your itinerary and it is mostly the same as Dieter’s, but you’re still going to listen. These women take extremely good damn care of both of you and the least you can be is respectful.

******

The lighting in the room is bright, making Dieter wince and slip his sunglasses on. He’s not as sensitive to the light as he once was but the damn rings are making him see halos. “Ready to get this show on the road.” He huffs, fiddling with the water bottle that was already halfway empty.

“Let’s get started.” Your nod of agreement has the production assistant by the door moving, and you adjust in your seat slightly. At least the chairs they have for you in this place are comfortable upholstered ones and not like when they try to artistically arrange actors into director’s chairs for the aesthetic of it all. You have a cup of herbal tea on a small table just out of sight of the cameras thanks to Sadie and you’re ready to dive in. But mostly because she’s withholding baby pictures until the lunch break after you deal with the first round of interviews. The first woman who walks into the room looks nervous but bright eyed, and her credentials lanyard is a website you don’t recognize. She’s obviously a fan of Dieter’s, unconsciously focusing most of her attention on him, but you don’t mind.

Dieter straightens in his chair and the urge to reach for your hand is overwhelming so he plays with the edge of the chair he is sitting in. “Why did I choose this role?” He repeats the question and chuckles. “Contract obligations.” He jokes. “No, I liked the script. It was compelling and I knew that it was going to be amazing.”

It’s barely a joke, but you smile politely and don’t fuss when the woman gets flustered and forgets to ask you the question or at least wait for your answer. You understand being flustered by Dieter, it happens a lot. He’s far more charming naturally than he knows. The second question is about travel, and this time you don’t hesitate. “London was heavenly, but the hotel where they put the cast up in the French countryside was stunning. It was really like staying in someone’s home, and they made the experience so welcoming for all of us.”

Dieter smiles and nods, not expanding any more on the topic since you had answered. You had both talked about that hotel extensively and his own opinion mirrors yours.

The rest of her questions are fairly mundane, and you wonder if she was given first in as a warm up. Not wanting to hit you and Dieter with anything too thought-provoking right off the bat since Dee isn’t exactly famous for being a morning person. The next two people in ask requisite questions about working on a period piece and what it was like to work with the singer who played the third lead. The next seemed enamored of the fact that you had a very well behaved trained dog on set and wanted to know all about acting with an animal.

On and on it went, round and round again until even your break for lunch was a blur. The food was good, at least. That’s not always true at these things. A dozen or more interviews into the first day of the junket, Sadie brings you a fresh mug of tea and promises that the end is in sight. Just two more hours of this and you can go and wash off the tedium of interviews and get ready for the party.

“I’m so ready to stop smiling.” Dieter complains under his breath, his own refreshed latte in his hands as he watches yet another reporter bring in their equipment to set up. “Can I get some booze in this?” He begs Desiree, tilting his head. “Just a shot? Hell, even Bailey’s. Just something.”

“What happened to not drinking until the party?” His assistant asks with a raised eyebrow, having every intention of enforcing the deal they made yesterday.

“I got bored.” Dieter huffs quietly. “It’s the SSDD theory.”

“You’re done in two hours, and then you get a whole cocktail party to drink at.” Desiree reminds him. “You just need to survive a little bit longer. I hear there’s even cocktails named after your characters.”

“There are?” Dieter perks up tremendously at that idea and grins. “Okay. I’ll wait. But can we please have some interesting questions?” That part might have been a little too loud because the next reporter glances up from where they are setting up their camera.

There’s a flash of recognition on the reporter’s face. The look of someone tired who probably agrees that most of the questions they were asking aren’t worthwhile. He finishes setting up and sits down, but doesn’t open the small notebook that had just been in his hand. “So.” He smiles like he understands how tired the two of you must be, or at least he’s trying to be sympathetic. “This wasn’t exactly a run of the mill production process for you.”

Dieter glances over at you, seeing if you want to take the lead but your brow is slightly furrowed, so he answers. “If you mean the fact that we shot the emotionally tumultuous scenes first, yeah, I guess you could say that.” He chuckles. “Nothing like getting the shit slapped out of you on the first day to bond with your co-star.” He jokes, flashing you a grin. “Professionally speaking.”

"You didn't get along too well at the beginning of production, if memory serves." He shifts in his seat like a snake slithering toward a nest full of eggs. "The video of the two of you having it out in a restaurant in London made the rounds on the internet for weeks."

“Oh that….” Dieter chuckles and shrugs. “It’s me.” He deflects, pointing to himself. “Everyone gets pissed at me at some point.” He offers, like it would be unusual for his co-star to not be upset with him. “Emotions were high from filming that day.”

"But from someone so poised," he gestures to you, obviously hoping that he's poking a sleeping bear and trying to shake it awake.

"Unfortunately, sometimes being human is caught on film," you answer diplomatically. "As Dee said. Tensions were high in the beginning of filming. We had a lot of very high stress and high emotion scenes right in the beginning of the process and that really had us on our toes."

“Yes.” The reporter, Steven Someone, Dieter had already forgotten who he was with or his last name, nods in agreement. “However, from the video, it seemed to be…rather personal.” He continues on. “Did it have something to do with the production the two of you starred in together on Broadway together twelve years ago?”

“Actually?” No one has ever brought that up. It seemed like it had almost been lost to history. Your show and your history together seemed invisible to modern fans, and you’re honestly thrown a little off kilter by anyone even bringing it to the forefront. “No. It didn’t have anything to do with that. It was a misunderstanding on my part and I’ve apologized.” You’ve worshiped and posed for him since then, helping his sketchbook of you grow exponentially. But that is entirely personal.

“So the rumors that the two of you have an old spat are unfounded?” He asks, looking between the two of you. “Because the film almost seems to be an extension of that. Deeply personal.”

“I wasn’t aware of any rumours.” It makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the way this particular interview is turning out, but maybe it would be good to smooth this over. If there are rumours about you disliking each other, it would be good to gloss over them and make sure they’re ended.

“There’s reports that the set nearly shut down the first day due to an altercation and the table read was uncomfortable because of the tension between the two of you.” He acknowledges, without really asking a question.

“The beginning of this process was definitely tense,” you acknowledge, glancing nervously at Dieter who seems shell shocked by the way this interview has gone. “If anyone else in the cast or crew was made uncomfortable, obviously that’s something that was unintentional.”

“Obviously, there’s no tension now.” Dieter chuckles. “We are all temperamental artists at times, it plays well on screen but it can be uncomfortable until you find that niche.”

“No. In fact, now you seem quite cozy.” This reporter is smiling like he has a secret and your stomach rolls anxiously. “In fact.” The second time, the phrase almost sounds accusing. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, haven’t you?”

Dieter gives a small shrug, as if it doesn’t matter. “We’ve known each other for a long time.” He tells the reporter, annoyed at where this interview is going. “Of course we are going to spend time together.”

“So there’s no truth at all to the rumor that the very same moving truck that was seen in Echo Park near the home of America’s Sweetheart,” he practically points his own at you. “Was unloading just hours later in Sherman Oaks at Dieter’s mansion?”

Dieter’s eyes narrow and he shifts in his chair. “Aren’t we here to talk about a movie?” He looks behind him at the banner for the movie and nods. “Yeah, that movie?” He hooks his thumb behind him. “Our personal lives aren’t on the table.”

“You’ve called this film ‘deeply personal’.” He changes tactics but doesn’t back down. “Apparently the beginning of shooting wasn’t the only time things got tense on set. The love scenes were also extremely intimate.”

“As intimate as having a roomful of people watching simulated sex can be.” Dieter laughs. “Takes away the fun if you’re the only ones exposed. But it was an extremely professional set.” He looks at the camera and playfully gives it a ‘sorry’ look. “Nothing is real.”

The production assistant nearby gives the reporter the signal to wrap things up and you shift again, picking up your mug to wrap both hands around it like an herbal tea security blanket. The reporter looks unhappy that he has to stop but he looks at both of you seriously. “The movie is a very poignant film and if emotions were high, they translated to a fantastic performance.”

“Thank you.” Saved by the bell, you think with an inner sigh as you paint a smile on your face. “We had a sensational script and a wonderfully supportive cast of costars. And Sam’s vision as a director really brings things together.”

Once that reporter is cleared out, Dieter shakes his head. “Can we have a break?”

“We’re on a tight schedule.” Desiree frowns, knowing the publicity team won’t like it. “I can stall for a few minutes.”

“Just a couple of minutes.” Dieter nods as Desiree moves towards the door to prevent the next reporter from coming in. “How are you doing?” He asks immediately, his eyes wide. “Do you think someone actually saw the moving truck?”

“They must have.” You can’t squeeze his hand without giving yourselves away, so you keep both hands locked around your mug. “I mean I thought we were doing really well but obviously somebody saw something.” You had agreed together that you wouldn’t come out as a couple for at least a few more months. You had planned to allow yourselves to be photographed on a very well-behaved and well-earned vacation where your publicity teams could control the message and how the information disseminated to your fans. Apparently, you may need to speed up that plan.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Dieter frowns, sure that this is somehow his fault. He was the one who insisted that Sherman Oaks was where the two of you needed to live. You didn’t own your house, so he had thought it made sense.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” It’s a reflex of his, to apologize even when he isn’t at fault, and you shake your head. “We should just…we should decide. If we’re still going to keep this under wraps or if we’re going to open up about it sooner than we planned.” It would be okay, either way. You could still control the flow of information. Sadie and Desiree would get the ball rolling with your management and publicity teams now instead of in six more months. “I guess…we could always use the junket?”

He frowns, knowing that you wanted more time, and it feels like you two are being pushed into a corner. “We could.” He agrees. “I’ll do whatever you want to.”

“If we deny it up and down here and then come out at the premiere, they’ll snag us for lying.” You point out quietly. “So far we’ve never said we aren’t together, and we can keep it that way. Everything on the up-and-up. And the press will be at the cocktail party tonight.” Having to play a strategy on your own relationship is difficult, but both of you have experience in this area. “We should just…just make sure Des and Sadie have everything lined up before we do this. The whole point was to have our teams ready to go. No scandals for either of us.”

“You’re going to be the one taking a hit.” Dieter reminds you. “But I haven’t had a scandal that’s come up to bite us in the ass.” He’s been on his best behavior, to the annoyance of some of the tabloids.

“They’re going to dig for a scandalous past that doesn’t exist. It’s fine.” Part of the point is that your team will be able to speak to your rekindled romance and touch on the fact that you dated years ago during your time on Broadway. Each other’s one that got away. A very romantic spin on the reality of an abusive father controlling his son from afar.

“Dear ole dad is spinning in his grave.” Dieter chuckles. “He never wanted me to have a squeaky clean image, said it was a direct reflection of him.”

“He wanted a product to sell, not a son.” It makes you sad, honestly, and you sigh into your tea. “He never saw how amazing you are all on your own.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” He knows that, although it still hurts. It had been one of the reasons that he had never had children. Never wanted to risk fucking them up.

“I love you.” It doesn’t cure the hurts, but the whispered words make him smile and that’s what matters.

“I love you too.” Dieter wants to lean in to kiss you, but he knows Desiree can only keep them out for so long. He smiles at you and nods. “Let me know when you want to do this.” He tells you before he calls for his assistant.

“Everything okay?” Desiree and Sadie appear together an instant later with concern on their faces.

“How long do you think it would take you to be ready to go with the photo leaks and press statements?” You ask them, barely raising your voice above a murmur. “If one reporter knows things, then I’d bet anything that more do.”

“Oh shit.” Desiree’s eyes widen slightly and she looks back at the door. “We have everything ready. Just whenever you are ready to push.”

"Tonight?" In a perfect world you could just be yourselves. Just cuddle up on the sofa and be together. But your lives are more complicated than that. "Use the cocktail party as the staging ground?"

Dieter nods. “I don’t have to keep my hands off of you.” He hums happily. Any time he doesn’t have to worry about not being able to touch you, he’s in a better mood. Even the interviews where the two of you playfully touch while joking were better in his book.

"If you're ready, we'll get the ball rolling." Sadie promises, flashing a proud grin at Desiree. This publicity roll out is some of their best work. "By the time the cocktail party starts, you'll be free to snuggle as much as you like."

“Okay, let’s get this next round of interviews done.” Dieter grumbles, like he wasn’t the one that needed a break. “I want to shower before the party.”

******

It ends up taking slightly more than two hours before you and Dieter can get back to your suite to get ready, but at least you make it through things without any more nasty questions or grouchy attitudes. The second you shut the suite door behind you, you go straight into his arms to claim a hug. "Well that's done," you huff with a half-assed chuckle. "Tomorrow we get to do even more of them."

“So what you’re saying is that I need to be drunk tomorrow?” Dieter huffs, squeezing you gently and sighing softly as he burrows into your neck and inhales the scent of your perfume.

“Tomorrow we’re going to get all the questions about us.” Considering you have the two most trustworthy and effective people you know working for you, you know that whatever they’re leaking or releasing, Sadie and Desiree are doing it at this exact moment. “It should be a much more interesting day.”

