#we might have to give it 30 or 40 years
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formula-fun · 6 months ago
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sorry but the f1 movie looks so cringe and bad and "who said anything about safe?" is a terrible line and lowkey disrespectful and just proves the people involved dont actually give a shit about the sport or the people involved with it. im going to have so much fun hating on this film until its release in approximately a year, at which point i hope it fades into obscurity the day after it comes out
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reasonsforhope · 7 months ago
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"When a severe water shortage hit the Indian city of Kozhikode in the state of Kerala, a group of engineers turned to science fiction to keep the taps running.
Like everyone else in the city, engineering student Swapnil Shrivastav received a ration of two buckets of water a day collected from India’s arsenal of small water towers.
It was a ‘watershed’ moment for Shrivastav, who according to the BBC had won a student competition four years earlier on the subject of tackling water scarcity, and armed with a hypothetical template from the original Star Wars films, Shrivastav and two partners set to work harvesting water from the humid air.
“One element of inspiration was from Star Wars where there’s an air-to-water device. I thought why don’t we give it a try? It was more of a curiosity project,” he told the BBC.
According to ‘Wookiepedia’ a ‘moisture vaporator’ is a device used on moisture farms to capture water from a dry planet’s atmosphere, like Tatooine, where protagonist Luke Skywalker grew up.
This fictional device functions according to Star Wars lore by coaxing moisture from the air by means of refrigerated condensers, which generate low-energy ionization fields. Captured water is then pumped or gravity-directed into a storage cistern that adjusts its pH levels. Vaporators are capable of collecting 1.5 liters of water per day.
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Pictured: Moisture vaporators on the largely abandoned Star Wars film set of Mos Espa, in Tunisia
If science fiction authors could come up with the particulars of such a device, Shrivastav must have felt his had a good chance of succeeding. He and colleagues Govinda Balaji and Venkatesh Raja founded Uravu Labs, a Bangalore-based startup in 2019.
Their initial offering is a machine that converts air to water using a liquid desiccant. Absorbing moisture from the air, sunlight or renewable energy heats the desiccant to around 100°F which releases the captured moisture into a chamber where it’s condensed into drinking water.
The whole process takes 12 hours but can produce a staggering 2,000 liters, or about 500 gallons of drinking-quality water per day. [Note: that IS staggering! That's huge!!] Uravu has since had to adjust course due to the cost of manufacturing and running the machines—it’s just too high for civic use with current materials technology.
“We had to shift to commercial consumption applications as they were ready to pay us and it’s a sustainability driver for them,” Shrivastav explained. This pivot has so far been enough to keep the start-up afloat, and they produce water for 40 different hospitality clients.
Looking ahead, Shrivastav, Raja, and Balaji are planning to investigate whether the desiccant can be made more efficient; can it work at a lower temperature to reduce running costs, or is there another material altogether that might prove more cost-effective?
They’re also looking at running their device attached to data centers in a pilot project that would see them utilize the waste heat coming off the centers to heat the desiccant."
-via Good News Network, May 30, 2024
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alexaloraetheris · 6 months ago
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Oh boy, I feel like it's time for a post nobody will like.
We all know clothes are getting worse. Recently I found some jeans I bought in high school, and since I lost weight recently I tried them on and they fit, so I'll be wearing them once we get out of the Hell season.
But I took them and compared them to the most recent pair of jeans I bought, and... Honestly the difference in quality is so fucking stark it made me want to give up on life. The jeans I wore in high school have gone through everything. I'm talking half of Europe here, because one of our teachers was pretty big on school trips everywhere she could get the money for. They've been washed, tumbled, survived an actual car crash and they're still good.
The most recent pair I machine-washed ONCE, everything else was hand-wash only. I babied them to the max because they made my ass look like was on Instagram. Do you know what they look like now?
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They're full of fixes like these. They lasted less than a year on their own. I got another decent year out of them SOLELY because I kept fixing them. And fixing them again. The crotch alone I had to fix SEVEN TIMES. I COUNTED.
And these weren't cheap jeans! C&A jeans tend to be around 40$ these days, and I got these for about 30 with a discount. I expected them to last me AT LEAST a few years, because those high school jeans? THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING BRAND.
Considering this was the quality I was getting for nearly 40$ I figured I might as well get the same quality for 15$ and downloaded SHEIN. I didn't get jeans from them but I got some light, fluttery summer pants in the style that, honestly, I fucking love. I got three pairs for the price of one C&A jeans, and I am aware I will have to baby them even more, because out of the five pairs of pants in total I have bought on SHEIN only ONE is made of the fabric that I might be brave enough to machine wash. And with SHEIN continually getting sued for using sweatshops I probably won't be getting those pants again.
So what to do with that shitfuck situation?
I am insanely lucky my grandma knew how to sew really well and didn't mind me looking over her shoulder as long as I was quiet. I am aware that's not a skill everyone has, but quite frankly? When nobody has any money and even paying big bucks for clothes does not guarantee any kind of quality, and even fucking THRIFT STORES are full of just junk now, I think it's time to face the facts.
You need to learn how to sew.
I'm not talking about sewing your own clothes, though if you can and you have the time and patience, it's probably the best option (good luck finding decent fabric, because we can't even find THAT anymore unless you're ordering from fucking Belgium). I'm talking about fixing up seams and sewing on a patch, little repairs that make your clothes last. It might be junk, but with sewing you can make it last twice as long for the price of a spool of thread.
Now that I've pissed off everyone who is, for some reason, morally opposed to learning how to sew because it's a 'girly hobby' or 'supporting the patriarchy' (a take that left me baffled like nothing else) I'm going to piss off everyone who already knows how to sew.
I recommend getting this little guy.
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It's called a stapler sewing machine, for obvious reasons. If I recall correctly, it was invented to fix clothes on the go for fashion shows and/or cosplay. It does only a chain stitch and needs to be pushed manually, but if you need to, like, hem your trousers and you don't want to spend half an hour on doing it manually (and don't already have an actual sewing machine) this is a lifesaver.
Here's a tutorial how it operates:
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Now, why am I recommending this? Because it will only set you back six bucks. I got two right off the bat because I was banking on one not working (and I was right) and so I could use it for spare parts. The one in the video (Spring Come) is the one I have as well, and it's the one that actually works. I can't vouch for any unmarked ones, but the blue one works. It IS a little temperamental, but with a bit of practice it makes things so much easier.
The reason I'm not recommending an electric machine of any kind, even the one that costs 18$, is because, if you're a beginner, then an automatic sewing machine becomes a machine that exponentially speeds up the rate at which you make mistakes, and if it breaks down, good luck fixing it unless you have a dad/uncle/friend who knows his electronics. This thing can be fixed with a screwdriver, and takes the same needles as an ordinary sewing machine.
You can buy a bundle of needles just about anywhere for any price and they'll be decent as long as they're steel, but I would recommend looking for some actual better quality thread. Everywhere else, you can pinch pennies, but the thread itself is what's holding your clothes together, so this should be the part where you're looking for quality instead of price.
Alright, those of you who didn't scroll past with a derisive scoff at my take, I hope I've been helpful.
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sunshine-zenith · 5 months ago
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I mean. If A New Wish takes place roughly 20 years after the original series (which seems to be the case since Vicky was 16 in the original and is said to be 36 here), then wouldn't Peri be RIGHT at college age?? Why is he immediately going into childcare instead of spending some time partying at the club.
Like I kind of get why he keeps getting distracted by his parents- he literally hasn't seen them in years and there doesn't seem to have been any contact between them during that period. Who was raising him while Cosmo and Wanda were gone. Is he still the only fairy born within the past ten thousand years. Did he cope at all with suddenly losing his brother forever, or is he just repressing it like he's apparently subconsciously been doing with Vicky and who knows what else. Peri and Dev can go to therapy together
This ask got me seriously thinking about the timeline between FOP and FOP:ANW, especially in relation to the Cosma-Fairywinkles
So Wanda and Cosmo’s ten thousand year long vacation obviously involved time travel, and from how both Wanda and Peri words things, it sounds like he wasn’t there with them, at least for the last part of it — she specifically says they lost track of him during those ten thousand years and he specifically call it their (his parents’) vacation, not our vacation. That said, this trip, again, obviously involved time travel, meaning that while ten thousand years passed for Cosmo and Wanda, they might’ve only been gone for a few months for Peri. While that’s still a super long time, given how old Cosmo and Wanda are, it might not be that long for them (ex I was talking about school timelines with an older coworker, and she said that while an extra year is a long time for someone in their 20s, like me, for someone in their 40s-50s like her it’s nothing)
That said, even if the vacation wasn’t that long from Peri’s perspective, Peri specifically notes he hasn’t seen them since they got back from it — we don’t actually know how long Cosmo and Wanda were living as a “normal retired human couple” but it’s been long enough that they at least know some of the local celebrations (the lightbulb-ice cream parade)
Wanda and Cosmo don’t seem like the type of people to abandon/neglect their kid, especially after something as presumably tragic and traumatic as their sibling completely forgetting about them, so I’m just gonna assume that they either didn’t start their vacation until Peri was old enough to be on his own, or that they took Peri with them and Peri broke off from them early on when he reached the age of majority
Cosmo specifically notes the year 2001, which is a reference to when the original show started airing. This also technically establishes 2001 as the year Peri was born, since Timmy doesn’t age over the course of the series (ignoring timeline shenanigans from later in the series that ended up being reversed anyway) (also Peri is officially Gen Z rep)
I’m gonna say that ANW takes place in 2023-2024, since that’s when it was animated/aired, so about 22-23 years from the original series, which works with Vicky being said to be in her late 30s-early 40s and AJ looking to be in his early 30s (plus for all the fantastical elements these shows include when history is concerned — ie every they do with dinosaurs — this writers do seem fond of establishing political events in the series as matching the real world — ie Cosmo getting emotional over Obama and wanting to go back to those days. Establishing the show as being 2024 instead of 2021 gives enough distance in universe from quarantines that the writers can get away with not mentioning it. If it was meant to be set in 2021, I feel like the writers would include some kind of reference — a throw away line establishing it as something that did/didn’t happen in universe)
We don’t know how fairies age, how long it takes them to reach the age of majority, but yeah, Peri just feels very Young Adult coded, and him being 20-23 just kinda works with his character. He comes off as someone fresh out of school working their first real job and being blindsided by how different it is from what he expected/studied. Assuming that he aged like a human up until adulthood and assuming that Cosmo and Wanda waited until he was old enough to study on his own (18) in a safe environment (a fairy academy presumably), that means it’s potentially been 2-5 years since he’s seen them and that he spent his adulthood/adult education without them — no wonder they still see him like a kid while he wants them to treat him like an independent adult, he was basically still a kid going off to school when they last saw him while he had years of his own to give the adult thing again (again, in a hard but semi-sheltered environment that would be a school in fairy world). It’s possible Cosmo and Wanda are overcompensating for the thousands of years they missed (for them)/missing important events like graduation (for Peri)
It makes me think of the fact that the writers specifically named the robots that care for Dev and fulfill his demands (ei what ends up being Peri’s job when he comes along) “au pairs” — an au pair is basically a cross between a foreign exchange student and a nanny, someone (typically a young adult) from a different country who moves in with a local family and helps take care of the children and house in exchange for a living situation, and many au pairs specifically take on the role while studying at a local university. That’s not too far off from what Peri/a Fairy Godparent’s role is
All that out of the way… yeah Peri should be in the club. BUT who would he even go out with? Yes he had similar aged peers in the original series (Foop/Irep and Goldie), but we don’t actually know if fairies started having kids again after he was born. If he had classmates as an adult, they would likely be fairies much older than him returning to school, so people he might not easily relate to
Thinking about it, it starts to make sense why Peri was given such a hard case for his first godkid — fairies can chose to go into retirement but for the longest time couldn’t have children, so there wasn’t anyone to take up the jobs they leave behind. In the original series there was a fairy godparent shortage that probably only got worse as fairies working that job got to the point of “okay, this is my last child, I’m done after this.” Peri was possibly one of the only fairy godparents available (who else would go to Dev? Cookie? The fairy still pissed off at Cosmo and Wanda and going after Hazel? Please, she’d probably refuse before even looking at Dev), plus he didn’t have anyone experienced to give him advice going into things, so he couldn’t, say, negotiate for an easier kid to start with or something before taking up the job
Peri is a young adult with almost no one to relate to, choosing a career that he views as “the family business” to make his parents proud, choosing a career he automatically has a unique relationship to because of the timing of when he was born and who he grew up with, who has a strained relationship with his parents because of years of (unintentional but still) no contact (not to mention the very real family loss of having their other kid/his big brother basically go away forever and completely forget about them in the process, which can’t be easy to navigate), who’s working a hard job with no experience and seeming no resources
He really was doomed from the get go, wasn’t he
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carolmunson · 1 year ago
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caught like a fool without a line. (older!modern!eddie)
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part five of who knows how many. orange colored sky setlist.
summary: we've been seeing eddie for a month and the fear starts to settle in. with eddie's past and present making things difficult and your own insecurities brewing, things come to a bit of a head one night when you're out at a bar. featuring older!robin and our favorite guy older!steve from @loveshotzz series 'all i really want is you'.
tw: age gappy (reader and eddie are 12 years apart, but reader is late late 20s/early 30s and eddie and late late 30s/early 40s throughout this story so it's not like so bad). drunk!reader, alcohol consumption, discussions of eddie's promiscuous past (i know some people don't like when eddie is a slut), implied that reader wears eddie's clothes to bed but not that reader is small. gifs by: @keerysbrandnewbg and @eddiemunsonsource
songspiration: open | rhye and feelings | lauv
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You swirled the big ice cube in the tumbler with an unenthusiastic flair, making the orangey red liquid in the glass nearly spill. “And I don’t get it, we had a really nice first date and then made out again the next week and talked all the time and now he’s barely texting me back,” you complain, the tart grapefruit of your friend’s new take on an Aperol Spritz floods your mouth at your next sip.
“Maybe he’s just busy,” your friend Charlie suggests from behind the bar, “He’s older, you said, right? He might just not be on his phone as much. Do you like the drink? Is it too bitter?” 
“It’s bitter but not in a bad way, in a good citrussy way,” you nod, “And yeah he might not be on his phone as much but then why just sort of suddenly drop off and barely respond? Like, look at this.” You take out your phone, laying it on the bar and scrolling through a plethora of blue texts with some sprinkles of gray in between, “I look so pathetic.” “I think you just really like him,” she shrugs, smirking, “And I think that’s good, you haven’t been this excited about someone for a little bit.” “Yeah, but every time I’m excited about someone it bites me in the ass,” you lean on the palm of your hand, flipping your phone over, “Plus like, I’m not trying to be with anyone like that right now.” 
Your friend gives you a look, “Okay, sure.” 
“What do you mean ‘okay, sure’?” you scoff. 
“You’re not trying to be with anyone like your ex,” Charlie corrects, her dark red lips pulling into a smirk, “You go on and on about how you just want someone to take care of things for you. Maybe he’s that kind of dude.” 
“He has someone come every Sunday to clean his house for him,” you sip the drink again, “I don’t think he can take care of anything for me, considering I can clean my own house.”  The bar slowly starts to fill up with the after work crowd, leaving Charlie to run back and forth between you and pouring beers for incoming patrons.
“He can afford to have someone come and clean his house,” she says with a smirk, holding down the tap while she fills a glass with Lagunitas, "That's kind of hot." You flip your phone back over and sigh, no new messages.
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If anything is true in the music and art world Eddie is involved in it's that Eddie Munson is a professional loverboy. Never with someone for too long, never long enough for them to want something more than fun -- never long enough for 'Are you my boyfriend?' never long enough for 'What are we?' It got easier the older he got, the less women and men cared about labels. You were right to make that judgement about his key carabiner hanging on the front of his keys. Eddie Munson is a slut, and everyone knows it but you.
He had two actual girlfriends in his early twenties, but nothing quite like his friendship with Steve. 'Platonic life partner, sometimes,' they'd list it as -- never too afraid to get affectionate. Hugs, kisses on the forehead, Eddie held him so many nights when Emma died he felt like they left an indent in the center of the bed. He touched and loved the people who loved him back, but to anyone else – he never wanted to get too close. He always gave out just enough of him – enough for people to keep wanting more, a satisfaction he basked in now since he was such a loner in high school with no notches to his belt. 
But now he’s blabbering on to Robin over a huge plate of nachos about how you texted him all day. You texted him all day and he had his phone charging in the kitchen while he was upstairs in his office so he didn’t know and now it’s very clear that you’re upset. 
"Okay? How is this different from the girl you were seeing over Christmas?" Robin laughs over a mouthful of loaded nachos, a frosty pink Frosé next to her to beat the heat. Her eyes crinkle closed, a smattering of freckles stretching on the apples of her cheeks when she smiles. The heat of a sunburn runs soft pink over her nose, outside of the gray in her sand blonde hair that she'll never dye, she looks almost the same as she did in high school. “So you didn’t text her back,” she shrugs, “You leave her alone, she fades off into the distance – just like the girl before that, and the guy before that, and the girl before that. Why're you talking about it like it's the end of the world?”  "I care," he groans, turning his phone to show Robin your messages. You'd sent them every few hours, but most of the messages from the morning and afternoon were from when he was working -- phone nestled on the charger down in the kitchen while he clacked away on code upstairs. By the time he saw them he was embarrassed, and you were probably already at your friend's bar. Eddie tries to explain the whole situation while Robin scrolls through with a careful and soft expression, a tiny smile forming on her face. 
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“I already fucked it up,” Eddie sighs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail with volume hair stylists would envy. He runs his hand over his jaw, following the edge of it to land behind his neck where he squeeze gently on the muscle.
Robin shrugs again, passing his phone back to him, “Par for the course, kid.” 
His eyes narrow, “I’m older than you.” 
“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “You always fuck it up, Ed. That's your thing. You walk into a room and someone leaves crying. You've never done the whole sappy love thing with someone, why do you think you're changing your tune now?”
“I know but – fuck Robin, I didn’t even sleep with her yet,” he says a little louder than he intends. His tattooed hand wraps around the Pilsner glass in front of him, dripping in condensation, bringing it to his lips.
“That’s a new development,” she raises her brows, crossing her legs, "You never wait this long."
“I just…I don’t…I shit – I don’t know.” 
“What did Steve say?” Robin asks, teeth biting down on the straw to her drink, “He always has good girl advice.” 
“I haven’t even told Steve.” 
“At all?!” she nearly spits out the frose all over the nachos.
“Rob we just buried Em,” he explains softly, “Like, she’s not even fuckin’ cold yet. I can’t just come out of the woodwork five months later like ‘Hey man, think I actually met a girl I’d consider a future with. We’ve been seeing each other for a month’. And like – what if I’m just psyching myself out? What if this is just an early midlife crisis?” 
Robin takes a slow sip, nodding while he speaks before taking a pause. “Ed, I think you’ll feel better if you tell Steve,” she offers, “I think he’d get your head straight about it. But in the meantime, you should text her back.”
“What do I even say?” he huffs, shoving a loaded nacho into his mouth.  “Try honesty with a woman for once in your entire life, Rockstar boy,” Robin plasters on a customer service smile that makes him let out a frustrated ‘tsss’, “It won’t kill you.” "Here, I'll text Nance and ask her -- she's our next best bet," Robin takes out her phone and types with the fervor of a teenager with a sugar high. Eddie sips his beer, looking at the screen of his phone while the cursor to type blinks back at him.
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You stumble out of the bar, too crowded now to have fun with your friend. Over tired and over served you make your way down the street and around the corner, stopping to lean against the brick wall of a different bar when you feel your phone buzz in your hand. You take a minute, taking in your surroundings. People are so loud down here, and everyone is so pretty. Street lights are there and gone and there and gone as cars whiz passed on Delancey, the bustle of the Friday night life in the LES is a buzz with excitement. You're already a little down for the count. Your phone feels like a paper weight in your hand, sighing with satisfaction at the notificaiton on the screen. But your chest still aches with annoyance, how many times were you gonna get drunk at a bar with a swollen heart over some dumb boy? Man? Guy?
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You don't want him to come save you, you know how to get home. You can see the green bulbs of the train entrance and the glow of the McDonalds 'M' on the corner in the distance. Down the stairs, one train into Brooklyn, cross platform transfer -- you've done it drunker than this countless times before. You text Charlie with an air of victory before putting your phone back in your smart black faux leather bag slung over your shoulder. The warm summer air flows over your legs, catching the hem of your a-line skirt -- the light material flowing in the breeze. Time isn't working quite right for you but it feels like it's been five minutes and he hasn't shown up, so you make your way to the edge of the corner to cross.
"Whoa there, Peach," you hear Eddie's gruff voice from the side of you, the pull on your arm the same as when he steadied you at Trader Joe's a month ago, "Careful now."
