#tv academy has no taste

[whichcouldmeanothing]

wait fellow travelers didn't get nominated for best limited series im so mad.

[marvelsswansong]

show and tell

summary: a white rose at the train station. his hand in yours at the zoo. his mother's golden mirror. does he love you or is he simply trying to gain the public's favour and secure the Plith prize? you're unsure. and so is he, until he very much isn't.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, slow burn (ish), fluff, angst, technically a happy ending but quite dark, purely based off the movie but I take some creative detours, CW for violence, mentions of starvation, toxic/manipulative behaviors and a semi-dark!snow (please read at your own discretion, take care of yourself above all else :))

☆ word count: 5.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Coriolanus hates waiting. 

The stillness, the eerie silence of an early morning at the Capitol train station. It eats away at his core.

His mouth tastes like copper, his throat's starting to itch from the dryness and there's a brief moment of fear as he ponders if he's making a huge mistake. A sharp whistle ringing through the station signals the train's arrival, and as his eyes adjust to the billowing grey smoke and a sea of white (the peace keepers), the flower in his left hand suddenly feels heavy. As if the weight of the situation is starting to bear on his shoulders.

He wasn't supposed to be here. If all had gone to plan, he would've already been the recipient of the Plinth Prize and taken the first car back home to buy his grandma'am some chocolates and Tigris a new dress. No more worrying. No more surviving on dwindled fortunes. No more pretending to fit in with high society. 

Then, of course, the rules had to change. Viewership was down and it was of both Dean Highbottom's and Dr Gaul's opinion that what was missing was spectacle. Now, whoever the best mentor was in transforming their tribute into prime entertainment would win the prize. 

"Your role is to turn these tributes into spectacles. Not survivors." 

The silence that hung after this announcement in the Academy was heavy, but Coriolanus knew better than to show his true emotions on his face. After all, if there was one thing that he knew how to do as the star student of the Academy: it was to plan. And when he saw your... unruly introduction to the public, sneaking a snake down a woman's dress before cussing out the audience, it dawned on him that it would be a tall order to endear you to the public.

But not impossible.

The sounds of the tributes being roughly unloaded off the platform snaps him back into reality, his eyes easily landing on your figure as you jump off the train, your upper arms supported by the tribute (Jessup, Coriolanus recalls his name being) standing next to you. Pushing through the soldiers, the blonde nearly breaks into a small sprint to catch up to you as you turn your head upon hearing the sound of hurried footsteps.

"Welcome to the Capitol." the strange man in front of you says, before holding out a pristine white rose. It's a peculiar looking flower, you think, a kind of flower you've never seen before (at least, certainly not back in your home district). It looks almost artificial, you think, with how perfectly white and untouched its petals are.

The blonde assesses your cautious glance - the sunlight hitting the under color of your irises perfectly in a glistening twilight - and a fleeting thought passes by, that the tv camera didn't do your natural beauty justice. He has to suppress a smirk when you finally respond, narrowing your eyes at him with your arms crossing above your chest.

"You seem like you shouldn't be here."

He chuckles at that.

"I'm not supposed to be. And yet here I am." A pause. "But I'm your mentor. Coriolanus Snow."

That's a first, you think. Mentors for tributes. 

"And what does my mentor do except bring me roses?" you question, flicking the buds with your fingers. Coriolanus just smiles. 

"I do my best to take care of you." 

Your supposed mentor says it so sincerely, you think, and he's obviously charming with his devilishly handsome looks and low whisper. But there's something that stops you from holding out your hand and taking the rose from his fingers. You suppose he isn't lying - after all, what would be the point of it - but there's something in his eyes that you can't quite explain. 

Something that makes your stomach flutter in both excitement and dread.

"Move." the soldier behind you then barks, shoving you and Jessup forward. You decide to give your mentor one last grin and a quiet "see you later", thinking that's going to be the last you see of him for a while.

The last thing you expect is for him to jump into the back of the vehicle alongside the other tributes, drawing the eyre of a few who pin him against the moving vehicle and start taunting him with violence. 

"You look rather out of place." the tall boy pinning Coriolanus drawls.

"I'm not, I can assure you. I'm here for (Y/n). I'm her mentor." 

That puts the unwanted attention on you, as the other tributes begin to circle around you with sinister expressions twisting on their lips.

"Mentor, huh? How come little miss music gets one but not the rest of us?" a brunette girl drawls, eyeing you up and down.

The boy pinning Coriolanus down applies stronger pressure to his neck, and you rise in an attempt to intervene, but he meets your gaze discreetly and motions for you to remain seated. 

"You all have a mentor, they're just... not here." he croaks. 

"Right, and we're all supposed to believe you?" another girl, this one from district 4 you believe, taunts. "What's to say we shouldn't just kill you now?" 

The blonde shoots you a nervous look and that's when you feel pity. Just like you, he's in a foreign environment and pretending to be brave. You suppose also that he's your only ticket out, your only chance of potential success at surviving in the games.

So you intervene.

"You could kill him. But then the moment this truck stops you'll all be gathered round and killed by the peace keepers. He's clearly Capitol. And if they're willing to hang District people simply for stealing, can't imagine what killing a member of the Capitol would mean for punishment." 

That scares them off and Coriolanus sits down next to you, breathing heavily in an effort to catch his breath, before quietly thanking you.

"You really wanna thank me?" you quirk, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Start by thinking about how I can actually win." 

The truck then suddenly comes to a halt, and the next thing you know the truck is being tipped over and the doors fly open. Coriolanus grasps your arm in lightning speed, pulling you close towards him so that he'd hit the harsh ground first, absorbing most of the impact.

When you shakily stand up on your feet, you realize you're enclosed in a large metal cage akin to that of an animal enclosure. There's even an over enthusiastic TV presenter in the background, who now seems to have noticed your mentor and begins to call out to him.

"Where are we?" you breathe out, already shivering from the autumn cold.

The blonde barely shifts, only dusting off his suit in a calm manner.

"(Y/n) (L/n) from District 12, welcome to the Capitol Zoo. Would you like to meet my neighbors?" he jokes, eyes slyly shifting to the right to refer to the small audience that has now gathered around the TV presenter. 

You hesitate, but then he takes your right hand in his before leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"You want to win, right? Good. I'd like to win as well. And the first thing you'll need to do? Perform for the cameras." Coriolanus accentuates the end of his sentence by sliding the rose behind your ear, a gesture which draws an excited reaction from the crowd.

Is your mentor doing it for the cameras or for something else? You're unsure. But given your desperation to win, and the fact that he clearly knows more about the games than you do, you decide to play along.

Warm hands twisting in the cold, Coriolanus drags your enjoined hands towards the TV camera as he does what he does best. Lie, smile, and charm the audience. Even when the attention turns to you, as Lucky Flickerman (that's his name, you learn) directs questions towards you, the blonde never lets go of your hand in his.

Before he leaves, as news of his rule-breaking spreads amongst the members of the public, you grab him out of desperation one last time.

"Please get us some food, we've been starving since the Reaping."

The blonde nods, but you can't help but feel anxious: not knowing if his previous gestures of kindness were just for show. 

-------------------------------

"Who's that for?"

Coriolanus had meant to sneak the sandwiches and cookies into his spare napkin discreetly, but of course Clemensia had to be two steps behind him, interrogating his every move. 

"Just not very hungry, that's all." he nearly grits through his teeth, forcing a fake smile.

The dark haired girl chuckles at that, shaking her head sideways.

"You don't have to lie to me, Snow. Especially me."

"... It's for (Y/n)." he quietly admits. She hums at that, picking at her own food from across the table.

"That's awfully nice of you. What, already going soft for some girl you met yesterday?" she teases, and it immediately elicits an angry refusal out of him.

"It's not like that." Coriolanus snaps, his sudden harshness making his classmate flinch in surprise. "I just... can't have her dying before the games even begin because she's not as well fed as the others." 

Clemensia scoffs, flicking the rest of her orange peel into the trash.

"Honestly, Snow, I don't know why you bother. She's clearly not going to survive. I mean, have you seen the tributes from districts 1 and 3?"

Ignoring her comments, he wordlessly slips away from the table and hails a ride down to the zoo. News of his intentions travels fast and whilst he doesn't mind Sejanus' company, it takes intense effort to force himself to look away from Arachne when she tags along and decides to taunt a caged tribute with a glass bottle. 

"You came back." you mutter, staring at the neatly wrapped napkin in disbelief. Coriolanus dislikes how surprised you sound, then hates himself more for caring about what you think. 

Why do you care what she thinks? he scolds himself. She's just a tribute you're mentoring.

"Of course I did. Can't have my tribute dying before the games even begin, now can I?" he teases, feigning nonchalant. 

The presence of academy mentors seems to have attracted a crowd, with a few photographers even pointing their lenses towards you and Coriolanus as his hand slips through the metal gates to meet yours to hand off the food. When your fingers touch his, a part of you wonders if he would've ever came back if there was no PR involved.

Too grateful and too hungry to care, you just say thank you, before breaking off a piece for Jessup and offering half a sandwich to your mentor.

"Oh no, I'm not hungry." he says out of instinct, surprised by your offering. You raise your eyebrows in response, pursing your lips.

"You sure about that? Because I could hear your stomach growl from a mile away." you retort. 

"Right. Uh, thank you." 

Biting into the soft bread, you chew, savoring every bite. A silence settles between the two of you as you both eat, right before you ask him a quiet question.

"... Did you get into a lot of trouble for what you did for me yesterday?" your eyes shine with worry, you nervously looking up at him for an answer. He finds himself again surprised by how much you seem to care. 

Yes, he wants to say. I nearly got myself disqualified as a mentor and it would've been the end of my family's future in the Capitol. But he swallows his thoughts down, alongside the dry taste of the tuna sandwich.

"Not much. Actually, I was able to convince the gamemaster, Dr Gaul, to implement a few changes to the games."

"Really, like what?"

"To let the public send you donations. That way, I could send you supplies you needed into the arena - food, water, medicine. It'd mean having to do the extra job of playing to the public and getting them to root for your survival, but with a voice like yours, the songbird of Panem -"

Your smile drops at that, your gaze turning stern at his suggestion.

"I only sing when I please for an audience I choose." your eyebrows furrow, your usually sweet expression melting into something more sour. It's oddly cute, he thinks. 

"I know, but I'm really going to need you to try. It's for your own survival. Our survival." he emphasizes, staring right into your eyes. You can't suppress your sad smile at that, crumbling the empty napkin in your hands.

"Are you sure it's not just for your survival?"

Your question haunts Coriolanus that night, alongside the sounds of broken glass and pained gasps as Arachne lies bleeding on the ground, having been stabbed in the neck by one of the tributes. When he quickly runs to his classmate, he doesn't get to see your expression, as you're ripped away by Jessup pulling you into safety in an instant and peace keepers swarm the scene in an effort to remain calm.

When he's back home and the crimson blood coating his hands have dried from where he was holding his dying classmate's wounds, he wonders if there's any truth to your answer.

-------------------------------

Everything changes at the arena tour.

You've not had much sleep. You're confused, you're angry, but most of all you've been haunted by your conflicting feelings towards your mentor and the name he'd called you - songbird. A silly little songbird, you think spitefully. 

To sing and charm the very same public who had doomed her to a violent game of death. 

It was absurd, really, that he'd even ask that. It made your stomach churn and your head ache at the thought of cheapening your craft for something so juvenile.

And yet, when you spot the familiar red suit and white blonde hair in the mass of other mentors at the arena, you can't help but feel warmth in your chest and stomach. A part of you even feels lucky, given that the other mentors seem to waste their time insulting their tributes or being too afraid to talk to them. Whilst Coriolanus, on the other hand, seems to be full of ideas to ensure your survival.

"The game master liked my suggestions. So the donations system is going to be implemented, with a broadcast beforehand for the tributes to get a chance to endear themselves to the public for donations." He's speaking so fast that you almost think he enjoys explaining the games to you. "Now what this means is that assuming you get enough donations, when the bell goes off, you don't go for the weapons. You don't fight. You just run as fast as you can, hide and stay alive for as long as you can." 

"How can you even be sure I'll get enough donations for you to be able to send supplies?" you mutter, looking around at the other tributes. "A lot of these folks are a lot taller and stronger than I am. They've got a much better chance at surviving than I do."  

Coriolanus surprises you by taking both of your hands in his, squeezing your palms tight in his cold palms.

"I know, but we have something none of the others have."

You scrunch your face in confusion.

"What's that?"

"A story. A strong connection between you and me, a Capitol mentor and a District 12 tribute. Not to mention, your incredible singing and songwriting. Match that with my knack for public relations and we'll have enough donations to send you any supplies necessary for your victory in the games."

You realize then that Coriolanus is unlike anyone else you've ever met. So confident, so sure, so perceptive of other people and their secret desires and pitfalls. His unwavering commitment to his beliefs is admirable, if not almost foolish, but you keep that part to yourself.

"How're you so sure I'll even survive the first few minutes?" you push back, still unconvinced, though you don't pull away from his hold. "And, again, I don't just sing for anyone."

The blonde opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted when a sudden cascade of dust and fire crumbles down from the ceiling of the arena. The sound of a bomb exploding reverberates as you're both thrown off of your feet by the impact. Your head is still ringing from the chaos when Jessup pulls at your sleeves, commanding you to walk away from the wreckage. 

Rising onto shaky legs, you even spot another tribute running from the guards towards a blown out hole on the side of the building. And when your eyes meet with Coriolanus' frantic ones, his lower half trapped underneath rubble, you both recognize that you now have an unbridled chance to escape - 

But you don't.

To the blonde's complete shock, you instead shove your friend off, screaming as you lift the heavy cement column with all your strength in an effort to pry the debris off of his body. With the help of a few peace keepers, it works, but Coriolanus falls into unconsciousness quickly as he succumbs to the excruciating pain of crushed ribs and bruised limbs.

The last thing he sees before he fades into darkness is your teary eyes, a sight he so badly wants to fix by wiping away your tears with his fingers... 

When he eventually wakes, it's in a dark hospital next to his grandma'am and sister. There's a roar on the television screen as you're brought onto the broadcast, shy smile and a glittering guitar in hand. It hits him that you're actually going to sing. 

"I didn't have a chance to... uh... write a new song. But I'd like to dedicate this performance to someone very special who's recently been hurt." you say into the mike, your eyes clearly brimming with nerves and doubt. 

As you sing, there's a tight sensation in Coriolanus' chest once the lyrics settle into his mind - a small voice whispers in his mind that it's jealousy, for you singing about a boy back in your home town who broke your heart - but it's overwhelmed by the feelings of gratitude and awe that you'd ended up doing what he asked you to do. All that, after selflessly saving his life.

"A...are you okay, Coryo?" is all Tigris asks, brushing his hair back and gently guiding him back down onto bed upon seeing his expression twist into one of discomfort.

"She could've run." 

"What?"

"At the arena. The blast blew open a large opening on the side of the stadium. I saw one of the tributes actually make it out that way." he lets out a shaky breath, hating you for what you've done to him to make him feel this way. "Damn it, Tigris. She could've run. She could've-"

A single tear drops from his left eye and onto his injured palm, his weak voice giving away his true emotions.

"She could've saved herself from even having to participate in the games. But she stayed. She fucking stayed behind to lift the debris off of me."

"She saved your life." his sister finishes for him, the atmosphere turning somber as she wraps her arms around his shoulder. "I'm just so glad that you're both safe." 

As you retreat from the screen, the donation numbers only piling up higher as Lucky Flickerman closes out the broadcast, a hot fire lights up in Coriolanus' stomach. 

He has to save you.

No matter what it takes.

--------------------------------------

"You know he's just using you, right?"

After the broadcast, once it's revealed that you were given the largest amount of donations out of all the other tributes, Coral from District 4 corners you backstage. 

"Pardon?" you fake ignorance, a small smile playing on your lips, which only seems to aggravate the girl further. 

"Your pretty boy mentor. He's only been faking all sweet for you to get the public to send you donations. In fact, I bet he didn't even bother to try and pull himself out of the wreckage so that he could get more public sympathy.

You snap at that, all fake modesty melting away in an instant.

"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Coral. Coriolanus isn't like that." you spit, but all she does is look down at you with a nasty smirk on her lips.

"Oh really? And how would you know, little songbird? Think he'd care about someone from district 12? And why do you think he wants you to win so badly? Because he's a good person?" she mocks, her face now a mere inches away from yours. "No. I reckon it's more for the prize money." 

You can't sleep that night at the zoo, tossing and turning in the dark. Your mind can't seem to rest, torn between the adrenaline and dread for the games tomorrow, alongside the constant worry over Coriolanus' wellbeing and doubts over his genuinity and trustworthiness.

Coral's just trying to get in my head. you repeat to yourself, over and over again. You're on the edge of sleep, exhausted and upset by your conflicting emotions, when you hear a familiar voice coming from the darkness. 

It sounds like Coriolanus. 

You sit up straight, and it's true: he's here, and he's whispering your name repeatedly, beckoning you towards the front of the cage and away from your sleeping competitors. Suddenly, the overwhelming exhaustion and fatigue disappears, and you find yourself gravitating towards the only person you've been thinking about for the past 24 hours.

"Coryo, you're... you're alright." you sigh out, almost overwhelmed with relief. You don't even realize you're crying until his hands reach up and brush away your tears, his warm hand a stark contrast to the freezing cold of the night.

"I am. All thanks to you, songbird." he breathes out, his fingers tracing the ripples of your cheeks. His head feels dizzy and his hands tremble as he searches his pockets for his mother's golden compact mirror. 

"Don't call me that." you weakly laugh, as he does too. "What's this?" you ask, staring at the object he’s folded gently into your hands. 

"It's for you to use in the arena. Now listen to what I say very carefully. Don't breathe this in, don't spill it on yourself, and only use it when you really need to." he slowly explains, as if he's terrified that you're going to harm yourself by merely carrying it in your pockets. 

"Is... is this allowed? For you to sneak in and give me this?" you whisper, looking around your surroundings, but it's pitch black. 

The blonde purses his lips, using every muscle in his body to keep his expression neutral.

No, it's certainly not allowed. I am risking my life, as well as my family's future, by doing this.

"That's not important. What is important is that the blast from the arena has created a hole leading out to a bunch of service tunnels. I tested it out myself, it leads towards the outside, far away from the peace keepers." 

