#we're one of the big boys now

[somegrumpynerd]

Before I forgetttttt

So color thinks Killer is brainwashed, BUT, what if one time when Killer's soul is normal and he can feel and think for himself again, what if they are chilling at Color's place and then Killer gets up and says something like "I have to go home, don't want to worry dad"

What would Color think ? Would he rethink everything because "wait, why did you call him dad ???" Or would he think that damn, this brain washing is even worse than he thought because apparently Nightmare makes them call him dad ?? Which is weird even for Nightmare that could be a manipulation method ??

Okay that's it byyyeee

OH I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THESE GUYS OKAY SO!!!!!

(I'm still new to Color so if I'm wicked super wrong let me know!)

I feel like no matter what Killer said about Nightmare, Color wouldn't believe it. If somebody's been held captive so long they no longer think they want to leave, of course they're going to say they like living there. No matter how much Color cares about him, I think he has to consider Killer an unreliable narrator as far as his own situation is concerned.

But! Color's main concern is giving Killer his autonomy back and helping him learn to make his own choices. This unfortunately means if Killer keeps choosing to go back to Nightmare, Color has to respect it.

I feel like the only way he would begin to slowly unwind and trust that Nightmare had good intentions would be to see it for himself repeatedly. It's going to take more than a few good turns to prove that he isn't just putting on an act when Color is watching and then turning the whip on them again when nobody's looking. That's going to be hard to set up though since neither of them want to be around the other very much lol

I do think a good start for it would be Nightmare giving Killer the choice though. Like, not that they don't get to choose things regularly, but Killer isn't really one to think much about what he wants or come forward with it so Nightmare kind of assumes he's content and doesn't really think to check in with him. So if he actually made a point of asking Killer what he wanted and he said he wanted to spend a day with Color, I think that would be a good start. Obviously Color's not gonna jump to trusting him after one day, but hearing that Nightmare is also giving Killer his own choices and actually respecting them might give him a bit more reason to trust him.

That said, the image of Color's face as he asks "he makes you call him dad??" is sending me lol

[nobodysdaydreams]

Giving a complicated tragic childhood backstory to your favorite character is all fun and games, until you realize you need to account for how old all the other adult characters would have been at the time and realize that scenes that would work perfectly if one character was twenty three and the other was fourteen stop working when you need other characters who are played by adult actors clearly younger than they are to be in college at the same time so your story beats line up thematically.

[arthursfuckinghat]

Arthur and Weetabix 𑁦𐂂𑁦 Horseshoe Overlook

[fidgetspringer]

.

[fluffypurpleglitterdemon]

If they keep the “reds aren’t allowed to be friends with yellows/greens” rule on Limited Life I am going to start biting

[tvrningout-a]

      i'm reposting a hc important to my portrayal of kaigaku bc i love him like the lil clown i am <3 keep in mind there's big spoilers for those not caught up with the manga.

personal blogs, do not reblog or you will be blocked!

     i have to share that my brain all day has been banging pots and pans that a good deal of kaigaku’s portrayal in the manga is a skewed perception of him bc it’s after he became a demon and we already know from many experiences with other demons that their nature gets all twisted up and it doesn’t have to take long for this to happen!! like yes he did some horrible stuff and he was the worst to zenitsu, but ofc all that we see of him is negative bc we’re constantly seeing him from other people’s viewpoints!! ofc we’d dislike him when we’re witnessing him through zenitsu’s eyes and gyomei’s!! but just bc he was terrible to some people doesn’t mean he was terrible all the time.

     why do you think he became a demon slayer y’all....... when he could’ve made an escape any time after he left for final selection. gramps likely had to drag zenitsu to final selection, but not kaigaku -- lad had plenty of opportunity to abandon such a dangerous profession. so why do you think he became a slayer?? to redeem himself, to make amends for the blood on his hands, to maybe prove to himself he isn’t a monster. and maybe he hoped to feel like he belonged bc he could never feel at home anywhere, not really. and what do you think happened when muzan got his claws in him?? he took all the insecurity and resentment and turned the dial to 1000000000.

     i’m just saying that my portrayal will focus heavily on a kaigaku who isn’t the villain even though he isn’t exactly a great person or necessarily good all the time. i wanna focus on the fact that mistakes don’t have to define a person if they don’t let them. i wanna write the kaigaku who just wanted to fit in, to be recognized and praised and be accepted after going nearly his whole without ever feeling that way. and good GOSH I JUST LOVE THIS STUPID ANGRY THUNDER CHILD OKAY!!!!

[ask-the-friendly-ink-demon]