You pull out of his hold, glassy eyes focused on the black and white stripes on the street ahead of you, "I know what I'm doin'."
“Where are you goin’, huh?” he asks softly. Eddie steps in front of you, guiding you to the light post to get out of the way of other pedestrians.
“Home,” you slur, “M’goin home. Trainssright there.” 
“I don’t think you’re good to take the train,” his voice is gentle, hand coming out to hold you at the waist, “I can get you a car.” 
“I’m fine.” It's the only sentence that comes out lucid, his jaw ticks.
"You don't look fine," he looks down into your glassy eyes, a look he's seen before. The way his mama would drown herself in whiskey and stumble into the kitchen so the bruises would't hurt so bad. The way an old fling would slur to him about how she can't live without him. The way you look so sad and it's his fault.
"I'm. Fine," you reiteratie. The light changes, the bright white of the walk sign flashes across the street. You go to pass him but his hands place themselves on your shoulders. "You really wanna get boiled alive on the train?" he asks with a smile, "You don't wanna take a car?" You sigh, why does he have to be so handsome? The gin from your last two drinks travels from your head to your thighs, pulling them together at the sight of his smile. He has that ratty vest on, a CBGC t-shirt sticking to him under it, the sleeves completely torn off. He smells like cedar and citrus again, a hint of a left over cigarette. His grays catch the light of the over head lamp, bouncing like tinsel in his pony tail sitting on the crown of his head. "Can we go to your house?" you ask, voice raised a higher octave than normal. His face blanches, "Aw honey, that's not a good idea. I don't want you to think that I --" "Please?"
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"Thanks, have a good night," Eddie waves off the delivery man with a smile as he rides away on his bike. With plastic in hand he makes his way back up the stairs where you've set up shop on one of the stools in his kitchen, head down on the island counter.
"Food's here," he says quietly. Dealing with drunk you was very much like dealing with drunk Robin in the early 2010s, overgrown toddler in a bad mood. You let out a half hearted 'Yay', head coming up, eyes half closed in the kind of sleepiness a few mixed drinks and some beers can send you into. He goes into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Poland Spring and a beer for himself. The waters get placed in front of you while he tends to getting the food plated up.
You ignore the water -- Blue Moon bottle staring right at you, and to be honest -- a cold cirtussy beer sounds sooo good right now. You reach forward, the glass ice cold against your palm now that the liquor has fully settled, heating up your skin. The sound of glass on the counter cobbles through the kitchen when you slide it closer to you, alerting Eddie to the noise.
“Excuse me,” he says sharply, snatching the bottle out of your hand, “Can you behave?” 
You pout when his eyes narrow at you, heart thumping guiltily in your chest, shame brewing in your skin. You nod back at him with sad eyes, a twinge plucking in your heart strings.
“Don’t give me that face,” he warns, “Don't act up."
“I don’t like when you’re mean,” you mumble softly, running your fingers in shapes over the butcher's block counter top. He sighs, plating your sandwich and pulling your fries from the bag. He kisses your temple while he slides the plate in front of you. "I'm sorry, honey," he says quietly, but gin always puts you in the mood to argue. "You don't have to talk to me like, like -- you don't have to talk to me -hic!- like I'm a kid," you hurtle out, surprised at your own gumption, "I'm not."
"I know," he says, putting the bags into his recycling bin under the sink, "I'm not talking to you in any kind of way Peach I -- " "You don't even like me," you state. His head cocks to the side, leaning on his hands while they hold on to the edge of the island. "Who said that?" "I was -hic!- I was talking to someone at the bar about --" you start, lump building in your throat, "About you and um -- they said, they said it sounds like --" Your eyes water, "Like I'm just for fun." "Oh," he says, looking down at his hands. The weight of this conversation falling into his stomach from his chest like a deep pit.
"Like I'm just fun for you to play with -- but like, you don't even wanna have -- you don'even wanna h-have-have seggzwithme so like -- you don't even like me." More and more if your insecurities flow out of you like a broken faucet, tears starting to slip down your cheeks.
"And like you probably don't even think I'm pretty."
"Oh, baby, no," he coos, brows tilted in sympathy while you drunkenly let all your sober fears out, "I think you're so pretty."
"So pretty," you repeat, wiping your face with your hands, "But that's it."
Eddie takes a deep breath, coming over to you and pressing his warm soft lips to your cheek, "Let's talk about this in the morning, sweetheart. I'm gonna get upstairs ready for you."
"I should just go home," you sniffle, embarrassment starting to flow through you with your bloodstream, burning all your pores, "I'm sorry." "No, no, don't go home," he assures, nose nuzzling against your cheek, "Stay. Just stay."
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He makes sure you eat, watching you come back to yourself the fuller and more hydrated you get. You're easy to lead upstairs, pliant and tired now, needy almost -- not that you'd ever admit to it. You tease him about his 'old man pills' when he takes out his perscription high dose Motrin he got for some old back pain. Great for when you might get a killer hangover these days. You grimace at the Pedialyte mixture he has you drink before you get tucked into his bed -- out before you can even feel him grab the pillows and a throw from the other side of you. He settles in downstairs on the sectional, sighing while he thinks about the way your face scrunches when you're about to cry. He flicks through his Hulu options on the big screen in front of him but nothing really seems to catch his attention. Mind wandering to you asleep upstairs but knowing better than to crawl into bed next to you when you're not yourself enough to say it's okay. The familiar buzz of his phone goes off on the coffee table, when he picks it up his face is on the front screen while someone calls in on FaceTime. "You're callin' late, man," Eddie grins lazily, socked feet sticking out to rest on the worn walnut table in front of him, "You okay?" "Yeah me and Bandit just got in from camping. Got some pics of him to send you, he's such a scamp." "You have fun?" he asks, rubbing his eyes. Eddie's voice is quiet while he speaks making Steve's head cock to the side. The lights changes on his face while he walks from the living room to his bedroom. "Yeah we had a lot of fun," Steve starts, "Why're you whispering?" "What do you mean?" Eddie asks, getting up off the couch to pad back into the kitchen. "You're talkin' all quiet," Steve smirks, "You got a girl over or something?" Ed puts his phone down and huffs while he grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet. Steve giggle, leaning his head in closer to the screen. "You do, don't you?" he guffaws, "Am I interrupting?" "She's sleeping," Eddie says softly, picking up the phone again and leaning against the counter. "Aw, so you ended up texting her back? Good."
"What the fuck? Who told you that?" Eddie's brows furrow, spitting through a mouthful of chips. "Robin, obviously." The light changes on him again while he makes his way to his own kitchen. Bandit's little pants and huffs echoing into the phone, "You think Nancy came up with the 'Hey pretty girl,' opening? She's never been a flirt."
"Well it worked so, congrats."
"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Steve pulls his own bag of chips out. They crunch together. "It just didn't seem right," he shrugs, "Y'know with Emma it's hard to be like, 'Hey I think I might actually see a future with this girl I've only been seeing for a few weeks.' Like, you just lost the love of your life."
"I'm not gonna be sad to hear that you're into someone, Ed," Steve smiles softly, voice calm, "Tell me about her."
So he does, he tells Steve about how he kept running into you that day at Trader Joe's and how he felt so stupid for not waiting at the doors for you but he was too scared. You were so cute in your bike shorts and sneakers, so careful in how you chose the fruit you were gonna get. When he saw you on the platform he knew it was like he was getting a second chance -- "Maybe Em thought you should stop being such a whore and sent her over," Steve laughs. Ed rolls his eyes but can't hold back his chuckle, watching as Steve rests his chin on the heel of his hand while he listens. Eddie talks about the picnic date, how he immediately felt comfortable telling you about his mom. The rain, the kiss in his apartment -- how he could've fucked you but didn't. How all your little dates had gone since.
"Oh so you like her," Steve nods.
"I'm scared," Eddie says quietly. "Scared?"
"What if it's just a fluke and I hurt her? Or I get hurt?" Eddie asks, "And like -- please don't take this the wrong way but like -- what if I put in all this effort and then lose her?"
"Like how I lost Em?"
Eddie nods slowly, not wanting to say the quiet part out loud. He talks about what you said when you got back to his place, how you think he doesn't really like you, how he doesn't think you're pretty. You're just for fun. "But this doesn't feel like 'just for fun', does it?" Steve challenges gently, "Cause if she was just for fun you would've texted me about if she could deep throat or not."
Eddie chuckles darkly, pink rising on his cheeks -- Steve chuckles too. Still gross boys who are gross.
"You should tell her how you feel," he encourages, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Everything."
"Okay," Steve shrugs, "I lost everything. And what happened?"
"We all came to pick you up." "Exactly. We'll be here to pick you up, too. Don't like..." Steve sighs, "Don't just immediately throw something away just because you're not used to it. The more you stand there and think about what you want, the less she's gonna think you want it."
"I know..." "So let her know you want it."
They talk for an hour, both cozied up on their respective couches -- Bandit immediately getting in the frame and yelping at Eddie's face on the screen. The seize in Eddie's chest loosens because maybe this could be okay. Now he just has to make sure you know it.
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You wake up the next morning, groggy and dry -- but thankfully not nearly as hungover as you were expecting. Your joints hurt, your stomach's a little jumbled, but no headache and that's what matters the most. You shift in his crisp sheets, turning around to see that the bed is empty next to you -- pillows and throw blanket gone with him. You slept alone. You look at your phone on the bedside table next to a full bottle of water. You chug it while you check your notifications -- 6:11 AM. If anything was true, you always woke up too early when you drank too much the night before. The water sits heavy in your belly, pressing your bladder which was already screaming for you to go to the bathroom. With a sigh you stand up, and when you do, the embarrassment of the night before settles in. Your emotional hangover.
You pad to the bathroom and pee, seeing your face in the mirror like you did the night you got rained out. Your makeup is smeared, face a little bloated -- you do your best to wash it off. The cool water feels good against your skin, still hot from the liquor and dehydration. You pat your face dry and leave the bathroom, lingering at the top of the stairs where he's laying on the couch, already awake. "G'morning," you rasp out. He perks up, head tilting up to look at you from his place in the living room. "Morning, peach," he smiles, "You feelin' okay?"
You nod, ungracefully stomping down the metal steps of the spiral staircase while you get your footing, "Your old man pills must be magic or something."
Eddie pulls back the blanket, scooching back against the cushions to make room for you to lay down next to him, "C'mere, baby."
C'mere, baby runs down your spine, making your throat catch. You make your way towards the couch, crawling in next to him. The living room is quiet, with just some early morning sun pooling into the windows -- like you two are the only people awake on the street this morning. He covers you up, wasting no time wrapping himself around you and pulling you into him, "Did you sleep okay?"
"Yeah," you nod into his chest, the scent of his skin mixing with the faint smell of cirtus and cedar, "Did you?" "Normally I'm fine on the couch," he says, voice grizzly and sleepy, "But I didn't sleep a wink last night." "Oh, I'm sorry. I could've slept on the couch or I --" "No, it's not that," he shakes his head, catching your gaze, "Probably would've slept better if you were next to me." Your cheeks burn, a smile splittling across your face, "Well I'm here now."
"You are," he nods, leaning up to run his thumb over the apple of your cheek where a stray piece of glitter sits. Remnants of your makeup that you couldn't wash away.
"I'm um...sorry for how I acted last night," you confess, "That's not like -- that's not how I am."
"Don't be sorry," he assures quietly, "I understand." You're both quiet for a moment, the hum of the central air fuzzing the silence between you. "You're not just for fun, peach," he says, a seriousness to his normally playful voice, "I'm sorry I made you feel like that." "I um -- I'm sorry I kind of went a little insane," you shrug, feeling small, "I didn't mean to text all those times and then come here and cry and like --" "Stop apologizing," he says, thumb grazing your lower lip to stop you, "You were just feeling a way, that's okay. I get it." He takes his thumb away, leaning down to give you a kiss that sends you reeling. Warm and soft, delicate. His hands lead his arms around you again, smiling when you reach up to cup his cheek. "I like you," Eddie smirks against your mouth. "I like you, too," you smile when he breaks away. "The deli's open on the corner if you want me to run over and get a bacon, egg, and cheese," he offers quietly. "Why do I feel like you were gonna do that anyway?" you ask in the same tone. "I was," he grins again, "I just wanted to impress you by asking." He sits up, clamboring over you to get some coffee started so it'll be done by the time he gets back. You wait patiently for him, rolling your eyes while he shoves his socked feet in his slides, leaving the house in his pajamas of a t-shirt and black joggers. You prepare the coffees, feeling domestic like you live here -- getting used to where things are already.
He comes back twenty minutes later, sighing when the air conditioning hits him as the door opens, "It's already like, 80 degrees."
"Gross," you reply, face scrunching in the way that he likes, "Coffee is ready." "Oh, thank you." His eyes glitter at the gesture, seeing that you used the same mugs from when he had you over the first time. Those are his favorites, but you'll learn that eventually. The sandwhiches are tossed on the butcher block counter where you cried last night, but your embarrassment melts away when you feel him wrap himself around you again -- like he can't get enough. "I'm playing a show on Thursday at House of Yes," he says, "They're doing a metal theme'd night." "Yeah?" you ask, hands reaching for the plastic baggy and taking out both of your sadwhiches wrapped in foil. His arms still tight around your middle while you maneuver around your kitchen. "You should come," he asks, kissing the top of your head, "I'll get you a ticket."
"I don't know if that's really my scene," you shrug, twisting in his hold to face him, "I'm not like -- I'm not cool and underground like that." "So?" he quirks his brow, "You can be cool and underground for one night to hang out with your hottie rockstar boy-toy."
"That's so gross that you described yourself that way," you laugh, pushing out of his hug and opening your sandwhich, "Like, so cringey, babe." "Babe," he repeats back to you, "I like that. You can call me 'babe' whenever you want." "Duly noted," you agree, teeth sinking into the bread of the roll and breaking into the warm and gooey center. The jumble in your stomach starting to fade away while the grease of the egg soothes it. Eddie takes his sandwhich and coffee to the living room, taking his phone off the coffee table to open up his text conversation with Steve:
she called me babe.
i literally can't even breathe right now.
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baronessvonglitter · 7 months ago
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Baby Daddy
best friend's husband!Dave York x married and fertile! f!Reader
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Word count: 1.5K
Summary: you and your husband have been trying for a baby, with no success. Then his good friend Dave offers assistance.
(AKA you're on some hormones that make you super horny and Dave pretty much takes advantage of that)
WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, slight D/S tones, forced pregnancy (though reader is already trying for a baby), infidelity (Dave and reader), slight sex pollen, reader is late 30s/early 40s but feel free to use your imagination, unprotected piv sex, pregnancy kink, creampie, use of hormones to get pregnant, some talk of infertility
Author's Note: I wrote this for those of us of a certain age who are not often represented in fanfics but as stated above please do use your imagination, there's no gatekeeping here ❤️ Naturally I wrote this while I was ovulating and suuupppeerr feral. I don't want to have any more kids but if Dave was insistent upon it I might just let him 🫢
DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST
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You and your husband's Saturday nights are usually spent with Carol and Dave, your friend from high school and your husband's friend from work, respectively. Mostly you have dinner at your house or theirs, followed with wine and a movie after. Tonight's not any different, except Carol looks at you funny when you politely refuse a glass of pinot grigio.
"Might as well tell them, honey," you husband Jim is all smiles as he addresses the table. "We're trying for a baby," he announces proudly.
You smile but it's masking your discomposure. "Honey I thought we were going to wait until I'm actually pregnant to tell everyone," you say under your breath.
Carol's face is illuminated with joy as she reaches over the dinner table to grab your hand. "That is such wonderful news! Isn't that such good news, babe?" she asks Dave.
Dave eyes both you and your husband, and there’s a mysterious little smile that curves across his lips. “That is great news.”
Jim continues, “She’s on trial pharmaceutical hormones right now, so hopefully it’ll work for us and we’ll be parents soon,” he says excitedly. You manage to be more reserved about it, though your heart rate does speed up when you notice Dave’s eyes on you longer than usual.
After dinner you offer to help tidy up while Jim and Carol start the movie. Really it’s just an excuse to be by yourself for a moment, but then Dave joins you, pouring himself a glass of scotch.
“Are you excited about trying for a baby?” he asks so casually.
In the years you’ve known him, he’s never spoken to you about personal things very often. “Yeah, I am,” you smile at him from the sink.
“How long have you and Jim been.. trying?”
It’s possible this is a normal question coming from a curious friend, but there’s always been something about Dave that gives off the impression that he’s anything but.
“Almost a year,” you answer.
“That’s a long time. Do you try pretty frequently?”
You make a sound of surprise, turning to fully face him. “That’s inappropriate.”
He puts his hands up. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He approaches you slowly. “I just meant it must be frustrating, putting in all that hard, fun work only to have your hopes dashed when you see blood the very next month.”
You’re rooted to the spot, knowing you should turn to leave and join the others, but it’s also intriguing, the way he speaks to you. “The new hormones are going to be a tremendous help,” you manage to say.
“Hmm. I bet you’re feeling all kinds of new things with these hormones.. even earlier at dinner I could tell.. you’ve got this unmistakable scent coming off you.. you’re probably ripe for someone to put a baby in you right now.” He towers over you, eyes roving your body in its feminine floral dress before his hands follow suit, gently tracing the outline of your curves. “You’d look so hot pregnant.. your hips getting wider, breasts getting bigger.. and it all starts with this.,” his hand sneaks under your skirt, skims along your inner thigh and finds your heat, evident through your cotton panties. “If your husband isn’t doing the job, why don’t I step in?”
“Dave,” you whisper, “Carol’s my best friend. I can’t..” but it feels too good and damn it he’s right: the hormones have given your libido a big boost. You take his hand and guide his fingers into your slick center. You both gasp quietly as he starts to stroke you with two fingers, then three when he sees you can take it. His lips trace delicately over your neck, just above your pulse point. Jesus, if his fingers fill you up this good, just imagine what he can do with that cock. “Fuck me,” you whisper.
“Are you sure?” His eyes are dark but there’s a kind of mirth there.
“Shut up Dave, just take me home.”
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After making your excuse to Carol and Jim that you’re feeling unwell, Dave “offers” to walk you home, which is how you end up across the street, upstairs in the room you share with your husband. He’s relentless as he kisses you with soft mouth and playful tongue. You fumble together towards the bed, working in tandem to get each other's clothes off as quickly as possible. There's urgency in everything you do, even your breathing is heavy and erratic. Your dress goes over your head; you pull off his shirt and unbuckle his belt. Layers are pulled away until skin meets skin and at last he pulls your panties off, smirking to find them absolutely soaked. You lean over the bed, looking over your shoulder at him.
"Is this how Jim usually likes it?" Dave asks, running his hand admiringly over the curve of your ass.
You blush at the sudden random evaluation of your married sex life. "Well.. yes.."
Dave shakes his head, a little smile forming on his lips as he turns you around and lays you across the bed. "I want to see the look on your face when you cum." With that, he slides into you, relishing your expression as he fills you completely. Your legs wrap around his hips and your arms wrap around his neck, all while your bodies move in perfect harmony. "He doesn't fuck you very often, does he?" Dave whispers in your ear, sending tingles down your spine. "I can tell, the way your pussy is gripping me so tight, like you haven't been fucked in weeks.."
You start a smart comeback but it's impossible to think when he's moving against you like he's fucked you hundreds of times before. Jesus, no wonder Carol's always happy. Her husband's well-endowed and knows how to use it.
The sounds of your combined moans becomes rhythmic, Dave's body strong and powerful yet gentle with you. The bedsprings creak beneath your weight, skin smacks on skin, hands grab everywhere they can, lips meet heated flesh, words of lust become sighs and half-uttered phrases. When you come you clench around him, fingernails digging into his skin as a great wave of pleasure and relief flows through you and you cry out. Dave's eyes are on you, barely registering the slight pain of your nails in his back, feeling how you milk him with your greedy little pussy, and his body tenses against yours, his movements become faster and faster as he fucks you during your orgasm. You barely have time to come down before he starts you up again. You moan "Yes!" over and over, hips meeting every one of his frenzied thrusts. Dave looks smug and self-righteous watching you come for the second time. It's not until you feel him swell and pulse inside you that you panic. "Dave, don't!..." but it's too late. You feel several warm bursts when he presses deep against you. To your shock your body reacts eagerly, milking his cock for every drop he has to give. All this happens with your gaze locked on one another's, and as you pale with the realization of what you've just done, Dave only smirks and pushes forward one more time.
You gasp. "Dave, you weren't supposed to-"
"Quiet now. Lay still and keep your hips elevated. Wouldn't want all my hard work to go to waste." He disengages from you, taking a moment to watch his seed spilling out of you and he gently presses it back in. "Not a drop," he says, and gets up to get dressed.