“Are you ready?” He asks seriously, pulling back to caress your cheek. “Soooo many jokes about taming me. Or orgies, or whatever.”

“Well, you’ve never taken me to an orgy, so I’m afraid I won’t understand those jokes.” You remind him, putting on your best innocent face. “I’m ready, honey. Honestly. I’m sorry that our hand got forced, but I’m proud to love you and I’m glad we don’t have to hide anymore.”

“I wouldn’t want you at an orgy.” He frowns just thinking about it and slides his hands down your sides. “It’ll make red carpet walks better.”

“So much better.” His hands land on your hips and you gravitate toward him instinctively. “Are you sure you’re ready?” As much as you’ll get a few jokes or comments about taming him, he’s going to get the brunt of it. The intimate details of his life have been much more on display than yours.

“You know I don’t care what the media thinks about me.” He does but it’s not like he can undo the damage already done. All he can do is allow his image to be shaped into something else.

“I know that you say that.” With two fingers you brush a stray curl from his forehead. “But you also can’t get bent out of shape if they say things about me. It’s their job to stir shit. Or at least to try.”

“You don’t deserve it though.” He pouts, frowning at you. “I won’t.” He huffs when you just stare at him with that ‘I don’t believe you’ expression on your face.

“We’re going to have fun tonight, and we’re going to be us. The real us.” You wrap him up in both arms and hug him to your chest, grinning when he burrows into your neck again for comfort. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“I know it will be.” That he’s certain of. The alternative is for the two of you to not be together and he’s not doing that. Not again. “Do you want to shower together, or do you want to wait until we leave the party?”

"Oh no, we're definitely showering together." The wolfish grin you throw him comes with a wink, and you pull away to head into the bathroom knowing that he's right behind you. "I want to walk into that party having been freshly fucked, thank you very much."

“Fuck.” Dieter grins, rushing to pull his shirt over his head and mussing his hair up. “What are we waiting for? Get naked!”

The vague sound of a snort from the other room tells you that Sadie heard that, and you can't help but giggle as you toss your blouse onto the long counter and reach into the overlarge stall to turn on the shower.

“Jesus.” Dieter can’t help but stop in his tracks and admire the beauty of you in front of him. Since moving in together, you have modeled several times and yet he still can’t help but stare. “I love you.”

You pause in your tracks, turning around to face him with your bra off and your hands on the fly of your pants – and a dopey, lovestruck smile on your face. He really is just sweet sometimes, and it's a side of him that almost no one gets to see. You honestly couldn't be prouder or more flattered that he is so soft and loving with you. "I love you, too."

Dieter grins and pushes his pants down, he had purposefully not worn underwear because of having to sit all day, so his hard length bounces out as he kicks off the pants.

“I’m gonna buy you silk underwear one day, and you’re gonna love how soft it is so much that you’re going to want to wear it all the time.” Not that you mind that he goes commando. It’s one less layer to strip away in order to have him inside you. He loves his little luxuries, though, and you know it would make him smile.

“Why, so they can remind me of how good your hand feels?” He smirks at you as you step into the shower. This is intimate and playful, the two of you falling into an easy comfort with each other.

“I told you that moisturized skin makes all the difference.” He had teased you about being so religious in your nighttime routine of moisturizers and cleansers, but he never argued with the results.

He grins, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around you. “We have about twenty minutes.” He hums. “It’s going to have to be a quickie.”

“Then you should decide if you want my front or my back pressed against that wall,” you hum, slinging both arms around him so you can drag him down for a kiss.

“Back.” He groans against your mouth. “Easier to kiss you.”

He’s always been greedy with kisses, much to your delight, and now he backs you up against the cold marble just as eagerly as he slips his tongue into your mouth revels at the needy moan it earns him. It takes no effort to melt into him and you reach between your bodies to wrap your hand around his cock and stroke.

The way you touch him makes his knees weak, sagging and leaning into you as he plunders your mouth with his own. Eager to be inside you again. It must be a symphony of moans and whines to anyone outside your little bubble, but all you can ever focus on is Dieter. He’s all you’ve ever wanted and still all you need, and when he picks your leg up to sit on his waist you shift forward with ease, eager to have him inside you again.

“Baby, you’re so good to me.” Dieter kisses down your neck and across your shoulder. “Best drug, you, you’re it.”

"Love you so fucking much." The way he nips at your skin leaves you breathless every time and you whimper softly. "Need you, Dee. Please?"

“Yes baby.” There isn’t enough time to tease you, to draw this out. Too needy for the solace your body gives him, he lines up and sinks in faster than both of you can inhale.

"Fuuuuuuck." No matter how many times you take him it's always a stretch, like a personal challenge to your dripping cunt to see if it will ever not make your eyes roll back in your head or your chest heave to draw him as deep inside you as possible. Tonight it's a gorgeous feeling of being split open as he braces your back against the wall and drapes both of your legs over his forearms to leverage you in between the marble and his body, impaling you on his cock so quickly that it almost makes you dizzy.

“Shiiiiiiit.” Dieter hisses. “How are you so fucking tight?” He whines. “I fuck you all the time.” He loves it, cock twitching deep and he grinds his hips to try to reach a fraction of inch deeper. Feeling like he will drive through your back wall with the first thrust.

"Kegels," you tease, diving forward to kiss him when it's truly the most you can do in this position.

“Keep doing them.” He groans against your lips, too busy trying to devour you to really talk beyond that point. You love making him crazy and everything you do accomplishes that. Especially the way you moan into his mouth.

Each determined thrust drives you firmly into the cold wall, pushing a moan into his kiss and making both of you grip each other tighter. His feet firmly planted on the shower floor hold both of you steady as he rocks into you and you do everything you can to meet him at every swing of his hips. It's a precarious dance but a rewarding one, letting him hit all the deepest, most sensitive places in your greedy pussy.

“Fuck, fuck.” Dieter groans, eyes fluttering and he tries to make sure neither one of you end up on the fucking floor. “Tonight–” he gasps. “Tonight, ride me.” He begs, knowing he will be needy and submissive after a night schmoozing. He normally is.

“Want to—” You gasp, whimpering when he hits so deep inside you that you swear you’re going to go permanently cross eyed from the way it jolts through your body. “Worship tonight, baby?”

“Yes. Fuck yes.” The way you make him feel like a god is addictive. To you– it seems like he is the best among all men. Desperately soothing the ego that loves to be stroked and it's different. He knows you mean it. The love you have for him makes it even better, making him crave it just like he wants to worship you.

Coming back to the depths of your relationship with Dieter has been easy in some ways. The emotional and sexual attachments that you had fostered years ago sprang back to life as though they had never once been doubted. Trust was rebuilt over time, through tangible examples of making and keeping promises and both of you speaking up even when you were uncomfortable or afraid of toeing a line. Moving in together has been the culmination of hard work and deep love, and you have both been so proud of your hard work. Tonight is another big step but right now you let yourself revel in what comes so easily to you. Sex is like your safe haven. The place where only you and he exist. And even though you’re a half dozen thrusts away from cumming at the very most, thinking of the next time you’ll get to be in his arms is absolutely thrilling.

“Love you baby.” Dieter groans, feeling you getting ready to cum, picking up your cues like it was just yesterday that he was introducing you to how wonderful sex is. “Cum for me.”

"Love you." It might be barely bitten out on a groan but you mean every syllable. In less than a minute you're spasming around him, tight walls pulling him as deep into your body as you can manage and hands clinging to his shoulders while you whimper in his ear and come apart for him all in one breathtaking moment.

He groans, rocking up onto the balls of his feet and scrambling back to press his lips to yours. Needing to kiss you will he tumbles off the edge after you. Only managing to thrust two more times before he is grinding deep and shuddering as he fills you.

You stay pinned together like that for as long as it takes to get your breath back, exchanging small kisses full of indulgence before he finally lets your legs down and makes sure you're steady on your feet. "We should wash up," you murmur unconvincingly, needing at least two more quick kisses before you even think of reaching for the soap.

“I think this might be the first time I’ve ever been disappointed to have a party planned for a night.” Dieter huffs, amused at himself. Normally he would already be getting hammered to pregame, but if you were to decide to stay in this room, he would snuggle up to you and order room service.

"It will be fun." At least you don't have to pretend anymore, and that is its own kind of fun and freedom. "You can kiss me in public now. Remember that."

“But no making out, right?” There had been a meeting with your own PR about what kind of PDA would be permissible to continue to craft your more respectable image.

"Right." A face cloth and body wash make it into your hand with the intention of each of you washing yourselves, otherwise you would never leave the overlarge shower. "And touching is fine but no groping. It's like foreplay for PDA," you grin at him, handing over the soaped-up cloth.

“What about a butt squeeze?” Dieter pouts, still not completely happy with these rules. “Just one! It will be tasteful.”

“How about resting your hand there for no more than five seconds.” While your publicist had looked at you like you have six heads when you told her about Dieter, she had since come to think of it like a challenge. A professional test, of sorts. Could Dieter Bravo be made to look respectable? Only time would tell.

“Only if I get to flex my fingers for the last second.” He compromises, grinning as he starts rubbing the soapy rag over his body. He knows how much you like his butt squeezes. And his boob squeezes, and it’s not like he’s trying to negotiate that for public spaces.

“Deal.” There’s a silly grin on your face as you put your hand out for him to shake like it’s some kind of shady business bargain instead of a goofy moment between lovers.

“Guys!” Sadie’s voice is muffled from the other side of the wall but still clear. “Rivkah and Monique are here to get you ready! No time for round two!”

“There’s always time for round two!” Dieter yells back, even as he steps out from under the water and turns off the shower.

It only takes a little while for both of you to get ready, thanks to your teams, and the all-black ensemble that Desiree had packed for tonight has just a few accents of blue to subtly match your dress. You hadn’t planned to come out tonight, but the decision to leave subtle little clues in your outfits for the weekend was a very good one after all.

In the elevator, you squeeze his hand and lean your careful coiffed head on his shoulder. “Are you ready for this?”

“As long as you are.” Your fame being impacted is the only downside of this in his opinion. He knows his own reputation. It will be met with disbelief and then there will be bets made on how long it lasts and if you try to hit him with a car when you inevitably break up because he’s fucked up. He knows all this. He just hopes you can put up with it and remember that the past is behind him.

“I’ve made my decision.” You tell him honestly and reach for his hand to thread your fingers together as the elevator descends to the first floor. “And if Hollywood makes me pick between it and you?” Exhaling softly, your eyes flick up to his. “The answer is you.”

That makes Dieter have to bite his lip, emotional from your confession. “I’d pick me too.” He teases softly, squeezing your hand.

With time enough to roll your eyes at him playfully before the elevator doors open, you smirk and return the squeeze of his hand. “Careful. Or I won’t stroke anything besides your ego tonight.”

“You love stroking Mr. Wiggles.” Dieter mutters under his breath, just to make you laugh before he steps out and pulls you out behind him. He hasn’t named his penis and if he did, it wouldn’t be Mr. Wiggles.

Thanks to the well-timed comment you’re choking on smothered laughter as the doors open, and the very first picture taken by a photographer of you and Dieter as an official couple has you beaming at him with a broad and honest grin on your face and laughter in your eyes as he holds your hand. It’s a beautiful image. The two of you are dressed immaculately and happy, the perfect picture of romantic bliss. You doubt either of your teams could have planned a better image.

Just like he would have with any starlet he was escorting to an awards show, Dieter is attentive. However, this time, it’s more intimate. His smiles are real and his hold on your hand never wavers for a moment as some of the reporters start to immediately buzz with excitement.

The ‘carpet’ you have to walk is actually the main hallway through the hotel which has been blocked off and styled as a greeting area so that no one not in attendance would have any idea you weren’t at an elegant party. The party itself, however, is outside. The entire patio and garden area of the hotel has been turned into a cocktail area with room for schmoozing and music for dancing. It will be fun, you just have to get to it first. The very first reporter to get your attention asks the standard questions about what designers you’re wearing, and you excitedly name names and give details so that the independent women designers you worked with for this event would get their due attention.

“Don’t ask me!” Dieter shrugs and grins. “I only know that the clothes feel really good and she looks amazing.”

“He’s wearing Gucci.” You grin, having gotten that tidbit from Desiree earlier. “Head to toe.” When he looks at you with surprise, you just shrug. “You look amazing, too. I was curious.”

Grinning, he winks at you and then back at the reporter. “She’s going to have me styled in Gucci all the time now.” He jokes. “But we’ll see, right?”

“Do you have a hand in his style these days?” The reporter asks, confusion indicating that she hasn’t picked up on what you two are trying to give away for free.

Lips quirked into a knowing grin, you nearly wink at the reporter on your own this time. “Most girlfriends do, don’t they?”

Dieter almost laughs at how wide the poor woman’s eyes get, nearly choking on air as she immediately tries to talk again through her excitement. He doesn’t though. He just gives her a concerned look as he stands beside you.