"Wait, I don't understa-"

Desperation grabs a hold of him, and it's a foreign feeling - the crushing despair of wanting to protect someone that he can't, the burning urge to want to put someone else ahead of him for once.

"What I need you to do tomorrow, (Y/n), is to run. The moment the alarm rings, don't even think of running towards the weapons or fighting the others. Don't even hide anymore. Just… just run towards the tunnels, by yourself, and get out."

"But what about Jessup-" you hiccup. Your head's spinning, confused and horrified by your mentor's change of plans and the prospect of leaving behind your friend to die in the arena. 

"Forget about him." Coriolanus snaps. Suddenly, his eyes are cold and his voice is firm, commanding you as if you have no choice in the matter. "In there, he's as dangerous as the other tributes. You can't trust anyone, not even your supposed friends, okay? The games, they-" he chokes on his own words, and there's something again in Coriolanus' eyes that you can't quite decipher. "They bring out the worst in people. Promise me you'll run."

It makes your stomach twist in anxiety.

"I-"

"Please." 

As he begs, his face crumbles, his voice so desperate and feeble that you can't find it in yourself to say no. 

"I... I'll try." you relent, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your agreement. 

"Good. Perfect." He takes your head in his hands and softly kisses your temple. "I won't let you die in there, okay? Just like you took care of me after the explosion. I'm going to take care of you."

"I'm your mentor. I do my best to take care of you." 

Coriolanus' words from the train station echo in your head as you nod, pocketing the mirror deep inside your dress to hide it away from plain sight.

"Will I... will I be able to see you, after the games?" 

You immediately feel stupid for even asking that. Everyone knows winning the games merely allows your return to your home district. And on all logical accounts, it wouldn't make any sense for the man to give up his life in the Capitol to follow you back to 12.

But he smiles at your innocent question, only nodding whilst squeezing your hands in the dark. To your feeble heart and mind, it feels like a genuine promise.

"Of course, my songbird. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." you whisper.

"I never do." 

And for the first time, you think you actually believe him wholeheartedly.

----------------------------------

You can't believe it. 

You've won.

You were so sure you were going to die once the snakes had been released, eyes closing shut once the venomous snakes began to crawl up your skin, but as you continued to sing... The reptiles simply slithered by your side, remaining docile and non-threatening. And based on the snakes' sudden change of behavior and Highbottom's scowl when he announced you as the victor of the 10th Hunger Games - "consider yourself lucky, little girl, as it seems your mentor was willing to break more than a few rules for you" - your stomach churns at the realization that Coriolanus kept his promise.

He did whatever it took to get you out. 

Even cheating. 

You've only heard whispers of the punishments for cheating at the Capitol. But based on the frequent hangings of rebels in your home district, you can't imagine that the punishment would be very kind.

Weeks have passed since your victory, since the last time you've even seen Coriolanus, but it does nothing to erase him from your mind. You still see his faint silhouette in the mornings, when your eyes have barely adjusted to the morning light and there's a pile of clothes sitting on the chair beside your bed. You think you hear his voice amongst the sea of strangers’ conversations, calling out for his 'songbird'. And you swear you see his face in every crowd at the bar.

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus is having the same struggles on the opposite end of the country. Luckily, bearing the last name Snow meant his punishment for cheating was to be lighter than the usual hanging: mandatory military service. District 8. But he's sure to bring his last few bills to bribe the immigration officer for a transfer to 12. 

All to come find you. 

He suffers through the first week of training - grueling hours, hanging ceremonies, endless ramblings from Sejanus about making a change for the better. He pretends not to notice Sejanus establishing connections within the rebel community, until he can’t ignore it anymore. After all, Coriolanus simply can't afford his friend’s idealism and recklessness to get him killed too, and potentially you, when you're thought to be linked to the movement by mere virtue of association.

Especially not you, Coriolanus thinks.

After the games, of having to watch you bleed, sob and fight for hours on end as he stood helplessly, only able to watch: even the passing thought of your death elicits a violent reaction in him. He'll do anything for you. 

Even if that means turning in his only friend to prove his loyalty to the Capitol.

It's an unremarkable Wednesday night for you when you're singing a song at the bar, black guitar in hand and the smell of booze thick in the air, when your eyes come across a familiar face. 

It takes you a few seconds, of course. You almost think it’s a hallucination, if it wasn’t for the sea of other soldiers surrounding him, validating his presence. His fluffy white locks are gone, replaced with a clean buzz cut. He's lost a bit of weight, his shoulders more broad and rough from military training, and the lack of expensive bright fabrics draped around his figure is jarring at first. But it suits him, you think. 

The song can't finish any faster before you're slinging your guitar to the back and rushing up to Coriolanus, immediately throwing your arms around him. He stiffens in your embrace before relaxing, his arms finding your waist and squeezing you tightly. And you can't help but savor every essence of his being: he smells of sweat and coal (unlike his Capitol uniform which always smelled of florals and clean linen) and you can feel the cool metal of his dog tags press against your collarbone at this angle.

"You came back for me." you breathe out, still not believing that he's in front of you. Your ex mentor just smiles, tapping your cheeks with his hands.

"Said I'd never break a promise, now didn't I?" 

As the next performer goes up on stage, recapturing the attention of the audience, you pull him away towards the back room, far away from the bustling crowds and twinkling lights.

"I've thought of you every day, my songbird." Coriolanus whispers against your skin once you two are away from the crowds, his head falling forwards into the nape of your neck.

Your cheeks warm at his comment, your fingers coming up to play with the dog tags around his neck, before a light chuckle escapes your lips.

"What's so funny? Did you not miss me?" the blonde teases, and you shake your head sideways in denial.

"Of course I missed you. I missed you more than you could imagine."

"Then what's the chuckle for?"

You let out a short sigh, not knowing if it’d be wise to bring it up. But all he does is encouraging you, looking deep into your eyes and nodding, urging you to say what’s on your mind. You relent, shoulders sagging. 

"It's just... when I won the games, Highbottom congratulated me. But not for winning the games. But for surviving you." you awkwardly chuckle in hopes of diffusing the seriousness of your question. "Is it true, Coryo?"

"What are you getting at?" is his response, coy and low. You can't tell if he's amused, annoyed or disturbed. 

Or all three at once.

"There's rumors, you know. I heard that you... you had to kill a tribute." you whisper, as if what you’re saying is the biggest secret in the world. "Is it true?"

Coriolanus pauses at that, the smirk on his face dropping for a fraction of a second before he's cupping your face and lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. His stare is so strong, so unwavering, almost to the point of unnerving you. But it's matched with such warmth and softness in his touch as he strokes your hair.

"You have to understand, darling… It was just like the snakes. If I hadn't rigged the game by getting the snakes used to your smell so they wouldn't attack you, you would've died. And if I hadn't killed the tribute charging at me when I had to sneak into the arena to rescue Sejanus-" he sighs, slow and long. He looks as if he’s thinking hard. "I had to, my songbird. I had to do it to protect you. To take care of you." he emphasizes.

You're not sure what kind of an answer you wanted, but you're unable to respond immediately, as it slowly dawns on you that this man both cheated and killed another person for you. 

His response to your silence is a swift kiss, calloused hands dropping to your waist to pull you in close, the gesture desperate and messy. Breathing heavily when he parts from you, he kisses you once more, this time a short peck which is more rough and demanding.

"I would do anything for you, (Y/n) (L/n). Anything for you."

Coriolanus chooses to keep quiet about the fact that technically, he could've just injured the tribute charging towards him instead. Or that it felt freeing to have ended the tribute’s life. Or that just a few hours ago, he tipped off the Capitol about Sejanus' rebellion. All in an effort to secure your unbridled safety. So that he doesn’t ever have to let go of you again.

"Now, where are your manners, my songbird? Aren't you going to thank me?" he whispers against your lips, smoothing out your hair.

"T-thank you, Coryo." you manage to stutter.

He smiles at that, kissing the top of your head as he sways you from side to side.

"Of course, love. Don't worry. We’re going to be just fine. In fact, everything will be fine from now on."

As you peak out from under his embrace, you're not so sure if you can believe him anymore.

a/n: leave it to a new hunger games movie and Tom Blyth playing young!Snow to make me return from my 1.5 year long writing hiatus.

I'm quite nervous about this one as it's my first time writing for a semi-dark character and also because it's been so long since I posted my writing on here... But I hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment, like, reblog, etc if you liked it. If this one is received well I might go ahead and post the other Snow fics currently sitting in my drafts!!!

[whorbidmore]

okay, so, I've fallen victim to the leon kennedy brainrot steadily overtaking me, following me from Tumblr to Pinterest, to Instagram and even the absolutely fucking dreaded application of TikTok. I don't even use it that often??? and the algorithm is just like 'wow, yeah, this little fuckers gay as hell send in the 40 year old meow meow!!' and having watched Death Island fairly recently, I'm gonna have my opinions on what this dude would be like. Cus my brain loves to rationalize shit and think ab 'what if this mf was someone real?' so... fuck it.

Leon Soft Kennedy Headcanons

SFW

accidentally bigoted. - im sorry but let's be so fucking real here. he's a 40 something year old man who spent the majority of his life in either the military, a police training academy in the 90's, or otherwise working under the U.S Federal System with minimal/no time between missions to unpack absolutely everything he's got going on... the guys gonna have some problematic tendencies. Obviously that doesn't mean he means any of that or is incapable of change, etc. etc., but I know for damn certain this dude would laugh a little at Bill Burr's borderline to blatantly misogynistic material and has probably chuckled unironically at the attack helicopter jokes. But, he's not a complete dick, and would definitely become more critical of those kinds of jokes if it's pointed out to him.

honest to God, Dad Without Kids™ - it's not simply enough for me to leave it at 'but it's the vibes!!' so, I'm gonna break this shit down. Leon is absolutely Gen X incarnate. I can fucking guarantee you that on his off days he accidentally ends up dressing as an undercover cop; I'm talking cargo shorts, light blue button up, those fucking standard issue boots cus "they're perfectly good shoes" and those stupid ass sunglasses... you know the ones I'm talking about. Let's say you're living with him, right? And you're... you, and you wanna watch something on TV. This dude would strain himself getting up like a turtle fallen backwards on its shell, stand up, walk right in front of the TV screen and stand there with his hands on his hips. It doesn't matter that he had to piss, he needs to get a better look of what's happening! Does those really loud, obnoxious coughs and sneezes, absolutely blows his back out doing one at least five times a year.

Only watches British Reality TV - Considering he's canonically a film buff, I'll say that this is purely for whatever he gravitates towards on general streaming services. I honestly don't see him being the type to regularly tune in to standard American cable TV, or only does so under specific circumstances like American Ninja Warrior or maybe Forged in Fire if there's absolutely nothing else. It's not something that's exclusive to Americans, — I'm from New Zealand and I do this too, — but Leon absolutely falls into the category of watching British Reality and Game shows purely because of the accents. I'm talking Jeremy Kyle, The Big Fat Quiz of Everything, Taskmaster, The Great British Bake Off and so on and so forth. It doesn't matter that baking isn't his forté or a passion of his, if Josephine curdles her buttercream by over mixing, his hands are in his hair in utter disappointment. 100% tries to mimic their accents too. We all do it, don't lie.

Has... very dated music tastes - I don't know if you could guess, but the last paragraph included me calling myself out and name dropping some shows I watch anyway or grew up watching, and I'm just saying that this is gonna be no different. If anything? This'll be worse! Since I'm very passionate about the music I listen to and have the inability to keep my interests separated from the other, of course my love of particular bands will bleed over into my interpretation of Leon's character! Anyway, all that for me to say that Leon fucking LOVES 90's grunge musicians, specifically Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, as well as early nu metal bands like Korn (their dubstep phase did not happen.), TOOL, and Rage Against the Machine — and no, he unfortunately doesn't see the irony of him being a fed and listening to Rage, — but would also have a soft spot for psych rock, post-punk and shoegaze. My man's definitely laid awake at night, sobbing without expression as he struggles to accept that Ada never really wanted him like he wanted her while listening to fucking Slowdive. My hottest take here is that he doesn't really listen to Deftones. Like he'll occasionally blast My Own Summer, Change, Bored or Rosemary, but anything outside of those? He just didn't listen to 'em. My second hottest take is that he does NOT like Slipknot, which kind of pains me 'cus I do, but I fucking bet you this dude would actually adopt one piece of "Gen Z lingo" or whatever just call them cringe. Though admittedly he would've been jamming the fuck out to Psychosocial and The Devil in I when they came out. Went off the deep end in Vendetta, obviously, and drunk-cried himself to sleep on the couch listening to Linkin Park.

Very confusing spending habits - On one hand, we all understand that Leon came from money, — he was implied to have been born into a mob family from my understanding? And I doubt he'd ever really had to worry about being fully, irrevocably broke, — but I'm sure that growing up in the U.S Foster Care System made him at least a little more cautious of where his money comes from, where it's going, what he's spending it on, etc. So, on the one hand, he's apprehensive to spend recklessly, particularly on perishables. But also, if he can drop over $100,000USD on a motorcycle that got absolutely fucking cheese grated into the road, and spend a perceived, metric fuck ton of money on designer leather jackets and massive watches, it's gonna be hard for me to call him 'financially conscious'. On one hand, he gets apprehensive on spending more money than he needs to on food since he's "just gonna shit it out later", but if he sees a cool watch or a nice suit in a shop window? Money's suddenly not an issue! Not because he's materialistic, but because the one thing he really maintains a sense of control over in his life are his possessions and the way he dresses. The D.S.O can call him in for another months long mission whenever they please, and all he can realistically do is allow the government to tug on his leash and put him where he's needed. He may as well spend their money on things he wants!

Gets out... enough? But also, not really? - So, personally I've pegged Leon as more of an introverted person, — amateurly typed his MBTI as possibly ISFJ? — so he doesn't really feel the need to go out and meet new people or really hang out with anyone. If somebody invites him out? Sure, he'll go. Otherwise, it rarely occurs to him to meet up with friends or colleagues at a cafe or anywhere. I think he'd prefer to just go there alone, mostly for the sake of having somebody else cook for him as opposed to actively seeking out the atmosphere. It's pure convience in his mind. And remember when I said in the beginning about him accidentally being at least a little misogynistic? Yeah, that was me trying to say that he regularly tries to hit on younger waitresses. Not because he actually wants anything to do with them, but simply because it's an ego boost. He likes that he can make girls half his age blush or offer him their numbers, because it tells him that he's still desirable, and ultimately, that gives him the power to reject them politely and go about the rest of his day. If they don't reject him first, of course. Admittedly, Leon's audacity towards women peaked during Infinite Darkness.

Since I'm planning on posting more NSFW headcanons for this guy, — and more NSFW kinds of posts, — here is the obligatory Minors DNI attachment. For your own safety, I don't care if what I have to say is tame so far, you can hold it off I promise.

[rainbow-nerdss]

7x04 coda

Buck watches Tommy walk away and he feels… he’s not sure, honestly.

Happy? Relieved?

His lips still tingle with the memory of it, the pressure left by Tommy’s kiss. He’s frozen on the spot, right where Tommy left him. He laughs, the quiet sound echoing through his empty apartment. He knows Tommy had to go, had to work, but Buck stands there, watching the spot where he’d just walked out, and he wishes he’d reached for him. Pulled him back in for another kiss, more than just a faint brush of lips. 

He wants to wrap his arms around Tommy’s shoulders, pull him close, lick into his mouth.

Shit, the things he wants to do.

And it’s all new, it’s strange and different and wonderful, because when Tommy kissed him, he felt stubble scratch against his own, and Tommy’s fingers tilted his face up, not down, and even though Buck hadn’t quite managed to set his hand down, hovering it over Tommy’s shoulder in his surprise, he knew what he’d find there—broad shoulders, muscled back, so unlike anything Buck’s known before.

But he wanted it.

He wants it.

And Tommy may be gone, may be halfway across the city, or hell, maybe even in the air by now—Buck’s lost track of the time since he left—but there’s still time. They’re going out on Saturday, on a date. 

He’s going on a date with Tommy. 

Buck finally drags himself away from the kitchen island when his stomach rumbles. He stares into the fridge.

He grabs some leftovers, too much happening inside his brain to cook right now. The microwave turns, and the humming is the only sound in the apartment. 

What does he do now? He can’t just sit back down and get back to work on the bills he was working on before. He can’t just… sit and watch TV. 

He takes out his phone, scrolls for a while, then navigates to google. His thumb hovers over the search bar.

Buck’s never lived a sheltered life. Sure, football locker rooms, navy SEALs, and the fire academy weren’t the most openly queer spaces, but he’s worked in all kinds of bars, alongside all kinds of people. He’s had friends, co-workers, acquaintances from all walks of life.

And he’d never questioned himself. He always supported the people in his life, stood up for them when it was needed. How had he never even wondered whether he might have more in common with them than friendship? 

That he’s… what? Gay? No… Bisexual?

That one feels better. He takes a breath, and the microwave beeps.

He ignores it, tapping his phone to stop the screen from going blank, then types in the search bar.

Bisexual

He clicks on the first link, and then the second, and he keeps scrolling, keeps reading until his eyes burn and his stomach is growling with hunger.

He takes out the now-lukewarm leftovers and shovels them down without really tasting any of it. Bisexual.

His phone pings. A text from Tommy.

Tommy: Busy shift, spending more time in the air than on the ground! Just checking in—still good for Saturday?

Buck bites back a smile as he replies. 

Buck: At least it’s not Q! Definitely still good. 

He hesitates for a moment before adding a heart emoji to his last message and hitting send. Is that too much? Too soon?

Tommy sends back a grin and thumbs up, and Buck lets himself giggle—just a little one, shut up— as he pictures Tommy’s grin, the way his whole face lights up with it. God, he’s cute.

Tommy: You better not use that Q word btw! Whole lapd knows about what happened last time someone on ur shift said that

Buck: Unfair! Was NOT my fault

Tommy: I’m sure… Gtg. call coming in

Buck: Be safe!

How is this the first time Buck’s noticed a guy like that? How has he never seen it before? Most of the articles he’s read are about people who always knew who they were, or figured it out once they understood what bisexuality was. 

For lack of anything else to do, or another message from Tommy to reply to, Buck heads upstairs and changes for bed, not really sure what else to do, just going through the motions. When he lies down, he stares up at the ceiling.

Is this the first time he’s felt something like this for a guy? He forces himself to think back, looking at his life in a whole new light, his friendships, the times he’s felt that same tightness, the need to be seen by someone who wasn’t a family member or a woman.