Still in shock, you do as he says, body still reeling from the aftermath of the intense fucking he's just given you. "Don't.. don't tell Jim about this. Or Carol." A massive wave of guilt washes over you knowing you've been unfaithful to your husband and to your oldest, best friend.
"I won't say a word," Dave promises. "I have no doubt Carol would hate you forever and Jim.. well, Jim would be heartbroken. He's not exactly a fighter," he smirks. "And I'll tell you something else." He sits next to you on the bed, admiring the messy state of your hair, your flushed skin. "Jim's a good guy and a good friend. He deserves better than a wife who betrays him like this."
Anger replaces your trepidation and you push him away. "You're an asshole. Get out!"
He looks amused by all this, rather than shamed or defeated as a normal person would. "I'll be seeing you around, sweetheart. We're friends with each other's spouses. It's inevitable." He leans towards you and brushes his thumb against your cheek. "If this time doesn't take - which I doubt it won't - I'm happy to help out again."
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Twelve weeks later Jim makes the happy announcement that you're expecting, after having tried for so long you've finally received a miracle. You manage to look contented and cheerful as your friends and family gather to celebrate the amazing news. Carol dotes over you, making sure you don't strain yourself for the baby's sake. You meet eyes with Dave, who's across the room watching you, a brazen little smirk on his face. He lifts his brow as if to ask the question you know he wants to ask, and all you can do is give a little nod.
divider by @enchanthings 👑
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mythicalviper-fr · 1 year ago
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FR Skin Contests and You (and Me)
Let’s talk about festival skin contests.
This post will be 1) about win conditions 2) my breakdown on my wins/losses. Before we start, please know a lot of this is guesswork, and based on my own perspective. Still, I hope this will be useful for some people ^^
***August/888 and I (but August mostly as it’s his idea) will be hosting an event encouraging new artists to join festival contests on 8/8. It will have a lot of tips and references to help get you started, so please keep an eye out! 
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When it comes to skin contests, people generally enter for one of three reasons: 1) for fun 2) because it’s seen as a milestone of skinmaking, or 3) out of a desire to push yourself to the limit knowing you’ll regret it like a Sunday hangover– but I hope that’s just me.
In my two years of participating in skin contests, I’ve seen a lot of artists join with a lot of excitement, only to give up or drop out because they aren’t winning. Some blame it on skill, others blame it on the staff, and some blame it on fellow competitors. 
Here’s what I will say: like any contest, winning the festival skin contest is based on a combination of luck, knowledge, and skill. Just like any contest, there is a strategy to it and there are win conditions that you have to fulfill if you want a chance at winning. Some artists find these win conditions quickly and are able to adapt and cultivate the skill needed to pull off a win. Some are aware of these win conditions but do not yet have the skill to pull off a win. And some aren’t aware at all. A loss is usually (but not always) a result of not fulfilling those win conditions, or not fulfilling them as much as another artist. 
So, let’s talk about these win conditions.
The Biggest Win Condition: Breed Variety
In my opinion, the biggest factor that makes or breaks an entry is breed variety. Over the past ten years, there's been a consistent trend of staff picking one winner per breed/pose, though there are occasional outliers (most recently, two Aether M for Brightshine, but previously also Undertide M and Spiral M). This means whenever you submit a skin, you’re competing against artists that also submitted the same breed/pose. 
For those who aren’t aware, breed variety has been dropping in contests, along with the number of submissions. The result is that there are very few submissions for less popular breeds. Take a look at Brightshine 2023 - the majority of the submissions were Aethers. But even if there ended up being three Aether wins, that meant none of the other Aether skins made it in. 
I want to explain this with numbers. Say Aethers (M&F) made up 60% of the Brightshine 2023 submissions but could only make it into 2 or 3/16 of the winning slots. That’s 60% of the submissions eliminated from making it into the remaining 13/16 slots. Where would the other 13/16 skins come from, if staff were to stick to their trend of 1 breed/pose skin per festival? The flight breeds - Imp and PC might take up 4 more slots. But that’s still 9/16 slots that need winners and only 30% of the submissions to pick from. Additionally, ancients will generally make up at least 40% of the winning submissions, if not 50%. That’s why having 100 submissions might mean there aren’t a lot of winners the staff could pick, and why there weren’t any Fae skins for Starfall 2022 or Spiral M skins for Mistral 2023. 
I tested this theory with F Ridgeback submissions. I mainly focused on three breed/poses that I saw as the least submitted - F Noc, F Bog, and F Ridgeback. I went with Ridgeback because it was the base I liked the most. The result? Out of the 22 contests I’ve entered, I won 5 with F Ridgeback. That’s a 25% win rate with one breed/pose alone. If we factor in wins I’ve had with these three poses combined, that’s 8 wins or a 36% win rate.
Drawing on an unpopular breed/pose is a good way to make sure you don’t have too many competitors (and also show some of the more unpopular breeds some love). This is particularly true if you’re a newer artist like I was. I started doing art in June 2021, so I knew there was no chance I could outcompete better artists on the same breed/pose. 
Of course, choosing the right breed will not always net you a win - you still need good skin composition and skills to catch the staff’s attention, which is what we’re going to talk about next.
Statutory Win Conditions: Flight Themes & Colors
When it comes to making a skin for a festival contest, I always recommend people look at the apparel, lore, and familiars for that flight, because these items are usually the closest to what’s canonically considered a flight’s aesthetic. A lot of the entries I’ve seen win are based off of the fest fams or match a fest apparel.
There are exceptions. The game aspect of the Lightning Flight isn’t canon, but we’ve had hivemind and gaming skins win. Why? Maybe that contest only had a total of 12-15 breed/poses submitted, maybe it was just the best executed skin for that breed/pose, maybe a staff member just really liked it. However, generally winners will match the flight’s canon aesthetic.
The trend of skin contest winners also suggest a favoring of elements that are placed on the dragon’s wings and head (leaves, vines, fairy/insect wings, gears), or accent/tattoo-like effects that involve gradient, sparkles, or abstract smoke (see 888’s 2023 brightshine win). Skin compositions that are balanced (elements throughout the body, as opposed to just one part of the body) see a higher win rate. Skins that have lower accent coverage tend to see higher win rates when they’re gradients/accents (linings on the dragon, runic/circuit effects) or when they’re concentrated on an easily noticeable/central part of the body (like the wings, or the dragon’s back).
In the end, knowing what to draw really comes down to research and knowledge. Before each contest I would review all the past winning entries and try to glean what staff did or didn’t pick. I noticed that staff didn’t tend to pick whiteout or body morph skins, and they tend to pick skins with higher coverage. I also checked past festival winners to see the color theme for each contest. There are some contests during which colors that aren’t necessarily the flight’s colors are still picked, and there are contests that haven’t seen a festival skin which didn’t match the flight’s colors. Like any contest, there’s always going to be a small bit of luck involved.
Ultimately, while I can’t speak for the staff, I do think there are win conditions that need to be fulfilled. You need to have a basic level of art skill. You need knowledge on skin composition and colors. Then, of course, you need to know which breed/pose to choose.
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I hope my analysis helps a little when you’re entering your next contest, or that it made for an interesting read. If you just came here for general tips and tricks, that’s all I have for you - you can also scroll all the way down to see my final thoughts on contests. But generally, just keep trying different things, doing your research, and making sure you’re sticking to the flight theme.
For people who want it, here’s my breakdown on each series of contests that I’ve entered, and reasons why I think I won or lost. 
-
Personal Analysis - Brightshine 2021-Brightshine 2023
I’m a very competitive person and more importantly, I love to compete. So the moment I found myself capable of making skins, festivals were on my radar. I studied what previous artists did, what techniques and designs seem to win the most. What skills did I need and what skins caught the judges' eyes? More importantly, what bases did I feel confident with and could perform the best on? As soon as I felt like I understood the contest, I entered Brightshine 2021 with about 2 weeks’ worth of art experience.
Then I proceeded to lose four contests in a row.
So, what happened?
Brightshine 2021 (loss)
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Sometimes unearthing your old art is like watching an old video of yourself in your cringey teenager phase. But knowing why you lost is important in understanding how you can win (and what to absolutely not do again).
For Brightshine 2021, I submitted a Guard F design with two recolors. At the time I only had the skill to draw lanterns and filigree, so I went “that’s Light enough” and did exactly that. Although I would say my theme was (kind of) on point, it was my execution that was lacking:
Issue No. 1: Colors. In review of previous Light winners there’s a umber/gold palette or gold/sunlight palette that appears to be the meta. There have also been cases of red or purple winning even though they aren’t used in official Light items, and some rainbow entries. While one of my recolors followed this scheme, it fell short because–
Issue No. 2: Composition. Skin composition is the balance of elements and how well each element pulls their weight in a piece of art. In my Brightshine 2021 entry, most of the base was left bare. Artists like August are really good at skin comp where their entire piece looks tied together; mine was far from that.
Issue No. 3: Quality. If you compare my Brightshine 2021 submission to my 2023 one, you’ll see what I mean. My art style relies on rendering, or applying lighting and shadows, to bring out each element. Basically I need rendering in order to win. This isn’t necessarily a requirement for you; some artists do lineless, others do painterly, and others don’t render at all, but overall the art style should have a specific level of quality that rendering brought out in my art.
In short: wrong colors, bad lineart, skill issue, no skin comp - overall it was a piece of art not even its creator could love. (I tossed the psd in the recycling bin and hit delete. Except looking in the database now apparently I printed it, so now I have to live with the shame of its existence.)
There is one takeaway that I got. By the time the contest ended there were no other Guard F entries. I realized then that had my art been better, with the breed/pose’s lack of competition, I could’ve had a shot at winning the contest. 
Thundercrack 2021 (loss)
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Alright, 2021 Myth thinks, I’ve learned my lesson from Brightshine. The skin composition was not good. That means I should put more stuff on the base and I’m sure to win!
Have you ever just looked in the mirror and realized you, yes you, are the most punchable thing in the world?
In all fairness, the skin comp of my TCC entry did improve. Like Brightshine, I did a single design with two recolors on an unpopular breed. Improvements I made: additional elements to the skin aside from the one big element on the wing, and a color palette that matched the flight. Of course, I wished my theme of hivemind/code also matched the flight aesthetic, but just like my love life, the only thing my submission matched with was loss and disappointment.  
Issue No. 1: Design. Upon reviewing past winners, very few featured fake apparel or clothing. As mentioned previously, staff do not appear to favor whiteout or body morph skins, and prefer elements that adhere to the dragon (like wings) or add to the dragon (like bones/feathers).
Issue No 2: Technology. For my entry, the circuit patterning on the wings did not take resizing well. I drew this on a 750x750 canvas and the resizing blended the many circuit lines into a single line. This isn’t a program issue. It was a lack of understanding of how resizing works.
Issue No 3: And we’re still here with my biggest problem: skill issue. Art is not a skill you learn in two months. I did learn to render, but not well enough. I wasn’t good enough. Yet. 
Starfall 2021 (loss)
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So… fun fact! During all of this I was writing my thesis. As in, I was writing my thesis after not writing my thesis for a year. It was stressful. I don’t have much to say about this contest because I did this skin as a meme for the sole reason that somewhere in my 3 am sleep deprived brain I thought “Emergency Portal-col” was hilarious.
I did not expect to win and I didn’t. Still, I did notice more and more that certain breeds just weren’t submitted for contests. Ridgeback F, I noticed, had anywhere from 0 to 1 submission for each contest while M pose generally had 0. Same for Nocturnes. 
Riot of Rot 2021 (loss)
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By this time, 2021 Myth had given up on the “one big element + some other accessories” idea. It hadn’t worked for Light or Lightning and it wasn’t going to work. So I thought, what if I just went for the accessory elements? My ROR skin featured the spider lily, smoke, and sparkles. I also started experimenting with dark gradients on the limbs of the dragon, which I’d noticed in winning fest entries.
Gradients and sparkles help with skin composition. Especially if you’re a newer artist who can’t pull off more complicated effects. Oftentimes a skin looks empty in certain parts, but adding elements to those parts would make things look messier. That’s where gradients/sparkles come in. However, I lost because:
Issue No 1: Composition again. While my elements tied together well, I had no main attraction other than the empty void that was the center of the Ridgeback wing. I essentially did a background scene and didn’t add a main character for it. This made me think that maybe my “one big element” skin comp idea was still worth a shot, but I needed a different take.
Issue No 2: Aaaand skill issue again.I was still bad at rendering, and sometimes skill is just why you lose. Not because you don’t have good ideas or because your execution was bad, but because you do not yet have the skills to defeat your competitors. You can do a really good looking skin, but if someone else in the contest did an even better looking skin on the breed/pose, then you’re not going to win.
Gala 2021 (win)
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Losing four times in a row was pretty discouraging. But here’s another important element to skin contests: consistency. The frequency of your submissions should result in a win so long as you fulfill all of the other win conditions such as good composition, understanding of the theme, and the basic level of art skill required to win. 
For the Gala, I realized that wings would be the best big element to put on a base while tying in all of the other elements. This is probably the most complicated skin I’d worked on at that time. But because I’d learned minimal rendering, because my skin composition was actually good, and there was no competition for Ridgeback F, I won. For the very first time.
Trickmurk 2021 - Starfall 2022 (6 wins 2 losses - 12 skin designs submitted total)
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Here, I’d found my strategy. As long as I kept to the theme and made sure my skin comp and rendering was good, I would win. Especially because I had no competition. Again, breed variety is a huge issue in skin contests, because people - particularly the really skilled artists - are more likely to go for a breed that they like or is popular. As a newer artist, I was well aware that there was a 100% chance I’d lose if I tried to fight anyone for the same breed/pose. (And part of knowing the win conditions is also knowing artists you definitely are not winning against.) 
3/6 of my wins during this time was F Ridgeback. The others were: F Coatl, which had no competition during Trickmurk, and F Nocturne, which had no competition during Wind and Arcane’s fests (but competed against my will to live because this is a terrible base to work on).
But relying on unpopular breed advantage was about as reliable as internet connection in a college dorm. 3/6 of my wins were ridgeback but that meant all of my losses were also ridgeback. On top of that, the number of Ridgeback submissions peaked at one point to 5-6. I was still winning, because I had the skill to beat my competitors. But I had to up my game. My skins had to be more elaborate, closer to the theme. I began submitting two designs per competition, which was… going to be a problem for me later.
The idea behind submitting two designs per competition is simple. Instead of just relying on one unpopular breed/pose to net you the win, now you have two shots at winning. 
My goal that I’d made during this time was to either win 11 in a row or to win once for each holiday. This was to keep my motivation. Keep in mind I was also writing my thesis, so I really needed a goal to go towards, especially when I committed to doing two designs per contest. 
(I defended my thesis successfully in May 2022 and graduated with high honors!)
ROR 2022 - Brightshine 2023 (7 wins 1 loss - 16 skin designs submitted total)
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Here’s where I found another niche in the skin contests. Flight-breeds. These are breeds that belong to each element and surprisingly - they don’t actually get that many submissions. Seeing Starfall 2022’s skin turnout as an Arcanite was tough. When it came to reviewing Starfall 2022, anyone would’ve won as long as they submitted a good quality Fae skin that didn’t break the rules or stray too far from the theme and had a skin composition that the staff liked. 
I decided to put my theory to the test with Earth, Ice, Wind, Water, and Nature. Are you surprised there were only three Snap F submissions for Earth, one Tun M for Ice, two SDM for Wind, and something like two Undertide F entries for Water? I was. Especially with Undertides because the breed had been released only five months ago. By noticing the flight-breed meta, and having the time, skill, and experience to make skins for those breeds that fit the criteria, I was able to win.
At this time I started straying away from my “one big element + smaller accessories” composition. My art had gotten better so I was able to expand my designs. Wavecrest 2023 was the biggest show of that, and I’m really proud of my entries for that contest. It was essentially a turning point in my art style… but it did take a lot more time and effort. From that point on, my skins were hitting 90+ layers and taking me at least two weeks to draw.
The last skin contest I entered with that art style was Brightshine 2023. By the time the contest ended, I was pretty sure winning would take a miracle or a relationship with god that I did not have. The competition for Imp M was difficult, and I was pitting my submission against artists who had far more experience and skill. I had some hope for my Ridge F entry, but again, relying on unpopular breed advantage is, well. Not reliable. 
I lost. It was crushing, because not only did that mean I lost Brightshine three years in a row, Brightshine was the last contest I needed to win to fulfill either one of my goals: winning 11 in a row or win once for each elemental holiday. However, losses happen and it sucks, but it’s not the end of the world. I simply lost to a much better artist, and I am okay with that. 
Final Thoughts
Heart-to-heart time. 
I know some people become discouraged because they don’t think they have the skill, or they compare themselves to other artists. I felt discouraged for the same reason. After losing so many contests in 2021, I thought I would never improve. I would never be as good as artists that started long before me, or even some that started after me but learned so much faster. 
I still think that’s true. I have a long way to go and I may never catch up to these other artists. But here’s the thing about art: it’s a skill that constantly evolves and you cannot see that evolution unless you keep trying. And you need to keep trying if you want to win, because you aren’t going to without reaching the right skill level. 
The hardest truth about competitions is that you can’t expect to win just because you tried. If everyone could win just by participating – that contest isn’t worth winning. There are no stakes so there is no value. But when you put in a lot of effort and time, and you win? That win is something that will stay with you. That is a worthwhile win - because it was hard and because you lost so many times.
Sure, the staff could let everyone who enters win. Maybe winners should be judged solely on participation. Maybe that would make more people happy. But would you really be happy to win, knowing there’s no chance of losing? At that point, would being a festival contest winner mean anything?
In the end, a contest is supposed to be fun. Throw everything I’ve said out the window if that’s made contests un-fun for you. Most, MOST importantly, you should join the competition because you enjoy it. If you’re joining just to win, and you take losses very hard, and participation becomes a chore - then that is never going to be worth the toll on your mental health.
Take it from someone who took it too seriously. Drawing two skin designs monthly was taxing (remember it was taking me at least 2 weeks per design), and by Nature 2023 I had severe burnout. When Brightshine rolled around, I sat down for 11 hours to finish my Imp entry, because I knew I wouldn’t have time for art later. By the time I finished, I was running on about five hours of sleep and a very unhealthy attachment to caffeine. 
Then, three days before Brightshine, I was diagnosed with tendonitis. 
I started feeling discomfort in my arms/wrist since March, hence why I stopped releasing public skins. But this is effectively the worst arm related injury I’ve had, and while drawing is not the main cause, doing so for 11 hours straight didn’t help. My left arm has minor pain. My right arm is swollen and in a brace. This could’ve been avoided by taking breaks and doing exercises. But the lack of proper precaution led to injury. (And yes, I drew my Bogsneak TCC 2023 entry with a mouse for this reason. I could not use my tablet pen so… circle and line tool it was. But I had fun ^^)
I hope my analysis of the contests will be of some use to you. But please do not hurt yourself, mentally or physically, in competing. UMA artists make around 3kg per run of skin, so if you are entering contests for the prize, that’s not the best use of your time and energy. When it comes down to it, you are going to be doing free art for the site, and that is never worth injuring yourself for.
As a final note, thank you to the FR staff for allowing artists to participate in the site. My art experience is purely derived from skins and contests have encouraged me to improve myself. Thank you also to my friends who cheered me on along the way, the many wonderful artists who gave me tips on line weight, coloring, and rendering. And of course, many thanks to August for being the best cheerleader I could have. I would not have made it to Brightshine without him as a competitor and fellow artist. 
(However nothing you do will make me like Gaolers and that is a hill I will die on.)
Happy almost-Flameforger’s everyone! Here’s to the next fest cycle.
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artemiseamoon · 10 days ago
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Kiss Me Under The Mistletoe
A Dieter Bravo x F Reader romance by Artemiseamoon
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Part of @pedrostories Secret Santa 2024. This is a gift for @the-blind-assassin-12 I was soooo excited to create this for you! I hope you enjoy it as much I do. 💜
Word count: 11k plus
Summary: While celebrating Christmas Eve in New York City, you enjoy the company of close friends and learn that dreams do come true when a certain brown eyed actor crosses your path. One encounter changes the events of your lives and marks Christmas as the most special time of year.
Reader: no physical descriptions given aside from being a woman. RC intended to be in late 30’s - 40’s and has a career. Dieter does give her a nickname. Feel free to read as RC or OC, your choice.
Warnings: mentions of (light not heavy handed) drugs, recovery, sexual activity. Nothing graphic, no smut. Plus language, for cursing (if thats a warning?)
📚Read on A03⬅️
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Christmas Eve, 2022
A festive spirit kissed the air as the city streets bustled with people coming and going. Locals on the move, tourists snapping photos, families on their way to relatives, and groups of friends headed to parties. 