“This film was an adventure.” You tell the reporter with a smile. This quote will be used over and over again, so you have made yourself memorize something nice from your publicist instead of trying to improvise. “We were lucky to be able to have that adventure together.”

The reporter who had started grilling you during the junket nearly spills a drink as he starts jumping up and down. “I knew it! I fucking knew it!”

"Oh?" The amusement on your face is notable when you turn to find the man nearly flailing in your direction. "Then you should have asked directly." Not that you wouldn't have been a deer in the proverbial headlights if he had, but you can pretend otherwise.

It’s almost worth the annoyance Dieter had suffered earlier to see the devastation on his face as the reporter realizes he lost the exclusive scoop. It was now going out, might already be posted.

The next reporter on the carpet is a man you're familiar with. He's worked for his magazine for a decade by now and routinely does these junkets, but didn't sit with you today – his interview must be scheduled for tomorrow. "Hi Tom," you smile cordially as you and Dieter step over in line and you shake his hand warmly.

He's a nice guy. Likes to talk about his kids whenever he gets the chance, so you make small talk about little Ashley and Kaiden for a minute before he flashes a big smile at you. "I have to know how it happened," he insists with a breathless laugh of disbelief that you have a feeling is going to be the resounding reaction tonight.

Dieter glances over at you and smiles. “We’ve known each other for a long time. We did a play together twelve years ago and had a relationship then.” He shrugs. “I was an ass, she unbelievably decided to give me another chance.” He’s been willing to take the blame for the past and frame you as this saving angel if it helps. “The chemistry was still there.”

“Twelve years ago?” Tom sounds shocked but also soft at that revelation. Like it’s some kind of magical gift — and maybe for you and Dieter, it is.

“Not everyone gets a second chance,” you hum, still smiling, but this time that smile is gentle and aimed at Dieter before turning back to the reporter you have known for several years. “We’re very lucky. Why don’t we tell you all about it when we sit down tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. But for now, the two of you look happy.” He knows he will be up late rewriting most of his questions.

“We are.” That much is undeniable, bringing warmth to your cheeks. “We really are.”

“I’m sure we will talk later but the movie was excellent, enjoy the party you deserve.” Tom nods to you and allows you to move along.

Each short moment with each reporter is some variant of this, as most people are too flabbergasted to say much of anything right now. Tomorrow you’ll be bombarded with questions but for tonight you’re going to bask in the glow of not having to hide what makes you happy.

“Well no one accused us of lying.” Dieter chuckles under his breath. That had been something he had really thought would happen. People would claim it was a publicity stunt for the movie.

“I’m sure someone will tomorrow,” you laugh nervously as he guides you out, into the mood lighting and manicured decor of the party. “I think most of them were too shell shocked to even think of that.”

“Of course they are.” The bar is set up and he guides you towards it. “You – Hollywood’s dream girl – dating me.” He snorts. “Hollywood’s disaster.”

“You’re like the tornado from The Wizard of Oz,” you tell him, with a confidence that makes him snort but also look at you with a curiosity that asks why. “You swept into my life and made everything Technicolor. Sometimes it’s hard or even scary, other times it’s joyful and exciting. But either way, I wouldn’t be who I am without you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He can’t help but lean in and press his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. Not as intimate as he would like, but enough that he shows you how touched he is.

“It was meant as one.” Even a small kiss is a big deal right now, and you can just feel the sheer number of cameras pointed at you right now, but you still smile at him and thank the bartender who sets one specialty cocktail each in front of you - the ones named for your characters.

“To your first Oscar.” Dieter grins as he picks up the drink and holds yours out to you as a toast. “I will be proud of you and cry from the audience when you win.”

“To your second Oscar.” Gently tapping the rim of your glass against his, you can’t help the warm and cuddly feeling that all of this gives you. Like this is how it was meant to be so many years ago. This was the future you were always intended to have. Right here with him. “I will be proud of you and crying from the audience when you win.”

“Nahhh.” Dieter shakes his head. “Your performance is the stronger one. It’s your movie really.”

“We’ll see.” He has never really known what he’s capable of on his own, and is even worse at accepting a sincere compliment, so you won’t press the point. But the fact is, Dieter Bravo would have been a huge movie star even if his father hadn’t been one before him. “Let’s just go enjoy the party.”

“Of course.” He winks and throws back the rest of his drink. The next one will be sipped because he has no intention of getting too drunk. “You know how much I love to party.”

******

You had learned very early on that Dieter never threw parties, but he was always invited to them. No matter which castmate or crew member or artist friend or old school pal was having people by, Dieter was always on the top of the guest list. He was a bragging point as much as a fun guest, giving people the chance to proudly spout that a movie star had been at a party they gave. And whether he cared about that or not, he almost always showed up – and he always brought you with him. You were his devoted arm candy and proud of it, whisked around every party like a beautiful bauble. His energy had always been electric, and wherever he focused his attention was the center of the universe. And no matter how long it took to make his rounds and shine his light on everyone he could, it always ended up back on you.

“Hey Bambi.” He had gotten dragged away from you, pulled into a story telling time about his time when he was filming a nude scene at fourteen and the ethics of it. Now back at your side, he drops his arm over your shoulder and plucks the almost lukewarm beer from your hand to take a sip. He was thirsty and the buzz that attention gives him was starting to wear off. “You enjoying yourself?”

“I was just thinking of getting a new drink.” His arms rests heavy and enticing around your body and you move into him automatically to get a hint of the cologne he wears. You have no clue what it is, but it smells exotic and heady. “Wanna come with me?”

“Course I do.” Dieter finishes off your beer and leans in with a vicious smirk on his lean face. “And later, I want to come in you.” He teases in your ear before nibbling on it, just to make you shiver.

"Babe." It makes you completely weak in the knees when he does things like that – says things like that – and you've never been more convinced that starting birth control was the right move. "Does that mean you want me to stay over tonight?" You ask with a wide-eyed pout that practically begs him to say yes. In the months since you started working and sleeping together, you've barely ever slept apart. But you try not to assume.

“How are we going to go to a hangover brunch tomorrow morning where we eat wayyyyyy too many sweet and salty things if you don’t stay?” He practically pouts at the idea. Sleeping better with you beside him, though he’s never told you that.

"Let it never be said that we don't take our two-show days very seriously." A solemn nod makes you giggle, knowing full well that doing two shows each day on the weekends is something that is equal parts exhausting and exhilarating. This is your craft, and you relish the opportunity to flex all of those muscles that you have been honing since you were just a young teen back in Washington. "I'm happy to stay, babe. I just didn't want to assume."

He huffs and rolls his eyes, wanting to ask you why you don’t assume, everyone else does. No one actually ever asks Dieter permission. They just assume he will want to be at a party or go out to the bar. You constantly not knowing if you aren’t spending the night has him thinking about asking you to just give up your apartment. But he’ll wait until your lease is coming up. No need for you to pay a penalty.

You don't tell him that you're terrified that he's going to get sick of you. That being too clingy or too emotional or too anything will be what makes him decide that the novelty of you has worn off. Telling him that would surely be the last nail in the coffin of a relationship that has come to mean so much to you, so you just smile instead and sidle up to the kitchen counter at this house party that has been transformed into a bar. "What are you in the mood for?"

Immediately distracted, Dieter strides up to the bar and reaches for the harder liquor. “Do you want me to make you a drink?” He asks. “It’s the very first drink I ever had.”

"Sure!" Of course you're always going to say yes to him. He's had such a wonderful breadth of experiences already and you hate how naive or sheltered you can feel sometimes by comparison.

“You will find that these are somewhat of an acquired taste.” Dieter hums as he adds scotch whiskey and vermouth into a shaker and walks over to the fridge to get some ice.

"Now I'm nervous." You lean on the counter while you watch him, biting your lip and not disguising the fact that you're watching his hips move as he walks. "What exactly are you making for me?"

“A Rob Roy.” He hums as he grabs some ice and turns around to wink at you. “A very classy cocktail.”

"Trying to class me up, Dee?" A little nervous that you won't like it, you put your nose up in the air and affect an air of absolute class and sophistication to mask your worry – and hopefully to make him laugh.

Dieter snorts and sticks his tongue out at you. “I’m just hoping you snort it up your nose choking on it like I did.” He scoffs playfully. “But– to be fair– I was eight.”

"Eight?" Sometimes when he mentions things from growing up they're cute stories or funny anecdotes. Sometimes they're downright disturbing instead. This qualifies as the latter.

“Yeah.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal and slaps the top on the shaker to start shaking it. “One of dad’s parties.”

"Of course." The first time you ever went to a party with people drinking or smoking was probably halfway through college, but that just makes you feel ridiculous next to him. He calls you Bambi for looking innocent, but sometimes you wonder if he knows exactly how deep that side of your personality runs.

There isn’t a martini glass to strain the drinks into but the plastic cups get three dashes of bitters in the bottoms before he starts to evenly divide the liquor between the two. That was his father’s secret to a good Rob Roy. The bitters are only added at the end and never stirred in. He fishes out the ice with a spoon and hands you a cup. “To your new favorite drink.” He teases, sending you a small wink.

The first sip burns, almost sending you into a coughing fit that would assuredly be the least sexy you’ve ever been in front of him, but you manage to get yourself under control enough to take a second sip and that tastes delicious. Once you get past the initial shock of strong liquor, there’s something nuanced and addictive about the drink. You flash him a grin over the top of your plastic cup and count yourself lucky that you only coughed a little and your eyes only watered a little at the first sip. The last thing you want is for Dieter to think you can’t keep up. “Actually? It’s really good.”

Laughing, Dieter takes a sip of his own drink and grimaces slightly. “Glad you enjoy it.” He hums, wanting to tell you that you don’t have to like it, not if you don’t want to. “I got trashed off of them and threw up in the pool that night.”

“Sounds…fun?” Sometimes when he tells you things like this from his childhood you really just don’t know how to respond. Without being able to relate in any way, you usually just listen and tuck the information away for later recollection. He is a puzzle, and you’re slowly starting to put the pieces together.

“Yeah.” Dieter snorts and shakes his head. “Dad was disappointed. Said a man doesn’t quit until he’s thrown up for the second time.”

“You were eight!” That isn’t the definition of adulthood in any culture you’ve ever heard of, and you immediately move to put your arms around your boyfriend. “I’m sorry, honey. I try to be supportive, but that’s bullshit.”

He’s embarrassed for a moment. Wondering if you are right since he has zero clue what a normal upbringing looks like. “Doesn’t matter.” He shrugs it off and tosses you a charming grin as he slides closer to press his lips to yours. A distraction. “Just you matters right now.”

Though you can’t say you have a lot of experience with addiction, drugs, intoxicants, any of that - you do know what it is to crave. From the first time Dieter kissed you in your dressing room the day you met, you’ve craved him. Needed to have him near and felt like a piece of you was missing when he wasn’t. Maybe you know more about addiction than you think you do. You kiss him and kiss him in that kitchen, drinks forgotten until the only thing in your mind are the small sounds of pleasure coming from both of you and the way he makes you weak in the knees with seemingly no effort at all.

Dieter has you pressed against the counter, loving how easily you give over. There’s no rehearsing, it’s just natural. He’s more…dominant with you, although you do like to explore. You love pleasure and he loves giving it to you.

“God.” A voice from a few yards away rings out a groan followed by a disbelieving laugh. “Just don’t fuck in the kitchen, okay you two?”

“No promises.” Dieter jokes over his shoulder. “Not when Bambi is as beguiling as she is.”

When he breaks apart from you, you bury your burning face in his chest to hide your embarrassment and cling to his sides for that support you crave. He’s your shield against the world and the fact that someone as extraordinary as Dieter wants you is making you re-examine how you perceive yourself altogether. “Beguiling, huh?” You tilt your head back and beam at him.

“I said what I said.” He purses his lips at you playfully. “Besides, it could be considered performance art if we did fuck in the kitchen.” He’s joking, he knows you would never go for that, but it’s fun to see you squirm.

“It would only be performance art for you!” You giggle, trying to smother the giddy idea that he’s planted in your head. It’s so wildly outside of the realm of possibility, but a fun fantasy to hang on to. “If I do it, it’s indecent exposure.”

“Nahhhhhh.” Dieter takes advantage of your leaning back to laugh to lean forward and nibble on your neck.

“Deeeee…” His name is always drawn out when you whine it, and your fingers clutch the front of his shirt in fists to keep him close. You don’t want him to stop, you just want him to know what he’s doing is driving you crazy.

“I’ve got you.” Dieter chuckles and nips just a touch harder. He likes it when you are all whiny and needy for him. “What do you want baby?”

“You.” The answer is always the same. It’s always him, in some way, shape, or form. If you were back at his place already you’d be dropping to your knees in front of him. He’s barely left your neck to breathe and you giggle between gasps. “Swear to god you’re a vampire.”