He thinks of Carter, a kid he played football with, the star of the team, how Buck used to showboat every time they were on the field together, used to play that little bit dirtier against, used to maybe glance at a little more than usual in the changing rooms.

He thinks of Leo, one of the guys he met working at the dude ranch, the one who just seemed to have a way with the horses, who took Buck under his wing on his first day, helped his clueless ass not pull too hard on the reins. Buck thinks about Leo’s hand guiding his, or resting on his thigh, showing him how to balance in the saddle. Buck wanted to do well at the job, wanted more than anything for Leo to look at him, a spark in his eye, and say “Hey, good job, Buckley!”

He thinks of that firefighter in Texas, TK, who Buck had clicked with just about right away. Buck wanted to be friends with him, wanted to keep him around, but he’d shut down Buck’s offer to take him for a drink if he was ever in LA by letting him know he already has a serious boyfriend.

Huh. 

Maybe Buck had been asking him on a date. Maybe this has always been there, under the surface, just waiting to be prodded open. 

And, hell, he realizes with a start. He might actually have a type. Strong, cool under pressure, unnervingly good at their job, able to get under his skin without really trying. 

No wonder Tommy worked his way under Buck’s skin so quickly like that. 

Buck finally remembers Tommy’s parting words as he walked out the door. “For god’s sake, please call Eddie. Now would be a great time—he’s on pain pills.”

He needs to call Eddie. Needs to apologize—Tommy aside, he’s been a dick this week. He hurt Eddie, actually hurt him, all because he let his… jealousy? Crush? Get in the way of his friendship. 

That’s not the way they do things.

It’s late, past eleven. If he knows Eddie, he knows he’ll be awake. Pain meds, plus worry about what’s going on.

He sits back up in bed and dials Eddie’s number. While it rings, he thinks about what to say. “Sorry” is obvious. But when Eddie asks him why? When he leaves a silence, full of understanding and concern, Buck knows he’s never been able to withstand one of those silences. 

“Buck?” Eddie picks up the phone, and Buck’s suddenly choked up, at a loss for words. 

“Hey, Eddie,” he manages. 

Eddie says nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck adds. “For not calling sooner. And for—for hurting you.”

“Buck. You didn’t mean to.”

“I—Eddie, I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I just… I didn’t think, I just… went for it, and I think a part of me knew as I was doing it that I was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself.”

“So you… meant for this to happen?”

Buck shuts his eyes, shuffles so he can sit against his headboard. “I… Eddie, I never wanted you to… I didn’t want to injure you, I just wanted… Something.”

It’s not an explanation, not even close to it, but it’s all he can give right now. Sure, he could tell him everything. I’m bisexual and I wanted Tommy to pay attention to me, not you, but you didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire like that. 

He wants to tell Eddie the whole truth, but not now, not like this, not as some sort of excuse and definitely not over the phone.

Eddie laughs over the phone, and it doesn’t feel mean, but it’s not comforting, either. “You wanted attention,” he fills in.

Buck exhales. “Yeah. Don’t worry, Maddie’s already called me out for acting like a teenage girl.”

Eddie laughs again, but it feels more genuine this time. “Remind me to thank her,” he says. “So, you’re back to normal now? Honestly, I was starting to have flashbacks to my first day.”

Buck… does not think about that day. He doesn’t acknowledge any similarities in his behavior that day and how he’s acted for the past week, because that… that’s not something he needs, right now.

Instead, he just sighs, and says he’s sorry again, and asks if he can make up for it. “Well,” Eddie says, and Buck hears him grunt, like he’s shifting positions. “If you’re free Saturday, I’m taking Marisol out to apologize for spending so much time with Tommy this week, if you could watch Chris? Say, around eight?”

And Buck’s about to say yes, but he stops himself. “I’m so sorry, I have… plans, on Saturday. Raincheck?”

Eddie sighs. “Damn, okay. Guess I’m groveling to Pepa again. You should come over, though. Earlier in the day, I mean. If, uh… you can. Chris misses you.”

Buck’s heart breaks a little. It’s what Tommy was saying, after all, and he can’t believe he’s been dumb enough to let anything get in the way of what he has with Chris, and with Eddie. 

“Sounds great, Eddie. I can come by in the morning, maybe we could go to the aquarium, or something?”

Relief washes over him when Eddie agrees. He’s got this. He’s going to be okay.

When he hangs up, he only feels a slight pang of guilt for lying by omission and not telling Eddie about his actual plans for Saturday night.

He doesn’t feel guilty enough to not send a text to Tommy, though.

Buck: Talked to eddie btw Cleared the air

He’s just about to drift off when he gets a reply

Tommy: Great! Glad you worked things out

Buck doesn’t reply, just smiles into his pillow and lets sleep take him.

[firstpersonnarrator]

When TUA Was Still a Fetus

From Rob’s interview with Collider about The Umbrella Academy (X)

The last time we spoke, for Bad Samaritan, you were in the middle of shooting The Umbrella Academy TV series for Netflix. Have you finished shooting the show?

SHEEHAN: Yeah.

Having only had one script when you signed on, how did it ultimately turn out compared to what you thought it might be?

SHEEHAN: They really leaned into the unusual. It’s very untethered creativity. There’s nowhere that the show won’t dare to go.

It’s just so incredibly left field. That’s what’s so wonderful about it. It has an essential kookiness. It’s a really strange combination of stuff. It’s hard to know what the world will say or think. Ultimately, I don’t care what they say, either way, because I really, really love it, but it’d be nice if they loved it. I’m just more curious than anything else. It takes a lot of really quite left field sci-fi ingredients, and splotches them together. I’ve seen the first four episodes, and they live this Upper West Side of Manhattan, luxuriant but very neglected upbringing. The Royal Tenenbaums springs to mind. They are these messed up adults, who are still emotionally stunted by their childhoods, and they just all happen to be very super, with super abilities. It’s very interesting. It’s like a traumatized X-Men.

Is that more in line with your own personal taste? If you were going to do a comic book project, was it important to you that it was just a bit off-center?

SHEEHAN: I like stuff that’s more story driven. The storylines are just really incredibly unique, but are always story driven. It has a lot of the same writers as Fargo, and Fargo was all about the moving pieces on the chess board. You just never know what’s gonna happen, from one scene to the next, and Umbrella has that quality, too. It’s completely mad, and they completely embrace the madness. They don’t hold back, and that’s what excited me so much about it.

[indigoraysoflight]

The flawed perfection of Carol Peletier

 "I'll show you what a woman can do." - Artemisia Gentileschi

The Mona Lisa is one of the most well-known paintings of all time. Da Vinci poured his expertise into it, and every brush stroke whispers "perfection". The painting is a masterpiece; people want to witness her, feel the enigma behind her smile, and taste that mystery. The bare bones of the story? It's a painting of a woman named Lisa Gherardini, commissioned by her husband, a wealthy merchant. In my opinion, the painting is rendered for a male gaze, which follows the conventional standards of female beauty at the time. Da Vinci used the sfumato technique — making the shading soft, elegant, dainty, and patient. It's a demure depiction of femininity where you can stand and admire the subject and the art techniques. It doesn't make you feel anything; it encourages you to look for the "secret hidden behind her smile."

I was frustrated but not surprised when this painting was used to subtly suggest that Carol is similar to the Mona Lisa because the entire show is written for the male gaze. One of the most compelling female characters on TV — who broke gender norms and societal constructs — is compared to the most well-known painting in the world, which also happens to be a painting of someone's wife.

Carol is not a muse of a man. She isn't a masterpiece that people are still trying to understand. Carol is a force of nature; you know exactly who she is because she isn't afraid to show you. She doesn't represent a subject to be contemplated or held under scrutiny by the male gaze. She embodies the flawed perfection of a woman revered by the female gaze.

Which brings me to this masterpiece.

Judith Beheading Holofernes, Artemisia Gentileschi, 1620 Judith was a widow who entered the enemy camp pretending to be a traitor who wanted to share information about her town. Assyrian general Holofernes was enamoured by her beauty and invited her to his tent, so she charmed him and waited for him to drop his guard. When he drank himself into a stupor, she sawed his head off with a sword to free her people. She and her maidservant returned to her town with Holofernes' severed head.

Artemisia Gentileschi is a celebrated female painter from the 17th century. Although this story has been immortalized in art many times — including Caravaggio's painting, which inspired this one — almost all depictions of this biblical story show Judith as dainty, demure, and passive. But Artemisia's work is imbued with her life experiences.

(trigger warning: mentions of SA, depictions of gore)

Artemisia lost her mother when she was twelve. She was raped by the painter Agostino Tassi when she was a teenager and then tortured at her trial, where she was asked to give evidence of the assault. He was found guilty and banished, but his punishment was never carried out because he had received protection from the Pope. She was the first woman to join Florence’s Academy of Design. She lost four of her five children. She married a Florentine artist and owned a successful workshop in Naples without the help of a wealthy husband or a patron (which was almost impossible at the time). She used her influence as an artist to highlight female agency, and elevated women to be bold and assertive in her paintings. (source)

Now, look at the painting again and tell me what you see.

Judith is identical to Artemisia herself, and Holofernes resembles her abuser, who was never punished. Judith is muscular with a softness to her skin; her sleeves and bracelet are rolled up, and her maidservant helps her but never clouds the composition. The chiaroscuro technique carves the subjects in sharp shadows and light. Judith's and her maidservant's faces are determined and calculated, and the most emotion you see is the horror in Holofernes' eyes as the blood sprays from his neck and pools around his body. Once you notice the blood, it permeates the painting — even the velvet blanket that covers him becomes an extension of it.

A wise woman once said, "Give him the greatest night of his life. Get him to drop his guard, and then when he's sleeping, you can end this."

Judith is ordinary, flawed, and resourceful because she has to be. Her goal is to protect her people, and she will do what is necessary to save them. She gives into the male gaze to achieve that goal, but ultimately, even though she's in a camp full of armed men and is at "the mercy" of a powerful man who underestimates her — she holds all the power.

The woman in this painting is feminine, violent, beautiful, terrifying, determined, and unafraid.

Remind you of anyone?

Women written by the male gaze for the male gaze often fall into two-dimensional categories: they're either violent or scared, sexy or demure, good or evil, selfish or self-deprecating, perpetrator or victim, etc. The writing is often surface level, doesn't capture the depth of the woman's personality and keeps morphing to suit a male character's story. More often than not, the person most affected by their personality is a man who either saves them or shuns them. Or worse, he kills them or watches them die — sometimes both. In these scenarios, the woman becomes the narrative device that furthers the man's story. Her story is stripped down to build the man's tragic hero arc — he lives, but she dies for it.

Carol Peletier is the antidote to this structure because she broke the stereotype. Carol is perfectly flawed because she makes mistakes and choices women aren't "supposed to make," yet her beauty, strength, motivation, and honour remain unchanged. Her losses are the scars that mark her journey, and she commands her story completely. She is capable of extraordinary things, and I have never once doubted her integrity.

Carol deserves a story that sees and honours the beautiful and terrifying force of nature that she is. A showrunner who follows gimmicks to portray strong women, makes men punish them for their choices and then compares his female lead to the Mona Lisa because "there is a secret hidden behind her smile" hasn't even begun to fathom who Carol is and what she's capable of. She deserves leadership that recognizes and respects the flawed perfection of an ordinary woman who will beguile a powerful enemy and behead them to save her loved ones. She deserves leadership who knows she isn't here to pick up the pieces of a man's story — she is the story.

That is what a woman is capable of. That is what a woman can do.

The current leadership of The Book of Carol is trying their best to box Carol into a misogynist trope that will never hold her, even if it tries to. Melissa McBride is the only person who tends to Carol's integrity and keeps it strong for us through all of this. She holds this show together even when she doesn't have compelling writing, equal billing or an inclusive title.

Carol Peletier deserves a showrunner who not only sees her flawed perfection but reveres it, cherishes it, immortalizes it, and sears it into the story so fiercely that you can see it from the heavens long after the flame has gone out.

[scrimblyscrorblo]

Shabana Siblings Headcanons:

- Gyutaro in the Kimetsu academy AU is an art student, it’s one of the few classes he’s excelling in. He sketches and sculpts

- Ume often feels like she lacks any real talents or interests. She tried to draw like her brother once but got frustrated and tore the paper

- Gyutaro cooks decent enough, Une can’t cook. However, they will both act nice and stomach whatever it is the other made even if it’s terrible <3

- They also refuse to waste any food. Their plates are empty when they end in the sink

- despite being delinquents in the academy au, I personally believe (and hope) that they grow up into more well rounded adults: they live close by, always visiting eachother but they’re much happier and feel like they can really be individuals

- Ume probably gets into a fashion or modelling industry

- Gyuataro has worked several fast food jobs in his youth

- Ume has a taste for seemingly disgusting food combos; it disturbs her friends

- Gyuataro is also passing his health classes; being super susceptible to disease he learned tons about health and safety

- Maybe he grows up and works in the healthcare industry, maybe he’s an artist; idk

- Ume has a talent with makeup - both in beauty and with blood & gore - shes faked several injuries to get out of class with this

- They watch trashy reality tv and yell at the screen

- They do the same with true crime channels

[nooripoori]

baby cele adventures

~babysitting snippets

Luca Marini

Luca loves kids with a passion and wants his own in the future aswell, so Cele is great practice for him. He mostly lets Cele do what he wants but draws the line on eating snacks, the rest of the academy feed Cele too much junk for his liking so he likes to feed Cele healthy stuff when he’s babysitting him. He made a veggie pasta for Cele once but it didn’t turn out too well so now he makes Cele eat carrots and potatoes and gives him jellies as a prize.

Cele likes being babysat by Luca cuz he’s the most calm and collected one and has everything under control. He also really likes the orange and white color merch Luca has, so Luca got honda merch specifically made for Cele. He likes watching cartoons with Luca and discussing them with him. Luca is very good at holding conversations in Cele’s opinion

Pecco Bagnaia

Whenever Pecco has to babysit Cele alone he is always stressed. He doesn’t know anything about babies so he spent hours watching multiple parenting videos on how to take care of a baby. He has also found a cheat code in how to take care of Cele, whenever Cele gets fussy, cries or is in a bad mode he just gives him a snack. He has tons of snacks stocked with him at all times. He also buys Cele any toy he wants no matter how exoensive it is.

Cele likes being babysat by Pecco but sometimes he wants something and Pecco doesn’t understand him so gets frustrated and mad but then Pecco gives him snacks so he’s happy to stay with him. He has also found a cheat code in how to get what he wants if Pecco says no, he starts frowning and the Pecco gives him whatever he wants.

Marco Bezzechi

If u want one word to describe how Bezz babysits Cele it chaotic. See Bezz has alot of energy and so does Cele, so whenever they are together there is not a moment of peace. Bezz loves having Cele stay with him. He even rode on his bike with Cele a few times(not too fast, he’s not that dumb), but was scolded by Luca to not do it again. He buys tons of fun clothes for Cele to wear and all in all just loves having him around.

Now don’t tell anyone but Bezz is by far Cele’s favourite person on the Earth. Bezz plays hide n seek with him, he runs after Cele to catch him, he throws him in the air, he lets him eat what he wants, he lets him watch anything he wants on the tv, he gives the best hugs which make Cele sleepy and best of all he kisses Cele’s boo-boos when he gets hurt. He’s like Cele’s very own giant teddy bear and Cele loves that.

Franky Morbidelli

Franky thinks Cele is the most well behaved kid he has ever met but the others say that that is not true. Cele always eats what Franky gives him and always listens when Franky tells him that it’s time to sleep. Franky also gave Cele a little hair trim cuz his hair was getting in his eyes.

Cele is kind of terrified of Franky, not that he has done anything but it’s just the vibes he gets from him. But Cele thinks he’s very nice aswell, he makes the best tasting food and is also very gentle with him. He even lets Cele play games on his phone when he is good.

Andrea Migno

Andrea loves kids. He loves having a little human who he can make play pranks on the rest of the academy. He makes Cele scare the others aswell, one time he made Cele scare Vale but Vale accidentally kicked Cele in the stomach so they put a stop to that. He likes messing around with Cele and making him mad by saying that the others don’t want him anymore which sometimes leads to Cele pulling his hair or sometimes leads to Cele crying.

Cele was intimidated by Migno’s energy at first but as time went by he got used to it, he likes hanging out with Migno but sometimes he pisses Cele off so he also doesn’t like hanging out with Migno. He took Cele to a zoo once so now he’s one of Cele’s favourites.

Valentino Rossi

Vale really rarely has to take care of Cele, one cuz he’s busy as well and two cuz Cele is with the kids most of the time, but when he does take care of Cele you best believe he is the most spoiled kid on the planet. He loves dressing Cele in vr46 merch and has somehow convinced him that piss neon is the best color to ever exist.

Cele LOVES being babysat by Vale, he’s like the cool aunt you only ever see once in a blue moon but they bring you tons of cool things. He was once watching a random video of the huge fish aquarium in the Dubai mall and Vale saw that and took him there the very next day on his private jet.

more baby cele

[canonsinthehead]

OMG so i saw ur celebrities irl and where they come from post, and i’m wondering what songs or films would do well in the villages! do they even have something like the billboard chart? 😀

Naruto Headcanons – Music/TV Taste in Different Villages

GALAXY BRAIN ASK STRIKED AGAIN!!! Today we will into what music/TV would be popular in each villages. Of course, each villages have diversity but just like in the real world, some things are more popular than others depending on the locations.

As a music head, I’m feeling this! Have fun with the music references, don’t be afraid to go listen to them. LETS GOO!

-------------------------------------------------------------///////------------

Are there any Music Charts/Billboard?: Each country has its chart system because each nation's taste varies a lot, hence why it is such an achievement to become relevant in a city or country outside of your own. It’s only recently that artists started going on real WORLD tours (if you exclude Itachi’s Fan meeting, you probably could count them on your hands’ fingers).  

Regardless, Konoha holds the largest music festivals. The annual Summer Music-Fest assembles the most diverse cast of artists from around the world meanwhile the largest venue ever built is in Kumo (a stadium with 90,000+ of capacity)

For the first time, a world music awards ceremony was held in Kumo but it was heavily criticized for its favoritism towards bigger nations.

KONOHA----------------------------------------------------

KONAHA’S MUSIC TASTE:

Konoha is insanely into celebrity culture. It was kinda established by Naruto and his grandiose accomplishments during past wars, where it further spread the concept of hero/celebrity/idol/person adored by a large crowd.