You tightened your grip on the cake box, snowflakes melting against your skin as you hurried your walk, now just blocks away from your best friend's home. It's a scenic route; decorated storefronts, lawns, and windows adorned with trinkets and ornaments; lights strung along trees. 
As the snowfall increased, you pulled your hood over your head. In your pocket, your phone buzzed, then again, a second time. Not wanting to expose your hands, you decided to wait to answer. You wondered if it was an update about the weather. 
A blizzard warning was in effect for two days from now. You hoped to be back home and cozy by then, but by the look of things, you just might get stuck here for the duration. Not that it was a bad thing, you had friends here and were staying in your bestie's spare bedroom. 
Back inside the brownstone, you shook snow off your boots, set the box down on a bench and checked your phone. The wind kicked up outside, it's howl touching the doors before you. 
Parker: I hope people come! It’s coming down hard out there :(
Parker: You ok? Not stuck in a snowbank, right? And THANK YOU for volunteering. You're a life safer! Remind me to not attempt cake making again. 
Earlier, Parker tried their hand at baking. What came out of the over was - well - edible but not pretty. Parker's yearly Christmas party was a hit and each time they had a cake from their favorite bakery. This year, they got a bit crazy with the whole DIY thing and this happened. Once the cake emergency ensued, they found one place nearby with one cake left. You volunteered to pick it up.  
You: Tonight will be amazing; I have a good feeling. And yes, I returned safely. Be up in a sec.
.
An hour later the house was packed, on the lower-level people danced, ate, and lost themselves in conversation, both deep and light. Laughter could be heard in bursts over the music from the speakers. On the second level, a game room was set up with an area for crafts. People lingered in the halls, conversing and some dancing. The third floor was closed off as far as the party went. The brownstone was busting with life, the continuous snowfall outside didn’t detract from the jovial mood. 
“Karaoke!” Parker yelled into the room. They turned to you, “You know what this means. We need Stevie to start us off." 
“We must summon Stevie.” One of your friends said while handing you their velvet scarf.  
“Okay - I need to get in character.”
Scarf in hand, you excused yourself from the room. When you returned, you were in full character, wide-brimmed hat, extra necklaces, and a dark blanket wrapped around like a skirt. Your friends cheered as you took your place in the center of the room. Parker passed you the microphone and pressed play.
'Rock on, gold dust woman
Take your silver spoon, dig
Your grave'
As you perform, you do your famous Stevie Nicks impression, belting out the lyrics as you move across the room. You wouldn't say your voice was greatest, but you put on a damn good show. 
As the middle of the song neared, your eyes floated to the back of the room. A group of people crowded into the living room, filling in any empty spots. You were about to turn away when something told you to keep looking. At the very back of the group a man stood out, his head was lowered and all you could see was messy brown curls. As he lifted his head, everything slowed down and you missed a line.  
You'd know that face from anywhere! 
That hair
That nose
Those brown eyes
And when he smiled, you heart skipped a beat. You were either hallucinating, or Dieter Bravo had one hell of a lookalike! 
You continued on with the song, trying to convince yourself that once the performance was over, you'll realize this dude didn't look like Dieter at all. 
What would he be doing at a random house anyway?
By the song's end, your heart was in your throat. The man still looked a hell of a lot like Dieter, and now you were convinced you slipped into some kind of dream state. Handing the mic to the next person, you grabbed Parker by the hand and rushed to the kitchen. 
“Is that Dieter fucking Bravo in your house?” you asked while grabbing their shoulders. 
Parker shook their head, looking as surprised as you. "Unless all of us are having some mass hallucinations then um - yeah, I think- unless he has a twin brother." 
"He does not, he's an only child," you opened the door to take a peek, and catch a glimpse of some people looking up his photo and talking. You dip back into the kitchen. Getting antsy, you start walking around, your mind recalling the moment your eyes met across the room. "No, no that is him, the real him." 
You would know. You’ve studied and dreamed about that man more times than you’re willing to admit. You have an insane number of photos, videos, and gifs of him all saved in an album titled ‘Dieter my love’. The handsome, adorable, trash panda of a famous actor ruined your life- well, not ruined, but to say you were obsessed would be fair.
Well, not obsessed but- 
Okay, he took over your brain, your thoughts, your heart. 
Parker shrugged, “I don’t - did he just- wander in here?” 
Before either of you could muse further, Parker’s girlfriend entered the room. She was stuck doing the afternoon shift at the bar she worked at, and the evening person was late, hence her late arrival. 
“So, um - that's Dieter Bravo.” 
“And how is he here?” Parker asked. 
“This sounds crazy but - he stopped in the bar, ten minutes before I left. We got to talking and I kinda - invited him.” Jett replied. 
You moved closer, trying to digest her words. “You just casually met and invited Dieter Bravo to a party?”
“Yeah. I was already late, why not bring one hell of a gift for our favorite person!" She took your hand. 
While staring at her, you pinched yourself with your free hand. Yep, real, this was very real. Seconds later, you pulled her into a hug. Behind you, the door swung open. 
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“Hi,” Dieter waved at the three of you. “Hope you don’t mind, crashing your party and all." he said to Parker. 
You assumed Jett told him who's who already. 
“As long as you have fun and don’t steal all the thunder.” Parker replied, then shared a glance with Jett. “We have to - get something.” They grabbed Jett's hand and left the kitchen. 
The door swung closed again, leaving you and Dieter alone. Not knowing what else to do, you froze. 
He's so - soft-looking. He was dressed comfortably, dark loose pants and a fuzzy sweater. He even appeared a bit tired, but in a hot cuddly kind of way. 
“And you must be Calliope herself,” he smiled. 
“Greek muse of song and poetry, nice -” you leaned against the counter behind you, mainly for balance as your legs turned to Jello. 
“I know you are," he said your name, " Jett gave me the quick rundown, the most important people at least.” 
A giddy feeling washed over you, your name on his lips echoing in your mind. “Glad I’m one of the important ones. So, you make this a habit, crashing house parties?"
“Sometimes,” he jested, “no - actually, Jett's really cool, and getting a drink alone was fucking depression so -" he moved to the snack stray, but kept his eyes mostly on you, “here I am.” 
“Hard to believe you were alone today, being so famous and all.” 
“I didn’t want anyone around -" he started to snack, “then, I changed my mind.” 
“Hence the drink?” 
He winked at you. With a plate of snacks, Dieter moved closer, mirroring your body language against the counter. 
A brief silence fell between you, and your mind was firing off in a million directions. All of a sudden, you lose the ability to conversate again. So, you just look at him as he looks at you, taking the moment in, letting yourself be star stuck. 
Done with the snacks, Dieter put the plate down then rolled up his sleeves, revealing his assorted bracelets. Your gaze lingered there; you loved his arms, and his hands. Your gaze dropped to his fingers, then his rings.  
When his eyes met yours again, you went with the first thing on your mind. 
“Are you in New York for work?” 
“No. I took the time off. I don’t like to work during the holidays - no Hollywood stuff.” 
You faced him directly, instead of just stealing side glances. “What's your ideal way to spend Christmas?” 
Dieter grinned at the question. “Sleeping in. Pancakes for breakfast…movie marathon, you know, the classics -” he ran his hand through his hair, “in pajamas all day.” 
"You already wear pajamas all the time." 
He laughed at your comment. "These are the outside pajamas - not the pajamas-pajamas." 
"Ah, got it." 
His next smile was sheepish as he glanced at the floor, looking suddenly vulnerable, “with someone - or alone.”
You frowned a little, all of you wanting to hug him. 
“Dieter, I hope you get your dream Christmas this year.”
“Yeah, we’ll see -" his tone wasn't so convincing. He stared off for a second, then looked at you. “What’s your perfect Christmas day?” 
Your heart was beating so fast now you could hear it drum in your ears. He was so present with you, you almost felt exposed, naked under his gaze-
“As cozy and warm as possible. My mind is on a lot, for work. So just unplugging and having a nice day, that’s good enough for me.” 
Dieter listened with a spark in his eyes. Just as he was about to ask a question, you gained some company. A group of three people you didn’t know well entered; one already had their phone out. 
“Could we get a picture? If you don’t want to - "
“I’m in the middle of a very interesting conversation,” he gestured to you. 
Your smile returned. He wasn’t necessarily rude about it, but he was clear. And they got the point as they left the kitchen. His attention was instantly on you again, his gaze full of interest as he studied you.
Is this what it feels like, to be a work of art in a museum, under appreciative eyes?
He started, “I hate this question, so - forgive me for asking but-” 
“Astronomer by day, writer by night” you replied. 
Depending on the person, you only replied ‘astronomer’, but if you liked the person, you didn’t mind revealing a little more about the writing part. Then there was the whole pen name thing as your non-work-related writing was on the saucier side. Constellations and planets by day. Sex pollen by night. 
Dieter dipped his head, keeping his eyes on you, “seriously?”  
“Seriously.”
He inched closer. “What do you write?” 
“A little of everything. Mainly fiction.”
“Anything published?” 
“One, last year I wrote this book, like a merge of my two words. It’s a retelling of the myths of the constellations. My second book, that's - coming along - it's a sci-fi thing.” 
Dieter’s eyes lit up. He placed a hand on your shoulder, your name on his lips. 
“Yeah?” You chuckled, not sure what to make of the way he was staring at you, all while trying to play it as cool as fucking possible because inside, you are anything but chill. 
“You are the coolest fucking person here - ever!” Dieter raved.
You chuckled, “stop. You're the Oscar-winning movie star. I’m just…me. A girl who was so obsessed with the stars she made a career out of it. Who likes to write spicy sci-fi too.” 
Dieter got a little closer, and as he moved his hand back to rest it on the counter, he almost knocked some things over. He quickly fixed them, then made eye contact. 
“Astronomer? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how smart you have to be for that?" He counted on his fingers, "Published author. Karaoke star and fucking gorgeous.” 
Your breath stilled, heart beating faster as he gushed about you! By some weird miracle you were holding your shit together while internally kicking and screaming. Here he was your celebrity crush - complimenting you.
"Thank you,” nervousness fluttered in your gut. You shook your head and laughed, “I’m not gonna lie. I’m a huge fan of yours and kinda freaking out right now.” 
Dieter smiled. 
Fuck, he thought.  You were making his heart race; he had those silly butterfly things talking to you - and he was nervous - nervous. He rarely got nervous. Knowing you both were trying to keep your cool was comforting. 
You revealed your shaking hands, which you were keeping buried in your pocket for a reason. “See? Not keeping it cool at all.” 
Dieter extended his arm, “check my pulse.” 
His heart rate was through the roof. This was unreal. He hummed softly at your touch, your fingers so soft against his skin. And when you moved your hand, he instantly missed the contact. 
“How about we calm our nerves, yeah? I heard there’s a game room upstairs,” Dieter suggested. 
“Follow me,” you pushed yourself forward and headed to the door.
The inner you was screaming even louder now. You didn't know if you'd freeze again or find your flow, but it was worth it to find out. Plus, even if it was a little selfish, you were glad to steal him away before he gets overloaded with picture requests. 
.
Half an hour later, you and Dieter remained in your cozy corner of the game room. Jenga was the current game of choice as you navigated all the interest he was drawing. You talked about music and art. You imagined meeting him before, but as great as your imagination is, anything you dreamed up didn't compare to this. 
After Cliff Beasts 6 in 2020, his reputation was a roller-coaster - dipping and rising - calming and amping up - which seemed to be the norm for him. By time the documentary came out earlier this year, he appeared to be in control again. 
"I had to get my shit together, " he shared with you, "clear my mind. Find my center. There was this great place Anika recommended." 
"Are you two still close?" You asked, carefully pulling a block from the tower. 
"She's so cool - we're good friends." 
You learned the romance was short lived, but they gained life-long friends out of it, and she was super supportive of his recovery journey. You remembered when he came back from the center, he looked great, refreshed and healthy. Sadly, it didn't stop the tabloids from talking shit and retelling his greatest 'party' hits. 
As you and Dieter talked, getting to know more about each other while topic hopping to random things, your excitement for what could happen tonight grew. You knew his reputation, and the risks. But a chance with your celebrity crush was something most people didn't get - and you weren't going to let this pass you by. 
Fifteen minutes later you were back to talking about music and live shows, while deep in a game of twister. Prior to the game, Parker and Jett lured most of the people away, almost giving you the room alone.  
“Want to do a song - or songs - with me?” Dieter asked from beneath you. 
“Hell yes - how about something from the 90s?" 
“Fuck yes! Pop? Alternative?” 
You tried to reach for the spinner, “why not both?"
“We should do a Christmas song too!”
“Sure. A fun one though! How about a super sexy Santa baby - oh fuck -” 
Your leg slipped from beneath you, causing you to crash into Dieter. Bot of you hit the ground and burst into laughter. 
“Have you ever heard the Eartha Kitt version?” you asked, rolling off of Dieter. 
He laid on his side, doe-eyed and smiling “Obviously. It’s one of the best.  Wait - Can we do Baby it’s cold outside too?”
"It’s a date. Plus, people can snap all those pictures they’ve been asking for.”
Dieter smiled as he took you in. “I don’t care about any of that, this- I like this.” 
.
After doing three fun and naughty songs with Dieter, your friends pulled you away to get the tea. Everything sounded crazy as it left your lips, but it was true, the vibes were vibing and hanging out with him felt so easy - so natural. 
Once you were done speaking with your friends, you found Dieter downstairs with a group around him. He seemed to be having a decent time, yet as soon as he saw you, he lit up and then made his way over to you. 
“We killed it up there.” He commented, then offered you the rest of his cake. 
“Don’t tempt me. I’ve already had one and a half."
"This is my second, I had to race someone to it." he said as he took another bite.
"To be fair, I was the one who went out to get it. Snow and all.” 
“You did! Look, this cake is divine, if this cake wasn’t here, I might have left.” 
You laughed, “and what about me?” 
“You or the cake? Oh, I’m choosing the cake.” 
“Wow,” you pretended to be offended then glanced out the window. Everything was covered in inches of snow. Before you can turn around, you feel Dieter over your shoulder. 
“Seriously though, if it's you or the cake, fuck that cake.” 
“Right answer."
“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” 
Maybe, just maybe fairytales were real - even if for one night. You playfully tugged at his sweater while grinning, “careful, keep complimenting me like that and I'll have to kiss you under the mistletoe.” 
A playful smile touched his lips. “Yeah?” 
“Yeah,” you nod. 
Before you could take a full breath, Dieter was leading you through the crowded room, down the hallway, and to the side room turned photo op. You worked hard this morning getting this space just right, but never imagined you'd be in it with Dieter of all people. In the corner a couple was making out, in another people were using the portable photo booth station.
Dieter only stopped moving once you were under the mistletoe. 
His gaze fell to your lips before rising to your eyes, “I’ve been dying to kiss you all night." 
You gave a cheeky reply, “well, I’m right here,”
Dieter slid one arm around you, pulling you closer while brushing your chin with his fingers: his bedroom eyes further igniting the fire within you. 
“You really are wonderful, you know that?” said Dieter with a soft breath. 
Before you could respond, Dieter closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours. His lips were soft against your own, and the tenderness with which he kissed you made your heart race. As the kiss deepened, you slid your fingers up the nape of his neck and into his hair. Dieter responded with a low moan against your lips.
“You taste as good as you look,” he moaned. 
“The feeling is mutual.” 
“Let's do more of that, a lot more.” 
This time you drew him in by his shoulders, initiating the second kiss. Easily you lose yourself in his embrace. His lips were sweet, like the cake he’d eaten minutes before, the same cake you walked five blocks in snow to get. How the fuck is this real, you thought. You would have never imagined while you held that cake for dear life that you'd be tasting it on Dieter's kiss. 
“Spend tonight with me?” Dieter asked as he drew in a breath.
You parted your lips to speak, nothing came out. The full shock of everything that just happened hitting you all at once. 
Dieter waited for your answer, hoping you’d say yes. Sex with you would be amazing, it would greatly improve what's been a depressing and lonely week in New York. You're the stuff of dreams, and so damn beautiful he might just pick up a brush and paint again.
All that talk about muses, yeah, he really understood it now. Just a couple of hours with you had his mind thinking up all kinds of things. He imagined taking you to this vacation villa, a soft breeze coming in off the water as you posed for him; Dieter capturing your essence with each stroke of the brush against canvas. And when he wasn't painting, you two could spend long afternoons and lazy mornings in bed. 
His mind went back to sex, it would be spectacular, he knew it. He was also content to just hang out with you all night until you’ve both fallen asleep. You're that fucking cool and he just wanted more time, no matter how you spent it. He knew his reputation, and as you still hadn’t answered, he feared that was why. 
“Dieter I-” 
Dieter leaned in, hanging on your every word. 
“I’d love that.” 
“Yes!” Dieter did a fist pump, then wrapped his arms around you again. “I can’t promise we’ll get a cab at this point - we might have to walk.” 
You trailed his jawline with your nails, “I’ve got my snow boots.” 
“Wow,” he held you at a distance to take you in, “we’re leaving. Now.” With your hand in his, Dieter made his way to the door. 
“I need my coat and my boots silly,” you laughed, “give me five minutes. “
.
About 30 minutes later, and with no cabs in sight, you made it to his hotel room. By car ride, he was just 15 minutes away, but on foot, plus all the snow, it was twice as long. You made the best of it along the way, stopping to make snowmen and angels, even having a brief snowball fight. 
Inside, the room was warm and toasty. Dieter made you a cup of tea as he called the desk to extend his stay. Instead of checking out in the morning, he gave it one more day. The snow continued to fall dramatically outside.
As he finished up the call, you contemplated taking a hot shower, then changing. You did take an overnight bag for tonight, and the dry jammies were calling your name. Deciding a shower would help with the chill in your bones, you suggested the idea to Dieter, he was happy to oblige. Once you were out, you made yourself comfortable as he did the same. 
A half-hour later, you were cuddled up on the couch, under blankets as you talked about everything and nothing. Dieter got up briefly then returned with something in his hand, 
“KitKat?” 
You smiled; he really loved these things as much as you heard. 
“I have a whole bunch in the fridge. Have as many as you want, but not the last one.” 
“I promise to not eat your last kit, Kat Dieter,”
“There’s something about it chilled; it's gotta be chilled,” he leaned back with a sigh, then rolled to his side. “Can I tell you something?” 
“Sure,” you said, snapping one of the bars off. 
“I was having a really shitty day, week...month,” he shrugged, “I thought I wanted to be alone for the holiday, then realized I didn't. Then I went on Tinder and that shit was depressing." 
“I bet you had a line around the block of people waiting for the honor.” 
“Since I cleaned up - there are certain crowds I don't hang around anymore, it's bad for my aura and shit. I keep it simple now - pot, wine, the occasional drink and I love shrooms too much to give them up. Don't ever ask me to give those up. The harder stuff, though, I haven't touched in months.” 
“That's a big deal, Dieter, congratulations.” 
He nuzzled his head against the pillow while gazing at you. “Have I told you how beautiful you are.” 
“Yes, and you can keep on if you want,” 
“I will, all night, and tomorrow too.”
You sat up, covering your face with your hands before lowering them again.  “Dieter, this is nuts. You're my biggest crush ever and here we are!"
“Fuck, I know right, I can’t believe it either,” he pressed his forehead to yours while looking into your eyes, “I think we met before, in another universe.” 
“Or - another life.” 
“Or both.” 
“Okay, both. I like that.” you ran your hands down his chest with a soft hum, “you are as cuddly as I imagined.” 
“Lucky for you I need more cuddles, come here!” Dieter drew you back into his arms. 
'Blizzard warning in effect for New York State Tri-Area - all flights have been temporarily suspended due to inclement weather, please contact your air carrier for further details - travel on the roads is not advised -'  
“Breakfast is here,” Dieter called out from the hall. 
You were parked in front of the TV, watching the news feed. The blizzard did not wait for two days from now as first reported, it hit late last night, around 3 am, You wouldn’t have known it, you and Dieter were too busy exploring each other's bodies until you were exhausted, then fell asleep cuddling; he was your little spoon. 
When you woke up around ten am, secure in his arms, his body pressed against yours and his excitement evident, you turned to kiss him, leading to a lazy sensual morning in bed. Now it was around noon, and you were both so hungry you were getting a little grumpy, so Dieter ordered room service. You also took the time to answer the many texts from your concerned friends to confirm that you were indeed fine, in a land of bliss actually and that was all you could say for now. 
The aromas of cinnamon, spice, coffee, and freshly baked goods met your nose, making your stomach grumble. You clicked off the TV and joined him in the kitchen. 
“I’ve extended my stay, two more days but I have to leave by Thursday morning, a work thing.” he pulled out a chair for you to sit on, then kissed you on the lips, “Merry Christmas.” 
In the back of your mind, you remind yourself to change your flight as well. From the looks of it outside, there is no way you are flying out tomorrow. 