“I vant to suck your bloooood.” He intones in a theatrical voice, as good as any Dracula of the old movies.

It earns him more giggles, and you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair as you find his eyes. “Vampires are sexy, ya know. It could work.”

“I’ll have to get a role as a vampire.” He grins and pretends to bare his teeth. “Just for you, Bambi.”

******

It's a touch-and-go night in some ways, as some people seem to be fascinated by the revelation of your relationship with Dieter and others seem almost agitated by it. The production team is delighted, knowing that all of the attention will only do good things for the movie. And your castmates seem relieved that they no longer have a secret to keep mum about. For you and Dieter? You've been sitting by the hotel pool chatting amiably with whomever stops by and nursing your drinks out over a long time so that you always have one in hand but never let your behavior get out of hand – which would lead to hands on each other.

One of the people you don't recognize – maybe a significant other you weren't formally introduced to or a bold reporter, you can't tell – is smiling brightly to Dieter. They're chatting away about a horror movie he was in a few years ago when you suddenly gasp dramatically and look up at Dieter with wide eyes. "You played a vampire in that," you blurt out, puzzle pieces clicking together in your head.

Tilting his head, Dieter shoots you a confused expression. “Yeah?” He asks, not quite sure what you are getting at. You had told him that you hadn’t watched many of his movies after he had left. He was surprised you knew that it was a vampire movie.

“Jessie’s house party.” It’s like an anvil dropped on you, or a house, and you can feel yourself just staring. Sure you hadn’t gone to see his movies in theaters, but you always eventually saw them in the dark secrecy of your own apartment. That one had just slipped your attention. “You said you were going to play a vampire for me one day.”

It clicks and he bites his lip. “Oh yeah.” He murmurs softly. “You haven’t seen it.” He motions towards the person he is talking to. “What’s the name of the vampire’s obsession?” He asks, not wanting to be the one to tell you.

“It’s…” The man looks between the two of you, confused. “It was some…bimbo name, wasn’t it?”

“Bambi.” Your mouth runs dry and you can practically feel your jaw unhinge at the same time that your eyes widen. “I—it…it was Bambi. Wasn’t it?”

“Bambi!” he explains, slapping his hands on his thigh. “That was it! Never understood why they named the lead ‘Bambi’.” He huffs, shaking his head. Dieter shrugs.

“I’m the one who chose it.” He says, remembering how he had insisted, even threatening to drop from the movie if ‘Deandra’ wasn’t changed to ‘Bambi’. The executive producer had accused him of trying to change it to some misogynist soft porn but he had been adamant and eventually got his way.

Your gentle hold on Dieter’s hand tightens immediately. You won’t start gushing in front of this stranger, but the silent signal to Dee is obvious. “I, um…I think it works well. Ya know…it codes the character as innocent. Naive, even.”

“It makes sense considering she was the one to destroy the vampire.” He reconsiders it, maybe even a little embarrassed that he might have insulted Dieter. “In that case, I like it.”

He wanders away before it can get awkward, making the excuse that he needs a fresh drink, but you just tug Dieter into your arms the second he’s gone. “Bambi, huh?” You murmur, holding him as tight as you can.

“Yeah.” Dieter shrugs slightly, embarrassed. “Got called a pig for that.”

“It’s a slightly unusual nickname.” If you weren’t wearing a delicate piece of artwork in the form of a full face of makeup, you would be burying your face in his chest immediately as you hug him. “I’ve always liked it, though.”

“I know you do.” Dieter hems and haws a little bit before he decides to ask. “You really didn’t know the name of the lead female character?”

“I didn’t.” You shake your head, shrugging guiltily. “It normally takes a while for me to muster up the courage to watch your movies…I always get nostalgic and it was a lot of emotions before. But I always do see them eventually. I know I said I didn’t…I just didn’t want you to know then that I…I missed you enough to watch them anyway.”

He can acknowledge that he was enough of a dick to deserve that. “I get it.” He promises quietly. “Maybe we’ll sit down and watch it together. I normally don’t watch my own shit, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

“Seriously?” He makes a rule of it. You know that. It was one of the wisdoms handed down from his father. “That would be pretty big for you, baby.”

“I’d do it for you.” He’s planning on actually watching the movie at the premier this time. For you. For your acting.

“I love you, too.” It’s nothing short of a miracle for Dieter to break his biggest rules and you know it.

******

“Don’t worry babe, you’re going to win.” Dieter hums, the buzz of the night not one brought on by chemical influence but by pure joy at the thought. As predicted, you had been nominated, for a second year in a row. This time Dieter is also nominated as well as the film itself. The red carpet had been trodden down together and the two of you had played your near year as a couple up slightly. Still shocking people that Dieter had lasted this long and that the two of you seem to glow happily.

“We don’t know that. We can’t know that.” After all, a Golden Globe win is no guarantee of an Oscar. You’d gotten one of those last year and not the Academy Award. Still, you clutch his hand as you sit down together in the front row and smile through the nerves.

“Please.” He scoffs and smirks. “They wouldn’t have put you in the front row so you can get on stage quickly in that dress if you aren’t winning.”

“Or they only put me in the front row because they wanted you here for your award.” You counter, not admitting that he has a point. The spectacular red and gold satin Carolina Herrera ball gown you have on is one of a kind and made specifically for you – and rather worth showing off.

“Nahhhhh.” He knows you are going to win. “They want me as far back as possible to keep my speech time short.”

“We’ll see.” You really have been trying not to jinx yourself, and you squeeze his hand tightly. “What do you want to bet?”

“If you win, you have to tell everyone up on stage you love me.” He teases, picking up your joined hands and kissing the back of yours.

“I would do that anyway.” His hand gets a kiss in turn. “Try again.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes and you and then leans in with a grin on his face. “You have to let me fuck you during the after party.”

“Scandalous.” But your tone makes it clear that you’re more amused than aghast, and you smirk right back at him while you enjoy the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “Deal. Although this dress is going to be a challenge.”

“I rise to challenges.” He’s already though about how he would fuck you in this dress. “Or at least let me duck under it.”

“Whatever you want.” You promise him, knowing that he’s much better at self control these days when it comes to not doing anything reckless in public. This is…call it a treat. This is a treat for him. “But if you win?” Pretending to think, you tap your chin and grin. “We’re taking a little vacation. My treat. Anywhere you want to go.”

“That’s dangerous.” He laughs. “What if we both win?” It’s a possibility for sure this time.

“Then we do both?” It wouldn’t kill the two of you to take a break. In the year since the film you made together wrapped, you’ve both filmed at least one other project and done plenty of other professional work. You stay extremely busy.

“We could. Might be good to be seen ‘frolicking’ on a beach somewhere?” He hums in amusement. “Or we could do something really unusual. Normal, even.”

“What would we do that’s normal?” You emphasize the word, pretending to be disgusted by it.

“Why don’t we do a cruise?” His eyes light up. “Be completely cheesy and pretend we aren’t Hollywood stars and book a normal cruise. Pretend like we don’t know what’s going on.”

“Like a normal couple.” It’s quite sweet, actually, and you lean over to kiss him. “Alright. You’re on. We’ll go on a cruise and be totally normal for once.”

“But can we have a balcony room?” Dieter asks, pouting slightly. “I don’t like the interior rooms. Too confining.”

“I promise.” The grin you shoot him is beaming. “Whatever you want.”

“Ladies and gentlemen….” The announcer comes over the speakers and Dieter can’t help but bite his lip happily. “Showtime.” He leans over and kisses your cheek for luck.

It’s a long night, but awards nights always are. Waiting through all the other categories for your own is a special kind of torture, until the presenter for Best Actress finally steps out on stage.

“It’s going to be you.” Dieter repeats, completely sure of it. Of course the two of you have played up for the cameras but the night has been fun. “I know it.”

“Nervous.” One mumbled word comes through, and you squeeze his hands tightly in your own. You haven’t let his go for hours and you’re not about to now. You’re terrified, honestly, but mostly because you don’t want to disappoint him. He’s so sure and you’re so scared that you’ll fall short again.

“Don’t be.” Dieter turns and stares into your eyes. “No matter what, no matter whose name is called, I’m proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you, Bambi.”

“You’ve got me.” He’s always told you he does, and always meant it, and the calm that knowing it brings to you runs so deep that you almost don’t even hear your own name being called. “I—what??”

“They just called your name.” Dieter beams and rockets you up out of your chair to hug you. He can’t get up on the stage with you, but his kiss can linger on your lips.

“They—�� The camera that swings around you gets the perfect shot of the congratulatory kiss, but you don’t even register what’s happening aside from Dee being the one to tell you that you’ve won. He takes two steps forward with you to make sure you’re steady on your feet before sitting back down in his seat, but you swear you’re just flying. Making it on stage is a whirlwind, and you swallow thickly when the statue is placed in your hands before you turn to face the podium. There’s a time indicator just inside your line of sight but you look down, right at Dieter in the front row.

“Thank you.” You clear your throat, dabbing tears away and letting the smile on your face grow even larger. “Thank you to the Academy for this prestigious recognition and award, first and foremost. Thank you to my unbelievably talented cast mates, our phenomenal crew, our brilliant production team, and a grateful thanks to my family at home who still don’t quite understand why I do what I do, but love me with all their might anyway.” The audience laughs softly but your eyes never leave Dieter. “This is an honour that I’ve dreamt of for my entire life, and it is a validation of decades of hard work. I’m grateful.”

The speech you had written is still tucked into the pocket of your dress, left for a memory. You have something else you want to say in this moment, as your heart hammers and your pulse quickens to double time. “And thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to you, Dee.” The cameras that pan to Dieter now are intentional – not catching a fleeting expression but ready for whatever comes next. “Thank you for challenging me as often as you support me. For being the push I need to face my fears and the arms that welcome me home when things don’t quite go as planned. Thank you for the professional and personal growth that I know never would have happened without you. I love you, I will always love you, and I hope we have a thousand more adventures ahead of us.”

"I love you too! Finish your speech!" Dieter calls out towards the stage, his own face reflecting pride and love as he grins at the way the entire theater bursts into laughter and applause.

You can’t help but laugh, the beaming smile on your face coming with a shake off your head. “The end of my speech?” The little timer in the edge of your line of sight is almost at the end, and you swallow, looking back down at him with renewed courage. Didn’t you just say you wanted adventure? “It’s just one sentence, and it’s a question for you.” The whole room seems to take a breath at once, and you can see your co-stars turning to stare at him in the front few rows. “Dieter Bravo, will you marry me?”

His jaw drops in shock and it seems like the entire venue, maybe even the world are holding their breath as they wait for his answer. He can't believe that you just asked him to marry you, but your grin hides the slightly panicked worry in your eyes. As if he would say no. He stands up and huffs: "Took you long enough to ask!" He answers playfully. "Of course I'm going to marry you, Bambi!"

Disbelieving applause and hollers pulse through the crowd as you move to the edge of the stage to meet him for a kiss before being ushered backstage. You’ll see him again in just minutes, but for right now your heart is beating out of your chest. You actually just did that. And he actually said yes!

Dieter accepts the congratulations of nearly everyone seated around the pair of you, your little proposal almost overshadowing the most important part. Now he's going to ask you if you were serious.

You make it back to your seat after the next award, right as the commercial break hits. The statue that will bear your name has been handed off to be engraved and without it in your hands you can practically drive back into Dieter’s arms in the seats.

“Tell me that wasn’t just to be on every Hollywood and Academy Awards reel for the rest of time?” He begs, immediately pressing his lips to yours as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“They just got the benefit of me finally getting the balls to ask.” One—two—three quick kisses shared between you leave the two of you grinning breathlessly. “I mean it, baby. You and me. Forever.”

“I want a marvelously tacky ring.” Dieter warns you with a waggle of his brows. “Maybe a different kind of ring of engagement.”

“I knew you were going to want something alternative.” Giggling into another chaste kiss, you slip your hand into his and squeeze it tightly. “You wanna go shopping tomorrow? Engagement rings of all varieties?”

“You think they have diamond cock rings?” He asks quietly as they announce the category for Best Actor in a drama.

“Already looked into it,” you promise in a whisper. Thank god for incognito mode on your browser, you’d thought it would be a silly birthday gift.

“Yessss.” He ignores the playback of the movie as he leans in to kiss you.

It’s the second time tonight that one of you hears the announcement before the other, and you pull back from Dieter with an excited squeak. “Baby, baby—” You grip his arms tightly. “You did it! It’s you!”

Dieter blinks a few moments and then he realizes what you are saying, pulling you up with him to kiss you again before he makes his way to the stage this time. He’s congratulated and hands are shaken, his only thoughts that nothing is going to top this. Not professionally, anyway.

“Tonight I thought that my co-star, my lover and my fiancée was going to win.” He starts out, shaking his head and looking down at the statue and then back at you in the audience. “I didn’t even have a speech prepared, I was so sure I wasn’t going to win. So yeah, I want to thank everyone on the movie, thank my fiancée for her performance and….”