Taking after their beloved founder Hashirama Senju, Konoha loooves an unproblematic singer with a fiery personality leaning towards an upbeat musical style that appeals to masses.

When I say they love someone unproblematic, I mean it. It applies to most A-List celebrities, singers, actors & etc. Their PR team operates 24/7 at an unmatched level. Talking about politics or any controversial topics is heavily restricted, hence why those who build fandoms overseas escape the censorship and have their damage control team back them up no matter what happens. Itachi is the PERFECT example of this.   

The village conserves its conservative mentality since it is way more comfortable with female performers. It’s that binary thinking where men are ninjas/at war and women are better perceived in “softer” careers.

Konoha loves bubble gum commercial pop, especially in a girl group format.

As the city evolved, you can see art academies opening to encourage the youth towards the world of entertainment (We are in a time of peace, so more career paths are available) but it’s not going to stop them from making concepts like a shinobi boy group.

Keeping their malpractice from the shinobi world, underage idols debuting in groups is not common but heavily normalized.

Ariana Grande, Marina & The Diamonds, Girls’ Generation, Brockhampton, E-girls, JONGHYUN, Momoland, Mizca, EXO, Natasha Bedingfield, TWICE, Dua Lipa, New Jeans, BINI, Sabrina Carpenter, Ed Sheeran, Carly Rae Jepsen, Lights, Icona Pop, Danny Fernandes, Kylie Minogue, Elise Estrada, Sam Gellaitry, Sakanaction, FREDERIC

KONOHA’S MOVIE/TV TASTE:

Konoha is a pioneer of the comedy genre in movies. The most recognizable comedy films, franchises, and actors are from the Country of Fire (Speed Hour is one of them) but IRL it would be something like 21 Jump Street and Freaky Friday.

Actions movies painting an “heroic” narrative. They are a sucker for ninja movies especially those reenacting past events with a shit load of misinformation like downplaying the violence or certain wars. NO! The victory was not as spectacular. Stop lying, please.

Puppy love Romance movies & Drama TV series (The Korean Drama type)

Night talk shows (like The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon) are really popular along with Konoha’s Saturday Night Live but got temporary cancelled after they clowned Gaara for being soft and a “born again” pacifist. Suna took them to court over the joke and the trial is ongoing. Really ironic, because all the “jokes” about the Tsuchikage’s height or men from Kiri being gang members with massive schlongs didn’t bother anyone… oh…ok.

KUMO-------------------------------------------------------

KUMO’S MUSIC TASTE:

Rap & Hip hop are the country’s musical pride since it sets them apart from other nations with their own billboard systems. They depends on other countries the least because they are musically self-sustained (compared to Konoha who constantly take in outside influences) and yes all these large venues fill themselves without outsiders.

MCing and 90’s style Rap is a style popularized by Killer Bee; he basically monopolizes the genre.

Soul & Disco remained popular since this music is associated with the Raikage’s generation.

If the beat is good, you have a chance but don’t go too far because permanent cancellation is a thing in Kumo.

Every year, many artists get together to make an end-of-the-year song under Killer Bee’s record label (Kanye West - All of the Light)

Kumo loves a female soloist, they go crazy over singers like Rihanna, Fergie, Missy Elliot, Doechii, Janet Jackson, Beyonce, SZA, Nicki Minaj, Chungha, etc…

Even if Killer Bee dominates the Rap scene, they would love male rappers like Kanye West and Busta Rhymes.

Contrary to popular belief, mumble and drill rap is not as popular as people make it out to be. It is subject to a lot of mockery in Kumo so most rappers using this style rely on their fandoms overseas.

The northern region of the Country of Lightning houses a whole different language and heritage. They tend to stay isolated from the rest of the population because the area is made of chains of massive mountains. They are distantly related to the Raikage’s lineage. They also carry their own unique cultural sound, who sometimes makes its way into the mainstream.

FLO

KUMO’S MOVIE/TV TASTE:

Reality TV is dominated by Kumo and Iwa. They are both sides of the same coin and produces the most known franchises in the world. Kumo focuses more on Drama among citizens, Music reality TV, Romance, and all the lives of the out-of-the-norm people in their country. Think of the entire TLC Channel, Big Brother, Real Housewives of Kumogakure, Bad Girls Club/Baddies, Courtroom Drama/Judge Judy

Reality TV about food (Master Chef & The Great Baking Show) and The Voice have editions in each large country except Kiri.

Drag Races are only in Konoha and Kumo because shows like these are illegal in Suna & Kiri and got canceled in Iwa.

Kumo, Konoha & Iwa hosted their annual seasons of Love Island with great success.

The movie scene in Kumo is pretty small compared to the rest of its entertainment industry. Unfortunately, it’s dominated by heroes and historical movies.

SUNA--------------------------------------------------------

SUNA’S MUSIC TASTE:

Vocalists are prized in Suna. There’s nothing more acclaimed than an angelic voice. Think of Adele, Indila, Christina Aguilera & Jon Secada

Classical music is a dedicated art form. It’s no joke. The biggest classical theaters are in Suna. Those who desire to study various string and wind instruments travel to the Country of Wind where the best classical music teachers are located.

Suna’s club music is sooo underrated, some people (outsiders) believe it doesn’t even exist due to the prevalence of live performing bands and orchestras. It would be similar in style to artists like Nelly Furtado & Nyusha. Their electro music is extremely popular in clubs in Konoha and people have no idea it’s made by artists from the country of Wind. Yep, you guessed it. IRL it’s 90s-2000s Eurodance.

Banks, TĀLĀ, Selena Gomez

SUNA’S MOVIE/TV TASTE:

TV shows/drama series taking place in a huge mansion with dramatic transitions/character introductions are very popular

Going on that same point, movies about family drama/dysfunction are popular as well because many recognize their relatives in the characters or use this media to reprimand their family members (don’t be like ----- from ------ series). Suna is probably on their 20th season of Shameless.

A large part of the population has never traveled outside of the Country of Wind so documentaries about other nations are well-liked and sometimes used for propaganda.

For some reason, all of Suna’s TV is super duper HD but their national news broadcast has to be the lowest quality and cheapest setup known to man.

TV broadcasts completely shut down during holidays

KIRI----------------------------------------------------------

KIRI’S MUSIC TASTE:

Because of its diverse population, what’s popular depends on social class & ethnicity/clan. Due to environmental & economic circumstances, gang-related rap music grew in popularity. Tying back to the heavy influence of gang culture, it appears in music and fashion whether the group has criminal affiliations or not. The underground rap scene is very prolific and generated many iconic groups and soloists but is also associated with many violent tragedies

The rise of female singers revolutionized society as Kiri started promoting their unique expression of beauty & sexuality to the outside world. Unfortunately, the pressure to appeal to the male gaze is insane. It is still a male-dominated society in contrast to Kumo’s support (and admiration) of female independence and individual self-expression, in Kiri, female performers can catch hell for “covering too much”, and not wearing makeup and heels.

I’m telling you! Female singers have mastered the art of a catchy song with a saxophone riff+ vain lyrics = INSTANT HIT (basically 2009-2011 Alexandra Stan)

Vocal-based boybands are popular and attract mixed crowds. Many liked them for their trendy style, iconic songs, and success with the ladies. Most of these group sit in style close to groups like Aventura and Boyz II Men.

What’s funny is that for the longest, Kiri was stuck in the early 2000s, when it comes to style, fashion and media production. This is why until very recently, CDs were sold in jewel cases with the most devious album covers.

Artists like Minori Chihara are popular as well, again showing the country's diversity. Their popularity extends to certain regions/islands in the Country of Water but recently many have entered the mainstream giving a diverse sound to Kiri. Either more eccentric than what outsiders would expect or coming from ethnicities/clans previously underrepresented (Haku’s clan is one of them). Some examples are Charli XCX, Wednesday Campanella, Bad Bunny & Flower.

Because of the strong love/couple culture, most forms of partner dancing (and the music associated with them) are really popular. Of course, depending on the region of the country you reside in, but dances including slower movements dominate, a few examples would be Bachata & Kompa.

Phonk (Juuzo likes it by himself among his peers) & Reggeaton.

Shakira, AOA, Rina Sawayama, LISA,

KIRI’S MOVIE/TV TASTE:

Low-budget soap operas.

For the longest, movies were in black & white, and the drama/romance genre is the most popular than most like to admit but it often depicted members of higher caste. No censorship on the spiciness/love scenes (this is live!)

IWA-------------------------------------------------------------------------

IWA’S MUSIC TASTE:

Rock is the most popular style of music. It is the most exported media after adventure movies. The genre has brought merit and fame to the Country of Eart and its one-of-a-kind rock festivals. There was a time when pop-punk/rock was dominating. It was in the same era that TAKA flourished, it would be groups like Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Billy Talent, Paramore, AFI, Hoobastank, etc.). This era was short-lived, and Iwa’s rock eventually returned to its more hardcore roots.

IWA’S MOVIE/TV TASTE:

Adventure/Action movies are filmed there and many popular franchises came out of it (think of Mad Max). These movies always climb to the top of the box office when they are released. (Deidara likes these because there are many explosions)

To rival Rock, Iwa has the largest indie music scene. Because of the lack of funding for anyone not filling the typical rock/metal mold, countless small groups and soloists from underfunded companies or self-employed are so many that they form a whole layer of the country’s music industry. I know groups/singers like Kllo, Cafuné, Glasperlenspiel, The Neighbourhood & JOY. would fit this description.

Iwa’s reality TV is more geared towards anything following celebrities' (& corn stars) lives, Any survival show in the wilderness, Married at first sight, Jersey Shore, Jackass, Real Houswives of Iwagakure.

OTO-------------------------------------------------------------------------

OTO’S MUSIC TASTE:

It is possible that you don’t understand the lyrics of any song because it is a melodic-driven music culture.

The most accomplished and elaborate sound technicians/producers come from there (previously associated with Orochimaru or not).

Because of the village’s association with Konoha, all artists/producers from Oto are popular in Konoha and operate in the Country of Fire.

Meanwhile in Oto, they have perfected the art of sounds, allowing a more intricate/complex musical sound to emerge both in EDM & other electro styles. Going from Yasutaka Nakata (Perfume & capsule) to more layered compositions from artists like Emawk, FKA Twigs

95% of the royalty-free music available online is made in Otogakure.

OTO’S MOVIE/TV TASTE:

--

AME------------------------------------------------------------------------

AME’S MUSIC TASTE:

Ame produces many prolific DJs who range from the generic side of EDM to more eccentric and unique styles. It would be artists like Basshunter, Wolfgang Gartner, Skrillex, deadmaus5 & Rabbit Killer.

AME’S MOVIE/TV TASTE:

Ame produces the most gut-wrenching indie horror movie to see the light of day. Some get popular enough to get broadcast overseas (like The Ring type and even worse). In contrast to Konoha’s horror movies which are locally popular with the typical watered-down storyline. *Ears a strange sound in the attic. Picks up a flashlight to go check*

[alexwilltellyouthings]

Entirely self indulgent rating post about the top 10 TV shows that made me fucking insane for some reason

10. Sense8

God, this was so good. Such a blessing. I saw part of the cast during a Pride Parade and it's one of my favorite memories. I felt every possible emotion with this show, I love it.

9. The Last of Us

This is kind of a cheat, because the obsession comes from the games, but it is what it is. It's one of the few games that had a big impact on me and I closely relate it to my relationship with my dad. Can't wait to cry my heart out at season 2.

8. Good Omens

It's a given, isn't it? That stupid angel with his stupid demon and their stupid God. GRRRAAWW. A lot of thoughts and feelings came from the fandom, I have to point out. It's been very nice.

7. The Umbrella Academy

I have the first issue of the comics autographed by Gerard Way!! I mean, yes, it's because I'm a MCR fan, but it became even more precious after I got into the show. I'm rewatching right now, preparing for the last season. I'll be a mess when I say goodbye to them. Can't even really think about it too hard or I'll cry right now.

Continues under the cut

6. Our Flag Means Death

LISTEN THIS CHANGED EVERYTHING TO ME. What do you mean we can have a show THIS queer? It's all I want now. I ate it up. I smiled so much. I wanted this so badly and had no idea.

5. Interview with the Vampire

Feels like it should be top 3 honestly but I'll get there. This is also a cheat, I've been reading the Vampire Chronicles since I was like 15. Growing up with Anne Rice probably messed me up but hey at least I have great taste. And seeing them on screen? The way they made it BETTER? And Lestat?? Who has been haunting me for 15 years on and off??? And the second season and their reunion and and and?????????? I'm STILL insane about them and will be forever, I'm afraid.

4. Doctor Who

Listen. Listen. Okay. Yeah. What can I say? If you get into it, you're doomed. And I have been doomed for 10 years at least. I stopped watching for a while and got back last year, and it hit me all over again. I love this dumbass genius alien in a way that's calm, even. Just a permanent part of who I am now.

3. The Untamed

The year was 2022, it had been a while since I had a proper fixation and I didn't think it would happen with this danmei live-action, but then came Wei Wuxian. Guys, if I tell you I fell in love. Couldn't stop thinking about him. Everyday I was plagued by his smile and red ribbon and tragic backstory, yadayadayada. I really like other characters too, and their stories, but WWX did something to me that I still don't quite understand.

2. Queer as Folk (US)

This was a looong time ago and it didn't really persist over time like the others, but it was my first actual obsession. I was clinically insane over these gays. I had no one to talk to about them, so for every episode I wrote several pages of notes to comment to my (only) friend at school the next day, the poor thing. It was pretty much all I talked about because I spent EVERY MINUTE we had to talk going over the notes and explaining the episode. Like, between classes, during breaks, everything. Months of that. She held on firmly because she was a good friend, but I'm aware it must've been terrible. Like I said, insane.

1. Dead Boy Detectives

Maybe I'm putting this up here because it's my current hyperfixation? Maybe. But I don't think I have felt something hit as strongly as this since QaF over there. This time I can participate in fandom so I don't need to write every thought I have because it's all a big talk anyway, but I'm still pretty much having those thoughts all the time for *checks notes* nearly three months. I'm writing more than I have in years. I'm back at Tumblr after I don't know how long. I'm staring at GIFs over and over like I have the fucking time for that. I'm distracted at work daily. I talk about it in therapy. I have the main cast's notifications on. I'm getting involved in fandom discourse sometimes even knowing I shouldn't. It's a nightmare. I love it. I love them.

If you read all of this, congrats! Now you know how my mind works, kinda!! I'm open to talk about any and all of these shows. It's amazing how they mess us up. It's also scary, but anyway.

[vintage-vermin]

I like Ongezellig, it popped up like half a decade ago on my feed randomly. Thought it was cutely done, saw Maya and was "oh no, she just like me fr fr" Waited and saw part 3 show up and then the rest.

I sometimes just have stuff that I love, but don't even bother engaging the fandom in any way. There are shows that have helped me be less of a cunty teenager decades ago that i love, but I have never gone to a fan forum or searched tags on any site. Sometimes I only search out the creative parts of the fandom and don't bother with discussions.

I love the random little things you can find on sites like Tumblr or other art-focused platforms for Ongezellig. Redraws, OC's in the shows style and fun pieces of some of the background characters Because oh, oh no, I'm not a fan of the rest of the community. But we'll hit that up later. Later. The creator made webcomics before. Had a little youtube channel with YTP's and some random reviewy stuff. Had an old Deviantart with some furry and the rare pony thing. Did an interview for a dutch comic collection ages ago that was a fun read.

(So, you only have to mail this letter) (Mailbox has a colloquial word where it's shortened to 'bus', same word as the vehicular one. "To put a letter on the bus") (... Yes, the one without wheels) He had a little comic named 'Caiasos' that was a bit of a disjointed adventure. Followed with Mayo & Curry. Simplistic 3-4 panel comics with a bit of a newspaper format.

(One day, Mayo wondered what ink tasted like) (You know that's poisonous, right?) (The box reads "Correction Fluid") A lot of the Mayo & Curry stuff is dutch snackbar puns or kinda standard early webcomic 'sleaze' as I can only describe it. Ever read like Chugsworth Academy?

(Hey Curry, it's not really clear what our relationship is in this comic. Are we family, girlfriends, roommates...) (Haha, silly Mayo. If you read the comics well it's very obvious.) (Anyway, time for walks!) Cute enough I suppose. I used to read Sexylosers when I was like 15, who am I to truly complain.

The creator did some creative & animation schooling and made a fun project. Some of you may have seen this one fly by, too!

Somewhere around the same time, he also made a little bumper for a comic festival.

He would also do little bits on dutch history, wether it be the Dutch History Iceberg video that got popular a bit ago or his more comedic Stille Willem videos. Studio Massa, the creator, was looking to get the Ongezellig show picked up. Some of the early episodes do throw in a school shooting thing and some very dutch middleschool discrimination to the Belgians. Granted, these are pilots. Would it have been picked up, I'm sure a few things here and there would get a fix up. This did not come to pass after a long time of trying to showcase it and even finishing his pilot series. However, he did land a job at a national tv station. I hope to see new projects of his over time, maybe even bring 1 or 2 of his old characters to new life in another show.

Little write-up on my experience with a subsection of it's fandom and community under the cut, feel free to ignore at your own discretion.

I went on a little deepdive to find out more a bit ago, I didn't follow the Petje-af or the Discord at the times of their inception or popularity. One of the first places you end up is imageboards and booru's. What a treat. Some of the ' documentation' of the shows reception online is very muddled. Encyclopedia Dramatica kinda stuff. Inane terms and barely understandable references to sites or people. He also has a KF thread that lists a large amount of uncomfortable information. By the time I found a few of those boards and booru's, it was already clear that they had some mass-extinction thing happen a few years ago and had to rebuild an imageboard and a booru or 2. Dragging myself to the very first page already got me greeted with "WE WILL REBUILD" sentiments. I get that there's a certain combination in the show that will bring in a specific audience. Underage characters and some historically charged discrimination. There's an underlying edginess to one of the characters that brings in a certain type of people. I have seen multiple posts and write-ups spanning a few years between eachother where people sort of announce they are done with the shows fanbase on this level. Lot's of adult art of these characters. While most places seem to be purged of this and plenty of (THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED) messages all over by this time. There's a sentiment shared across a lot of these types of fans. "fucking tr00ns ruined my fucking show" I've come across plenty of junk where some one makes a call to action because they found some one with a trans flag in their bio and posted some art of the show. I can't really find the root of this problem. All that seems to have actually happened is that a buncha people were being massive bigots in the discord, got banned for it and then they got indignant about it. There's mention that some one spammed some boards with the show ages ago and somehow invited tons of transphobia into the room. Like I said, it's all muddled and written from certain perspectives.