 You dug something out of your pocket, “yesterday morning, I gave all my friends their presents and I had an extra one. At first, I thought it was a miscount but now - “you passed him the pouch, smiling proudly. "“Merry Christmas, Dieter."
Dieter moved his chair closer to yours then opened it up revealing a hemp bracelet with round stone beads. 
“It's a grounding and protection mix, that's shungite, red jasper, and smoky quartz...some tourmaline too.” 
“What have I done to deserve you,” he gushed, then quickly slipped the bracelet on his wrist. "Thank you.” 
“My pleasure.” you watched him a moment longer, then decided to eat, your stomach was growling at you.��
“You know shungite is used to block EMF radiation, that shit fucks with your brain waves. Messes you up. I have a piece on my phone case.” 
Smiling, you dig your phone out of your pocket and flip it over.
“No fucking way - “he picked it up, amazed. “You’re perfect, literally, perfect. Do you know a lot about stones? I have this room in my house - all crystals, some giant fucking ones too. I don’t know what they all mean - a friend gave me a book, but I never read it. I have an idea! What if you came? I could show you the room and you can tell me what they are. I have a telescope too, a really good one - I think you'd like it.” 
“Is this your way of asking me to visit?” you tease while tugging at his shirt. 
“Yes, of course! You must visit - you have to.” 
“Then of course I will - was that your stomach?” 
“Yes. It demands food.” 
You took the lids off the plates and handed him a fork. “Let’s eat.” 
.
Dieter shook his head while speaking with his hands. “No - that shit calcifies the pineal gland. Stay away from those -” 
You’ve been deep in conversation now for about two hours. Dieter was lying on his back while you laid on his chest, the both of you still naked from your previous activities.
It was beautiful, the both of you in your own little world as the snow fell heavily outside. You’ve juggled so many topics of conversation it was a little hard to keep track, but you were going with the flow and loving every second of it. Dieter's a wild, unpredictable, cozy ride and you’ve never been more thankful for a snowstorm in your life. 
“How do you feel about New Year's resolutions?” You asked, not sure why you did. 
He shook his head. “I don’t do that.” 
“Yeah, I used to when I was younger, but not anymore...have you ever had your birth chart done?” You could admit you've looked it up before, or at least the speculated chart, but don't. 
“Of course, show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” Dieter already had his phone out for you to view. 
.
2023
Being snowed in with Dieter weeks ago was a dream, one that kept you warm and fuzzy during the winter and through the month of January. As it neared its midway point, you weren't sure what you and Diter were. One night stand? Friends with benefits to be? When you parted ways post storm, nothing was defined. You knew there was a possibility, you’d never hear from him again, but to your surprise, he texted you just days later.
Even though his communication was sporadic at times, he did reach out. Now you had numerous texts, phone calls, and video calls between you as January neared its end. Plans remained undefined as far as a visit to LA, but you understood how crazy his schedule was so didn’t push. Plus, everything was so fresh, and you wanted the real invite to come naturally without any pressure. 
You were smitten as all hell and falling, hard. All while trying to keep a sensible mind about it. The 'what are we?' questions following you around like a phantom. It didn't help that he wore your bracelet - all the time! You even spotted it in a recent interview. Was it delusional to think that maybe- just maybe - 
Then there was the press, the beast, the greedy machine and all the speculation about Dieter and his sex life. Every week it seemed a new person he was rumored to be with, or some crazy drug crazed party people claimed he was at. The rumors of relapse were the most upsetting, especially because you knew he was working his ass off to keep it together. 
.
It wasn't uncommon to have a few days when you didn't hear from him, he was a busy guy after all. Some days he just sent some emojis until he could talk again. You were having one of those weeks, left with memories and emojis until the real thing came. You spent your
time working on your new book and at the planetarium. It was at the end of a very long shift when you heard from him again. 
First came the text with a link to an upcoming concert on January 30th. The headliner was one of yours and Dieter's favorite 90’s alternative bands. 
Dieter: Meet me in New York. I owe you a date. 
You: It’s true…I don’t know if the snow days counted as a date.
Dieter: Dinner, anywhere you want, then the show. VIP seats. Then I plan to spend the night between your thighs.  
You: You better :) Let's do this.  
In two days, it would be the last day of the year, and you couldn't wait for the reunion. 
.
The concert at Madison Square Garden was amazing. After the show, you ended up in Dieter's hotel room, already making out as he swiped the key card. 
“I have to leave really fucking early. International flights man -” he said between kisses. 
You weaved your fingers through his hair, "we better make the best of our time then.” 
Dieter woke up before sunrise, and though you didn't know it, he spent some time watching you sleep. The last thing he wanted was to disturb you, but he knew you’d be upset if he left without saying goodbye. 
Using gentle kisses along your neck and chin, Dieter whispered against your skin, “baby, I have to leave.” 
You didn’t wake right away; it took a minute or two until your eyes opened. A smile formed on your lips; Dieter's definitely your favorite sight in the morning. 
“It’s time already?” you yawned.
“Sadly, yes-” he buried his face beneath your chin, taking in your scent, “fuck it, I’ll cancel my flight.” 
“This is important, I can’t let you do that - you wanted this meeting for how long?” 
“A long time -"
Dieter had a script idea, and a director in mind. He explained the character as a cowboy secret agent, a role he always wanted to play. This trip, the first part at least, was about making that happen. 
“We’ll just have to see each other next time you're free,” you pouted.
Last night added up to four nights total with Dieter, but still, you were drunk on him. He was already weaving his way into your heart in such a short amount of time. 
Dieter balanced himself on his elbows as he studied you, “visit me.” 
“You know I would,” you replied.
“I’m serious.” 
“So am I.” 
As he smiled, you poked his dimple. 
“I get back from Europe late at night, February 13th.” He turned and rummaged around the desk in the dark. Once enough things fell over, you turned on one of the lights on while laughing. 
“Thanks,” he flashed a smile at you then sat up and turned away. 
“What are you hiding?” 
“Can you do it, a flight the morning of the 14th?” 
“I think I can swing that.” That was in 13 days from now, you could use your PTO, “yeah, let’s do it.” 
Dieter finally turned to you, presenting a sticky note with a heart drawn on it and text in the middle,
“Be my Valentine?” 
He was the cutest you’ve ever seen him; messy hair, big brown puppy dog eyes, it was heartwarming. “Of course, I’ll be your Valentine.” 
“It’s settled then; I’ll buy your ticket.” he sighed deeply while pulling you into a hug. “I missed you.” 
“I missed you too.” 
His next alarm went off, he groaned and snoozed it. 
“You’re going to be late -"
“I’ll make it, but we need to be fast. No way I’m leaving here without one more taste of you - “ he tore the covers away and moved between your legs. 
“If you miss that flight don’t blame me,” you tugged at the waistband of his pants. 
“If I miss it, I get to stay here, fucking you all day. I call that a win.” 
“Well, if you put it that way-” grabbing a fist full of his shirt, you pulled him down into a kiss. “Then we’ll get you on a later flight because this is important, and I won't let you bail on it.” 
“How did I get so damn lucky?” he smiled warmly then started to undress you. 
.
As the car pulled up to the gates, you couldn’t believe you were really there. Dieter Bravo's house. After a brief drive, you arrived at the front door, finding him waiting for you.
He looked adorable, his hair, pajamas and signature green robe plus his furry boots. His face lit up as he saw you. Dieter quickly took his sunglasses off, hung them on his shirt, and went to greet you.
“Sweetheart, it’s good to see you,” 
You're in his arms in an instant, his hug warm and secure. 
“How was your flight?” 
“First class direct with all the perks. I can’t complain.” 
“Good," he took a step back holding your arms as he took you in, “you look great.”
“I’m in tights and a hoodie “
“You look great,” he repeated, his gaze soft on yours. 
Dieter slid one hand down your arm while raising the other to your chin, admiring you further before kissing you. The kiss transports you back to Christmas Eve, under the mistletoe. 
“I’m glad you could make it Cosmo. Come, there's so much I want to show you.” 
You’re not sure what you expected his house to look like, but now that you’re here, it seems fitting. Posters of all kinds, movies, concerts, art prints. Paintings large and small, interesting pieces of furniture sprinkled in with the basics, more than a few bean bags and lava lamps.
“Happy Valentines Day!" he beamed. 
“Happy Valentines.” you replied, interlacing your fingers with his as he walks you through the house. 
As the tour went on, Dieter couldn't believe his luck. He missed you like hell and finally you were here. He was beyond smitten, he was hooked, whipped. You, the most perfect woman ever, possessed him, he thought of you day and night, thoughts both pure and unholy. He even took one of your bras after the snowstorm in NY and kept it.
He also kept the note you wrote after your snowed-in adventure. Dieter didn’t see you write it, but at the airport, he reached in his pocket and found it, rolled up like a scroll, a makeshift ribbon around it, 
Lovely being snowed in with you , Xo Cosmo 
You even left a lipstick stain on the back, and he handled the note so carefully, worried he’d tear it. He liked that the nickname grew on you, at first, he wasn’t sure if you’d like it. He kept it in his pocket all the time, just like he always wore your bracelet. 
.
You busied yourself in the living room as Dieter took some calls. It was a short while later he returned with a woman trailing behind him. She was carrying a portfolio, notebook, and a tablet all under one arm: definitely an assistant. Currently, she was texting, typing faster than you’ve ever seen anyone type. 
“There she is - “His expression lighted at the sight of you. Standing at the back of the couch, he leaned over to kiss you. “I have this thing tomorrow evening. Couldn’t get out of it. But -” he rounded the couch and sat next to you, “my attention is all yours before and after.” he held his hands together apologetically. 
You took his hands in yours. “Dieter, it’s okay.” 
“No, it’s not - I said we’d have four days together, undisturbed and -" he took a deep breath, then glanced at his assistant, “what if I show up for the post-viewing part?” 
With her eyes still downcast, she replied, “You need to be there by 7. Red carpet, photo ops, all the norms. The viewing starts at 8-”
He scratched his beard, “no, that's too early. How about 7:30? 7:45?” 
His assistant glanced up with a pinched expression. “Mr. Bravo, you know the drill.” 
He waved his hand, “I hate all that shit; besides I have company,” he kissed your hand.
“Be there at 7, get all the stuff out of the way and I’ll tell them you had business after so can’t do the Q&A?” 
“See! She’s the best - the best - “he jumped up and gave her a hug. “Wait, proper introductions.” 
Dieter proceeded to introduce you two, and you learned her name, Colleen. 
“Anything else before I go?” Colleen asked.
Dieter stretched out over your legs like a big cat. “Wait, they’ll have the Kit Kats, right? Last time, they forgot the Kit Kats-” 
“They will have the Kit Kats-”
"Are you sure? Will they be chilled?” 
“Yes, Mr. Bravo.” 
“Good -" he ran his fingers through his hair while nodding, then chuckled as you scratched his tummy. 
“Any other request?” 
You could tell she asked because she had to. Her stress level seemed high, but you could imagine why. As smitten as you were over Dieter, you would not want to be his personal assistant. 
“No - wait! “His eyes widened as he sat up, “a mascot! I need a mascot.”
“A mascot?” 
You even crooked a brow at him while biting back a laugh. 
“Yeah. Like they have in games but a big kit Kat.” he used his hands to demonstrate as he spoke. 
“Umm - I don’t know if -”
“If they want me there early, I need a mascot. I'll even do that stupid Instagram thing - only if I have the mascot.” 
“Um - yeah, a Kit Kat mascot…” Colleen jotted it down in her phone, “I will see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Colleen. Now I'd like to get back to my lady.” 
My lady, your heart fluttered at the words. 
“Nice to meet you, “she said your name, “bye Mr. Bravo.” 
“Dieter! Mr. Bravo sound so -”
She was already gone and out the door before he could finish. You scratched his tummy again with a smile, 
“You are so weird. A KitKat mascot?” 
“You like me anyway.” 
“I do.”
.
The premiere the next night went well. You got all dressed up and walked the carpet with Dieter, though it was a short walk. You waited off to the side for the rest as he took his solo shots and signed autographs. Even when you weren't at his side, he kept looking back at you and it made you feel close. 
Once all the necessary stuff was over, he changed into more comfortable clothes, you even got a few funny pictures with him and the Kit Kat mascot. Its appearance was confusing yet entertaining. It didn’t stay the whole time, just for the first hour. The mascot was waiting for you when you arrived at Dieter's dressing room. It was a compromise the theatre made to not distract from the event but fulfill Dieter's request. Dieter even paid the guy $200 bucks to keep the costume, which the guy agreed to. 
Afterward, you headed back to Sherman Oaks. For the last thirty minutes, you've been in Dieter's backyard lying on the trampoline. You’ve talked about your favorite stars and constellations and taught him some ones he didn't know but often saw in the sky. 
Dieter rolled on his side to look at you, “do you believe in Aliens?” 
“Of course.” 
“Me too. Think they're watching us right now?” 
“They could be.”
“We could give them a show?” 
“You are naughty, “you laughed, “how about you put on that Kit Kat costume, and I’ll get an alien one-”
“Ooh,” he sat up, “weird - but I like it -”
“I was just joking, you know.” 
“Nope,” he laid on top of you, “it's too late now. We have to do it.” 
.
24 hours later you were home and still buzzing from your visit. 
You didn’t have to wait long to hear from him either, he checked in to make sure you boarded and then landed safely. And later that night, he sent you a text once he got home from a busy day. 
Dieter: Looking at the stars, I am a little high, it was a stressful day okay... and thinking about you, that's the important part. See you soon Cosmo. 
Now Spring was here. 
You’ve been busy, busier than usual. With your new book finished you were officially in the time-consuming editing process. Plus, things amped up at work and you had a full plate. Dieter was busy too, as he was starting work on a new project. Your schedules meant it would be some time until you saw each other again and would have to rely on phone calls and texts in the meantime. 
As you reached the middle of May, you were missing him badly, but thankfully didn’t have to wait long. You were in the middle of some work when the text came.
Dieter: I can only stay for 2 days. NEEEEEED to see you.  
He arrived three days later. You were just out of the shower when he rang your bell. You unlocked the door, told him to come in then quickly pulled some clothes. He greeted you with a big kiss, then dramatically walked into the kitchen.
“Dieter you, okay?” 
He collapsed on the counter, hiding his face. “Don’t be mad.” 
“Okay - that is never a good way to start a sentence."
“It was awful, the worst ever -"
“Now you’re freaking me out."
He stripped off his jacket, threw it on the floor then held out his arm.
“Um?"
“The bracelet. It’s dead!” 
You burst into laughter. 
“No, no you don't understand, this is a very serious matter! I was wearing it - just getting my morning coffee and putting my headphones in - wired only and it just fucking - it went everywhere!" he was using sound effects now," worst day of my life. - Hey, I'm serious.” 
“I know I know and you're very cute." you caressed his face, fingers in his hair, “did you follow my care instructions?"
“Yes,” he said while shaking his head no. “I could have taken better care of it.” 
“These things happen, I can make you a new one.”
“No! I want the old one - the old one is special; it's the night we met.” 
“Managed to salvage any of it?” 
“Every-single -bead.” he dug a small bag out of his pocket. “I hope.” 
“Baby, it's okay, really, I'll use this to make you a new one, a Dieter-proof one.” 
.
While Dieter was out running errands the next day, you busied yourself with setting the mood for dinner. By the time you were done, candles decorated the table adding ambiance, and music played on the record player. 
He sent you an update text, letting you know he was running a little late on his return trip. Keeping the food warm, you took a seat and scrolled on your phone. A few funny and cute videos would pass the short wait. After a couple of entertaining videos, you came across one with Dieter’s face in the background, and a woman in the foreground speaking, 
“Dieter Bravo and co-star Scarlet Rose getting cozy on set -”
A knot formed in your gut, you quickly hit pause to shut her up. No, don’t look. It’s bullshit. Gossip. But the reminders don’t work, and you find yourself recalling that you and he never really had 'the talk'.  For you, even without a title, Dieter was your world, and you just kind of figured it was the same for him, now you wondered, if it wasn't. 
“Shit-” you press play on the video. The picture changes to one of Dieter and Scarlet looking really cozy.
"I don’t know about you, but they look really friendly to me."
You told yourself to stop but can't and then the last picture popped up. You studied it closely. At first glance, just two people speaking closely but the longer you looked-
“No, don’t fall for it. They’re just talking, and she stands too close to everyone.” You told yourself as you put your phone away. 
Even as Dieter walked through the door minutes later, your mood remained tainted. You smiled, dined, and even danced a little post-dinner but the entire time you were spiraling inside. 
When it came time for the dishes, Dieter volunteered to do them with you. You had a few things washed when he turned the water off and gently grabbed your shoulders. 
“Hey, where’d you go tonight?” 
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t here. You were here - but not here.” 
“I’m fine,” you started to turn away, but he held you there, 
“Come on baby, what is it?”
You tried your best to avoid headlines and gossip, but every once in a while, one got to you, and tonight it did. You sighed and leaned against the sink. 
“Dieter?”
“Yeah?” he moved closer to you, concerned.
“-” you start and stop a few times, not knowing what to say, then finally spit out, “Scarlett Rose - “ 
At the sound of her name, Dieter sighed and cupped your cheeks with his hands. “Don’t let that get to you. It’s bullshit. Drama.” 
“In the photos, you just look so…”
Dieter grabbed your hand and led you to the table. Once you both seated, he looked you in the eye as he held your hands. “This is on me. I should've - I was so busy, then you got busy too. I didn’t push for anything definitive because I was worried.” 
“About?” 
“If you’d want to wait around for me that much, there may be times you don’t see me for half a year. It’s not easy."
“I know.” 
“My past, my reputation. I was scared you’d lose interest after a while.” 
“That’s crazy, it’s you, how could I ever get bored?”
“There’s that smile,” he kissed your forehead, “let me be clear then.  I’m off the market. There’s this sexy as fuck super smart astronomer -”
Your smile widened as relief washed over you. 
Dieter grew more animated as he talked, “She’s amazing! That’s where my heart is. Not some actress - you hear me.”
“Yes,” 
“I’m crazy about you, just you. Do you have any idea how much I look forward to seeing you?” he kissed your lips.
“Thank you, “you kissed him back, “that astronomer you speak of happens to be crazy about you too.” 
Dieter took a deep breath while admiring you, “Let’s make it official. You and me.”
“I’d like that.” 
“Me too,” he wrapped you in his arms, “I'm sorry, I should have asked earlier.” 
“You asked now, this is still special.”
Dieter pulled back from the hug first, your name soft on his lips, “I love you.” 
Relief and joy washed over you, “I love you too Dieter.” 
.
The year flew by, and soon it was November.
Busy with your book and work, you didn't get to fly out to LA as much as you wanted to. Dieter was also away filming. How little you saw each other was difficult but you made the best of it. As the days got closer to December you were filled with glee. You already thought the holidays were special, now Dieter gave them extra meaning.  
When a lull in your schedule came, you spent it at home and decided to do some deep cleaning. You were in the middle of that when Dieter called. Turning the music down, you answered the phone, 
“I'm outside.” 
“Really?” you lit up as you looked out the window to see him waving at you.
At this point, you haven't seen each other in months and missed him dearly. Happily, you rushed to the door and let him in. Jumping into his arms, you greeted each other with a hug and kiss. 
“I missed you,” he whispered against your skin. “I know this song, we did this together.” 
“I know, memories and all.” You grabbed your phone and showed it to him. It’s a playlist with his photo as the background titled ‘Kiss me under the mistletoe. “I know, it’s a little cheesy but it started with songs from the night, now I add any song that makes me think of you.” 
“You are adorable. “Excitedly, Dieter pulled up his phone and followed the playlist. Once that was done, he took a pouch out of his hand. "I have something for you.” 
“A visit and a gift, lucky me.” 
With one arm around you, he presented the pouch with the other. You opened the bag and pulled out a set of keys. 
“So, you can come to Sherman Oaks anytime you want even if I’m not there.”
“Dieter-” you hold them up with a smile. 
“I know we can’t move in together, technically - full time - your life and career are here, mine is in LA and wherever the work takes me. But, we can have a home base, together.” 
Feeling giddy, you rushed him with a kiss.  “I gotta make you a set of keys then, two home bases are better than one.” 
As you savor being in his arms, you think about the future. You and Dieter's relationship included lots of travel back and forth and one day it would be nice to be in the same place. 
Only part of your job at the Planetarium was on site, you wonder, if you get your job fully remote, maybe you could move out there temporarily? It was an idea with entering, especially as you and Dieter got more serious as time went on. 
.
You didn’t plan it this way, a book tour lining up with the holidays but here you were.
After publishing your sci-fi book (eight years in the making) in the spring, it was slow going, the sales and coverage you hoped for weren't there. Then something happened over the summer and fall, and your book took like wildfire. 