Dieter bites his lip and looks out over the sea of people in the audience. He sees Dustin Mulray and Lauren Van Chance sitting together and acting lovey again for the fifteenth time and Carol Cobb is a presenter, not an actual member of the academy, but she is glaring at him from her seat. She still blames him for her bad press around Cliff Beasts 6. “I’m done.” Dieter decides. “Tonight, I am retiring from film. This will be my last one of these, so thank you.” He holds the golden statue up in the air and pumps it in gratitude before bowing slightly.

The ripple of a shocked gasp cuts through the crowd, but you feel a very different reaction for yourself – almost laughing in your seat as you clap for him. The people around you start to applaud slowly, and sure enough that ripple takes over the crowd instead until the entirety of the theater is clapping as Dieter is ushered off stage. Between the two of you, you’ve certainly made a splash tonight…

Backstage, it’s a rush to get Dieter back to his seat but everyone asks if he’s serious. He is. And now that he’s said it out loud, he’s almost….relieved. The idea has been talked about more but nothing definite had been done, now he’s taken that first step. Although he wonders what you think about that.

There’s a commercial break when he gets back to his seat, mercifully, and you grab his hands immediately. You’re with him, he must know that, but you search his face. “You couldn’t just say thanks and walk off stage?” You ask, stifling laughter at how shocked everyone is. “Do you…are you serious?”

“I am.” Dieter nods, giving you an almost relieved grin. “It’s not– nothing will beat this. Not in my current life. Winning with you– it’s the way I want to go out.”

“Well…” Lifting one of his hands to your mouth, you press a kiss to his palm and offer him a supportive smile. “Whatever you want to do, Dee. Full retirement, new career, house husband, whatever. Or if you want to start scouting theater locations, we can do that, too. As long as you’re happy.” He’s taking control of his life, which is something he’s never been able to do, and for that you have to be proud of him.

“I do want to do the theater.” Dieter admits quietly. “I don’t expect you to retire or give up your career. I just–” he sighs softly. “I hate film. Honestly. I always have.”

“I only care that you’re happy,” you promise him. “Whatever it is that's going to do that, we’ll do it together.” The grin you flash at him is a little guilty. “I might pop away once in a while to make a movie or I might not. We’ll have to see.”

“You should.” Dieter urges, bending down to kiss your hands, one then the other. “I love you. I don’t want this to just be about me. I’ve been selfish enough for my entire life plus twelve more.”

“I love you, too.” The two of you get to share one more quick kiss before the cameras whir to life again and the broadcast is back from commercial. Only Best Picture remains, but it doesn’t matter if you win. You have the best prize in the world sitting in the seat right next to you.

Watching you up on stage again, this time for Best Picture, Dieter claps and whistles from the audience, aware that you deserve this. His Bambi has become a certifiable star. One that he hopes never dims.

******

Jet lag is one of the worst feelings in the entire world, bar none. It sticks to you and dogs your brain and makes you ache, and half the time it even stops your thoughts from making sense. Right now you feel like a jumbled puzzle as Sadie presses a travel mug of fresh tea into your hands then bundles you into a car at the airport to head for home. Four months was a hell of a long time to be gone, and it feels like even more, but at least you didn’t miss any important holidays or birthdays this time. In fact – you’re ahead of the curve. It’s opening night of a new show tonight and there is nothing more exciting or enticing than getting to surprise your husband on the occasion.

Dieter rushes around, his headset half off as he shouts towards the stagehands. “To the left!” He orders. The thrill of opening night is only measured equally by the stress, but it’s honestly something he has come to love. The students have worked their asses off and they deserve tonight to go off without too many hitches. There are always issues in live performance, it’s to be expected and anticipated as much as possible. It’s his job to make sure that they are equipped with the knowledge and training to work through it and deliver a sound performance to the audience.

Desiree checks her watch discreetly, expecting to see a text from her wife when she gets you back in the car from the house. Just because Dieter had left Hollywood behind didn’t mean that she was going to leave his side — and now her job as a theater administrator means she’s his right hand in a whole other way. When the text eventually comes through, she grins and moves through the space to tap Dieter on the shoulder. “Keep going.” She murmurs conspiratorially. “I’m going to make sure the kids aren’t getting into any of the concessions candy.”

“You know they are.” Dieter chuckles, rolling his eyes at the antics that his children can get into. “They are mine after all.”

“Only two of them.” She flashes him a grin. She and Sadie had opted to adopt, and it means that those three kids have become a sort of whirlwind trio as the years tick by. “I’ll be right back,” she assures him before hustling out of the theater.

With Desiree off to wrangle the kids, Dieter turns back towards the chaos that is backstage before opening night. Putting out a handful of fires and drying a few anxious tears, most people who knew Dieter during his adult acting career in Hollywood wouldn’t recognize him. No longer the flighty, unpredictable actor, he had built this school with your help as one that would produce solid performers regardless of their background.

You don’t really get to sneak in this property – everyone who works or goes to class here knows you – but Sadie drops you off at the stage door of the main building with a grin and zips off to the main entrance to park the car and pop in on Desiree. You’ve showered, changed, and wrapped up Dieter’s opening night gift to be tucked into your purse. He’s done immense work here and you’re so incredibly proud of the man he’s become through all of his own hard work. If once in a while you show it with a gift, that seems completely reasonable, right?

He doesn’t have a chance to check his phone, too busy to even pull it out of his pocket so he doesn’t even know if you’ve texted him. The kids are cleaned up – two KitKats and a box of milk duds have been sacrificed to their sweet tooth – and they are eagerly heading off to sit in a box that is reserved for family and friends. A stagehand is sitting with them so they don’t run off, but he knows as soon as the lights go down, his kids will be glued to their seats.

Carefully slipping in through the side door of the theater, you tuck yourself into the crowd to watch the show. Eurydice is a brilliant piece of stage work in the right hands, and Dee’s deft directing combined with the raw talents of some of these kids is truly breathtaking. If you privately enjoy it a little more because it’s by the same playwright who wrote the show you did on Broadway together? That’s just a little extra nugget.

He knows that the kids are taken care of, so Dieter focuses completely on the play, every act, every scene perfectly coordinated and timed. He holds his breath when one of the boys stumbles, but he quickly recovers and delivers his line with the same tenacity that had come through in rehearsals.

It’s gorgeous, really, and when the audience gets to its feet during the curtain call you stand with them right away. Whistles and cheers come from every corner as the cast takes their bows. In the front row in the corner, you can see Dieter in this customary seat, waving his thanks in between giving his own applause to the cast. It takes a few long minutes before people start to file out of their seats and out to the lobby for the opening night party, but you have somewhere to be. Up some hidden steps and around the corner, you pop your head into the little box seat where Desiree and Sadie are sitting with the kids, ready to surprise them and bring them down so the three of you can congratulate their dad together.

Your youngest is the first one to see you. The movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. "Mom!" She squeals, jumping up and rushing over to throw herself into your arms.

“Hey baby girl.” At ten years old, she still likes big hugs and doesn’t mind you being a little mushy, but even her much-too-cool older brother pops out of his seat when he hears your voice. “Surprise, guys!” You laugh, bathing in the bliss of having both of your kids hug the life out of you. “Did you like Dad’s show?”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs his shoulders and gestures towards the stage. “Act two, scene one, they missed the queue and flipped the lines.”

You snort softly, leaning over to press a kiss to your son’s head. “You know you’re the toughest critic in this place, so only finding one thing to point out is pretty good.”

“Still–” at twelve, Diego Bravo was just as arrogant as his father in some aspects, having grown up in this theater and knowing the plays better than some producers. Whenever he wasn’t in school, he was here – when he couldn’t convince you to let him come with you on your film locations.

“Still, we should go say hi to Dad, yeah?” You squeeze them both tight again and grin when Mia clings to your side. She’s still young enough that she’s not going to let you go, and you’re going to cherish that for as long as it lasts.

“Dad doesn’t know you’re here?” Diego’s eyes widen and he grins. “He might cry, you know.”

“I came to surprise you two goofs first.” The tip of your finger bops both of their noses. “C’mon, let’s go down to the party.” Opening night and closing night parties are a beautiful example of when this theater really feels like family – they’re never a big deal but they’re always so much damn fun. Just some bottles of bubbly and some snacks for the cast, crew, and their loved ones with music pouring through the speakers in the theater lobby, but everyone always dances and it’s always a great way to celebrate hard work.

For a man who was very seriously into drugs, he keeps the theater drug free. Maybe it’s because there’s nowhere to hide things that he’s not already thought of or the policy of one strike and you’re blacklisted strikes fear into most of the student’s hearts, there are rarely incidents. He explains it every time a new class is on boarded. He was exposed to drugs at a very young age by the man who was supposed to protect him. While they are in his school, they are under his protection. There will be plenty of that shit available in the real world, but oftentimes, it makes you unusable as an actor. The only real reason he got away with the shit he did was because of his legacy in Hollywood.

He’s in the middle of having this conversation with a party guest who brought their vape when you come downstairs with the kids, so you steer them to the bar to get some ginger ale rather than disturb your husband. You’ve heard him give this speech plenty and it sounds to be nearly over, so you can happily wait. Sadie and Desiree have brought their daughter down as well, and she and your kids might as well be on another planet as far as paying attention to things anyway. Ginger ale for them and bubbly for the three adults, you grab a fourth glass to bring over to Dee as you can hear him finishing talking to the random party guest.

Dieter feels a hand on his arm just as he nods to the guest. “It turned out good, didn’t it, Des?” He thinks Desiree is touching him and when he turns, his eyes blow wide and his jaw drops. “You!” Speechless at the sight of his wife and all time favorite human besides his kids, in front of him. “You’re supposed to be in Jakarta!”

“Surprise!” You and the kids shout all at once, and you hold out a glass to him while they collapse into a giggling fit. “I raced through the last few days of filming to get home early. Congratulations, baby. The show was beautiful.”

“Oh my god, I–” Dieter rushes forward and wraps his arms around you. “You must be exhausted. Have you slept at all? You liked it? They did a great job. Best show yet, but don’t tell the last class I said that.”

“I won’t say a word,” you promise him, hugging him tight against you and breathing in the familiar, calming scent of his cologne. “I slept on the plane. Didn’t want to be too out of it so that I could change and come straight here after landing in Seattle.”

“I can’t believe you came.” He had talked to you yesterday but he knows that there are times where your filming schedule will interfere with the theater productions.

“I missed you.” It’s sweet to see that Diego was right – that there are soft tears forming behind Dieter’s eyes. The son is so much like the father in some ways that it makes sense when he can guess at those reactions. Thankfully, Dieter had made sure that your son and daughter grew up in a much more supportive and caring environment than he ever had.

“I missed you too, I always miss you.” He presses his lips to yours, not even minding the quiet groans that come from the kids. They can be embarrassed all they want. He’s not seen you in nearly two months.

“I’m proud of you.” When you finally part, you’re beaming at him with that same warmth that you’ve always had. The smile of a woman completely besotted with her partner. “And I’m so glad I’m home.”

“You will have to sleep when we get home.” He frowns slightly, knowing you must be exhausted. “We won’t stay long.”

“We can stay as long as you want.” No one who knew the Hollywood version of Dieter would believe it if they saw him now. Attentive and caretaking, he’s come into his own as a teacher and a father. Like he was always meant for this life all along. “You deserve to celebrate with your cast.”

“I’d rather let the younger kids celebrate their hard work while I celebrate in a bubble bath with my wife.” Dieter suggests, sliding around you and hunching around your back. “What do you think?”

“Mmm, that is awfully tempting, Mr. Bravo.” It sounds like heaven, actually. Especially after twenty-three hours of travel. “That sounds very, very tempting.”

“It should tempt you.” Dieter chuckles. “I have a bottle of that wine you love in the wine fridge. Found it last weekend.”

“So hot bath, naked husband, and my favorite rosé?” When you turn your head to kiss his lips again, he’s right there smirking at you and waggling his eyebrows. It works – it always works – and you giggle into the kiss. “Consider me seduced.”

“Yessss.” Dieter hisses under his breaths and then nuzzles his nose against your neck. “Go to bed kids, daddy’s getting laid tonight.” He doesn’t speak loud enough for anyone but you to hear.

“Oh yeah.” It earns him an amused giggle and another kiss before you turn around in his arms to face him. “It’s been months,” you murmur back. “You’re absolutely getting laid.”

“Video chatting just isn’t the same.” He hums. The sex drive has ultimately slowed down, he is nearing 49 this year, but he still wants you. Always wants you.

"Thought I might stay home for a while." The last year or so has been busy. You took a mini-series that had you filming overseas and then this last movie was a lot of stunts and action, which was fun but a lot more exhausting than it used to be. More and more you find that you just want to be home with your family. "Diego's gonna be a teenager this summer. I feel like that's just trouble waiting to happen." He is, after all, a whole lot like his father. Mischief runs in the Bravo blood.

“He’s asked if he can submit an application.” Dieter tells you quietly. “He wants to attend the theater.”