It's like that one part of the K-on fanbase really. I just find strange and a bit of a shame that there's such an active and hostile subsection of this little fandom. I have come across multiple write-up from people who just can't interact with their fun little show without some out-there types showing up. Even little videos that try to bring this show to a larger audience find their comments littered with bizarre callouts to the small imageboard groups. A prized possession of that snippet of the community is a game about Mymy shooting up her school. I understand this is supposed to be a niche layer of fandom that's still pretty isolated to 4/5 sites at most. I understand that there will always be outliers. I dunno, frustration about a fun little show made manifest.

[tetraharmonic]

Finally jumping on the oc train 👁 👁

I present, the inspector Kira and her other harem!

Aria Bell, second year (kinda self insert imho)

- cannot stand her last name, ready to smack Amano senseless if he doesn't stop singing the Bells of Notre Dame anytime he sees her.

- American Exchange Student, gifted student burnout. Was on track to go Ivy League but her pact got in the way big time, and she spiraled. If it didn't come easy to her, she hated it, and gave up, because she never learned how to work for things until late into highschool.

-Made her pact to protect her younger sister from a hit and run. The demon paused time to give her the one chance, and she took it without even thinking of the consequences.

-Her stigma, Augere, allows her to amplify her own abilities based on her own self confidence and belief she can accomplish it. She used it to enhance her speed and push her sister safely out of the way. It caused an uproar about super humans and all that, which resulted in being transfered to Darkwick. Now, she just uses it to absorb herself completely into her studies and enhance her memory like crazy.

-She can fight, but she doesn't want to. She'd rather dodge, avoid, and outsmart an opponent before it even starts.

-Absolutely thriving in Hotarubi, enjoying her time there as a poet.

-Her artifact is a cloak of invisibility.

- picks at her nails, Kira smacks her when she does, only for Irina to smack Kira for smacking Aria.

Irina/Hisako

-Was known as Hisako while she was alive, but she couldn't remember her name, so she picked one from a TV show she saw as a ghost while haunting a hospital. She goes by that name now, Irina.

-She regained consciousness in a hospital, and kept herself entertained by observing the processes and procedures, as well as enjoying the conversations of both the people there and on the televisions.

-Was believed to be a vengeful spirit, and so, Darkwick sent the Mortkraken ghouls to retrieve her. She turned out to be a Yurei, or a Zashiki-Warashi, as the patients in the hospital had an unnaturally high success rate: she was blessing them all when she could. She came back to Mortkraken willingly, after the promise that she would be helpful to them.

-She discovered ghouls pretty early on, and, as she watched them all, she felt the strong urge to be like them, or at least, able to reach out and touch them. So, despite being only a soul, she sold it all to a demon, naively believing she could defeat it even in this state. Whether she will or not is unknown, but, in making the deal, she's become tangible and can feel things again.

-She can't taste or smell anything, except two things: blood, and apples.

-If the academy finds out what she is, she'll be sent to Obscuary. It'd break her heart though, as she would do anything to be a doctor like her current housemates, and give them a chance to rest since she's unable to sleep even if she wished to.

-Detatchable prosthetic arms. She doesn't have an artifact, so she detaches one and uses it as a flail instead.

-Amano doesn't trust her.

-Has an unusual twitch in her right middle and pointer fingers, and a habit for breaking and entering.

Amano Watanabe

- Squirel shifter anomaly, but don't let that fool you, Irina says he probably has rabies.

-Formerly an apprentice at a temple for a kitsune, with other shifters running the temple (a fox and an elk). Realized he wasn't fit for it and pestered Darkwick to let him in. Quickly also realized once in, he couldn't get out.

-Highly sensitive to spirits, but not nearly as strong as Haku is. Insists Irina is not to be trusted, and isn't an innocent ghost as she claims to be. And it's not because of her pact, either.

-He would wear an "I eat cement" shirt unironically.

-His artifact is a Taiko drum.

-Loves to pester Aria, because he finds it ironic that anyone in Hotarubi would have such a music heavy name. Bells and Arias? Seriously?

-Chilling in Jabberwock, but often doesn't hang out with the others due to the heavy work load.

Kira, Aka Inspector Gadget

-honor student, but with no honor

-consider your shoe rights revoked

-I haven't developed her yet but all I know is that one more order from Jin and she's going to start doing crimes.

-uses metal bottlecaps as currency for favors, as well as other shiny objects.

There is not a single braincell between them, and I am very normal about them.

[artdcnaldson]

ok ok ok, so what im thinking is something like this.

its summer vacation btw, probably the summer right before he goes pro/art leaves for stanford

patrick has never really been very invested in his parents lives, but he wasnt surprised in the slightest when they had announced their divorce earlier that year. everyone had seen that coming for years. what he is surprised by tho is you, walking around his parents - well i guess now just his dads- house in tiny pj shorts and one of his old shirts from the academy. one that he'd left behind in his room ages ago. who are you... and why are you in his house?

turns out his dad had moved on from the divorce very quickly. so quickly in fact that his dads new wife, your mom, and you had already been moved into the house. before patrick was even told about any of you. patrick is pissed. not because he really cares about his parents relationships, he couldnt care less, but he's pissed that he now wont have the second floor all to himself. he has to share it with you. not that you're even sharing a bathroom or anything, this house is enormous. but his space is being invaded by some chick he's never even met.

i want him to be so pissed at his dad that hes totally taking it out on you, teasing the shit out of you, always flirting with you in that infuriating but oh so attractive way. you cant really tell if he actually wants to fuck you, or if hes just an ass who gets off on being a perv and pissing you off. i want it to start as a way for him to spend the hours, summers at the house are boring and never ending, he needs some form of entertainment. but then slowly he starts enjoying the way you groan at him when hes whispering over the noise of the dinner party to sneak away for a quicky with him.

i need to be so confused on whether he truly means it, does he actually want to fuck you? its wrong, and its very dirty. i dont think reader would be like overly innocent here, shes had sex before, nothing crazy though. nothing like the things patrick tells her about, nothing like the nights he recaps in her unwilling ear over breakfast...

i just need him to be a cocky asshole whos insistent that he will make you beg for him by the end of summer.............. hope this makes sense

-🐞

GODDDDDDD fell to my knees sobbing shaking

As soon as he’s been forced through cursory introductions (And this is your new stepsister, she’s your age too), he’s slammed his door and locked himself in his room.

He can tell you’ve been snooping— his shit is all off-kilter and scattered. CD’s out of order in his organizer (it’s by genre, then alphabetical, it’s not that hard), DVDs removed from his shelf and stacked on his dresser. His TV turns on to MTV, which he doesn’t fucking watch. It should turn on to Spike, or nothing. Worse, the carton of cigarettes he kept stashed in his bedside table was gone.

So he walks over to your door, which you’ve decorated with fucking stickers and a dry erase sign that you’ve scribbled on in lime green marker (Keep Out!). He shoves the door open and finds you straddling the windowsill, one dangling out the window as you smoke.

“What the fuck, don’t you knock?” You snap.

He grabs the cigarette from your mouth and you slap at his arm. It tastes faintly like marshmallows, must be from your sparkly lipgloss. “Keep the fuck out of my room,” he says firmly, exhaling smoke into the air. Your room smells like fresh paint— he realizes then you’ve painted the walls pink. “And buy your own fucking cigarettes.”

You look at him, roll your eyes. “We’re siblings now, we’re supposed to share,” you deadpan. He grits his teeth. Because you’re wearing one of his shirts, you’ve got one of his CD players on your dresser playing the Pussycat Dolls. You climb back inside the window and he swallows hard at the sight of your shorts all ridden up.

You have a nice ass, honestly— he stares at it when you bend over to grab the rest of the carton. When you turn, his reaction time is delayed. You sneer when you realize what he was doing. “Take your cigarettes back, perv.”

You shove him out of the room and slam the door in his face. He grins. You’re pretty hot when you’re annoyed with him.

That weekend, you’re in a study that had been repurposed into a game room— big TV, ping pong table, a big, caved in couch. You’re curled up beneath a blanket watching some movie he’s never heard of.

It makes you scowl when he sits down, pulls your legs into his lap. “Can you not?” You mutter.

He shrugs, trails delicate touches along your calves. Your toes flex, you instinctively lean into his touch. “I’m bonding with you,” he says. “Isn’t that what mommy and daddy want?”

Your face turns in disgust. “Gross. I’m not calling your fucking dad that.”

He laughs, trails his fingers a little higher so they brush against your knee. “No? You don’t want to be my cute little sister? Don’t want a big brother to scare all the boys off?” You shake your head, but your thighs part slightly, inviting his touch higher. He feels your thighs tense, only a bit. “Oh? Now who’s the perv?”

You kick him hard, scramble out of his lap. “You’re disgusting, Patrick.”

He grins, watches you walk away. You made it too easy for him.

[sitp-recs]

Anime Recs Pt 2

Any BL fan knows that sports anime is all about the homoerotic tension between the MC, his team players and his rivals 🤌🏼 trust this genre to serve in both aesthetics and feels - which means it deserves its own list! I tried to include a little bit of everything from hidden gems like Ryman’s Club to big hits like Haikyu. Most of these have 🌈 vibes if you squint (sometimes not that hard) with YoI being more intentional about it. And for those who love found family like me, you can’t go wrong with 1, 2 or 6. I hope everyone can get something for their tastes and find catharsis as they cheer for these pretty boys. This is the second part of my anime rec series, you can find the first list here. Enjoy!

1. Backflip!! 🤸🏻‍♂️

Summary: Shotaro Futaba loved sports, but was never good enough. But watching a group of gymnasts in the park and seeing them in a gymnastics tournament, he decides to join their school and become part of the gymnastic team. With new members, Shotaro and Ryoya Misato, the team aims for the upcoming Inter-High tournament.

2. Big Windup! ⚾️

Summary: The story follows the story of Ren Mihashi, a pitcher who was blamed by his middle school team for their string of losses, and as a result suffers from low self-esteem and transfers to a different high school. There, the school's first baseball team is being formed and Mihashi reluctantly joins as their Ace Pitcher.

3. Free! 🏊‍♂️

Summary: Free is set in the town of Iwatobi, Japan, which is based on Iwami, Tottori. The story is centered on high school student Haruka Nanase, a gifted swimmer. After encountering his childhood rival, Rin Matsuoka from Samezuka Academy, he and his friends revitalize Iwatobi High School's swim team.

4. Haikyu!! 🏐

Summary: Junior high school student, Shoyo Hinata, becomes obsessed with volleyball after catching a glimpse of Karasuno High School playing in the Nationals on TV. Of short stature himself, Hinata is inspired by a player the commentators nickname 'The Little Giant', Karasuno's short but talented wing spiker.

5. Kuroko no Basket 🏀

Summary: The story follows Kuroko's journey to success with his team, with most of the episodes being based around one or part of one challenging game, in which Kuroko and his teammates, most notably Taiga Kagami, perform plays and have short conversations with opposing players in the heat of the match.

6. Run with the Wind 🏃‍♂️

Summary: After abandoning competitive running back in high school, Kakeru Kurahara has no desire to return to the sport during his college years. But when an impromptu shoplifting-related sprint brings his talent to the attention of Haiji Kiyose, he soon finds himself wrapped up in an adventure he never imagined.

7. Salaryman’s Club 🏸

Summary: The story follows Mikoto Shiratori, a recently unemployed badminton prodigy who has the ability of foresight. After getting fired from Mitsuhoshi Banking for losing a match for their company sports badminton team, he gets recruited by Sunlight Beverage to play for their team and become a sales rep.

8. SK8 the Infinity 🛹

Summary: In Okinawa, a group of hardcore skaters participate in a secret, no-holds-barred competition after midnight known as "S", racing each other on skateboards down a winding road carved out of an abandoned mine. Reki, a high school sophomore and hardcore skater, takes new transfer student Langa to S one night, and ends up pulling him into the world of skateboarding.

9. Tsurune 🏹

Summary: Minato joins the Kazemai High School Archery Club and along with his old friends and new teammates, Nanao Kisaragi and Kaito Onogi, they aim for winning the prefectural tournament while trying to overcome their doubts and shortcomings.

10. Yuri!!! On ICE ⛸️

Summary: Japanese figure skater Yuri Katsuki faces a crushing defeat during the Grand Prix finals and heads home, unsure of whether or not he wishes to continue his skating career. After a video of Yuri mimicking Russian figure skater Victor Nikiforov's routine goes viral, Victor decided to become Yuri's coach, much to the dismay of his coach, his fans, and his fellow Russian skater Yuri Plisetsky.

[scotianostra]

September 10th 1985 saw the birth of Nicola Ann Raphael.

It's not easy putting together a post like this but it's such an important subject we can't just ignore it because it makes uncomfortable reading. Believe me when I say I shed tears researching this, anyone who has lost a child will find it difficult to read this, whatever the circumstances, believe me, speaking from experience it lives with you forever.

On June 24th 2001, Nicolas mother, Rona started her day as normal, she made herself a coffee and waited for Nicola to appear from her bed, by the afternoon there was still no sign of her, so she went upstairs to check on her, it would be a day no parent should encounter, Rona knocked and knocked but got no response. Worried that something must have happened, she forced herself into Nicola Ann’s room. Sadly, she had come far too late. Nicola had taken 40 of her mother’s Coproxamol painkillers before going to bed the night before. She was pronounced dead when paramedics arrived.

As a child, Nicola was a bright, friendly child who had a flair for the unusual and a penchant for being more than a little individualistic. She had attended the local schools Millersneuk Primary and Lenzie Academy. It was when she began attending Lenzie Academy though, that things began to take a turn for the worse.

Perhaps it was because of her individualism, or perhaps it was her taste in not only Goth music, but also her Goth-inspired fashion sense, but Nicola’s fellow high school students didn’t seem to like her very much. She was bullied constantly at school, and it was a burden which she bore in silence for a very long time. Nicola Ann's is also notable in that it represented an early wave of media coverage of bullying by way of texting/mobile phones.

15-year-old Nicola Ann Raphael had committed suicide by overdose because she could take it no longer. Though her parents didn’t know it at the time, the reason for Nicola’s suicide was chiefly due to the bullying behavior of her classless classmates. They would soon learn not only that, but also that there were people who could have helped ease the verbal abuse against their daughter and did nothing.

Nicola’s suicide had shocked the nation but what was even more shocking about her death was that the teachers in her school knew about her classmates’ bullying and did nothing to stop it. It wasn’t just verbal abuse either as it turned out, but physical as well. Nicola lived under the threat of physical violence simply because she liked a certain style that they considered outside the norm. One girl said that they approached the head of the school who said it was our own fault because of the way they dressed. They went to him again and his solution was just to stay away from them bullies. They weren't reprimanded at all.

What is even more sickening about this is that even in death Nicalo was not left alone, a year after her suicide someone defaced her grave and items placed there were stolen, this is really sad as I have a friend who has had items stolen from her daughters grave, how can people do this??!!!

Nicola had been set to attend a Marilyn Manson concert a few weeks after she had committed suicide. Manson, who is an alternative icon, was one of her favorite artists. When the singer heard what had happened, he dedicated his song “The Fight Song” to Nicola Raphael and even met her mother after the concert.

In June 2003, Nicola Raphael’s story was featured on Tonight: GIRLS AFRAID “A report on the dramatic increase in bullying by girls. ” The program saw both bullies and their victims being interviewed and included an interview with Rona Raphael as well. It was designed to show two sides of the story.

Nicola was an organ donor and after her death, many of her organs were sent to folks who were in desperate need of them. Her heart was frozen and used to save the life of a toddler. A few years after her death, a BBC TV documentary on organ donation entitled Life on the List saw the Raphael’s meeting one of the recipients, a young boy named Jack.

There is a good post on the Alterophobia blog with links to articles regarding Nicola Ann's suicide here.

http://alterophobia.blogspot.com/.../tragic-suicide-of...

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 11

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC (2nd POV)

Chapter 11: Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings

Chapter Summary: The first day in LA is a mixed bag.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 11.8k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, insecurities, mirror, angst, fluff, acting career things idk, video call, awkward/nervous speech patterns, toxic mother/family of origin issues, food/eating/hunger, argument, mentions of: infidelity, addiction, death, and infertility, crying, comfort sex, dirty talk, eating ass, oral sex (both r) face fucking, deep throating, squirting, anal play and sex, impact play, hair pulling, maybe a hint of degradation

Notes: Chapter title from "Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings" by Father John Misty. Oooo a new banner, who is she?! I apologize for how long this is, it really got outta hand. Thank you for reading!!!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

“Holy shit, Dee,” you breathe, squinting as your eyes adjust from the darkness of the garage to the bright, open home. 

Dieter walks ahead of you, tossing his keys and sunglasses on a glass console table, kicking his shoes off onto the gleaming hardwood floor. Each noise seems amplified in the jarring silence. 

It smells like lemon pine-sol, and, based on how uncharacteristically spotless everything appears, you guess that he has someone come in and clean while he’s away. 

“It’s–I mean, wow–” you stammer, shaking your head as you examine your surroundings. 

The vaulted ceiling’s stained teak backbone stretches from one end of the house to the other, rafters extending from the beam like wooden ribs. On one side of you lies a dining room and kitchen, on the other, a living room and patio entrance. Light pours in through the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows like giant frames showcasing the greenery of the patio, all lush with palm fronds and waxy-leaved bushes. 

The home’s décor is quintessential Dieter. 

Eclectic. Moody. Maximalist. 

Jewel- and earth-toned furniture, in all different finishes and fabrics, fill the open floor plan. The white walls are cluttered by art, a hodgepodge of creations. Prints and acrylic paintings and black ink illustrations, including some of Dieter’s originals. Plants are scattered around, next to windows and on tables, thriving in their glazed ceramic pots. 

Your fingers twitch, longing to experience every texture this buffet of materials has to offer. You feel yourself getting a little moon-eyed as you marvel at the place he calls home. It’s surreal.

And, if you’re being honest, daunting. 