Due to some issues, your last date, which was supposed to be days ago, got delayed, which is why you were in another city days before Christmas, and not at home LA with Dieter. To be fair, his schedule got crazy last minute too, and he just made it back a day ago. 
You lovingly planned a whole holiday week together, a plan then had to abandon. It put you in a down mood and all you wanted was to be cozied up with him, not in some hotel room. 
Dieter: “It's okay baby, we’ll see each other tomorrow.”  
You: “I know I just - I had the perfect week planned and we didn’t get to do any of it.”  
Dieter: “I have you, that's all I need. Fuck the rest of it.” 
Later that night, as you prepared for bed, you got a text from Dieter with a link. You settled in, set two alarms for your flight then watched the video. 
Interviewer: We’re on set and behind the scenes with Dieter Bravo! Okay, first question and no cheating, what are the last two artists you listened to?” 
On the screen, Dieter was in his usual comfortable attire and wearing sunglasses. 
Dieter: Easy. Snoop Dog, Fleetwood Mac.
Interview: Wow, what a fun mix! 
Dieter: It’s my lady’s playlist, good stuff.
Dieter lowered his shades and winked at the camera, and you knew, no matter what other fans were watching and losing their shit, that wink was solely for you. He even tapped his arm where your bracelet lived before the interview continued. 
.
‘We are beginning our descent into Los Angeles-’ 
The overhead announcement pulled you from your light sleep. A light tingling sensation washed over you, followed by the urge to smile. This happened every time you landed in LA to see Dieter. Time was on your mind as well, today marked one year since you met. The night you met often replayed in your mind like a movie, even 12 months out, it was still hard to believe.
Off the plane now, you moved through the airport, each step getting you closer and closer to your love as anticipation buzzed within you. Dieter always sent the same car and driver, so you went to pick-ups and looked for a familiar face. You’re only down there for a few minutes when you see him holding a sign scribbled with hearts, in the middle was the nickname for you, ‘Cosmo’. 
“I cannot handle how cute you are!” You hurried your steps as he ran toward you. 
As you went in for a kiss, Dieter pulled a mistletoe from his pocket and held it over your head. 
“It’s tradition now. Happy anniversary!” 
“Happy anniversary,” you echoed before kissing him. 
This past fall, you and Dieter talked about an anniversary date. You met on Christmas Eve and started to see each other casually after that. But you didn’t make it official until the
springtime. When Dieter said time was just a man-made thing and you didn’t have to adhere to it, you both decided to make Christmas Eve your official anniversary date. 
.
As soon as you arrived at the house, Dieter asked you to close your eyes and led you to the living room.  
“I never have time to have a tree. The one time I did, I didn’t decorate it, it just sat there naked. I was upstairs painting and smoking a joint then I thought, do trees get cold? And I put a robe on it.” 
You laughed, “Of course you would.”
Dieter guided you into place, resting his hands on your hips. “Don’t worry, I used real decorations this year. Only the best for my love - open your eyes in 3-2-1.”
You gasped as you moved close to the tree. “Dieter!” 
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“I stayed up all night to get it right -” he watched as you checked out the ornaments and lights, “I might have got too obsessed with getting it right,” he started counting on his fingers, “you should have seen it. I had Pinterest boards, watched videos, took a screenshot of the tree in your favorite Christmas movie…”
“It’s perfect!” 
It was the tree of your dreams, every detail from the ornaments, the color of the lights, the height. 
You look back, finding him smiling at you. “I know we were supposed to do it together.” 
“Don’t worry about it,” he hugged you from behind and rested his head on your shoulder. "A little sleep deprivation is a small price to pay for that look in your eyes. That’s what I wanted to see.” 
“I love you so much.” 
He brushed the tip of his nose against yours, “I love you too.” 
.
After a long eventful day, you and Dieter lay in bed warm and cozy, cuddling as moonlight streamed through the windows casting its silvery rays across your faces. Sleep called, its lullaby pleasing to your ears, but no match for the sweet trail of kisses Dieter planted on your shoulder. 
“I read your book again on my flight last week.” 
“You did?” you smiled feeling peaceful. 
“Question,” he reached over to the nightstand, grabbing your book. He flipped to a specific page and pointed at it. “This sex scene, was this inspired by that night after the concert?”
“In New York? When you were absolutely feral? Yes, rewrote the original scene. What can I say, you were my muse.”
“I knew it!” He threw his hands in the air. “Wait! The hair, the way he speaks - was he inspired by the space movie I didyears ago?” Dieter's eyes flew open wide. 
You pressed your finger to your lips, “If you don’t tell, I won't.” 
“This was so fucking hot baby.” 
“Have access to a sci-fi movie set where we can role-play?” you asked suggestively. 
“I would do this in a heartbeat.” 
You sat up and scooted closer to him. “Sometimes I still pinch myself to make sure this is real,” you confess happily. 
Dieter had a response ready but found himself tongue-tied as he looked into your eyes; you took his breath away, and he knew you still would when you were both old and grey. Slowly, Dieter tilted his head and moved in for a kiss. 
In each other's embrace, you stay here a while; in this space of love and warmth, trust and safety; home. Your hearts beating as one, drums in unison. Every brush of the lips, every caress, every pang of desire further deepening the bond between you. 
Dieter pulled you beneath him on the bed, teasing his lips against yours as you wrapped your legs around him. 
“You're not the only one with a present we need to wait for.” 
“Is that so?” Earlier in the evening as you exchanged gifts, you told him you had one more. It was something you were working hard at and hoped to present him with tonight but it wasn’t ready. 
“Mmmhmm. We gotta go to a place to see it. Road trip in a few days?” 
“I’d love that,” you replied while playing with his hair. 
.
Dieter took you on a short road trip, it was filled with sightseeing and off-the-beaten-track stops. You already had so much fun by the time you reached the destination you didn’t know what to expect, or how he would top it all. 
The observatory was amazing. Dieter loved watching you geek out as you took it all in. He gave you plenty of space to explore before guiding you to your gift. 
“Ooh a telescope?” 
He spoke off to the side with the guide who then put it in a specific position. 
“Sweetheart, I want you to look through this and tell me what you see.
“Okay,” the little kid in yours was so giddy from this whole trip. You loved any excuse to look at the stars. Once you settled in, you noticed the telescope was zoomed in as close as
possible with a star in the center. 
“Wanna know her name?” Dieter kneeled beside you, softly whispering your name in your ear. 
“No way!” you looked at him with a wide smile and tears in the corner of your eyes. 
He nodded enthusiastically, “way.” 
“I’m a fucking star in the galaxy!” 
“Thank you for an amazing year baby, and so many more to come.” 
Overwhelmed with joy, you jump into his arms. The two of you fall backward as you kiss. 
.
2024
You were nearly shaking with anticipation as the day came. You had breakfast, spent some time at the Met, and then finally took Dieter to his present. No matter how much he tried to get details out of you, you didn’t cave. But when you arrived at the address, his eyes flew open in surprise. 
“No fucking way-” he grabbed your arm, “baby?” 
“Yes.”
“How?!” 
“I have my connections too. I may not be a famous movie star, but it turns out 6 degrees of separation can really be helpful.” you pointed to the tattoo artist's name, “turns out his father used to be an Astronomy professor and knew my boss.” 
“This is the best present ever!” Dieter jumped up and down, then pulled you into a big hug. 
He had a few tattoos, all small. He had a bigger piece in mind, there was only one guy he wanted to do it. A man who was booked years out, even for Hollywood stars, and worked all over the world. He was rarely ever at his NY studio these days. Dieter hoped to work with him but didn’t know if it would ever really happen - until you. 
“You worked your magic baby, amazing!” he gave you a big kiss and then rushed inside, pulling you along behind him. 
.
Life with Dieter was exciting, funny, sensual, and at times frustrating. You knew who he was, and what his life was like. So going in you had some context, but being his girlfriend and living it real time was a wild ride. Still, you and Dieter’s love deepened with each day. 
This fairy tale turned reality was still strange, and you were thankful for every second of it, even the upsetting parts but this was still your reality - you were the woman who captured his heart. Dieter wasn’t shy about his romance or how in love he was. He was super protective of you, while also letting the world know yes, he was taken, happily. 
“I’m a very lucky man, and yes, I’m in love. She’s fucking amazing.” He said in one interview. 
He didn’t like paparazzi getting close to you and wasn’t shy about telling reporters and others to mind their business and give you space. He even took you to events, which was wild the first time, it was a trip and felt like a dream - you still have the photo taken of you two on the red carpet on your photo wall. He looked so happy, smiling as he buried his face in your hair; all the flashing lights and big names, and all he saw was you. 
As the year moved along, there were still long periods where you didn’t see each other, and at times, you missed him so much it hurt. But you always knew you'd reunite, and it made the reunions so much sweeter. As for your living situation, it was kind of all over, your place, his place, and everything in between. Though you were making the best of it, it was getting a little exhausting at times. You knew some changes may be needed, possibly sooner than later, but you were also anxious about upsetting the wacky balance that was your lives together. 
.
Now, three weeks before Christmas, you made your way to LA. You’d stay for two months this time, and we're looking forward to it. After a busy shoot, Dieter had four weeks of vacation coming up and was looking forward to spending every second of it with you.
But your reunion had to wait just a little longer. You’d spend these first two weeks alone, decorating the house, getting the tree up, and writing. You had an idea for your third book and the words were flying, wanting to ride the inspiration wave, you decided to spend the time before his arrival getting as much work done as possible, then nothing but relaxing once he arrived. Unlike last year, you were the one arriving early while Dieter would be late. He hoped to return from the UK by Christmas Eve, and then you’d start your vacation
together. 
After landing, you rented a car and headed to his house. Upon approaching, your jaw dropped, the house was decked out, with lights, Santa, snowmen, and elves - all of it and you couldn't help but laugh because there was just so much of everything, like Dieter decorated in one of his manic states. 
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“Oh Dieter,” you laughed, imagining him frantically decorating before flying out. He must have done this to give you more time to write.
Once inside the house, you dropped off your bags by the door then followed the sound of music to the living room. Was one of his assistants here? The occasional house staff? You were happy to do things on your own, so when you visited you didn’t need extra hands around. 
Half expecting to see the part-time butler or one of his assistants, you turned the corner and entered the living room. 
“Oh my god-” 
You raised your hands to your mouth, taking in the gorgeous Christmas tree. Dieter was currently on a ladder, adding a star on the top. 
“Surprise!” He said with a big smile. 
“‘What are you doing here?” 
“That's kind of how surprises work baby, you don’t tell the person - “
“Smartass,” you made your way to him as he climbed down. His pockets were stuffed with ornaments, and he had a row of lights round his neck. “You look like a Christmas tree.” 
“Two for one- “he grinned then dug a mistletoe from his pocket, 
“Gladly,” you sing, cupping his cheeks with your hands as you kiss him. 
.
Dieter stopped in the doorway as you typed at your computer, your fingers moving quickly as the words left you at lightning speed. He loved watching you work, loved watching you do anything really. And he was more than happy to turn this room into your writing sanctuary, it was filled with excess canvases and this house was always too big for him, well - until you got here, only then did it really start to feel like home.
Leaving you to it, he stepped away quietly and returned to the kitchen to unbag the groceries. It’s been three days since you arrived, three blissful days, days he dreamed of on his long nights and early mornings on set. 
He was happy, over the moon really but he was also so damn nervous his stomach was in knots. This was going well, better than he expected, better than he ever maintained any other relationship before.
The truth was, he fell in love with you that very first night. You had his heart, then and there. And he spent a bunch of time afraid he’d fuck it up, so he convinced himself it was good - being so busy - he couldn't fuck things up that way. He was thankful he came to his senses and made it official that night at your place, he deserved this, you were meant to be together. 
.
After dinner, you cleared up the kitchen then snuggled on the couch to watch one of your favorite holiday movies. As the movie went on, you noticed Dieter was distracted, in fact, he had been during all of dinner. 
“Hey,” you turned the movie off, “you, okay?” 
He cleared his throat as he looked at you, clearly nervous. 
“Dieter,”
You took his hand in yours, worried about what it could be. He did just film with an old party buddy and fellow actor of his, was this related to that? Was he feeling tempted? Whatever it was, you’d support him and help him through it. 
He ran his hands through his hair once, then a second time, and took a deep breath. 
“Okay, I am officially very worried. Talk to me.” 
“I think a kiss will make me feel better.” 
“I’ll give you all the kisses you want,” after the kiss, you wrapped your arms around him while holding eye contact. “Talk to me.” 
He wet his lips, then closed his eyes. You can do this. Don’t be a chicken shit. Just ask!  
When he opened his eyes again, they were soft and full of love. He held your face in his hands, 
“You're the love of my life. My soulmate. I knew it the moment I saw you. Marry me?”
“Yes, I'll marry you!” 
There were no awkward pauses, no hesitation, this was 100% a yes and you could feel your soul dancing. Dieter was your other half, the missing puzzle piece you didn't even know you needed. Happy as a puppy, Dieter littered your face with kisses.
“Oh shit, the ring, wait -"he got it out of his pocket and down on one knee, “let me do this right.” 
Before you could tell him, his way was perfect, he proceeded, the sound of your name was like poetry on his tongue, 
“Will you marry me?”
You kneeled too, “of course, I’ll marry you - as long as there’s chilled Kit Kats and karaoke.” 
Dieter laughed and placed the ring on your finger. “You’re fucking amazing.” 
You stared at your hand, happy tears falling down your cheeks. “Holy shit! Mrs. Bravo!"
He smiled softly, admiring you while caressing the length of your arm. “Dreams do come true my love.” 
“Damn right they do,” you took one more look at the ring, then at him, savoring the look in his eyes, “Mrs. Bravo?!"
“Mrs. Bravo.” He repeated as he pressed his lips to yours. 
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As an exception I posted this in full. I no longer post full work on tumblr, just on A03.
I’ve been down with a bad cold over a week now so pls forgive any horrible grammar issues, my head is super congested, did my best 💜Arte
✨Previous Secret Santas: one, two
✨My Pedro character masterlist
✨Masterlist
More moodboards below
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Be kind, reblog 💜it helps more people see it. ✨
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theshitpostcalligrapher · 1 year ago
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ASKBOX IS OPEN REQUESTS ARE OPEN HERE ARE THE RULES
ground rules:
1) Funny- the request needs to be humorous, memes usually the most popular but dnd in jokes and other shitpostery is welcome. i abide by the MBMBAM NO BUMMERS rule - there are plenty of sad/deep/beautiful calligraphers out there who’d be happy to work with yall, but this isn’t that sort of channel
2) Length - aim for no more than 75 characters a request, my cue cards are only so big so I can only fit so much on each one and still not look like garbage. There is a little leeway but if you send me smth with like 120 characters it aint getting written
3) Amount of Requests - I am trying to be fair but i am one person running almost the ENTIRE thing, logistics, tech, etc, I have twitch mods and a roommate for retrieving things and that's it. In order to be fair, please restrict yourselves to 3 requests per person to let everyone have a shot, if you send in more i will ctrl-f your username and pick my favourites
4) Content - I will not do anything I consider under the umbrella of general assholery - this includes racial slurs, edgelord bullshit, exclusionist jackassery etc. Please be kind to each other. Please let me know if I’ve taken a request that is some incredibly obscure piece of assholery, someone once tried to slip a really obscure antisemetic piece of slang by me once
5) Repeats - I keyword tag EVERY SINGLE piece i’ve ever done on this blog, if you think I might have written smth already but aren’t sure, the /search/[keyword] is your friend, check if i’ve done your request before
the askbox is theshitpostcalligrapher.tumblr.com/ask , not a dm or submission to the blog. I’ll close submissions too so people don’t get the boxes confused. DM me for any actual clarifications, kind words, etc so they don’t get swallowed up by the behemoth of my askbox for months, and if you want to give me live encouragement the twitch link is right there, and is the ideal way to inquire more about any of the day's rules.
If you want to jump the ENTIRE queue and get your card done immediately, there are ways to donate on the twitch stream to get your request done with an ink of your choice. You can still submit 3 free requests in addition to what you pay for.
I’ll be streaming the entire time the askbox is open on twitch @ theshitpostcalligrapher, trying to get as many of these done today as possible live. Once 10PM EST hits, the askbox will close but if you get your request into the askbox by then, it will be done eventually as I always have 4 cards up per day.
Here’s the link to my twitch, we’ll start a little after 3 o’clock.
twitch_live
Here is a direct donation link to my streamlabs, it works like a ko-fi but I’ve got it set to give me alerts on my twitch so I can see and thank you straightaway for supporting my takeout order
I've planned on a few donation goals this time! They help pay for all the hours I put in and the material costs. Every time we hit a goal, I'll refresh it to 0 and math out whatever overlap to add to the new goal
$20 > Time For Tea! I make a sparkly, food safe glittery tea that looks like ink to enjoy with yall on stream
$30 > Jackbox Break! My Discord VC and potentially chat plays a few games
$40 > Takeout O'clock: It is time to order a food, Mia! Polls will probably be involved for food options
$200 (I am fairly sure we won't get this one) > I bought all the requisite items to bleach my hair to prep for a dye. Let's do this shit LIVE ON AIR BAYBEE
Also of Note: I will be moving house sometime in the next week and a half, which means I will be RECYCLING ALL OF THE CARDS I'VE WRITTEN IN THE PAST TWO AND A HALF YEARS (save for the ones folks pay for on stream, those are earmarked to be mailed out anyways) so if you've gotten something written by me from september 2021 to january 2024 or so, please remember that there is an an etsy shop where you can snag any card from the blog for a few dollars. dm the shop if you'd like to buy a bundle of randoms, I WILL give you a sale about it
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hotvintagepoll · 9 months ago
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Propaganda
Jeanette MacDonald (The Merry Widow, Monte Carlo)— vivacious and luminous, jeanette macdonald was known for her beautiful operatic soprano voice. she appeared in a series of witty and sparkling musical comedies directed by ernst lubitsch in the early 1930s, usually opposite maurice chevalier. in the late 30s and 40s she was often paired with operatic baritone nelson eddy.
Katharine Hepburn (Bringing Up Baby, The Philadelphia Story, The African Queen)—This woman. I have been obsessed with her for years. I know the urban legend is a popular one at this point of her walking around set in her underwear when her pants were stolen and she was left with only a skirt, but the pants thing is honestly enough for her to be the hottest in the room in my book. She refused to wear anything else at a time when the public in general and especially the studios did not like that. She was independent, stubborn, and so so very capable. Competency kink anyone? Also, if you want one final way that Katharine's entire life was saying "fuck you" to the establishment, it started young! Her mother took her to suffrage events, and she never got rid of that attitude of justice. I feel like I have barely scratched the surface of all the ways she was such a badass that I'm turning into a rambling mess instead.
This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Jeanette Macdonald:
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Gifset: https://www.tumblr.com/mydailyvintagephotos/687386480054812672/remembering-jeanette-macdonald-on-her-birthday
Gifset 2: https://www.tumblr.com/marypickfords/186755987894/jeanette-macdonald-in-one-hour-with-you-ernst
youtube
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Katharine Hepburn propaganda:
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I'm sure one million people will submit her as an iconic Hollywood star but that iconicness might lead people to forget just how insanely hot she was like she had it ALL she was skilled she was funny she was smart she was beautiful AND she was likely bisexual
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The single word I would use to explain Katherine Hepburn's appeal is *range*. In her acting career, that meant covering all the ground between lush period dramas and the comedies she did with Carey Grant and Spencer Tracey. In terms of hotness, it meant an uncanny ability to bring anything from a Dietrich-esque androgyny to some of the best Classic Hollywood Glamour you will ever see.
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Katharine hep was so cool. The VIBES, the INDEPENDENCE,,, living life on her own terms.
she just had this.... bearing to her, this power. she could be funny, even silly (like in bringing up baby) but also so regal and elegant. she was nobody's fool and dear GOD that's so hot
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Fancam link
She’s not only stunningly gorgeous (those eyes that pierce your soul! a jawline you could cut glass with!) but her delivery and physical presence in roles gives off confidence and authority in such a sexy way (truly the biggest dick energy of Old Hollywood). Her fiery energy in The Philadelphia Story? Unmatched.
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God she's. She's so hot y'all. She has the range!!!!! Funny and dramatic and lovely
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She IS the transatlantic accent. Classically gorgeous and such a strong personality.
She's literally one of the funniest women to ever live! She goes shot for shot with Cary Grant in Philadelphia Story and we damn well love her for it! She's the most annoying creature to ever live in Bringing Up Baby but she's so insane and funny that we simply cannot help but fall in love with her (and root for her to give Grant an aneurysm!)
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i know she's accounted for but i really want to be sure someone has submitted the scene in bringing up baby where she's pretending to be a gangster
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She simply stuns onscreen; you cannot do anything but be captivated by her presence. Also a non-gender-conforming icon and mild tumblr celebrity by virtue of that one picture from The Warrior's Husband (stage play).