"How do you feel about that?" The policy of not letting anyone under teen age take classes at the academy had kept Diego at bay for the last few years, but you knew it was only a matter of time. The kid is ecstatic in the theater and has a real eye for it. But considering everything Dieter went through as a kid, it has to be his call. He has to be okay with letting Diego become an actor if that's what he wants to do.

“I don’t think it’s right to keep the kid from what he loves.” Dieter acknowledges. “But he has to keep his grades up.”

"Agreed." It's a very big step for Dieter to be okay with this, and your thumbs smooth gently over his arms. "And he has to audition just like everyone else."

“I’ve decided I’m not going to be the one to look over his audition.” Dieter murmurs quietly. “He’s going to be pissed when he finds that out.”

"I think it's a good idea." And actually? You're glad that you don't have to be the one to suggest it. "No favoritism that way. But you could help him prep a little. I bet he would love that."

"I'll suggest that." He smiles at you, grateful that you have the answer for what he needs to do.

"Do you want to give him the application for his birthday?" He seems a lot more relaxed after just a few minutes of talking about it, but it really is down to how much he loves his kids. Against all odds, Dieter Bravo turned out to be a great dad, and you hope his selflessness and his unconditional support is making Baxter roll over in his grave.

"I think he would like that." Dieter grins, and nods. He pulls you closer and inhales your scent, something so soothing to him.

"You're a good dad, Dee." Holding him tight against you, you press a kiss to his cheek and sigh happily. Being home a few days early was well worth all the extra work that you did to get here. "And your family loves you."

"That's all I could ever ask for, Bambi." He admits quietly, sighing as he relaxes for the first time since you left. His family and his theater are all that he needs. He still gets calls, directors begging him to work with them, to star in their movies. To come back to Hollywood. He turns them all down. He had said he was done. He had told his father years ago that he wanted to be on the stage, and he had meant it, he was just behind the scenes now and it was the most fulfilling work he's ever done. Besides winning you back. Without you, none of this was possible. You are his greatest muse.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #Dieter Bravo x female reader #Dieter Bravo x f!reader #The Bubble #Lost love #one that got away #movie star reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 8 months

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AITA for not telling my cousin i know he’s gay?

at the beginning of summer, my parents and i (20NB) visited my dad’s side of the family in the south. we stayed with an aunt and uncle, but the only person who really matters here is their son/my cousin (17M). i’d say he and i aren’t necessarily close. we get along just fine when we visit, but never really talk outside of that. i still care a lot for him, but we just don’t communicate much.

earlier this year, i heard from my dad that he got a boyfriend. i thought to send him my congrats, being the only other openly queer member of the family, but then i questioned why my dad even knew that. his side of the family is deeply conservative, and i knew for a fact that this kid’s dad had genuinely cried when trump lost the elections. it didn’t feel right for that knowledge to be so public, especially considering he and my dad aren’t that close, either. i asked him if my cousin had told him himself, and he said no. i asked him if my cousin had given permission to disclose that. he didn’t know how to respond to that. i’d previously been outed against my will to this side of the family, and it became obvious that that’s what happened to him, as well. i asked if his parents knew, and my dad said no. despite telling everyone and their dog about it, everyone was keeping it from them, likely out of fear for his safety. i was glad for that, at the least.

anyways. our visit went fine, in the grand scheme of things. what’s hanging on my mind is when i pulled my cousin aside one day to ask the family’s opinion on me, and if they ever talked about me behind my back. they all act cordially enough around me, using my proper name, pronouns, etc, but that’s to be expected. not only do they all care a lot for appearances, but when i first visited after coming out at 14, i had a horrible panic attack due to some of them constantly misgendering me. my dad gave them a stern talking to, and he’s the type of guy you don’t want to make angry, so thankfully it never happened again. i couldn’t ask this to my parents, because they tend to dance around the subject to protect me, or outright lie to me (i don’t hold it against them, as i said, they think it’s to protect me), but i knew he would tell the truth. i should mention that he hadn’t disclosed to me anything about his boyfriend or sexuality at this point, and i obviously wasn’t going to push.

he told me that yes, they did. i won’t go into the details, but it’s what i largely expected. after he finished explaining, he added “they talk a lot about me, too” or something along those lines. it was obvious what he was alluding to, but only because i already knew. had my dad not told me, i know that comment would’ve gone right over my head. so i played dumb. i laughed and asked what they could possibly say about him, and he was quick to stutter out something about how they gossip about everyone. the conversation stopped shortly after, but i can’t stop thinking about it.

the reason i lied and played dumb is that i wanted to give him some autonomy over his coming out. it was obviously ripped away from him by everyone else, and i know how shitty that feels. i wanted him to have a choice, for once. the thing is, i know i’m hypocritical for doing so. were i in his shoes, i’d want to know if i was forcibly outed, and by who. the reason that conversation even started was because i wanted someone to tell me the truth, and i ended up lying myself in the end. i don’t know. should i have told him? i wanted to give him the choice i never had, but i don’t know if that was selfish of me or not to project my feelings onto him like that. AITA for not telling him i knew?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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contemplatingoutlander · 9 months

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These moments totally happened at the GOP primary debate

WaPo satirist Alexandra Petri add her spin on the Republican primary debate. This is a gift 🎁 link so that those who do not subscribe to The Washington Post can read the entire article. Below are some excerpts. Enjoy! 😁

If you said, “Would you like to watch Ron DeSantis, Vivek Ramaswamy, Nikki Haley, Tim Scott, Doug Burgum, Mike Pence, Asa Hutchinson and Chris Christie talk to each other for two hours? FYI, the place where they’ll do so is hotter than Beelzebub’s armpit!,” I would have said, “No, thank you.” But if you said, “The alternative is watching Donald Trump talk to Tucker Carlson on the website formerly known as Twitter,” I would say, “I can’t wait to hear what Ron, Vivek, Nikki, Tim, Doug, Mike, Asa and Chris have to say!” [...] Here is approximately how it went. Bret Baier: Hello. We have brought a bell just because we enjoy the sound of a bell. Martha MacCallum: Feel free to speak over it; it will give the evening a fun, musical vibe. Baier: Yes, and speaking of music, candidates, the number one song in America is something called “Rich Men North of Richmond”! Governor DeSantis, introduce yourself by providing a close reading of the subtle lyrics of this song. DeSantis: Hang on, first I have some prepared remarks! Joe Biden’s basement! Hunter Biden’s paintings! “Rich Men North of Richmond”! Taxes! Florida! Baier: Chris Christie, why would you be better as president? Christie: Bret, I have spent the last four years sailing around sharpening my traffic-cone harpoon for my hated foe (from hell’s heart I spit my last breath at him!), and the one question I did not expect was about a scenario where I could actually become president. Uh, I was governor of New Jersey? So, take that for what it’s worth.

[See more under the cut.]

Scott: I have come to this debate with some specific numbers at my fingertips! I was told everyone would be excited about specific numbers! If not, I would really like those hours back. Ramaswamy: Hello! You may be wondering, who is this skinny guy with a funny name? I’m not a politician who is going to offer you a series of prepared, meaningless platitudes. I’m a businessman with no political experience who is going to offer you a series of prepared, meaningless platitudes. Isn’t it time we stopped running away from things and started running toward things? I am not running for president so much as I am running for the title of Favorite Grandson of your Fox News grandmother. Have you ever considered that people don’t love God anymore? [...] Pence: Hello! I am here to recite scripture and keep referring to the Trump-Pence administration, and I’m all out of scripture. That was some Mike Pence humor; I will never be out of scripture! I am unquestionably the best-prepared person in this race, the single individual with the experience that is closest to being the president, with no exceptions that spring to mind. I have been in the hallway. I have been in the White House. Do you like what my administration did with the Supreme Court? [...] Ramaswamy: You think now is the time for incremental reform. I think it is the time for actual revolution. Pence: Good Lord, no thank you. I do not have any revolutionary proposals. I believe in mild, small, incremental change. Except for a nationwide 15-week ban on abortion, which I want to implement because I promised it to God. Haley: Let’s be realistic! Women hate hearing this. Let’s just admit that it will never happen. But we’re all going to say we want it to happen! But, ladies, it’s not going to happen. [...] Young Person: Please tell me that anyone on this stage believes in climate change, the only issue I care about because I anticipate living on this planet for at least 60 years. I am starting to get worried. Can we have a show of hands? DeSantis: No! We are not schoolchildren! We will not raise our hands or acknowledge the existence of science! Ramaswamy: As the only one on this stage who is not bought and paid for, I have a thought. Christie: I have had enough of a guy who sounds like ChatGPT and stole his opening gambit from Barack Obama. I came here to bludgeon Donald Trump verbally, but Trump is not here and I have a lot of verbal bludgeoning built up. [...] Baier: Why do we have homelessness, drugs and crime? Pence: Because Democrats talked about defunding the police, and everyone knows that if you say “Defund the police!” into a mirror three times, crime appears. It’s just science, or, as Governor DeSantis and I prefer, religion. Christie: I disagree. Crime went up because Hunter Biden did it.

Please use the gift link above to read the rest of Petri's cutting satire.

Just one thing I would like to comment on though. I grew up in NJ... BEYOND the exits on the Turnpike. Why does there always have to be a NJ joke?🤦🏻‍♀️There really are nice parts of NJ. Really. I mean it. 😉

[edited]

#gop primary debate #republicans #ron desantis #chris christie #nikki haley #mike pence #vivek ramaswamy #asa hutchinson #tim scott #doug burgum #satire #alexandra petri #the washington post #gift link

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seraphofthesimps · 1 year

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A Mechanic’s Manipulation - Yandere Draken x Reader

TW: possessive themes. Word count: 982

“Where the fuck are they going now?”

Over the past 3 days, the little red dot representing your car has traveled all across town, much to Draken’s dismay. A typically rather unbothered man, he hates when he gets like this. No, scratch that. He hates when you make him like this.

Well, it can’t be helped, for now. If you insist on being a pain, you can deal with the consequences. It’s better than him dealing with the excruciating pain he feels every time you leave with someone other than him without so much as a care. All he asks, without actually asking of course, is a simple check in to let him know where you are headed, with who, and why. It’s the least you could do if you honestly loved him half as much as he does you, right?

Thanking every God in the heavens he can that he had the foresight to know you would force his hand like this, he tries to calm down. He took counter-measures for this sort of thing at your last oil change 3 weeks ago. The GPS is only the first tool at his disposal. It has proven quite handy thus far but now it’s time for his trump card to shine.

“Hurry up and make it to a side street. Fuck, how long does it take you to make a turn? This is why I always drive when it’s the two of us,” his impatience fuels his agitation. However, that only lasts as long as it takes the red dot to travel through its current stoplight and into the nearest neighborhood. “There, this spot should do fine.”

One click of the mouse on his auto shop’s computer has him scoffing to himself, proud of how he’s sure to win this battle. You will probably have a bad day, but you did it to yourself. Traveling out of his boundaries, testing perimeters he doesn’t approve of — Whether you knew to ask or not is not of his concern. If you cared the way you should, the way you will one day, the way he’s going to make you, then you wouldn’t even have to think twice. Any second now..

His phone rings almost on command, your name bright across the display. A knowing chuckle leaves his chest as he answers, ready to play the knight in shining armor. All he needs is for you to beg a little. And beg you do, so pretty for him.

“What do you mean the car just shut off? Did you have any warning signs? Are you didn’t hear a noise or anything? That’s strange. Yeah, sure, I can be there in 15.”

Despite his anger with you, he keeps true to his word, leaving you none-the-wiser. As suspected from your Snap Story, you were with an unknown man, a lesser one than himself he quickly notes. Immediately popping the hood, he greets you with that same flirty smile that has you in this situation in the first place. It’s both cruel and humorous how you have the nerve to claim he has the most beautiful smile you have ever seen, yet you still refuse to be called his. No worries, he constantly reminds himself, because his smile is nothing compared to his determination. If he wants something bad enough, and boy it is quite the understatement to say he wants you, he will do whatever takes it to manipulate you into his arms. Like so.

Tinkering around with his wrench and a few bolts under the hood, he twists a valve to release a bit of steam with a dramatic hiss. It’s completely ordinary for that to happen, but he knows you don’t know any better. Your car has always been looked after by him so he knows it in and out. The only problem with it today is that he got pissed off and triggered the automatic shut off he installed last month. Greedy dealerships aren’t the only geniuses that can make use of that nifty mechanism.

“I need to get this back to the shop for diagnostics. I brought the hitch so we don’t need to call in a tow, but I can only fit the two of us in my truck with my tools. You didn’t tell me you had someone with you,” he looks to the eyesore on your left, “You don’t mind catching a lift from someone so we can take care of this right?” His smile fools you every time, telling you he only intends to help. His eyes make sure to do all the talking to your accomplice that is noticeably smarter, yet inadequate to do anything about it under Draken’s size and the false hero veil you allow him to so easily wear and abuse. Luckily for all of you right now, your friend, Draken’s self-declared competition, took the hint and says his farewell. Draken can't help but rumble out a low laugh at the way he sulks away, pulling out his phone to call for a ride as he disappears in the opposite direction. “Talk about a walk of shame,” he mumbles too low for you to hear.