When Dieter spends time with you in your domain, you feel you know him at his core. A loveable, chaotic, free spirit, who busies himself sketching and “taste testing” while you bake. Which mostly just means he eats cookies off the cooling rack when he thinks you’re not looking, but sometimes he draws pictures of you while he does it. 

You know him as someone who watches shitty TV and shittier movies with you just so you can make fun of them together, someone who theorizes out-loud about existentialism and Garfield in the same breath, who wraps himself around you when you sleep because, even when he’s dreaming, he wants your skin clinging to his. 

You don’t know him as Dieter Bravo, Academy Award Winning Actor. 

No. 

To you, he’s Dee. The man you fell in love with so haphazardly, it sometimes makes you question your own sanity. 

The existence of this other part of his life, with film sets and photoshoots and interviews and stylists and red carpet premieres, all these stringent show pony requirements, so paradoxical to the person you know and love… It makes you uneasy. 

Is he different when he’s here? 

Is Dieter Bravo, Hollywood Movie Star, the same man as Dee, Bubble Bath Connoisseur?

It’s something you’ve largely been able to ignore. 

But, since you’re being honest, you can admit that the disparities between his life and yours make your skin crawl sometimes. 

Like right now, when you’re standing here in the entryway of his gorgeous home, whose property value is probably greater than your lifetime’s gross income, holding the handle of your ratty old carry-on suitcase. Your piece of shit suitcase, with its broken zipper, and this big tear in the side.  

Which, really, has never bothered you before. It’s a goddamn suitcase. It holds things from point a to point b, and this works just fine. 

But Dieter has this ridiculous fucking suitcase with a heavy-duty metallic shell, and 360-degree wheels that glide effortlessly through airports, and a fucking phone charger. A fucking phone charger in a suitcase, seriously?

It’s just so… exactly how you fucking feel standing next to him sometimes. 

And, as if to prove your point, when you release the handle of your piece of shit carry-on, it topples over sideways against his space-age phone charger on wheels. 

All you can do is sigh. Stare at luggage. Try to ignore the voice that bombards your thoughts, telling you he’s obviously out of your league. 

Sneering at you, saying, “Get real, this fucking guy is way too rich to be humoring you.”

Saying, “Louella Rose, once he knows you’re trash, he’ll be gone for good, I can tell you that much.”

“Want me to show you around?” Dieter asks, the low timbre of his voice a butter knife cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. He steps closer and plants his wide palm on the small of your back. 

You turn to him with a smile you know is flaccid, but nod, “Lead the way.” 

He studies you for a moment, dark eyes darting around your face, no doubt sensing the apprehension you can’t shake, and proves your suspicion true when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Your throat tightens and you drop your gaze to the colorful entryway rug beneath your feet, shaking your head as you admit, “I—I don’t know. I’m… kind of freaking out, I think,” your voice cracks, and words start to tumble from your mouth, “I just keep thinking that I don’t belong here, like I’m too fucking poor to be doing this, I mean, to be here, and-and I’m so fucking nervous that I’m gonna fuck this up somehow—”

“Hey, come on,” Dieter coos, one hand settling at your waist, the other brushing against your cheek, “Look at me, Lua.”

You do. 

His eyes bore into yours, unblinking and sincere, “It’s gonna be ok. I promise.”

Your brows press together and you swallow hard, then nod. 

“We’re gonna do this stupid interview, which you’re gonna fucking nail–”

You look away. 

He tilts your chin towards his face again, refusing to let you hide, repeating, “Which you’re gonna fucking nail. You know why?”

You just stare at him, half-expecting him to say because you have to or I won’t love you anymore, but instead, he says, “Because you are fucking amazing, Louella. You are brilliant, and gorgeous, and genuine, and hilarious, and capable of fucking anything. Ok?”

His words, so sure and earnest, soothe your inflamed sense of worthlessness. 

A burning sensation works up your throat, then spreads behind your eyes. Hot tears roll down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and croak, “Don’t say things like that to me, it’s too sweet and makes me cry.”

“Listen here, doll,” he cups your face and raises his eyebrows, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, “I’ll compliment you as much as I goddamn please.”

You let out a wet, nasally chuckle and link your hands behind his neck, then sniffle, “Fine. I guess. If you say so.”

“That’s what I thought,” he mumbles. His thumbs work against your damp cheeks as he brings his lips to yours, gentle and soft. 

When he pulls back, he clears his throat and turns back to the vacant house, “Alright, sweet cheeks, let’s give you the official tour.”

The term of endearment makes you laugh and shake your head, “Dieter, I swear to god–” 

He grabs your hand and tugs you onward, ignoring your feigned protest. 

At the tail end of the tour, Dieter swings open the door to his spacious bedroom. You recognize the tall, chartreuse walls and the puffy white linens tucked around his bed. 

Of all the rooms in his house, including the art studio set up down the hall, this is the one that feels the most like Dee. It’s a little messy, but in a lived-in way you expect from him. Relatively no-frills. Comfortable. Homey. It smells like him, not like lemon pine-sol. 

You gravitate towards a chest of drawers that sits opposite his bed, grinning at a pile of rings, lighters, coins, and crumpled up cash. A big, rectangular mirror mounted on the wall above it catches your attention. 

All kinds of paper mementos are stuffed into the mirror’s frame. Your eyes wander along the edge, stopping to study a picture of him, much younger and more angular than he appears now, with a woman whose bright, dimpled smile matches his. 

“Is that your mom?” you ask, pointing to it. 

“Yeah,” he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, tucking your shoulder under his chin, watching you through the mirror as your eyes leapfrog to each little piece of him.

A ticket stub to a Prince concert at Madison Square Garden in July 2004. 

An old polaroid of two dark-haired young boys roller skating. 

“Tomás?” 

“Mhmm.”

You tilt your head and frown, “Can I ask you something?” 

“No,” he deadpans, blinking at you through the mirror. 

“Shut up,” you snort, then ask, “Why the fuck are you named Dieter?”

He laughs at this, throwing his head back to boom at the ceiling before returning to your reflected gaze. 

“I mean, I’m sorry—It’s just so…”

“White?” he smirks. 

“Yes!” you laugh, covering your mouth, “Is that your real name?!”

“No,” he grins, then shrugs, “Well, legally it is. But my parents named me Manuel Diego Soto Flores. Diego is what everyone called me.”

“Stop it, oh my god. You are blowing my fucking mind right now,” you shake your head at the whiplash this information gives you, then pause, “Wait, why did you change it?”

“My agent suggested I use a stage name way back when. Dieter Bravo sounded cool,” he explains, and chuckles a little as he tells you, “I got in an argument with my folks about it when work started picking up, and legally changed it just to piss them off.”

“Wow,” you raise your eyebrows and laugh, “That is… truly petty.” 

“That it is,” he sighs, his smile faltering. 

“So, what am I supposed to call you? Diego? Dieter?” you smirk, meeting his gaze in the mirror. 

“Dee,” he answers, “I like Dee.”

“I can do that.”

You hold his gaze for a few moments, relishing the heat that swells in your chest, then resume your study of his artifacts, squinting to read the faded black ink of a few movie stubs lined up together: Eyes Wide Shut, Donnie Darko, The Departed, Fight Club, Whiplash, Titanic, Toy Story 3. 

Next to them, you spot a wrinkled brown paper square, etched with unruly black ink strokes into a blueberry branch. You tilt your head at it, then glance down at the blueberry branch tattooed on your forearm. 

Your eyes flick to the reflection of Dieter’s face and find him already staring at you. A question creases your forehead, and he answers with a shrug. Tingles spread across your belly. You smooth your hand against his and leave it there. 

“Look, I printed the ones from the elevator,” he chuckles, pointing to a picture of the two of you stuffed into one side of the mirror’s frame, stone-faced, black grease paint and mascara co-mingling with red lipstick, smudged all over your mouths and cheeks. Below that, the shot Dieter took a second later when you both broke, faces lit up with laughter, eyes bent up into barely visible crescents. 

“Oh my god,” you laugh, hand flying to your mouth, “Come on, we have way cuter pictures than those.”

“Those are my favorite, though,” he smiles, kisses your cheek, then tucks your shoulder back under his chin.

You shake your head and sigh, grinning as you tell him, “Fuck, I like you.”

“Yeah?” he snorts, “You think so?”

You nod, rubbing your thumb against his. 

“I like you, too,” he murmurs. 

“Thank god, or this would be really awkward,” you joke as you return your gaze to the relics framing his mirror. 

A snapshot of him, a generation younger, all gaunt and baby-faced, leaning against a high top table crowded with half-empty cups, ice cube islands rising from brown mixed drinks. Two young men across the table from him, his arm draped around a young woman’s shoulders. All four of them glow with a boozy shine, wide and carefree smiles stretched across their faces. 

“Who’re these people?”

“Old friends from my theater days in New York,” he murmurs, “I don’t talk to them much anymore. There’s Glenn, you might’ve met him.”

He points to a tan guy with a brown pompadour and a very punchable face, who’s wearing a baby blue polo shirt and holding up his middle finger. 

You sift through your memory for someone who might have looked like that fifteen or twenty years ago, but come up blank and shake your head, “I don’t think so.”

“He was at Katie’s party that one night, and, uhh… actually, I almost brought him up to your apartment the first time I met you, but he was being an asshole and wouldn’t get out of the car.” 

“Not ringing any bells,” you frown, “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve met any of your friends.”

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, then he mutters, “Well, I would certainly introduce you to them. If I had any.” 

You try to think of a contradiction to this statement, racking your brain for an instance of him at least hinting at the existence of a friend. 

“What about all the people you party with?”

“Haven't done much of that lately. Besides,” he cocks an eyebrow and curls his lip, “Those aren’t friends. Never were. And, uhh… I did a solid job alienating my real friends a long time ago.” 

You look at him through the mirror. 

His eyes are all dull and forlorn. Far away. 

A sharp pain splits your sternum. 

You wriggle around to face him, cupping his cheeks, brushing your thumbs against his patchy beard until he meets your eyes again. Then you tell him, “I’m your friend. Parker’s your friend. You’re not alone anymore, ok?”

His shoulders slump and eyebrows thread together, molding his features into this tender expression that makes your stomach flip and chest ache. 

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tight. You slide your hands to the back of his head to comb your fingers through his soft curls. 

A commotion erupts at the other end of the house. The front door opening and closing. Rustling and conversation. A feminine voice echoes down the hall, calling, “Hello?” 

“That must be them,” he murmurs, and starts away, but you pull him back. You wrap your arms around his midsection and bury your face against his t-shirt. 

“Wait, just… a little bit longer,” you say, closing your eyes to soak up the warmth from his body. It seeps into your bloodstream and feels like sunshine in your veins. He rests his head against your hair, taking a deep breath in, and you feel his body relax again. 

The clack-clack-clack sound of heels against the hardwood floor draws closer, but the two of you just stand there, all wrapped up in the other, until someone crosses the threshold to his room, comes to a stop, and says, “Oh, you are here.”

You part and turn towards the intrusion: A neatly made-up, petite, brunette woman wearing a fitted navy blue pantsuit. 

“Darlene,” Dieter greets, crossing the room to envelop her in a one-armed hug. They press a chaste kiss into the other’s cheek. He returns to your side, palm sliding against the small of your back, and introduces you both, “Darlene, Louella, Louella, Darlene.”

You meet her meticulous hazel eyes and smile wide, outstretching your hand to shake hers, “Hi, so nice to meet you.” 

She reaches out and accepts the invitation. Both your gazes drop to study the contrast of your hands. Hers are dainty, soft, blemish-free; adorned with shiny, blush pink fingernails smoothed to rounded tips. Yours bear the scars and calluses earned by over a dozen years of baking, your naked, short fingernails hosting jagged edges from nervous biting. 

When you step back, heat creeps up the back of your neck. She looks so… unimpressed. Annoyed, even. The barely perceptible twitch of her thin eyebrow cocking, lip curling, eyes flicking around your person like she’s identifying weak spots. Then she plasters on a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and asks, “Do you prefer Louella or Lua?” 

“I don’t care,” you chuckle nervously, “Lou, Lua, Louella, whatever you want.”

You glance at Dieter, swallowing hard. He smooths his thumb against your spine.

“I’ll call you Louella,” Darlene decides with a quick nod, then looks from you, to Dieter, “Should we get started? We have a lot of work to do.” 

On your way to the dining room, you cross paths with a short, curvy woman whose brown, tightly coiled hair bounces around her round face as she hauls two thick garment bags into a bedroom. She peaks over the luggage and calls, “Oh, hi!” when she spots you. 

She spins on the heel of her beige pumps to face you, shifting the bags to one hip, “Louella, right?” 

“Yeah,” you smile and wave at her. 

“Kelly,” her hot pink lips stretch into a bright smile and she shakes your hand, looking you up and down before diverting her dark eyes to Dieter, “Nice catch, Bravo.” 

Dieter smirks at the comment, eyeing her tenuous grip on the bags, “Need some help?”

She just scoffs and raises an eyebrow at him before spinning around and starting down the hallway. Dieter shrugs after her, then ushers you into the dining room, where a frantic looking young man is setting out three labeled mint green to-go boxes on the stained oak table, assigning seats to you, Dieter, and Darlene. 

“Lua, this is Lincoln, my PA,” Dieter gestures between the two of you, “Lincoln this is Lua, my girlfriend.”

“Hi,” Lincoln tucks a strand of dark blonde hair behind his ear and leans his tall frame across the table, extending his hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Lincoln,” you meet his ocean blue eyes as you take it in yours and shake it. Dieter settles into his assigned dining room chair, leaning back against the burnt orange suede. You take your seat next to him. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Lincoln flashes a quick smile, then glances from Dieter, back to you, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Oh yeah?” you grin over at Dieter, who’s crossing his ankle over his knee, watching you with amusement, and tell Lincoln, “Good things, I hope.”

“Terrible things,” Dieter teases, letting his head dangle to one side. 

“Nothing but the utmost praise,” Lincoln insists.

A nutty aroma wafts up from the box with your name on it. You recognize the briny sharpness and name it, “Oh, fuck, did you get us pad thai?”

“It’s from that place you wanted to try,” Dieter tells you. 

You wiggle and clap your hands together, reaching for the box as Darlene approaches the table. Lincoln scurries into the kitchen and makes himself look busy. She sits down with a sense of urgency that makes you fold your hands in your lap and sit up straighter. 

“Here’s the plan,” she pushes the takeout box away, leaning over her open notebook, “Interview with DIRT at 4:00 today. Louella, we’ll practice your answers for a bit, then Kelly will help you pick some clothes,” her eyes flick from the notebook, to you, then to Dieter, and she says, “While you’re in town, I think it’ll be good for the two of you to be seen in public together, but I have some ground rules—”

“Jesus Christ, Darlene,” Dieter groans, scrubbing his hands over his face as he leans his elbows onto the table, “What are we, teenagers?”

“Well, Dieter, play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” she blinks at him.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he scoffs.

“It means,” she snips, zeroing in on him, “With all the bullshit you’ve pulled in the past year, you’re not exactly rolling in prospects, are you?”

He doesn’t say anything in response, just clenches his jaw. 

She continues, “It’s a goddamn miracle you managed to land that Mike Flannigan job—”

You turn to him and gasp, “You got it?!” 

This big, giddy smile spreads across his face when he meets your eyes and nods, “Yeah.”

“But he could lose it if this doesn’t go right,” Darlene advises, pulling your attention to her. She shoots a glare from you to Dieter, “So we’re going to follow my direction, right?” 

Your face falls and you clear your throat, then stammer, “Y—yeah, of course.” 

Dieter shifts in his seat, pressing his mouth against his clasped hands. 

“As I was saying,” Darlene continues, raising an eyebrow as she drops her gaze to the notebook, “You’re both to be on your best behavior while in public. No drugs, no parties, no more than a glass of wine, no public fornication. We’re going full Disney rules of conduct, ok?”

When Darlene blinks up at you, you nod, “No problem.” 

“Alright, let’s rehearse some Q&A,” she sighs, turning her attention back to her notebook. 

She runs through questions the interviewer might ask, reconstructing your answers from nervous ramblings into practiced statements. It’s like a mental boot camp the way she attacks this, and, honestly, it’s quite impressive. 

When Darlene is confident you won’t respond to questions like: “How did you and Dieter meet?” with answers like: “We dropped acid in a closet with my best friend,” the drills cease. Just when you think you’re safe to open that mint green box with your name on it, Darlene stands from the table, “Alright, let’s go see what Kelly has for you.”

You have to physically restrain yourself from pouting as she starts off down the hall. 

“Here, quick,” Dieter shoves his open container of pad thai in your hands. You manage to take a few bites before Darlene comes back to see where she lost you. 

“Coming, sorry,” you swallow and give it back to him. 

Darlene and Kelly decide you’re wearing a balloon-sleeved white silk blouse and a high-waisted, billowing, floral skirt that comes down to your ankles. 

Once your makeup and hair are styled, and you're all done up and presentable, not unlike a feral mutt turned show dog, Darlene holds her hand out to you, palm facing the ceiling, and says, “You’ll have to take off your wedding ring.” 

“Oh,” you frown at her, then at the simple gold band on your left hand’s ring finger. With a heavy blue sigh, you slide it off your finger, and drop it in her extended hand. 

When you emerge from the bedroom, Darlene trailing behind you, Dieter is pacing the length of the living room, dressed in a short-sleeved white button-up and navy blue slacks. He spots you and stops in his tracks. A grin spreads across his face, “Oh wow, look at you.” 

“Look at you,” you counter, matching his smile as you look him up and down. 

He wipes his hands on his pants, then strides over to you and kisses you. His lips are eager when they meet yours. You link your hands at the nape of his neck and arch your back into him, losing yourself momentarily. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours and murmurs, “You look like… a sexy kindergarten teacher. I like it.”

You laugh and shake your head, “Oh yeah, this is doing it for you?”

“Fuck yeah it is,” he rumbles, then grips your waist and kisses you again.

“Alright, it’s almost time,” Darlene prods impatiently from a few feet away, “Where’s your laptop?”

Dieter mutters something under his breath, then steps back from your embrace and tells her, “I’ll go get it.” 

As he goes off down the hall, you plop down on the overstuffed couch. Its deep, rich brown leather feels buttery soft against the small sections of your exposed skin. You cross your legs, smoothing the soft fabric of your skirt over your knees, “Is it a video call?” 