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Katharine Hepburn was out here casually changing the lives of young butch lesbians with her gender swag! She wore pants even when people said she shouldn’t, she refused to marry or have kids, and she wore menswear in at LEAST one movie!
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Someone's got to mention it, but she's won the most Oscars out of any performer and is largely considered one of the greatest actresses ever. She's got an incredible voice, an incredible presence, and she absolutely steals every scene she's in. She was private person and deemed standoffish and unapproachable, but she was also profoundly concerned for people's rights and was an outspoken supporter of abortion access. Finally, the Katharine Hepburn slacks look is just iconic. I mean look at her.
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If I start thinking about her face for too long I will cry she is so so hot. Katherine is so charismatic and charming in everything she appears in - watch her adopt a leopard and fall in love with her. Also she has the biggest dick energy ever (she and her pal Lauren Bacall share that accolade). Also had an incredibly long and varied career from screw ball comedies to serious dramas - she’s a queen of the screen and I adore her.
(I hope someone else submits real propaganda but just in case they don't:) Cries. Screams. Wails. The woman who singlehandedly made me realize I was bi. A real "do i want to look like her. be her. or be with her.' crisis, where the answer was all three. Holy shit please all three.
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antiquarianfics · 1 year ago
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Timeless
Reader wonders how their life might have looked different in 1944, but they know they still would have loved Bucky Barnes.
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Author's Note: I have not written fanfiction in years, merely lurking and reading. However, "Timeless" (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault) just screams Bucky x Reader to me. I had to come back. So, enjoy. :) Genre: Fluff Pairing: Bucky Barnes x G!N Reader WC: 725 words
---
"What was it like?" You spoke hesitantly, choosing your words carefully as you break the comfortable silence where you and Bucky had been quietly looking at the antiques and knickknacks around the small store.
"What was what like?" Bucky looks down at you, eyebrow raised.
You nudge him with your shoulder.
"Hush, I was getting there," you laugh. "What was it like in the '40s?"
Bucky had told you plenty about his life both pre and post Winter Soldier; however, you still felt like asking again.
Bucky smiled softly, looking up and around the room. "It was hectic. We had just entered the war and everyone was panicking. I remember Ma and Becca were practically begging me not to enlist." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. His mother and sister were hard for him to talk about sometimes, so you grab his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.
"It was funny, though. After enlisting, I felt like I was on top of the world. I was proud to join, y'know? Think Ma and Becca were proud of me, too. Just scared."
"Understandable," you agree. You bite your lip, thinking. "Did enlisting get you a girlfriend?"
Bucky blows out air in a stifled laugh. "No, but it didn't hurt my game," he teases.
You roll your eyes before settling on an old photograph in a catch-all sort of box labeled "Photographs: 25¢ each." The photo was lying neatly on top of the others, practically calling you toward it like a siren to a sailor. You begin moving towards it, letting Bucky's hand fall out of your grasp as you go to pick it up.
"Why do you ask?" Bucky questions, coming up to stand behind you at the photo box. He gently slides his arms around your body, hugging you from behind, gazing at the photograph over your shoulder.
You hum. "I don't know; I guess all this old stuff just got me thinking."
Bucky stays silent, letting you pull your thoughts together.
"You think this would've been us?" You ask.
The photo you were drawn to was of a '30s couple smiling and laughing on the porch of their first home. You didn't know who these people were, obviously, but you recognized them as you and Bucky. It was a strange feeling, and you hoped Bucky would understand it, too.
"Oh, for sure. I woulda been crazy about you back then," Bucky smiles, imagining you in his time. "You in victory rolls, the long skirts, out dancing? God, you know I would've been talking you up."
You giggle, feeling flustered. "I would've married you, bought you a house, given you kids, whatever you wanted," he continues. "I would've had the prettiest person in all of space and time sending me off to war."
You frown slightly. "You know, for people who fight bad guys and aliens on a regular basis, I really don't like the idea of sending you off to war. It's too dangerous. You might fall off a train, or something."
Bucky laughs, poking you in the side. "Come on, now."
"No, seriously. I hate it. I pray every night that you'll come back unscathed when you go on missions with Sam, and... I just can't imagine having to rely on letters or not being able to just go with you," you take a breath, grounding yourself. You realize you're working yourself up.
"I would have, though."
"Would've what?"
"Relied on the letters. I would've read them every night, and write you just as much. Telling you not to be stupid and not die. I would've sat by the mailbox everyday just to get your letters and know you're alright."
Bucky grins. "I would've come back. For you."
"If you could've just gone back, don't you think you would have?"
"Nah," Bucky dismisses the thought. "If I hadn't fallen off that train, I'd be ancient or dead right now and I wouldn't have gotten to love you."
You set the photo back down in the box before turning around in Bucky's arms. You slide your arms around his neck and he lets his fall to your waist.
"I'm serious," he says when the two of you make eye contact. "What we got, Doll? It's timeless. I was gonna end up in your arms one way or another."
You lean up and kiss him.
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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months ago
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Harry’s Birthday Weekend PR
Don’t mind me, I’m just making a list here…
Before we get into it, the Emmys are tomorrow so any exclusive attention Harry or Meghan might get will be quickly pushed out of the news cycle by the red carpet. (If you're not familiar, the Emmys are the E in EGOT and recognize accomplishment in television. This year's ceremony is hosted by Eugene and Dan Levy and will mark the 25th anniversary of one of my favorite shows of all-time, The West Wing.)
Anyway, let's see how the fauxyals are celebrating this weekend. No links today because I'm already a bit queasy from painting.
September 10--
How Prince Harry plans to spend his 40th birthday - with help from Meghan Markle (Page Six exclusive)
September 12–
Bryony Gordon: What my friends Harry and Meghan are really like (Daily Mail exclusive)
Who's who in Prince Harry's 40th party posse? And will he let his hair down? (Daily Mail exclusive)
Prince Harry: I was anxious about 30, I'm excited about 40 (BBC exclusive statement)
Prince Harry shares the best gift he's ever received ahead of 40th birthday (Page Six)
September 13–
Pap photos of Meghan and Archie in California. Archie is cropped out of the photos. (Apparently the photos were a People exclusive from September 4th)
Prince Harry's thoughts on turning 40 and how Duke plans to celebrate with family and inner circle (Daily Mail)
Prince Harry tells of his excitement at turning 40 ahead of his birthday celebrations this weekend (Daily Mail)
The problem with Harry in royal circles? He's left behind feelings of disgust, is accused of wreaking Biblical vengeance...and some vow never to speak to him again (Daily Mail exclusive)
Prince Harry reveals the 'best gift' he's ever received as he prepares to celebrate his 40th birthday at home in California with 'close friends' (Daily Mail)
Prince Harry on turning 40: My mission is to do good in the world (Telegraph)
How the Queen Mother spent her fortune - and the millions Prince Harry is set to inherit from her (Telegraph)
Prince Harry's troubling admission amid Meghan Markle's 'absence' on trip (Mirror)
Prince Harry 'could never have envisaged his life as it is now' when he turned 30 (Mirror exclusive)
Prince William 'sent last-minute text to Prince Harry in olive branch move' (Mirror; remember, olive branch is a Sussex PR phrase)
Prince Harry hit with warning before 40th birthday as he 'wants one thing so badly' (Mirror)
Prince Harry's sweet Archie and Lilibet update could be painful for King Charles (Mirror)
Prince Harry's cryptic statement on 'fresh perspective' as painful feud rumbles on (Mirror)
Prince Harry issues surprise message about 'his mission' to mark his 40th birthdhay (Mirror)
Prince Harry and Meghan Markle 'invited to UK for Christmas' by forgotten family (Mirror)
Prince Harry facing up to 'saddest part of exile,' says royal expert (Mirror)
'Sad reason Prince Harry is determined to give Archie and Lili perfect childhood' - expert (Mirror)
Prince William's devastating text to Prince Harry that left him at a loss over next steps (Mirror)
Meghan Markle's UK return date 'revealed' amid Prince Harry Christmas royal reunion rumors (Mirror)
'Here's the real reason Prince Harry has grumpy look in photos', royal expert claims (Mirror; royal expert is Ingrid Seward and she says the grumpy look is because Harry doesn't want to be photographed)
Prince Harry's special tribute to Princess Diana in his Montecito home (Express)
Prince Harry's heartbreaking last moments with late Queen revealed (Express)
Prince Harry says he's 'excited' to turn 40 in birthday message: 'A fresh perspective on life' (People)
September 14–
Meghan is dubbed 'Duchess Difficult' by 'terrified' US staff as source claims she throws 'tantrums' and 'makes grown men cry' - while 'enabler' Harry is increasingly isolated with his closest friend his bodyguard-for-hire (Daily Mail)
King Charles 'will reach out to Prince Harry on his 40th birthday' (Daily Mail)
How conflict over fashion industry contacts sparked tension in Meghan and Kate's relationship (Daily Mail; remember, any article that lists Meghan first is Meghan PR)
Prince Harry's 'best friend': The security guard who has royal's back for more than a decade (Daily Mail)
When Prince Harry was the cheekiest member of the Royal Family (Daily Mail)
Harry at 40: Prince will be worried about 'financing' next decade says royal biographer (Mirror)
Prince Harry to receive olive branch from King Charles with huge gesture on his birthday (Mirror; olive branch is a Sussex PR phrase)
Prince Harry 'relegated from royal heir to Meghan Markle's sidekick' ahead of milestone birthday (Mirror)
Prince Harry and Meghan Markle's neighbors in California are 'fed up' with couple (Mirror)
Truth behind Prince Harry's final birthday present from Diana weeks after tragic death (Mirror; Spare recap)
'Cheeky' Prince Harry's daring escape from palace prompted frantic search (Mirror)
Princess Diana's nickname for Prince Harry resurfaces as fans all say same thing (Mirror; the nickname is "my little Spencer")
Royals won't 'trust' Prince Harry again amid 'fractured' relationship, expert claims (Mirror; the expert is Chris Ship)
Meghan Markle question that meant Prince Harry 'lost a friend' (Mirror)
Princess Diana's brother's 'warning' to Prince Harry over Meghan Markle (Mirror)
Harry thought he could 'step in' during Royal crisis but William 'drew a line in the sand' (Mirror)
Hidden reason Prince William 'cut ties' with Prince Harry revealed by expert (Mirror exclusive)
Prince William won't make birthday call to Prince Harry as key reason revealed - 'don't even speak' (Mirror exclusive)
Prince Harry's pal's 5-word verdit on his life in US with Meghan (Express)
King Charles extends olive branch to Prince Harry (Express)
Meghan Markle preparing to 'take off the gloves' in plans for tell-all memoir (Express)
Prince Harr's pal 'refuses to speak to him' after private remark about Royal Family (Express)
Rare boost for Prince Harry who's 'more popular than King Charles' in US before birthday (Express)
Prince Harry and Prince William could take years to speak again (Express)
Prince Harry insists he will 'always love' the UK despite unpopularity with Brits (Express)
Prince Harry takes key steps to give 'trauma-free childhood' to Archie and Lilibet (Express)
Prince Harry is unhappy in California and filled with regret (Express)
Prince William will 'not call' brother Harry on his 40th birthday as pair no longer speak (Express)
Prince Harry snubbed by 2 celebrity pals for his birthday (Express)
Prince Harry's birthday woes as deeply unpopular in UK (Express; or something like that - the Express's website has a ton of phishing ads on it)
Prince Harry's one skewed 'belief' over UK security pleas and King Charles's position (Express)
Prince Harry reveals biggest regret about his mum Diana as milestone birthday approaches (Express)
POLL: Should the Royal Family wish Prince Harry a happy 40th birthday? (Express)
Prince Harry's heartbreaking 11-word remark about late Queen as he reveals 'real problem' (Express)
Meghan Markle is a 'dictator' who 'terrifies' staff, has 'reduced grown men to tears', bombshell Hollywood Reporter expose claims (New York Post)
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reasonsforhope · 6 months ago
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Paywall-Free Article
"In one of its first big decisions, Britain’s new Labour government on Friday [July 12, 2024] announced the early release of thousands of prisoners, blaming the need to do so on a legacy of neglect and underinvestment under the Conservative Party, which lost last week’s general election after 14 years in power.
With the system nearly at capacity and some of the country’s aged prison buildings crumbling, the plan aims to avoid an overcrowding crisis that some had feared might soon explode.
But with crime a significant political issue, the decision is a sensitive one and the prime minister, Keir Starmer, a former chief prosecutor, lost no time in pointing to his predecessors to explain the need for early releases.
“We knew it was going to be a problem, but the scale of the problem was worse than we thought, and the nature of the problem is pretty unforgivable in my book,” Mr. Starmer said, speaking ahead of the decision while attending a NATO summit in Washington...
Under the new government’s plan, those serving some sentences in England and Wales would be released after serving 40 percent of their sentence, rather than at the midway point at which many are freed “on license,” a kind of parole.
The even earlier releases will not apply to those convicted of more serious crimes, including sexual offenses, serious violence and terrorism. But Mark Icke, vice president of the Prison Governors’ Association, told the BBC that the plan could remove from the system “between 8,000 and 10,000 people,” providing “some breathing space.”
[Note: And more importantly - breathing space for thousands of people who have been unjustly imprisoned for minor offenses, as well as their families.]
Despite some early releases under the previous government, the strain on the prison system has been relentless. In England and Wales, the prison population stands at 87,505 — very close to the maximum capacity of 88,956 — according to the latest official data...
In its first week in power, Labour has said that it is grappling with a difficult inheritance after years of restraint in spending on public services under the Conservatives. In one of her first acts in government, the new chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves, has ordered a review of Britain’s public finances.
Before Labour had won the election, it identified the strain on Britain’s prisons as a potentially major problem. The issue was cited on an internal list of key concerns; others included the strain on the overburdened health care system and financial pressure on municipalities and universities.
The prison population of England and Wales has doubled over the last 30 years, despite a decline in crime rates, and it has increased by 13 percent in the past three years...
Rory Stewart, a former Conservative prisons minister, said that Britain had incarcerated too many people, including for minor crimes such as repeated failure to pay council tax, which is levied by local authorities for municipal services.
According to Mr. Stewart in remarks to the BBC, imprisoning people for minor crimes “doesn’t protect the public. It doesn’t help these people get away from offending. And it creates these violent, filthy, shameful places which our prisons have become today.” The Conservative and Labour parties, he added, had “competed with each other on being more and more ferocious in demanding longer and longer sentences.”
Mr. Starmer has raised hopes among those who want to change that policy by appointing a prominent advocate of overhauling the prison system, James Timpson, as prisons minister. Mr. Timpson, a businessman, has a record of employing former prisoners in an effort to give them a second chance."
-via The New York Times, July 12, 2024
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Would they peel an orange for you?
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Yes, I saw the TikToks and thought about doing it before I remember I don't have boyfriend
Yes, unprompted
Thoma
There is approximately 30-40 minutes between the time Thoma gives ayato his evening tea and when ayaka needed to be escorted to town.
And like clockwork Thoma would be waiting for you under a tree in the residence, on a somewhat secluded corner with a tray with two tea cups and a little platter with cut up solsettias and oranges.
Even if one day you arrive early where he is still getting settled and just about to start peeling and ask to do it for him he just smiles but refuses with his head.
“ Don't worry about it! Why don't you drink the tea? It's a new blend that arrived today, though you would like it”
Childe ( he is used to peeling fruit for his sibling)
Itto ( hear me out, he hears a girl mention a novel where the main character gets fed apple slices while sick and how attentive that was and immediately starts a competition with nobody to prove himself the 'bestest' boyfriend ever"
Yes, if asked
Zhongli
He doesn't have the same nutritional needs as humans, where we would need variety of vegetables and fruits, grains and meat in his dragon form he only needs three cows every month, now as a human his metabolism had slowed significantly, even then it would be strange to only buy kilos of meat once a month and nothing else.
That is where you help him out, going to his house for diner and lunch to not let the good rot.
“ I saw green tangerine at the stall and decided to buy them” zhongli settles the fabric bag on the table “It reminded me of such a delectable tea I had a while ago, I guessed I would have my hand at it, it will take at most 10 years only”
“ Tea inside tangerines? It sounds nice. Do you think I can eat one, I never had one” he nods from the kitchen putting away a bag of rice and other things while he mumbles about only needing the skin “I don't really want to peel it though… Can you peel it for me?”
Zhongli looks at you, head slightly turned but he smiles as he answers “ as you wish” he walks to the table and grabs a knife, before skillfully cutting the skin and stabbing a wedge “open wide”
Kaveh
Kaveh might work as an architect, loving the flow and composition of his buildings, but that love extends further away to other areas of art, from painting to rug making to clothes, so when you ask him for help when remodeling your home ( you paying) he was on cloud nine.
Walking and haggling the price all around the grand bazaar from 7 am (he insisted all the good things arrived early) to 3 pm was expectedly tiring to your legs and to your head, seeing how happy kaveh was with a 20 mora discount. So when you two stopped at alhaitham’s house to leave some bags you threw yourself on the ergonomic couch that was on the living room.
“Oh, we didn't stop to drink anything all morning, do you want some water and…” you could hear him rummaging around the shared kitchen for something to offer “ … some oranges?”
You only sigh but nod, even if you knew he wouldn't see “ water is fine. I don't want to peel anything, I hate how the smell lingers on my fingers”
Kaveh brings a jug with cool water “ I can peel it for you if you want, I don't really mind”
“... Yes, please “
Diluc ( would ask a maid the first time but when they tell him what it means he starts peeling it himself)
Neuvillete (furina said it was something sweet between lovers and it stuck with him)
Wriothesley
Not really/ doesn't find the point:
Alhaitham
At breakfast he doesn't like to eat heavy, not wanting to dirty his kitchen before going to work and not having much appetite so early. Usually a warm cup of tea or coffee and a bit of fruit or bread.
Seeing as he was picking an apple from the bowl on the kitchen you ask him to pick you an orange to which he only nods and grabs you a knife.
Leaving it in front of you he sits on the contrary chair and bites through the apple and sips his tea.
“ I don't really want to peel it, though… maybe someone could do it for me” you look at him, hinting at him
“ Do you want an apple then? You don't have to peel it” he doesn't look up from the book on the table even as you sighs
Wanderer (rat man)
Kaeya ( does it because you asked him but doesn't find the point in asking him for such a small favor. Prefers showing love/care in other ways)
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phantomrose96 · 2 years ago
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Welcome to Renting in a Big City!!! Come with me! Let me walk you through your options!
First I cannot recommend enough one of these new-construction luxury apartment complexes! The amenities are killer and the maintenance is lightning-fast. Your apartment? This rectangular box with three interior walls. We don't like the term "studio" as much as "open concept." It's 400 sqft and the rent will increase 12% year over year (or maybe 30% 😉) once we start attracting all the rich people we want, and also if you attempt to move out at any moment that's not the exact end of your lease (with 60 days notice to not renew) then we'll charge you a 2-months-rent lease breaking fee.
Okay not your style? Don't worry we've got plenty of options in cozy residential areas within the city! Like this apartment! The building was built 150 years ago and the landlord is an 80 year old man who lives 7 states away and insists you mail him your rent every month since technology scares him. Need something fixed? No worries your landlord has great connections to a guy who knows a guy who has a son who's held a hammer once. He's very busy though so please give him 2 or 3 months to respond to anything. The ants were here first and they have squatters rights now so no you can't call maintenance about that.
Oh sorry I wasn't listening--both of those options are 2.5x your budget? No worries no worries I've got plenty of stuff in your price range. THIS beautiful place is only 40 minutes outside the city (2.5 hours in traffic, which is always). It's a modern-concept renovated shed and your neighborhood is the sad industrial remains of concrete and shattered dreams. The broker's fee for this is 5x rent. The construction outside your bedroom window has been going for 5 years, but it MIGHT be finished tomorrow? That's what we told the guy 5 years ago. (We do already have 7 applications for this place, so please decide quickly.)
Okay okay okay, I see the look on your face, not your style. You're a roommate kinda guy, yeah? Of course you are. Everyone is! (Not by choice.) Plenty of opportunities on Facebook and Craigslist to fill in a roommate slot! Just keep clear of rookie mistakes and you'll be golden. Rookie mistake #1: falling for a malicious scam which will take first last and security from you before vanishing into the night. Easy mistake. The best way to avoid it is to don't do it. Stay suspicious of any place pressuring you to make a decision quickly, which is all of them, including the legit places! Rookie mistake #2: signing in to the most batshit abusive and unstable roommate situation you've seen in your life, which the guy you're taking the lease over from was selling his soul to escape. You'll be WISHING you had the ant roommates then haha. We have fun here.