The ride back to the shop is full of chatter, with Draken using the opportunity to pry into your personal life. As planned, he learns what you were doing, who the male you had with you is, and that he needs to make sure he pays him a visit to guarantee he stays far away from you. And as planned, you fall further and further into Draken’s carefully weaved web. Promises of a proper date and confessions of regret about not doing it sooner are what you graciously gift to him as a genuine thank you to your savior. Just like he expected, a little force and manipulation is all he needs to keep you right where he wants you.

#draken x reader #yandere draken #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers

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scientia-rex · 1 month

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I feel like disappointment in Biden is baffling to me because he was always a disappointment. He was the asshole who got to ride to power on the coattails of a better man. He told bizarre and repeated lies (despite getting caught at it and his team telling him not to) about having a Welsh coal miner dad when he did not and he stole that story from actual Welsh people. I read a profile of him years back that pointed this out and told the story of the time he straight up ignored good advice from an expert not to plant a certain kind of tree too close together and flew a bunch of them out to plant, at night because he was just too fucking excited about it, and they all died. He’s not a smart man! He’s charismatic ish and lacks principles and as far as I can tell doesn’t really care about abortion rights or a lot of things we’d consider pretty critical to preserving freedom. I sincerely thought he couldn’t become President because there were so many obviously better candidates in the pool. I underestimated the sexism and antisemitism in American politics, and when he became the candidate in 2020 I gritted my teeth and voted for him because the alternative was a man who is not only an idiot but also profoundly dangerous. Trump is not ha-ha crazy, he’s Mussolini crazy. He is not dangerous because he’s stupid, although that doesn’t help; he’s dangerous because he does not care about anyone except himself under any circumstances and if that means he lets the far right push us straight into forced birth for white women and sterilization for women of color he’s going to do that. If that means conversion therapy for queers and death penalty for homosexual acts he’s going to do that. He has literally no limits. If he gets back into power, a whole lot of people are going to die, again. It’s not a hypothetical because it happened the first time and he’s only going to get worse.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a fan of Biden. To pretend that he and Trump are in any way equivalent is wrong at best and another goddamn Russian psy-op at worst. To pretend that a third party candidacy is viable in the US is to completely ignore every election of your lifetime and your parents’ lifetimes, and to further ignore the lesson of Ross Perot.

You cannot save Palestinians by not voting for Biden in November; the best you can do is chip away at his margin, and the worst you can do is see Trump elected so he can decide to do the worst possible thing in ever circumstance. Biden has Palestinian blood on his hands and watching this when we could have had Bernie or Elizabeth Warren instead is maddening. (I would have preferred Hillary to Trump, but I don’t think she’d be any different than Biden here. They’re both old-school politicians.)

I hate everything about this, and I hate that saying “maybe don’t put the man who literally said he would kill his political enemies in power” is seen as supporting genocide. It’s acknowledging reality. Joe Biden as a person can eat rocks for all I care. I was kind of hoping he’d die sooner in his term so we’d have time to get used to and then vote for President Harris. (Remember when the line was “she’s a cop, don’t vote for her”? Funny how there’s always a reason not to vote for a woman or a person of color or someone you just “don’t like” and can’t put a finger on why except she “seems angry.” Oh does she. How would she not? When Michelle fucking Obama, the picture of grace , STILL got called angry for having the nerve to be a Black woman with an opinion? When Hillary Clinton lost to a man with no political experience to her decades and who openly discussed sexually assaulting women? Would you have voted for President Harris? Or would you let Trump win again because you don’t LIKE her personally and she’s made decisions and statements you disagree with?)

Biden has both less power than his critics give him credit for and more power than his fans give him credit for. He needs to do more to pressure Israel and although it’s a delicate diplomatic situation I’d rather see us fuck up our diplomatic relationship with Israel than watch more Palestinians get murdered for things like “wanting to eat” and “existing.” The line has been crossed, and he doesn’t see it. Because he wasn’t the best person for the job. Because they didn’t get elected, because of sexism/antisemitism/racism. Hell, I have no idea what bootlicker Pete Buttegieg would have done here, but I’d have given him a try. But no. We got Biden and we’re stuck with this reality where you can be as leftist as you want and still have to look at the situation and decide whether you’re comfortable contributing to a Trump victory through inaction. I want socialism—I want every single person on Earth to have clean drinking water, enough safe food, shelter, medical care, and education—and I’m going to vote for Biden, pissy as it makes me, because the only actual alternative is so, so much worse, for me personally as both a woman and a queer, and for everyone in America and the rest of the world who Trump would find reasons to hurt. What do you think the man who openly and repeatedly praises dictators is going to do when those dictators massacre their own people? Yes, we need to care about this genocide now. We also need to care about all of the other people who are at real risk, both at home and abroad. Would a Trump government agree to fund military intervention in Haiti without insisting on it being a colonial exercise in power? Would a Trump government roll back the restrictions on discriminating against transgender patients in healthcare? How would Trump respond if Orban started dragging people into the streets and shooting them en masse? How would Trump respond if China finally went for it and invaded Taiwan? There are more lives at stake here than mine or yours or even those of the Palestinians, who have deserved better for literally decades and are being mass killed in ways that should result in immediate sanctions, a war crimes trial, and the execution of Netanyahu.

The world deserves better from you than complicity in a Trump victory.

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cheemscakecat · 2 months

Text

Oh… OH.

Guys hear me out… BLU Spy is a film buff who likes the Film Noir genre.

If you haven’t heard of/watched film noir, it’s 40s-50s era detective movies. If you’ve watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit, you basically get the gist of what the genre is like. Jessica Rabbit is a subversion of the fem fatale trope of a shrexy lady who works for the bad guys or is the main bad guy of the movie. Judge Doom is the crooked cop/official, R.K. Maroon is another corrupt party that allied with Doom. And Eddie Valiant is our cynical and jaded detective protagonist.

Now think about movies for a minute. How many times does the protagonist do something impossible because it looks cool? Be honest, John Wick is doing some maneuvers that make zero sense to real martial artists and government agents. Now think about how BLU Spy acts in Em Blue and Meet the Spy.

How many times does a detective/cop/agent protagonist go fight a dangerous person alone, and win? Usually there’s a struggle, but they still win. Spy didn’t though. Imagine he’s having a nightmare where one of the aspects is literally “You’re not that guy pal. Trust me, you’re not that guy.”

This is not the time to make demands, this is the time to shoot the guy with a bigger, faster gun before he can get you. But the good guy usually manages to shoot first or dodge, so he can have the confidence to do something this risky. Except it doesn’t work for Spy.

I can’t help but wonder if one of the reasons is that Soldier is an actual war veteran and not crazy like RED; remember how I mentioned real experts before? What if Solly’s fighter logic is cancelling out Hollywood logic in the scenes where he and Spy are together? Of course, that’s not the only reason why Spy can’t do the cool things he’s trying; it’s insecurity.

What happens in Meet the Spy?

So BLU Spy decided to do the dramatic thing and monologue to his teammates about the RED Spy in base, knowing darn well that one of them is probably said Spy. Carrying literal dead weight with the RED’s weapon lodged in it. With full confidence.

Some people think he knew “Scout” was RED Spy, but I actually think he fell for it. Why else would he say “nothing. Nothing like the man currently inside this building!” and then give said abnormally skilled and dangerous Spy his knife back? And that’s not the only reason he didn’t know, either.

This folder of dirty pictures is BLU Spy’s trump card. Yeah, showing it to RED to humiliate him would be funny… but not the most satisfying outcome. Giving it to the Admin for enemy team blackmail? More satisfying. Giving it to one of RED Spy’s enemies so they can kidnap BLU Ma or study the layout of that room? Devilishly satisfying. But that’s still not his end goal.

Scout is the youngest member of the team with the most to learn. You’re telling me that the same Administrator who hired a Director to get dirt on RED team, and doesn’t even care much for Pauling, doesn’t have two-faced Spies on both sides? BLU and RED teammates willing to sell their team’s secrets for bonuses or their own protection? Oh they exist.

This BLU Spy is not one of these double crossers IRL; but he does look for dirt on RED team. He was probably taking the dirtier pictures to get shot of RED without his mask, but he left it on. But he found out BLU Ma is consorting with an enemy teammate, and that’s very important. He wasn't showing this to Scout just to assert dominance as an older teammate, he was saying “Look, your mama can’t be trusted. Don’t give her your information.”

“PATTY CAKE? PATTY CAKE?! I don’t believe it! [cries]”

“Believe it sister, she played Patty Cake.”

It’s the same thing but more disrespectful, he’s trying to wise the real BLU Scout up about mercenary work.

And before anyone asks, no, BLU Spy is not BLU Scout’s daddy. No sane parent would show those pictures to their child, even if he’s an adult and his mama cheated. Besides that, Spy shows literally zero interest in romance during Em Blue, even when he’s telling Archibald what promotions he wants. That’s… not a normal occurrence in Film Noirs.

I’m not saying getting tricked by RED Spy and loosing those pictures before the real Scout could see them is the reason BLU Spy doubts his own abilities. But it’s at least a factor in the bigger reason.

#tf2 #emesis blue #character analysis #emesis blue scout #emesis blue spy #I don’t ship BLU Spy and Soldier btw #just thought I should mention that now

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queer-advice-hotline · 13 days

Note

To the anon who is struggling with their faith and identity, hi. I get you. I’m in the same boat in a lot of ways. (Discussion of anti-science rhetoric, lgbt-phobia, and conservative Christian stuff for anyone who doesn’t wanna read that)

I was raised Christian, and taught that evolution and the Big Bang were false. I was taught that dinosaurs were real and the earth was billions of years old, but we were still creationists.

I was also taught that being gay or trans was sinful and that gay marriage shouldn’t be legalized. My family was never outright hostile (my uncle is gay and we always loved him, even though “we just don’t agree with his decision” ugh), but clearly bigoted.

I was also raised in baptist churches, who absolutely love to quote the same three verses over and over in order to tell women (like myself) that our whole purpose is to shut up and bear children and take care of the house, that we are to obey our fathers and husbands in everything and cannot teach men at all. Fortunately my parents at least hated that BS, and after every sermon regarding that point my mom would lecture us that that was the only thing she disagreed with with our church, and that me and my sisters could be whatever we wanted to be. She continually pointed out the instances that contradicted what our churches had said about women’s roles.

When I went to college, I made friends, met people with wildly different backgrounds, and began to form my own opinions. I am a supporter of lgbt rights (I believe that there is strong evidence that wording was changed to condemn homosexuality, and that even if it’s a sin, we are called to love each other first and foremost, and that we cannot force our religious beliefs upon anyone else, and that respecting someone’s sexuality and pronouns is just basic fucking courtesy. I’ve even convinced my trump-supporting grandparents to use peoples preferred pronouns and respect gay marriages, with the logic that “you believe it’s sinful, but they don’t, and you can’t force your religious perspective on them. There is nothing loving about making them uncomfortable just because you disagree.”

I also strongly believe in scientific theories like evolution and the Big Bang. There’s plenty of evidence, and if you read genesis with fresh eyes it’s pretty clear to me it’s highly symbolic, not literal. I can believe God created the universe and that he did so through the Big Bang. I can believe God created humans in his image through the process of evolution.

As I was expanding and changing my worldview, I also realized that I was aroace. I’ve never been interested in dating, I don’t find men good looking at all, and my appreciation for women’s beauty is more similar to how someone would appreciate a painting, not someone they want to date or marry or have sex with.

And I don’t believe it’s a problem for me to stay single either. When I told my mom she immediately told me that the Bible says that singleness is, for many, a gift, and only a different path, not a wrong one.

I often don’t know what God’s intention is, but I do know that Christians are called to be the light of the world. So I will always be kind and loving, because that is how you be a light. I always pray for better understanding of how I should do things, but in the end the most important thing is to be kind.

Sorry if that was rambly, I just wanted to let you know that you aren’t alone in these struggles, and that you can believe different things without being a bad person. Personally, my family doesn’t know that I’m now fairly liberal and that I believe in evolution and the Big Bang and such, but I’m okay with that. If they find out, I’ll tell them more or less what I just said here. Best of luck to you and to anyone else in a similar situation 💛

Thanks for sharing, I’m sure this will be helpful for a lot of people.

#queer advice hotline #1-800-queer #off topic calls #religion #long distance calls

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aristrocrat · 2 years

Text

Upside Down Feelings

Chapter Three: Holly, Jolly

summary: Y/N helps Nancy navigate through the morning, but the tone changes as soon as she recalls the reason she stopped speaking to her. Barb goes missing.

word count: 2772

Chapter Two ->

“Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?” Nancy interrupted your conversation with a small group on the hallway.