Darlene takes a cursory glance in the direction Dieter went, then sits down next to you, her words hushed and serious as they flee her lips, “Louella, his career is teetering on the edge of a cliff right now. One more blow could send the whole thing crashing down. Do you understand how important it is that this goes well?” 

An icy rush of panic floods your veins. You meet her hazel eyes and nod. 

“Good,” she says, searching your face, “Don’t fuck it up.” 

Lincoln and Kelly leave for the day once everything is set up. Darlene stages you and Dieter hip-to-hip in the middle of his couch, then starts pacing behind the laptop, occupying a strip of the living room’s black- and white-striped rug between the glass top coffee table and a black brick-faced wood fireplace. 

Pixelated face pops up on Dieter’s laptop screen. You can make out David Alterman’s egg-shaped bald head and thick-rimmed glasses. He says, “Hello hello, how are we doing today?” 

“Pleasure to see you,” Dieter gives a nod and drapes his arm over your shoulders. You flash a smile to the computer and wave. 

David continues, “I just want to start by saying thank you for meeting with me today. On the phone earlier, Darlene said that there were some things you wanted to discuss regarding your new friend.” 

“Girlfriend,” Dieter corrects, glances at you, then back at the screen, “There was an article by your, uhh… publication speculating who she is. We wanted to go on record and introduce her, get it all out in the open.”

“Fantastic. Well, the floor is yours.”

Dieter clears his throat and squeezes your shoulder.

“Oh, ok—um, hi, my name is Louella,” your voice comes out too loud, and your heart starts pumping heat through your body, up your neck, across your face. You wriggle in your seat and explain, “Sorry, I’m really nervous, I’ve never done anything like this before.” 

David chuckles, “That’s ok, dear. Why don’t you start by telling me how the two of you met?” 

Your eyes flick to Darlene in the background, following her moving form. She gives you a nod of encouragement. You take a deep breath. 

“We met at Katie’s party in February. My best friend, Parker, convinced me to go, and, yeah, I ended up meeting Dee there,” a big smile stretches across your face as you explain, “I remember meeting him, and I felt this connection to him like,” you snap your fingers, “right away. It was fucking bananas—er, sorry, regular bananas. But. It was like I had known him my whole life or something, you know? We—me, Parker, and Dee—spent the night together,” at this, you see David’s bushy brown eyebrows perk up, and your cheeks start burning, “N-not like that, like sexual or anything, we just talked and joked around. Instant friends. It was so much fun. And, you know, it’s funny, because I didn’t even know he was an actor—”

“You didn’t?” David frowns. 

“No,” you chuckle, “The next morning when we were all getting breakfast there was this guy taking pictures of us eating pancakes, which I thought was fu—um, weird, but then Dee and Parker explained… Well, y’know. Paparazzi and all that.” 

“Is that when you started dating?” 

“No,” you shake your head, glancing down to your hands, “We were just friends for a few months before that started. My, um… my husband died about a year ago in a car accident, so I was… not in a hurry to start any kind of romantic relationship.” 

Your thumb rolls along the seam of your finger that’s usually covered by your wedding band. 

“And yet, here we are. What changed?” 

“I fell in love with him,” you explain, flicking your gaze from Dieter, who squeezes your shoulder, then straight into the camera, “You know when you meet someone and it’s like… they vibrate on the same frequency as you or whatever? Like they were made to be in your life? It was like that. I don’t know, it was fucking crazy. Shit, sorry for swearing—”

“It’s fine,” David says, “I’ll edit it out.”

You release a relieved sigh, “Ok. Well, anyway, I wasn’t—I mean, neither of us were expecting this to happen. But it did. So I took a chance on him, on us, and… yeah. I’m so glad I did.” 

“That’s great,” David smiles at the camera, then looks down at his notes, “So you said the two of you met at Katie’s party—Is that Katie Wainwright?”

“Yes,” you answer. It takes all your energy to remain neutral. To keep your body from twitching in discomfort at the mention of her. 

“Are the two of you friends? Do you run in those circles?”

“Oh, no,” you snort and shake your head, “Parker is a drag performer, under the stage name Jackie Lantern, and knows quite a few theater folks in New York. It’s all him. I was just tagging along.”

“I see. And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a baker.” 

“Pastry artist,” Dieter interjects, leaning forward, “She makes some of the best goddamn pastries I’ve ever had in my life.” 

You beam at this. He gives you an encouraging little wink that makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Oh, you have a bakery?” 

“No,” you say with a little too much haste, then stammer, “Well, not really. It’s not a brick and mortar store or anything. I run it out of my apartment. But, I’d love to—you know, someday, open a bakery.” 

“Sounds like a good investment for your boyfriend to make,” David hints.

“Oh, no, I’m not,” you clear your throat and shake your head, “I want to do it myself.” 

“Independent,” David observes, then looks down to his notes, “Dieter has had a lot of big changes in his personal life this past year as well, with his divorce to Anika, and the scandals surrounding it. Do you worry that those patterns are bound to repeat themselves?”

Dieter’s body tenses beside you. 

You furrow your brow and frown slightly, then glance up to Darlene, whose stare can only be described as a warning. 

Downshifting your face from confusion to thoughtfulness, you answer, “I think… We both have pasts that present challenges in our relationship. It’s not exactly easy-breezy all the time, but that’s the thing with love, right? You take the person, demons and all, and choose to love them anyway?”

David jots down some notes. Your guts twist when you recognize the opportunity to do what you came here to do. 

“And, you know, speaking of which, one of the things I wanted to bring up during this interview is that I—um, I have a criminal record,” you swallow hard and turn to look at Dieter. 

He takes his arm from your shoulder and closes his hands into fists, thumbs pointed upward as he presses them together and draws a circle with them. 

Together. 

Warmth washes over you and you smile at him. He slides his palm against yours and interlaces his fingers with yours. 

“Oh?” 

You turn back to the laptop and sigh, “Yeah. I was arrested in 2018 on drug trafficking charges. I was convicted of a felony—and, you know, I didn’t have to serve any hard time or anything, just probation, thank fucking god, and I’ve changed a lot since then, but it’s still… still a factor,” you drop your gaze to your lap and shrug, “And, of course, the dead husband thing is a considerable amount of baggage. We live across the country from each other. There’s—there’s a lot that’s difficult about this. But I still think that what we have together is so fucking worth it.” 

“It is,” Dieter confirms, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Thank you for being so open about this, Louella. This must be hard for you to do,” David says in a monotone voice, not looking up from his note taking. 

“You have no idea,” you release a big, elated sigh, “But, like mentioned Dieter earlier, we don’t want people to think we’re trying to hide any of this, because we’re not. We’re just trying to move forward together.” 

“I appreciate your honesty,” David says mildly, looks down to his notes, then squints up at the computer, clicking around as he tells you, “Now, after DIRT published the article questioning your identity, we received a call. I’m going to play that for you now…”

You glance from Dieter, to Darlene. Their confused expressions match yours. 

“My name is Hannah—”

Your stomach drops to the floor. You whisper, “Fuck.”

“—I hear you’re trying to figure out who this woman is with Dieter Bravo. Well, I can tell you, that’s my daughter. Her name is Louella Rose Friedman. Now I don’t know what the hell she thinks she’s doing with this man, but I do not approve. I mean, really now, her husband died less than a year ago!”

Static tingles in your ligaments and fills your lungs. Your head shakes back and forth in protest, but her shrill voice continues to project across the room, scraping against your eardrums. 

Dieter releases your hand and leans forward, trying to speak over the recording, warning, “Ok, David, that’s enough—”

“And this man? Dieter Bravo? Just like him from what I can tell. And I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but—”

Everything moves far away in an instant as your mind disconnects from your body. A high-pitched ringing noise dulls the noises around you. 

From far away, your mom says, “He had a problem with drugs, you know, big problem, had other women, too.”

“Stop,” Dieter grinds out over your mother’s recorded voice.

“Lost his goddamn mind, tried to kill them both—”

Darlene scrambles over to the laptop and turns it towards her, “David, this is Darlene—”

“I just don’t understand what that girl thinks she’s doing getting involved with someone like this again, especially so soon?” 

“No, nope,” Dieter stands, then booms, “This ends right FUCKING now!” 

The sudden snap of him slamming the laptop shut and the dead silence that follows jolts you like a cattle-prod.

You flee the living room, down the hallway, into Dieter’s bedroom, then dial her number. 

She picks up on the second ring. 

“Louella Rose, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” your mother’s heavy midwestern accent pierces your eardrum. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, mom? What do I think I’m doing? What the fuck are you doing?!” your teeth grit and and hiss, “Calling a fucking tabloid, really?”

“I only wanted them to know the truth—”

“That is fucking bullshit and you know it,” you growl, crossing an arm over your belly, pacing the floor, “You wanted fucking attention. Well, you’ve got it, congratu-fucking-lations!” 

“I’m just looking out for your best interest. That man is bad news, Louella.“

“How the FUCK would you know?!”

“I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?” 

You clench your jaw and shake your head.

“I’m sorry for caring—”

“You don’t fucking care! You have never fucking cared! If you cared, you would have talked to me, not a fucking tabloid. That shit you told them—” your voice cracks, but you swallow the lump in your throat and continue, “Mom, that’s not your story to tell. It’s mine.” 

An exasperated sigh crackles in your ear, then she says, “You shouldn’t get tangled up in his world, Louella—”

“What I do, who I date, is none of your fucking business. It’s not your decision. I am a grown ass woman.”

“You might be a grown woman, but you’re still my baby girl, and I don’t want you to wind up dead this time,” she clicks her tongue against her teeth, “I’d say you’ll understand someday when you have your own kids, but that’s just another thing Ethan ruined, isn’t it?”

Your entire field of vision floods with red. 

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“When I hang up the phone, do not contact me ever again. You are fucking dead to me. Do you understand?”

“Oh, come on, Louella, don’t be dram—”

You end the call. 

Dieter hovers a few feet from his open bedroom door. His nerves tingle with anticipation. Hushed sobs call out to him and grip his heart. 

How long does he wait before going in to comfort you? Would you rather have time alone?

Part of him feels terrible for eavesdropping. Well, eavesdropping might not be the right word, considering how your heated words reverberated from one end of his home to the other effortlessly. It’s not his fault the goddamn place is like a resonance chamber. 

Dieter hears Darlene in the living room chewing someone out over the phone. The words “so fucking unprofessional” echo down the hall, filled with venom. She’s in full tirade mode. Out for blood. 

It gives him a smug sense of satisfaction hearing her wield this rage towards someone else. 

If he knows anything about Darlene, it’s that this will take a while. She won’t stop until she’s had her fill, until her belly is swollen and ripe with vindication. Then she’ll lap the sticky blood from her hands, smoke a cigarette, and say, “Here’s what’s next.”

He raps a knuckle against the doorframe and asks, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” 

The word is soggy and muffled. He enters the room, closing the door behind him, and finds you sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, face buried in your hands. You don’t look up at him. 

He crawls onto the bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead against the nape of your neck. Warm notes of vanilla and macadamia nuts waft off your hair. You feel so rigid under his touch.

“Talk to me, baby,” he murmurs, tugging you closer. 

“Did I fuck it all up?” 

Your voice comes out in a squeak, like you squeezed the words from your throat. Wet sobs bubble up your throat and shake your shoulders. 

“No,” Dieter frowns, “Do you really think that?”

You shrug and release a shattered breath. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” he assures you, “Hey, listen to me. You were fucking amazing.” 

“But—”

“No, no buts. You were perfect. And—and brave, so fucking brave,” he nuzzles into that perfect space between your shoulder and neck and says, “I’m so proud of you, Louella.” 

“Really?” you sniffle and wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your shirt, smearing black makeup onto the luxurious white silk. 

“Holy shit, yes,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, relishing the way your hunched up muscles seem to slacken, “Before the bullshit that rat fuck pulled, you were perfection. Killed it, I swear to god, doll. And—and none of that last part was your fault. David shouldn’t have sprang that on us, and your mom,” he scoffs and shakes his head, gnashing his jaw back and forth as he tries to choose his words carefully, then finally says, “I’m sorry, but that was fucking despicable. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” you sniffle.

“No, I definitely deserved that,” he mutters, glancing up to the mirror, meeting his own eyes only for a moment before diverting his gaze.

Your hand slides over his and you move your thumb in gentle strokes against his skin, “She’s the fucking worst, Dee.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then inquires, “Was that her on the phone?”

“Yeah,” you answer, and your voice comes out all quivering and squeaky, “I, um… I told her to never talk to me again.” 

“I heard,” he confesses.

“Oh,” you breathe. 

His pulse jumps and he stammers, “I—I wasn’t trying to or anything, I swear, the noise just carries—”

“I know,” you squeeze his hand, “It’s ok.”

Your crying wanes in intensity, but the air around you is still dense and stormy. Dieter kisses your shoulder and asks, “What can I do to help you right now, baby?”

You ponder this for a long moment. When your response comes, it jolts his insides. Sucks the air from his lungs. 

“Fuck me.”

He’s not sure he heard you right, and shakes his head, “Wait, what?”

Then you reach back and run your fingers through his hair. Unravel against his chest. Let your head roll back on his shoulder. 

Dieter cranes his neck to search your face. It’s all tear-drenched, your makeup smeared, eyes puffy and red. He reaches up and squee-gees the mess with his thumb, wiping the excess onto his white comforter as you quietly tell him, “I need to get out of my head. I want—I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want it to hurt. Use me. Please.”

His insides coil and twitch. Your lips part as you scrape your nail along his jawline, beckoning him closer. 

He smooths his palms along your torso, drinking in the heat of your body through your silk shirt. Your mouth draws him in closer: a bright flame, and he’s just a moth. 

That’s how it is with you, Lua, you have to know that by now. He’s just a bug, and you’re this all-consuming fire that could burn him alive and he’d say thank you, my love, thank you for your light.

When your lips meet, his vocal chords crackle. Your mouth, plush and pliable, so delicate, he almost feels bad for the force he uses in response. 

Almost. 

You have to understand how difficult it is for him to restrain himself with you. How the tether between his humanity and deprivation pulls taut when you writhe beneath his touch. 

What you’re asking, to make it hurt, use me, please… it electrifies him. Calls to the part of him that bucks against the restraints. Is that what you really want? For him to unchain that beast?

His teeth catch your lip and you gasp, but you don’t stop kissing him. In fact, you ball his shirt in your fist and kiss him harder. 

You fucking love it. 

He palms your breast and tastes the sweet whimper on your breath when he grips your flesh. Digs his fingers in, squeezes harder. You moan down his throat. Arch your back. Roll your tongue along his, soft and wet and hungry.

“Fuck,” he growls through grit teeth. Grabs your jaw and licks the gasp from your mouth. You grind back against his cock and an intoxicating rush of heat rolls through his body, clinging to his bones, sinking into the folds of his brain, tinging his vision with this thick scarlet fog that makes his heart pound in his chest. 

Dieter buries his fist in your hair and sits up on his knees, ushering you to do the same. His lips hover at the shell of your ear and he murmurs, “Is this how you want it? Want it fucking rough?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he slides a hand to your neck, spreading the webbing between his thumb and index finger on your esophagus. 

“I wanna pull up your pretty little skirt, and bend you over—wanna play with that tight little asshole—”

You let out this throaty moan that vibrates against his palm. It makes his cock jump. 

“Would you like that?” he rumbles. Clamps down on your earlobe. Grinds the flab between his teeth. 

“Oh my fucking god, Dieter, please,” you whine, hips rolling against him, urging him to make good on his word. 

He shoves your face into the mattress and you just prop your ass up for him, pushing back as he rucks your skirt up to your waist. His hands slide up the soft, warm flesh of your thighs, feeling the weight of your ass in his palms. 

You arch your back, presenting yourself to him, whimpering for attention, silk underwear all damp with want, clinging to your cunt. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasps, hooking a fingertip around the wet patch of fabric, dragging his knuckle through your arousal, “You fucking love this, don’t you?”

You let out a throaty, delirious laugh that quickly morphs into a moan when he rubs the knuckle against your clit, then slaps your ass with a sharp smack.

“Fuck yes,” you gasp. Your hips roll against his touch, seeking stimulation. But he doesn’t want you to have it yet. Not like that. 

He pulls away, and you whine, going to get up on your hands in protest, but he closes a fist around your hair and pushes you back down, grinding out, “Don’t you fucking move.”

Another airy, depraved laugh. 

Dieter grips your hair tighter, explaining in a whisper as he tugs your underwear down your legs, “You’re gonna stay right here, ass in the air like a bitch in heat, and let me do whatever the fuck I want to you. How’s that sound, love? Hmm?”

“Please,” you breathe. He hears the wet gulp of your throat. The hair between his fingers pulls taut when you nod. 

“Perfect,” he murmurs, releasing your hair, tossing the underwear from around your ankles across the bed. 

He slides his palms over your ass cheeks. Parts them just long enough to gather a pool of spit on his tongue and let it land on your asshole with a wet splat. Rolls his thumb through the spit, smearing it around, making you gasp, “Fuck, that’s good—”

His cock twitches. Electricity writhes around his insides. He licks his lips, then purrs, “Yeah? It feels good when I touch your asshole, hmm? You fucking like that, princess?”

“Yes—”

Dieter spreads you apart, brings himself closer, throat rumbling at the scent of your heat. At the way your swollen, needy cunt is just fucking dripping, coated in a shiny layer of your slick. 

Fucking beautiful. 

He drags his tongue through the arousal pooling at your entrance with a depraved groan. 

You unleash a moan and try to wriggle around on his tongue, still trying to exert control, still not letting go. 

He raises a hand and lowers it on your ass cheek with a smack, talking at your cunt as he holds your hips steady, “Stop trying to run this, doll, let me fucking use you like you need me to.”

The response that comes is a whimper, but your muscles stop working under his grip. 

“Good, that’s it, baby,” he coos, then returns to your cunt, licking along all the soft ridges and valleys of you, savoring your nectar gathering slick on his tastebuds. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you croak, but you don’t rock against his tongue. Doing just as he asked. Heat surges through him, all that pride commingling with lust and love and need. 

He licks up your middle, painting you with short, broad strokes, all the way up to your tight, puckered asshole. Saliva pools as he laps away, rubbing back and forth, in a circle, flicking his tongue against you in wet little slaps. 

All the while, you’re whimpering and moaning, legs trembling, sweat coating your hot skin, damp against his palms. 

He brings the tip of his index finger to the center of your asshole, wriggling and applying pressure until the tight ring gives and allows him entrance. Your choked moan fills his ears and he moves slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to the sensation. 