Man you're not looking excited :( that's bumming me out. Okay okay, something a little outside the box? You can get a room for SUPER cheap in this mansion right at the heart of the city, you just kinda need to join the cult that's living there. You can--oh wait what? Oh man, turns out the cult is selling the building :( yeah sounds like they're on hard financial times because they're the cult Shinzo Abe was assassinated over :( real sad. We DO still have a cool Mormon co-op if you--
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ms-hells-bells · 6 months ago
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Because senator Kamala Harris is a prosecutor and I am a felon, I have been following her political rise, with the same focus that my younger son tracks Steph Curry threes. Before it was in vogue to criticize prosecutors, my friends and I were exchanging tales of being railroaded by them. Shackled in oversized green jail scrubs, I listened to a prosecutor in a Fairfax County, Va., courtroom tell a judge that in one night I’d single-handedly changed suburban shopping forever. Everything the prosecutor said I did was true — I carried a pistol, carjacked a man, tried to rob two women. “He needs a long penitentiary sentence,” the prosecutor told the judge. I faced life in prison for carjacking the man. I pleaded guilty to that, to having a gun, to an attempted robbery. I was 16 years old. The old heads in prison would call me lucky for walking away with only a nine-year sentence.
I’d been locked up for about 15 months when I entered Virginia’s Southampton Correctional Center in 1998, the year I should have graduated from high school. In that prison, there were probably about a dozen other teenagers. Most of us had lengthy sentences — 30, 40, 50 years — all for violent felonies. Public talk of mass incarceration has centered on the war on drugs, wrongful convictions and Kafkaesque sentences for nonviolent charges, while circumventing the robberies, home invasions, murders and rape cases that brought us to prison.
The most difficult discussion to have about criminal-justice reform has always been about violence and accountability. You could release everyone from prison who currently has a drug offense and the United States would still outpace nearly every other country when it comes to incarceration. According to the Prison Policy Institute, of the nearly 1.3 million people incarcerated in state prisons, 183,000 are incarcerated for murder; 17,000 for manslaughter; 165,000 for sexual assault; 169,000 for robbery; and 136,000 for assault. That’s more than half of the state prison population.
When Harris decided to run for president, I thought the country might take the opportunity to grapple with the injustice of mass incarceration in a way that didn’t lose sight of what violence, and the sorrow it creates, does to families and communities. Instead, many progressives tried to turn the basic fact of Harris’s profession into an indictment against her. Shorthand for her career became: “She’s a cop,” meaning, her allegiance was with a system that conspires, through prison and policing, to harm Black people in America.
In the past decade or so, we have certainly seen ample evidence of how corrupt the system can be: Michelle Alexander’s best-selling book, “The New Jim Crow,” which argues that the war on drugs marked the return of America’s racist system of segregation and legal discrimination; Ava DuVernay’s “When They See Us,” a series about the wrongful convictions of the Central Park Five, and her documentary “13th,” which delves into mass incarceration more broadly; and “Just Mercy,” a book by Bryan Stevenson, a public interest lawyer, that has also been made into a film, chronicling his pursuit of justice for a man on death row, who is eventually exonerated. All of these describe the destructive force of prosecutors, giving a lot of run to the belief that anyone who works within a system responsible for such carnage warrants public shame.
My mother had an experience that gave her a different perspective on prosecutors — though I didn’t know about it until I came home from prison on March 4, 2005, when I was 24. That day, she sat me down and said, “I need to tell you something.” We were in her bedroom in the townhouse in Suitland, Md., that had been my childhood home, where as a kid she’d call me to bring her a glass of water. I expected her to tell me that despite my years in prison, everything was good now. But instead she told me about something that happened nearly a decade earlier, just weeks after my arrest. She left for work before the sun rose, as she always did, heading to the federal agency that had employed her my entire life. She stood at a bus stop 100 feet from my high school, awaiting the bus that would take her to the train that would take her to a stop near her job in the nation’s capital. But on that morning, a man yanked her into a secluded space, placed a gun to her head and raped her. When she could escape, she ran wildly into the 6 a.m. traffic.
My mother’s words turned me into a mumbling and incoherent mess, unable to grasp how this could have happened to her. I knew she kept this secret to protect me. I turned to Google and searched the word “rape” along with my hometown and was wrecked by the violence against women that I found. My mother told me her rapist was a Black man. And I thought he should spend the rest of his years staring at the pockmarked walls of prison cells that I knew so well.
The prosecutor’s job, unlike the defense attorney’s or judge’s, is to do justice. What does that mean when you are asked by some to dole out retribution measured in years served, but blamed by others for the damage incarceration can do? The outrage at this country’s criminal-justice system is loud today, but it hasn’t led us to develop better ways of confronting my mother’s world from nearly a quarter-century ago: weekends visiting her son in a prison in Virginia; weekdays attending the trial of the man who sexually assaulted her.
We said goodbye to my grandmother in the same Baptist church that, in June 2019, Senator Kamala Harris, still pursuing the Democratic nomination for president, went to give a major speech about why she became a prosecutor. I hadn’t been inside Brookland Baptist Church for a decade, and returning reminded me of Grandma Mary and the eight years of letters she mailed to me in prison. The occasion for Harris’s speech was the annual Freedom Fund dinner of the South Carolina State Conference of the N.A.A.C.P. The evening began with the Black national anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” and at the opening chord nearly everyone in the room stood. There to write about the senator, I had been standing already and mouthed the words of the first verse before realizing I’d never sung any further.
Each table in the banquet hall was filled with folks dressed in their Sunday best. Servers brought plates of food and pitchers of iced tea to the tables. Nearly everyone was Black. The room was too loud for me to do more than crouch beside guests at their tables and scribble notes about why they attended. Speakers talked about the chapter’s long history in the civil rights movement. One called for the current generation of young rappers to tell a different story about sacrifice. The youngest speaker of the night said he just wanted to be safe. I didn’t hear anyone mention mass incarceration. And I knew in a different decade, my grandmother might have been in that audience, taking in the same arguments about personal agency and responsibility, all the while wondering why her grandbaby was still locked away. If Harris couldn’t persuade that audience that her experiences as a Black woman in America justified her decision to become a prosecutor, I knew there were few people in this country who could be moved.
Describing her upbringing in a family of civil rights activists, Harris argued that the ongoing struggle for equality needed to include both prosecuting criminal defendants who had victimized Black people and protecting the rights of Black criminal defendants. “I was cleareyed that prosecutors were largely not people who looked like me,” she said. This mattered for Harris because of the “prosecutors that refused to seat Black jurors, refused to prosecute lynchings, disproportionately condemned young Black men to death row and looked the other way in the face of police brutality.” When she became a prosecutor in 1990, she was one of only a handful of Black people in her office. When she was elected district attorney of San Francisco in 2003, she recalled, she was one of just three Black D.A.s nationwide. And when she was elected California attorney general in 2010, there were no other Black attorneys general in the country. At these words, the crowd around me clapped. “I knew the unilateral power that prosecutors had with the stroke of a pen to make a decision about someone else’s life or death,” she said.
Harris offered a pair of stories as evidence of the importance of a Black woman’s doing this work. Once, ear hustling, she listened to colleagues discussing ways to prove criminal defendants were gang-affiliated. If a racial-profiling manual existed, their signals would certainly be included: baggy pants, the place of arrest and the rap music blaring from vehicles. She said that she’d told her colleagues: “So, you know that neighborhood you were talking about? Well, I got family members and friends who live in that neighborhood. You know the way you were talking about how folks were dressed? Well, that’s actually stylish in my community.” She continued: “You know that music you were talking about? Well, I got a tape of that music in my car right now.”
The second example was about the mothers of murdered children. She told the audience about the women who had come to her office when she was San Francisco’s D.A. — women who wanted to speak with her, and her alone, about their sons. “The mothers came, I believe, because they knew I would see them,” Harris said. “And I mean literally see them. See their grief. See their anguish.” They complained to Harris that the police were not investigating. “My son is being treated like a statistic,” they would say. Everyone in that Southern Baptist church knew that the mothers and their dead sons were Black. Harris outlined the classic dilemma of Black people in this country: being simultaneously overpoliced and underprotected. Harris told the audience that all communities deserved to be safe.
Among the guests in the room that night whom I talked to, no one had an issue with her work as a prosecutor. A lot of them seemed to believe that only people doing dirt had issues with prosecutors. I thought of myself and my friends who have served long terms, knowing that in a way, Harris was talking about Black people’s needing protection from us — from the violence we perpetrated to earn those years in a series of cells.
Harris came up as a prosecutor in the 1990s, when both the political culture and popular culture were developing a story about crime and violence that made incarceration feel like a moral response. Back then, films by Black directors — “New Jack City,” “Menace II Society,” “Boyz n the Hood” — turned Black violence into a genre where murder and crack-dealing were as ever-present as Black fathers were absent. Those were the years when Representative Charlie Rangel, a Democrat, argued that “we should not allow people to distribute this poison without fear that they might be arrested” and “go to jail for the rest of their natural life.” Those were the years when President Clinton signed legislation that ended federal parole for people with three violent crime convictions and encouraged states to essentially eliminate parole; made it more difficult for defendants to challenge their convictions in court; and made it nearly impossible to challenge prison conditions.
Back then, it felt like I was just one of an entire generation of young Black men learning the logic of count time and lockdown. With me were Anthony Winn and Terell Kelly and a dozen others, all lost to prison during those years. Terell was sentenced to 33 years for murdering a man when he was 17 — a neighborhood beef turned deadly. Home from college for two weeks, a 19-year-old Anthony robbed four convenience stores — he’d been carrying a pistol during three. After he was sentenced by four judges, he had a total of 36 years.
Most of us came into those cells with trauma, having witnessed or experienced brutality before committing our own. Prison, a factory of violence and despair, introduced us to more of the same. And though there were organizations working to get rid of the death penalty, end mandatory minimums, bring back parole and even abolish prisons, there were few ways for us to know that they existed. We suffered. And we felt alone. Because of this, sometimes I reduce my friends’ stories to the cruelty of doing time. I forget that Terell and I walked prison yards as teenagers, discussing Malcolm X and searching for mentors in the men around us. I forget that Anthony and I talked about the poetry of Sonia Sanchez the way others praised DMX. He taught me the meaning of the word “patina” and introduced me to the music of Bill Withers. There were Luke and Fats; and Juvie, who could give you the sharpest edge-up in America with just a razor and comb.
When I left prison in 2005, they all had decades left. Then I went to law school and believed I owed it to them to work on their cases and help them get out. I’ve persuaded lawyers to represent friends pro bono. Put together parole packets — basically job applications for freedom: letters of recommendation and support from family and friends; copies of certificates attesting to vocational training; the record of college credits. We always return to the crimes to provide explanation and context. We argue that today each one little resembles the teenager who pulled a gun. And I write a letter — which is less from a lawyer and more from a man remembering what it means to want to go home to his mother. I write, struggling to condense decades of life in prison into a 10-page case for freedom. Then I find my way to the parole board’s office in Richmond, Va., and try to persuade the members to let my friends see a sunrise for the first time.
Juvie and Luke have made parole; Fats, represented by the Innocence Project at the University of Virginia School of Law, was granted a conditional pardon by Virginia’s governor, Ralph Northam. All three are home now, released just as a pandemic would come to threaten the lives of so many others still inside. Now free, they’ve sent me text messages with videos of themselves hugging their mothers for the first time in decades, casting fishing lines from boats drifting along rivers they didn’t expect to see again, enjoying a cold beer that isn’t contraband.
In February, after 25 years, Virginia passed a bill making people incarcerated for at least 20 years for crimes they committed before their 18th birthdays eligible for parole. Men who imagined they would die in prison now may see daylight. Terell will be eligible. These years later, he’s the mentor we searched for, helping to organize, from the inside, community events for children, and he’s spoken publicly about learning to view his crimes through the eyes of his victim’s family. My man Anthony was 19 when he committed his crime. In the last few years, he’s organized poetry readings, book clubs and fatherhood classes. When Gregory Fairchild, a professor at the Darden School of Business at the University of Virginia, began an entrepreneurship program at Dillwyn Correctional Center, Anthony was among the graduates, earning all three of the certificates that it offered. He worked to have me invited as the commencement speaker, and what I remember most is watching him share a meal with his parents for the first time since his arrest. But he must pray that the governor grants him a conditional pardon, as he did for Fats.
I tell myself that my friends are unique, that I wouldn’t fight so hard for just anybody. But maybe there is little particularly distinct about any of us — beyond that we’d served enough time in prison. There was a skinny light-skinned 15-year-old kid who came into prison during the years that we were there. The rumor was that he’d broken into the house of an older woman and sexually assaulted her. We all knew he had three life sentences. Someone stole his shoes. People threatened him. He’d had to break a man’s jaw with a lock in a sock to prove he’d fight if pushed. As a teenager, he was experiencing the worst of prison. And I know that had he been my cellmate, had I known him the way I know my friends, if he reached out to me today, I’d probably be arguing that he should be free.
But I know that on the other end of our prison sentences was always someone weeping. During the middle of Harris’s presidential campaign, a friend referred me to a woman with a story about Senator Harris that she felt I needed to hear. Years ago, this woman’s sister had been missing for days, and the police had done little. Happenstance gave this woman an audience with then-Attorney General Harris. A coordinated multicity search followed. The sister had been murdered; her body was found in a ravine. The woman told me that “Kamala understands the politics of victimization as well as anyone who has been in the system, which is that this kind of case — a 50-year-old Black woman gone missing or found dead — ordinarily does not get any resources put toward it.” They caught the man who murdered her sister, and he was sentenced to 131 years. I think about the man who assaulted my mother, a serial rapist, because his case makes me struggle with questions of violence and vengeance and justice. And I stop thinking about it. I am inconsistent. I want my friends out, but I know there is no one who can convince me that this man shouldn’t spend the rest of his life in prison.
My mother purchased her first single-family home just before I was released from prison. One version of this story is that she purchased the house so that I wouldn’t spend a single night more than necessary in the childhood home I walked away from in handcuffs. A truer account is that by leaving Suitland, my mother meant to burn the place from memory.
I imagined that I had singularly introduced my mother to the pain of the courts. I was wrong. The first time she missed work to attend court proceedings was to witness the prosecution of a kid the same age as I was when I robbed a man. He was probably from Suitland, and he’d attempted to rob my mother at gunpoint. The second time, my mother attended a series of court dates involving me, dressed in her best work clothes to remind the prosecutor and judge and those in the courtroom that the child facing a life sentence had a mother who loved him. The third time, my mother took off days from work to go to court alone and witness the trial of the man who raped her and two other women. A prosecutor’s subpoena forced her to testify, and her solace came from knowing that prison would prevent him from attacking others.
After my mother told me what had happened to her, we didn’t mention it to each other again for more than a decade. But then in 2018, she and I were interviewed on the podcast “Death, Sex & Money.” The host asked my mother about going to court for her son’s trial when he was facing life. “I was raped by gunpoint,” my mother said. “It happened just before he was sentenced. So when I was going to court for Dwayne, I was also going for a court trial for myself.” I hadn’t forgotten what happened, but having my mother say it aloud to a stranger made it far more devastating.
On the last day of the trial of the man who raped her, my mother told me, the judge accepted his guilty plea. She remembers only that he didn’t get enough time. She says her nose began to bleed. When I asked her what she would have wanted to happen to her attacker, she replied, “That I’d taken the deputy’s gun and shot him.”
Harris has studied crime-scene and autopsy photos of the dead. She has confronted men in court who have sexually assaulted their children, sexually assaulted the elderly, scalped their lovers. In her 2009 book, “Smart on Crime,” Harris praised the work of Sunny Schwartz — creator of the Resolve to Stop the Violence Project, the first restorative-justice program in the country to offer services to offenders and victims, which began at a jail in San Francisco. It aims to help inmates who have committed violent crimes by giving them tools to de-escalate confrontations. Harris wrote a bill with a state senator to ensure that children who witness violence can receive mental health treatment. And she argued that safety is a civil right, and that a 60-year sentence for a series of restaurant armed robberies, where some victims were bound or locked in freezers, “should tell anyone considering viciously preying on citizens and businesses that they will be caught, convicted and sent to prison — for a very long time.”
Politicians and the public acknowledge mass incarceration is a problem, but the lengthy prison sentences of men and women incarcerated during the 1990s have largely not been revisited. While the evidence of any prosecutor doing work on this front is slim, as a politician arguing for basic systemic reforms, Harris has noted the need to “unravel the decades-long effort to make sentencing guidelines excessively harsh, to the point of being inhumane”; criticized the bail system; and called for an end to private prisons and criticized the companies that charge absurd rates for phone calls and electronic-monitoring services.
In June, months into the Covid-19 pandemic, and before she was tapped as the vice-presidential nominee, I had the opportunity to interview Harris by phone. A police officer’s knee on the neck of George Floyd, choking the life out of him as he called for help, had been captured on video. Each night, thousands around the world protested. During our conversation, Harris told me that as the only Black woman in the United States Senate “in the midst of the killing of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery,” countless people had asked for stories about her experiences with racism. Harris said that she was not about to start telling them “about my world for a number of reasons, including you should know about the issue that affects this country as part of the greatest stain on this country.” Exhausted, she no longer answered the questions. I imagined she believes, as Toni Morrison once said, that “the very serious function of racism” is “distraction. It keeps you from doing your work.”
But these days, even in the conversations that I hear my children having, race suffuses so much. I tell Harris that my 12-year-old son, Micah, told his classmates and teachers: “As you all know, my dad went to jail. Shouldn’t the police who killed Floyd go to jail?” My son wanted to know why prison seemed to be reserved for Black people and wondered whose violence demanded a prison cell.
“In the criminal-justice system,” Harris replied, “the irony, and, frankly, the hypocrisy is that whenever we use the words ‘accountability’ and ‘consequence,’ it’s always about the individual who was arrested.” Again, she began to make a case that would be familiar to any progressive about the need to make the system accountable. And while I found myself agreeing, I began to fear that the point was just to find ways to treat officers in the same brutal way that we treat everyone else. I thought about the men I’d represented in parole hearings — and the friends I’d be representing soon. And wondered out loud to Harris: How do we get to their freedom?
“We need to reimagine what public safety looks like,” the senator told me, noting that she would talk about a public health model. “Are we looking at the fact that if you focus on issues like education and preventive things, then you don’t have a system that’s reactive?” The list of those things becomes long: affordable housing, job-skills development, education funding, homeownership. She remembered how during the early 2000s, when she was the San Francisco district attorney and started Back on Track (a re-entry program that sought to reduce future incarceration by building the skills of the men facing drug charges), many people were critical. “ ‘You’re a D.A. You’re supposed to be putting people in jail, not letting them out,’” she said people told her.
It always returns to this for me — who should be in prison, and for how long? I know that American prisons do little to address violence. If anything, they exacerbate it. If my friends walk out of prison changed from the boys who walked in, it will be because they’ve fought with the system — with themselves and sometimes with the men around them — to be different. Most violent crimes go unsolved, and the pain they cause is nearly always unresolved. And those who are convicted — many, maybe all — do far too much time in prison.
And yet, I imagine what I would do if the Maryland Parole Commission contacted my mother, informing her that the man who assaulted her is eligible for parole. I’m certain I’d write a letter explaining how one morning my mother didn’t go to work because she was in a hospital; tell the board that the memory of a gun pointed at her head has never left; explain how when I came home, my mother told me the story. Some violence changes everything.
The thing that makes you suited for a conversation in America might be the very thing that precludes you from having it. Terell, Anthony, Fats, Luke and Juvie have taught me that the best indicator of whether I believe they should be free is our friendship. Learning that a Black man in the city I called home raped my mother taught me that the pain and anger for a family member can be unfathomable. It makes me wonder if parole agencies should contact me at all — if they should ever contact victims and their families.
Perhaps if Harris becomes the vice president we can have a national conversation about our contradictory impulses around crime and punishment. For three decades, as a line prosecutor, a district attorney, an attorney general and now a senator, her work has allowed her to witness many of them. Prosecutors make a convenient target. But if the system is broken, it is because our flaws more than our virtues animate it. Confronting why so many of us believe prisons must exist may force us to admit that we have no adequate response to some violence. Still, I hope that Harris reminds the country that simply acknowledging the problem of mass incarceration does not address it — any more than keeping my friends in prison is a solution to the violence and trauma that landed them there.
In light of Harris being endorsed by Biden and highly likely to be the Democratic Party candidate, I thought I would share this balanced, understanding of both sides, article in regard to Harris and her career as a prosecutor, as I know that will be something dragged out by bad actors and useful idiots (you have a bunch of people stating 'Kamala is a cop', which is completely false, and also factless and misleading statements about 'mass incarceration' under her). I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to be criticised or that there is nothing about her career that can be criticised, but it should at least be representative of the truth and understanding of the complexities of the legal system.
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