“Uh, yeah,” You blinked, looking over at Robin. “Sure. I’ll meet you in class, okay?”

She nodded, failing miserably to hide the curiosity on her face.

Nancy walked you over to the girls’ bathroom. You followed, feeling Robin’s eyes all but burn a hole in the back of your shirt. Nancy held the door open before turning toward you as soon as it shut.

“Did you tell anyone about what I told you last night?” She asked. Your lips part, feeling a little hurt that she thought so little of you. “Like if it was some sort of revenge then-“

“Do you really think I’d do that?” You furrowed your brows. She just stared for a moment, making you scoff. “No, Nancy. I didn’t tell anyone, not even Robin. Especially not after the conversation we had last night.”

She nodded and let out a breath she’d been holding since she walked into school that morning. Your concern trumped your annoyance.

“Why?” You asked carefully.

“People have been staring at me all morning,” She shook her head, inhaling a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for even asking. I knew it couldn’t be you. It’s just.. Steve said that he didn’t tell anyone. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. You haven’t heard anyone talk about me, have you?”

“No clue. I just got here,” You always showed up to school later than she did. She knew this. Maybe her distress clouded her mind. “Who else knows? And where’s Barb?”

“I don’t know,” She shrugged, looking at you in the eyes. You could tell by the way they bounced between your own that she was anxious. “I have no idea how to go out there when I feel everyone’s eyes on me.

“Okay, come on,” You grabbed her hand, dragging her out of the bathroom. “I’m still a little offended at the fact that you think I’m a snitch but I’ll put that aside to walk with you. You’re sitting next to me next hour. We’ll look for Barb afterwards.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s avoiding me,” She muttered.

“Me neither,” You agreed, earning her unamused gaze. “What? You’d be doing the same if you were in her shoes.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

“But you’d also forgive her for it. Don’t beat yourself up for it. Was it a fucked up thing to do? Oh, abso-fucken-lutely. I’d be pissed too,” You said before smiling. “But it’s not unforgivable.”

You instantly regretted saying that as you felt her tense up in your arm.

—

“You’re mad at me because I’m saying you deserve better than a man whore?!” You shouted.

“Where is this even coming from?!” She shouted. “Is it jealousy? Are you mad at the fact that the school’s most popular boy wants me?!”

“You think I want to run around with the same crowd that pushes kids into lockers and taunts them in the hallways? No, Nancy. Sorry, but that just doesn’t seem worth the popularity,” You shrugged. “That’s not my crowd. And it’s not yours either so-“

“Then why? Why are you the only person that can never be happy for me?!”

“I’m the only one who cares enough not to agree with your every move. I’m telling you this because I want to see you happy!” You ran your hands desperately through your hair. “He only wants to get in your pants, Nancy. I don’t want to see you get your heart broken over some guy that doesn’t deserve you!”

“Oh, because you know so much about this topic!” She looked straight into your eyes now. “You can’t even get a guy to look your way!”

“Okay, maybe we should take a step back,” Barb finally stepped in, seeing the way your face fell.

“At least I don’t drop everything the second one shows the slightest bit of attention,” You bit back. She tightened her jaw as if to say ‘low blow’.

“How would you even know?!” Nancy stepped forward, venom dripping from her words. “You can’t keep one around. Not even your birth dad wanted you! And the one man that actually wanted to step up and take care of you, died! You’re the last person I should be taking guy advice from!”

“Nancy!” Barb gasped. She looked over at you to see the tears already building in your eyes. But you stood in stillness, paralyzed by the pain she just inflicted in your chest. She knew you weren’t over the fact that your father left as a child much less the death of your step father, the man who stepped as a father. The one you watched die in front of your very eyes. For once in your life, you had nothing to say to her.

Your silence took her aback. Her hands met your mouth, shocked at what just came out of her mouth. She wished she could take it back. She wished she believed that an apology would help the situation, but it would just be a drop in the ocean she’s just created.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t,” You held up a hand. You stared right into her soul, showing her the tears that began to run paired with the anger behind them. “Don’t call me. Don’t come by my house. I never want to see you again, Nancy.”

—

You both blinked as that memory resurfaced. You despised the fact that you know now had a memory tied to the word; unforgivable. You hated that it crossed both of your minds and the tension that came with it. You hated that she was so transparent with her emotions, wincing when the awkward silence fell upon you and showing that she still felt bad.

The remembrance alone almost made you drop her arm and walk away; it was like an unhealed wound that got torn open again. Part of you wanted her to fend for herself as payback. But when you finally got the guts to look over, you saw the same sweet friend that has stuck by your side since childhood.

You instead tightened your grip on her arm reassuringly, but that was all you could give her. You knew forcing a smile was still beyond you. It felt like saying everything was all okay, all forgiven. It wasn’t. But you were trying.

She looked with hope only to see your gaze was set on the hallway before you with an emotionless expression. Unlike the way you could read every on of her feelings simply by the way her brow twitched or lips pursed, she could never read a thought behind your eyes as soon as that wall came up. A wall that used to be reserved for everyone else except for her.

You both walked in silence before taking a seat in class, looking over to see Barb’s seat was empty. You furrowed your brows and looked back up at Nancy.

“Alright class!” The teacher said. “Settle in and flip to page 128.”

———

You sat in your usual spot at lunch. Nancy extended an invitation for you to join her at her table but you’d had enough of being in her presence. Rome wasn’t built in a day. You unpacked your lunch bag as Robin took the seat beside you.

“Is it true?” She asked with excitement. “Did she really lose her v-card to The Hair?”

“What? Where did you hear that?” You all but gasped.

“It’s the talk of the school,” She unpacked her lunch along side you, mindlessly tossing the things she didn’t want your way. You looked over at Nancy to see her sitting quietly as Carol and Tommy moaned and banged on the table to replicate what they heard the night before. “I’d almost feel bad for her if she wasn’t such a bitch to you.”

“I don’t even know how to feel anymore,” You groaned.

“Let me feel for you,” Robin placed grabbed your hand and placed it over her heart, closing her eyes as if to pass on her feelings. “I feel something. Something strong. I feel… hatred. Come on. Feel the hatred with me.”

You chuckled, pulling your hand away to grab the extra chip bag your mom placed in your lunch bag and throw it at her. She laughed as she caught it.

“Why do have such a soft spot for that asshole anyway?” She grumbled. “She’s not exactly winning any awards for being the best friend of the year.”

You kept your gaze on your food for a moment. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

“Try me,” She said simply, popping a chip into her mouth and crunching away happily.

“I have this weird feeling that I should stick by her side right now. Things feel different.. a bad different. And even if she did say.. what she said, we still grew up together and I still want the best for her,” You admitted before looking up. “I don’t expect to be her friend for the rest of my life but something tells me that she needs me right now.”

“You’re right,” Robin nodded. “I do think your crazy.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed a blueberry from her lunch only to throw it onto her forehead. She laughed and said, “But I’ll play nice I guess. Enough about her. How’s Dustin?”

“I think he and his friends are still trying to find Will,” You sighed. “I haven’t seen him around much. And he’s not talking to me anymore.”

“Our little brother is growing up,” She muttered, making you smile. “But hey! You still have me!”

“That’s all I need!” You smiled. “Wanna come over after school?”

“Can’t. Working,” She responded, making you groan.

“I thought I still have you!”

“Well, you could have more of me if you applied for a job at the mall,” She smiled.

“Pass,” You scrunched your nose.

“I’ll break through to you eventually,” She shrugged, taking a chip and holding it out for you. You grabbed it with your mouth, leaving a bit of spit on her finger. “Ew!”

She wiped the finger on your shirt as you both giggled away.

———

“Honey, could you get the phone?” Your mother called from the kitchen. You sighed and hopped up from the TV, answering the phone.

“Robin, I told you not to-“

“Y/N,” Nancy sobbed.

“Nance? What’s wrong?” You breathed.

“Barb. She’s missing and I don’t know what to do! I’ve looked everywhere! She didn’t come to school, she didn’t go home, her car is in the same spot she left it before the party- I think-“ She choked out another sob. “Whatever happened to Will happened to her too and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do..”

“Oh my God,” You breathed, watching as a parade of cop lights sped past your house. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. Were those for Barb? “Uh, okay, okay.. Nancy, listen to me. Tell your mom, alright? She’ll know how to handle this. I think we’re in over our heads if we keep this to ourselves. Would it be easier for you if I came over?”

“No!” She said quickly. “No, stay home. I need you safe! I can’t lose you too. I can’t- I can’t-“

“Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m fine, alright? Can’t get rid of me that easily,” You joked, hoping to ease the weight on your shoulders in order to remain cool for the rest of the phone call. “Take a deep breath and go tell your mom, okay? Don’t be afraid to call back if you need anything.”

“Okay..” She sniffled. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” She muttered. You let out a quick, breathy chuckle.

“Just go tell your mom, Pants,” You responded. “Keep me updated.”

“Okay, I will,” She told you. “Stay safe. Goodnight.”

“Yeah, you too. Night.”

You hung up before gripping the counter in front of you so hard that your knuckles turned white. You clenched your eyes shut, wanting to shut out the world.

No, please. Not Barb.

Barb was a sweet girl and an unproblematic friend. Nancy inducted her into your little friend group in the second grade. She moved into town towards the end of the school year, rocking pigtails and a missing front tooth. You made sure to compliment her hair, and in return, she complimented your nose. She said it was the cutest one she’d ever seen before poking it with her pointer finger. She dragged you and Nancy to church at least twice a year and showed you how to play the ukelele her uncle brought back from Hawaii. Though she was always more of Nancy’s friend than yours, you’d still shared numerous sleep overs and countless of sweet memories.

“Promise not to tell Nancy?” Barb smiled, showing off her missing tooth. You nodded and leaned in. She cupped her hands around your ear before whispering, “I’m throwing her a surprise party and I want you to help me plan it.”

“Why me?” You smiled.

“Because you’re our best friend. Duh!” She wrapped an arm around your shoulders before walking you toward the school phone so that you could ask your mother to go to her house. “Plus, this way, you and I can spend some girl time together!”

“Maybe we can come up with a nickname for you tonight! I’m Skirt. Nancy’s Pants. Maybe you can be Shorts!” You said. She scrunched her nose. “Okay, not my best work. We can figure it out tonight!”

You ended up naming her Boots. The nickname only really lasted for the summer but you and Nancy baked a chocolate cake with the words ‘Happy Birthday, Boots!’ every year on the day before her birthday. Though, you never could get the spacing right, so it always came out more like ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Boots!’

“What’d she want, sweetheart?” Your mom asked from behind you. She spoke gently, somehow knowing anything stronger would shatter you into a million pieces.

“I-..” You drew in a deep breath, closing your eyes and begging them not the release the river of tears you’d been holding back for the past few minutes. You were afraid the tears would never stopped if you allowed them to slip through. You thought you had it under control until you opened your eyes to see your mother standing in front of you with motherly concern. Those puppy eyes she accidentally sported made the emotional dam you’d built crumble completely.

“Nancy said she thinks Barb is missing now too and-” The first sob broke through before you felt hot tears begin to fall. “Mom, I’m so scared.”

“Come here,” She breathed, reaching for her broken daughter and allowing her to sob into her neck for a few minutes.

“She didn’t deserve this,” You cried. “She’s the best of us, Mom. It hasn’t even been two months since she turned 16. It’s not fair!”

“I know, baby,” She whispered. “But we have to hold out hope for Will and Barb. We don’t know what happened yet, okay? So don’t waste those tears on fear. Save them for a rainy day.”

Hope. People only said to have hope when they knew there was no point in it.

She only let you cry for a few more minutes before she got up to get ready for bed. She claimed to be sleepy but you knew it was because she could no longer hold back her own tears.

You were in the bathroom that was placed between your and Dustin’s rooms when you heard his door shut. You looked over to see him throw himself onto his bed face first into a pillow, trying to hide his own sobs.

Will.

You drew in a deep breath, making sure to make your steps heavy enough for him to hear you coming. His bed creaked as you sat down next to him and rubbed his back. He quickly sat up and threw his arms around you, crying into your shoulder the same way you’d just done with your mother. Neither one of you said a word about your puffy faces. Neither one of you asked what had caused them.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” He asked, wiping at his nose. You smiled and nodded, not caring about the fact that his kicking would keep you up. You’d actually never been so grateful to have that twerp keep you up with his leg jerks. At least he was still able to kick. It was more than the families of those poor kids could say.

Chapter Four ->

———

Ahhh sorry for the double post!! Please lmk if you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist!

@werewolfbanshee-love @reallysparklychaos @katsukiswrld @i-bitch-you-bitch @yashirawr @grfields @001andeddiearetodiefor @thatmarvelchick19 @fixtionlover @idkwhyimhere013 @b3rrysoda @hair-dye-or-nawh @tpwkhollandd @dawnyboy @rexorangecouny @kimmchijjajang @efvyqrs @lou-la-lou

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