One knuckle disappears, then another, and when buried as deep as he can go, he ruts it in and out, the hot pool of spit lubricating his movements. 

You start to slacken, your sharp little gasps for air drawing out longer, surrendering to pleasure, whimpering and nodding, eyes fluttering. 

Dieter pauses and wiggles another thick digit against your tight hole, panting, “Fuck, you’re doing so good, baby. Fucking amazing. That’s it, baby, just relax for me—”

It slides past the barrier and he moans in unison with you, burying his fingers again and again, spitting thick, gooey wads of saliva where he fuses with you, making his movements easier, more fluid, while the hot, smooth inside of you grips around his fingers.

“Fuck me,” you beg, “Please—please fuck my ass.”

“Take your clothes off for me, baby,” he sits up straight and begins to unbutton his shirt. You roll over onto your back and start to strip down while he throws the shirt on the floor, then lays back and takes off his pants. 

He reaches into drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube, then squirts a dollop of it into his hand and glances up at you. You're laying on your back, propped up on your elbows, lust-blown eyes glued to his cock. When he spreads the slick along his length, your pink tongue rolls across your lips, stoking the hot coals in his core.

Dieter crawls across the bed to you, murmuring, “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

Your gaze locks onto his as your jaw drops open. He moves up your body and straddles your chest, holding his throbbing, aching cock out to you, “Wanna fuck that pretty face of yours, is that ok with you?”

You nod, threading your brows together, batting your lashes, eyes all half-lidded and hungry, and purr, “Use me like a fuck doll.”

The request makes his cock pulse in his fist. You curl your tongue against a bead of pre-cum hanging off the tip of him and wiggle it around. His head falls back when the delicate touch floods his body with pleasure and he groans, “Holy fucking sh—”

The words evaporate from his throat when your lips pull taught around his girth, the wet heat of your mouth engulfing him. His lubed-up hand falls to the wayside and he snaps his gaze back to yours. You hold eye contact and move at a slow, steady rhythm, taking more and more of him with each renewed bob. 

Dieter moans at the sight of you, lips all shiny and stretched out around him, eyelids fluttering. He brushes the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead, gathering what he can reach in his fist. Tightens his grip. Pushes his hips forward. 

When he breaches your throat, you gag. A hot rush of spit pours from your mouth. Twitching muscles squeeze around him, protesting the intrusion. A wave of ecstasy rushes up his spine and pulls a moan from his stomach. 

“Are you ok?” he rasps, meeting your watery eyes. 

You pull off of him, panting, strings of saliva hanging between your reddened lips and his glistening cock, and nod, “Don’t fucking stop,” before taking him in your mouth again. 

So he thrusts forward again, carefully, every muscle in his body tensing with restraint. Your palms slide up his thighs, around to his backside, where you dig the tips of your fingers into his skin, urging him forward, and he knows now that you fucking meant it: Use me like a fuck doll. 

He nods with understanding, “You want more, hmm?”

The hum of approval from your throat ripples across his body and makes him groan. You bat your lashes up at him, eyes creased like you’re smiling but your mouth is all crammed full of his cock so it’s hard to be sure, but he can tell you’re just fucking loving this shit. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s almost more than he can handle. 

“Want me to fuck that pretty fucking face?” he growls, closing his fist around your hair tighter, rolling his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your mouth. 

You moan and it makes him moan, the vibration of your throat writhing beneath his skin.  

He adjusts his angle, releasing your hair to grab both sides of your head and plunge deeper, down past the back of your mouth, letting out a sharp groan as the firm ridges slide tight around him. His hips work forward in a quick, short burst of wet thrusts that light up every nerve in his body, then he pulls from your mouth. While you gasp for breath, he grips the base of his cock with one hand while the other grabs your spit-covered chin, “Is that what you fucking want? Fuck your face just like that?”

“Fuck yes, just like that,” you choke out, voice all gritted and airy.

“You pinch me when you need to breathe, ok?” he instructs, searching your flushed, messy face, “Pinch me right now so I know.”

This big smile spreads across your swollen lips and you squeeze a chunk of his ass between your fingers, “Like this?”

“That’s it, baby, do that and I’ll let you come up for air,” he nods, “Now stick out your tongue.” 

Your tongue stretches down to your chin, and he slaps his cock against it with a smack-smack-smack before sliding it back into the hot cavern of your mouth. He cradles your skull in his palms and thrusts forward, cramming himself down your throat. Your vocal chords buzz against him, and your mouth emits this sick, wet glug-glug-glug that sets him on fucking fire. You pinch him and he pulls out, both of you gasping and moaning. 

“So fucking good, fuck,” he rasps, waiting a moment for your breathing to be less desperate, then asks, “Ready?”

You hum a little mhmm and open your mouth, welcoming him back to fuck your throat. He can barely fucking stand how hot you look with your face all shiny with sweat and tears and spit, how your eyelids flutter then snap open to meet his gaze, how your body wiggles around beneath him, hips bucking against nothing, thighs rubbing together. 

If he didn’t have you pinned down like this, you’d be touching yourself, he just fucking knows it. 

The ecstasy tingling at the base of his spine starts to spread and you pinch him just before he loses control. He pulls out, but doesn’t dare grab himself this time, for fear that any stimulation will push him over the edge.

He gets on his hands and knees and leans down to press his lips to yours. You throw your arms around his neck and arch your back into the kiss, pulling him closer, rolling your tongue against his as soft whimpers flutter from your mouth. One of his hands trails down your body, between your legs, and he groans at how fucking wet you are. 

You gasp against his lips, throwing your head back as he plays with your clit, working you at a rapid rhythm that makes your face twist and flush, nodding in approval, quick little gasps and squeaks escaping your throat. 

He grins when he realizes how close you are. So fucking worked up from sucking him off, already coiling up, ready to burst. 

“That’s it, baby,” he husks, kisses you, then presses his sweaty forehead to yours, “That’s it, let me see you fucking cum, baby.”

“Fuck fuck fuck, Dee, don’t stop—fuck—”

Your words disappear with a sharp inhale, muscles tensing up, hips arching against his hand. He continues to move against you, fast and steady and firm, until you find your voice and release a choked sob. You collapse into yourself, body shaking violently, legs clamping shut, gasping for air. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe, and your body starts to slacken, but jumps like a live wire at his slowing touch. 

Dieter slides down your crease, through your arousal, propping himself on one arm to watch how your cum clings to his fingers in thick, heavy strands as he draws his hand away. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he murmurs, licks you from his fingers, then drags them along your warm, gooey seam again, “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyebrows press together and lips part with a whimper, but you don’t appear adverse to the suggestion. In fact, you bring a hand to your chest. Cup your breast. Pinch your nipple and gasp. 

His body surges hot with want. He grazes his nose against your face, rumbling into your ear, “How’d you put it? Like a fuck doll?” 

Your throat lets out a little whine and your lips pout out into an O as he sinks two thick fingers into your cunt. You prop yourself up and watch him slide in and out, whimpering and nodding, “Fuck that’s so good, Dee—oh my god, yes—”

The hunger roiling at his core grows. He adds another finger, stretching you wider, and you release a choked moan. 

“Is this what you want, Lua? Want me to fuck you like a little slut, hmm?” he pants, shifting himself to hover above you, pumping his arm, cramming his fingers into your tight, wet heat over and over again. 

“Yes yes yes yes yes,” you babble, and start moving your hips against him, “Do that thing—”

Dieter smirks, knowing exactly what thing you’re referring to, and pulls his hand up towards the ceiling, rubbing the pads of his fingers hard against your g-spot, “That?”

“Fuuuuuuck yes, baby, just like that,” you moan, “That’s so good, baby, such a good fucking boy, fuck me so good—”

He lets out a groan and wiggles his fingers faster, “Yeah? You like when I make you squirt all over the place? Wanna soak my fucking bedsheets?”

Your response is a strangled noise, but you nod your head frantically, and your limbs start to tremble. And, fuck, the sight of you all shaking and whining, skin slick with sweat, makeup running down your pretty, flushed, contorted face, it’s enough to send his insides fluttering, barreling towards oblivion once again. 

Dieter has to close his eyes, swallowing hard as he tries to reign himself in, forcing himself to fill his mind with mundane thoughts about what to eat for supper, how this disaster of an interview will get resolved, whether or not he’ll wake up early to attempt making breakfast for you, all while trying to ignore the liquid hot squeeze of your pussy around his wiggling fingers.

When he feels he finally has a grip on his pleasure, he snaps his eyes open and moves between your legs. Buries his face in your cunt. Rolls his tongue on your swollen clit. 

“Yes, fuck,” you breathe and anchor your hands in his hair, pulling his curls into tight fists. Your breathing starts to come in shallow gasps. The muscles of your thighs tense and twitch. 

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, and he works you faster, moving his tongue in a circle, tickling the inside of you, groaning as you rub yourself against him, smearing your juices all over his face. You moan when the sound hits you, so he continues, humming from the back of his throat, and it’s just the push you need. 

Your hips stutter and still. A wild, ragged noise tears from your chest. You convulse around his fingers, and he pulls them out, sliding his mouth down to your opening just as a hot wave of pleasure gushes out. It splashes against his face, and he tries to catch as much as he can on his tongue, moaning at the taste of you. Grabs your waist and holds you there, lapping away at your cunt as you gasp for air, body jerking at the stimulation, but unable to move from his vice grip. 

He climbs your body and kisses you, hard and messy, letting you taste yourself. You rake your fingers through his hair, whining into his mouth when his tongue slides across yours. 

His cock aches with neglect. The steady inflow of pleasure burns between the layers of his skin and begs to be released. 

He pulls away from your lips and pants, “Flip over for me, love. I wanna fuck your ass.” 

And, you… fucking hell, Lua, you smile at this like he told you he’s buying you a brand new car. He sits up and you roll over onto your belly, then stick your ass up into the air, “Is that good?”

“Fucking perfect.”

Dieter grabs the abandoned bottle of lube,  squeezes some into his palm, then requests, “Spread for me, baby.” 

You reach back, pulling your ass cheeks apart. He squirts some of the lube on your puckered hole and you yelp, then giggle, “It’s so cold.”

He chuckles at this as he strokes his cock, smearing the slick lube along his length, then he asks, “Have you done this before? Anal sex?”

This isn’t the first time he’s ventured into ass play with you, but only with tongues, toys, fingers. You look back at him and shrug, “Well, yeah, but,” then you drop your gaze to his dick, “You’re, um… a lot bigger than anyone else…” 

The comment makes his ego swell, and he can’t help but grin, spreading the lube across your tight hole with his middle finger. Then he applies pressure to its center until it allows him access. Your eyelids flutter and you whimper, licking your lips, pulling your cheeks apart further. 

“I’ll go slow, but if it’s too much, tell me and I’ll stop, ok?”

“Ok,” you nod.

He wriggles another digit inside you. You gasp and nod, “Fuck, that feels really good.”

“Good,” he purrs, rutting into you slowly, flicking his gaze between your face and ass, watching the way your lips part and eyelids drift closed, feeling the muscles inside you start to relax. 

You arch your back into the stimulation, breathy little whimpers and moans floating from your mouth like music to his fucking ears. Lust pools hot and needy at his center, making his heart thud and his cock ache. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, studying your face as you open your eyes and look back at him. 

“I’m ready,” you confirm, holding his gaze as he pulls his fingers out and brings the head of his cock to kiss the tight, lubricated hole. 

Dieter pushes forward cautiously, pausing when your asshole surrenders to the very tip of him and you let out a sharp cry. After a moment, you nod, “Keep going.”

So he does. The tight ring squeezes the ever loving fuck out of him as he slowly, tediously, makes his way inside you. His forehead breaks out in a sweat, muscles quivering from the effort it takes to move at this pace. Your face pinches up with what could either be pleasure or pain, he’s not quite sure, but it’s accompanied by whimpers and nods, signaling your approval. 

Once the head of his cock is fully engulfed, though, and you adjust to his width, acclimate to the feeling, things start to go faster. He pushes your hands away and spreads your cheeks himself, hissing, “Fuck, this looks so good, baby. Love seeing your sweet little asshole stretched out around my cock—”

“It feels so fucking good,” you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows, “Give me more.”

The request squirms around inside him and makes his throat rumble. He drives his hips forward steadily, and it’s a fucking vacuum of suction, pulling him in, swallowing him whole. You sputter and moan in reaction, croaking out quiet little whines of “oh my fucking god” over and over again.

“Fuuuuck, you’re so fucking tight, holy fuck, Lua,” he groans, throwing his head back, then starts to roll his hips, still moving at a languid pace, sliding his length along that ring that, even when your muscles loosen slightly, grips him so fucking tight it makes every ounce of sanity flee his brain. 

“Do you like that? Like when I fuck your ass with my fat cock?” he asks through grit teeth.

You whimper and nod, “Yes yes yes yes—”

“Tell me,” he demands, snapping his hips, heart jumping at the moan you choke out. 

“I like it wh—when you fuck my ass—” he snaps his hips again and you gasp, then continue, “with your big, fat cock—”

“Yeah you fucking do, don’t you?” He increases the tempo, moaning at the squeeze of you, how fucking good you feel wrapped around him, and grinds out, “Little fuck doll likes being used, hmm? Just like this?” 

“Holy fuck, Dee,” you groan, raising yourself up onto your hands, pushing back against his thrusts, “I fucking love it, yes.”

The force of your body moving with his, burying him to the hilt inside you again and again, fills him with fire. Sweat drips from his forehead onto your back, heart fluttering in his heaving chest, hands tingling, limbs trembling, ecstasy pooling thick and hot at the base of his spine. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me fucking cum,” he warns, but doesn’t let up his pace. 

“Cum in my ass, baby, please please please,” you moan. 

The request tugs at the edges of him, and he wants you closer, wants to feel the heat of your skin against his. 

“Get up here,” he grunts, leans forward and hooks an arm around your torso, pulls your back against his chest, cradling your neck in his palm. Your head falls back onto his shoulder and your mouth is hanging open slack, frantic little moans fleeing your throat as he fucks your ass deep and hard, rumbling into your ear, “Cum in your fucking ass, hmm? My little slut wants her ass filled with cum?”

You bring your hand to the back of his head and grab a fistful of hair, breathing, “Fuck yes, please, Dieter, please—”

“Anything for you, love,” he pants, then you pull his hair tighter, and you start to rock your hips against his, and your whines get all high-pitched and airy, and he babbles, “I mean that, I really do, fucking anything you want, baby—fill your ass with cum, buy you whatever the fuck you want, fucking anything, I swear to god—”

Your lips cut him off, and you’re fucking trembling now, muscles all tight and coiled, squeezing around his cock, and he kisses you back with fire, groaning against your mouth as you whimper, then your breath disappears completely, you let out a strangled moan, and your body shutters from the force of your orgasm. The static buzzing in his center grows wider, deeper, tingling up his backbone, through his limbs, until it washes over him completely.

He thrusts into you one, two, three more times, spilling his load inside you.

His labored breathing puffs hot against yours. You bring your touch to his cheek and draw a circle into his beard with your thumb. He kisses you again, gentler, lips lingering on yours, then murmurs, “I fucking love you.”

A bright, wide smile spreads across your face. You let out this breathless little giggle, kiss him, then say, “I fucking love you, too.” 

Dieter pulls out and falls back onto the bed, stretching out, catching his breath. You follow suit and cuddle up to him, laying your head on his heaving chest. He curls his arm around your shoulders and rests his cheek on the crown of your sweaty head. 

The silence that settles is comfortable, and he notices that the rest of the house is quiet, too. Darlene must have fled sometime while he was fucking you, no doubt disgusted by the noises that were probably not muffled at all by the barrier of his bedroom door. 

His attention draws back to you when you whisper, “Am I doing the right thing? By cutting her out of my life?”

It takes a moment for him to understand what you’re asking. When it clicks, he frowns, “I don’t think that’s a question I can answer.” 

You’re quiet in response, so he inquires further, “What’s your relationship like with her?” 

“We, um… we butt heads,” you shrug and bring your fingertips to his sternum, start drawing little swirls against his skin, “She’s always been so… I don’t know, self-centered? Childish?” you pause here, and he can hear the gears in your busy mind turning. You lay your palm flat over his heart and say, “It’s always about her. She didn’t come see me when Ethan died, or try to console me, or anything. She fucking—”

A frustrated huff of air blows across his chest. You shake your head, then sigh, “She fucking called me all the time crying about it, and posted all this bullshit online about how sad she was, and—and she fucking hated him. It’s like she expected me to comfort her. She never asked how I was doing. It was… fuck, it was just like when Dad died.” 

Dieter smooths circles into your skin with his thumb. Studies the ceiling, waiting for you to say more. Then you do. 

“When I would try talking to her about how much I missed him—my dad, I mean—she would get fucking mad at me. Say shit like, ‘Well, how do you think I feel?’ or—or, ‘You’re not the only one who lost him,’ or—this one’s my favorite, the uses it all the time, ‘It’s not all about you, Louella Rose,’” you pause and scoff to yourself, shaking your head, “So I stopped trying to her about it, and then she would get mad at me for not talking about it, so then I would talk to her about it, and she would either get mad all over again or squirrel the things I told her away to use as fucking ammunition against me the next time I made her upset, and—and, I don’t know. That’s just how it is with her.” 

Dieter’s mind whirs as he sifts through the million thoughts pouring through his brain, trying to find the right one to tell you. It feels like finding the hay in the needlestack, and when his mouth opens, all that comes out is, “Fuck that.”

“Yeah,” you snort, then comb your fingers through his hair and murmur, “I love your curls, they’re adorable.” 

He almost takes the subject change you dangle in front of him, but something lingers at the base of his throat, begging to be known. 

“Look,” he starts, shifting to meet your gaze, and sighs, “I really don’t think you’re making a mistake by cutting her out of your life, Lua. And-and not because she said those things about me, but because she treats you like shit. And, I know it’s not my place to say shit like this, but,” he shakes his head, searching your face, watching the tears pool in your eyes, “She might be your mom, but that’s not family, you know?”

Your face crumples up. 

He starts to fumble out an apology, “Fuck, I’m–”

You kiss him. 

When you pull back, you whisper, “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” he breathes, brushing his hand against your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you scoot closer, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. A few peaceful moments go by before your stomach growls so loud it makes both of you start laughing. 

“Let’s get you some fucking food, huh?”