1K FOLLOWERS

“MOM, DAD, LOOK! WE’RE FAMOUS!!!!!!!!” --- ohhhh my god- oh my god. this- i was not expecting this. loRD- im- im shocked, but. none the less. happy, happy that this blog has made it this far, proud that even to this day some people still like the content and stuff i have, even if it’s now either heavily outdated, or doesn’t fit within the lore persay, or in this case i lowkey cringe at now due to my writing style JKGDFKHKFHKDFHK but still, 1k and 94 followers... hollly shit... i wanted to do something special, like- make an message or something but. Christ im just. too excited i just went and did this, im glad that this blog has managed to stay up to date, glad that people still find stuff on here funny or good or decent, and im glad overall that i still have friends here that remain, i am sorry everyone for not being as active as i’d like to be, i wANT to be more active, really. i do. it’s just been... yeah, a bit hard at the moment. but lord... i’ve been here... probably since the start of the game itself in essence... and just over-time. the blog has grown into SO much more. im proud of what was gained, and what was had, the people i met along the way, people that i still keep in touch with, they helped me so much with ideas, lore, advice, and mentally helped me overall become a better and more mature person than how i was in 2017 and onwards. im proud to have made it this far, 6 whole years ever since this whole blog began, and it’s anniversary is coming in two months, 5 and a half years or so since this blog and AU started, and in just two months, it’s gonna be 6 years old... a lot has changed, a lot HAS been changing, me making the story and AU feel more grounded in some manner to the actual games but still having some elements of the original AU’s script intact. originally this blog was just meant as a simple modern retelling of bendy and the ink machine. told through asks, and ofc, after the events of ink machine AND i guess dark revival at this point, and you’ve all, watched me, and these characters i’ve used, to grown and mature and evolved over time. becoming more than what they were. becoming basically special. i hold them all dearly ro my heart, i loved using these guys, and i love the interactions they have, including Prowler’s. he’s made so many friends on here. so many relationships, and yet. only a few remained. the only ones he found again, were my boys @ask-modern-demon @ask-soul-bendy @ask-the-demon-of-joey-studios and @onexeyedxtwin​ ‘s own bendys but even then. i still remember the memories and interactions that they all had overall. but.. thank you all. thank every single one of you, this blog has grown so much, and i hope that over-time. it will continue to grow as i improve the AU a lot more, to make it truly a lot more better than it really is, with that being said. in order for me to truly make some of these stories in the blog matter i have but one simple announcement. throughout this time frame. i have only truly ever completed was FOUR arcs, the first was the halloween crossover arc, the second was the recovery arc, back when i had prowler with the purple eye. and the third arc that was the more recent ones, was the Faded arc, despite how shortlived it was. and of course. most recently in last late last year or so. maybe in late 2021 or something. Prowler’s Revenge Arc, the rest of the arcs after? either never went anywhere, or were eventually scrapped and discontinued. that being said, i am going to be remaking an very old arc on here. to have it fit in MORE with the new lore and a hint of things to come in the memory loss arc and the finale of the lanky saga overall. i am going to be merging both the halloween crossover, AND the recovery arc, into one story that i’ll be making over-time, ofc it’ll probably be published after i finally finish the new and improved main story AND the one people have probably been asking for in secret. my take on Dark revival in this AU. it is coming, and the reboot to the OG story will be a thousand times more better than how it was originally. but yeah, i am going to be rebooting and merging two of those old completed arcs, into an story of sorts cause i do NOT want to scroll all the way down to the halloween posts and remake them all, because one it would take forever, and two. i simply genuinely don’t know how else to make it better so. the old halloween arc will simply just be an standard halloween thing with prowler being over-reactive, the REAL story to that arc, will be posted sometime whenever i have a grasp of what to do, obviously im not keeping in the crossover, that just ain’t right. hence why im merging in both the recovery and halloween arc into one story. i dunno when each ‘chapter’ will be posted but i guess expect it as things yet to come before we finally put an end to the lanky saga, and have things go back to a bit more normal and happy go lucky around blog, i love the comedy, i love the interactions, and the asks that makes my characters just question their own reality JGDFKHFKHKFH, and i miss that, i felt like i made this blog WAY too serious real fast. but yeah. that’s all, thank you all. for being here with me, from start to present, it’s been nearly 6 years since this blog began, and we have finally done it, finally made it to 1k, and im just... happy, so... again. thank you all. i mean it.

stay safe out there people. this is toon, your friendly tired artist and writer, and friend, here’s to hoping the rest of 2023 won’t be me becoming an cryptid again LOL... but yeah. thank you one and all, i mean it. even to my friends. you all helped me grow as a person, and so... with that... one last time before i finish this post... thank you. every single one of you... that is all! hope you all are excited, i know i am.

[britneyshakespeare]

it is weird being an aromantic asexual who is incidentally attractive. like. i just came back from a concert with my friends who have known me for years and know that about me. some of the very few real-life friends who know that about me actually and i only told them relatively recently. regardless. the only reason i had bothered to bring it up w them is that they had seen me in SO many situations that telling them “i’m asexual” was if anything just clarification. just confirmation, like, don’t worry. it’s not an inability to attach to others or whatever. if you can’t tell. like they’d seen me be pursued by quite a few people in our time as friends and at some point it seems like a curious thing if i only ever seem to feel negatively about anyone who’s attracted to me, ever, no matter who it is. and they were understanding and i knew they’d be. yeah.

we were talking on the way back about bucket list concerts we’d still like to see. we saw stromae which was a really big one of mine (my fucking boy btw, i had an amazing time). i mentioned that i don’t have very many, as i’m rarely the person to be like “yeah, let’s go to a concert” unless i have people i know i wanna go with. like i’ve been meaning to see the jonas brothers w my sister and sisters-in-law ever since they came back because it’d be a fun thing for us since we always listen to them together. 

but i would genuinely love to see super junior someday, like just for myself, wherever whenever if i was just able to get transportation (i don’t drive). i’ve loved suju for years but i got really back into them in 2020 in the pandemic as a sort of nostalgia comfort thing (but also the music they’ve put out in recent years is like, literally the best in their discography, they just keep getting better w age). and i had to go on this tangent to explain it, right?

in the first months of the pandemic, there was something weird happening to people psychologically. some kind of end-of-the-world loneliness. i mentioned that i had like 5 or 6 different people in my DMs at the time interested in me. not all of them men. and the friend who was driving said “you know, diana, if this were literally anyone else talking, i would think that this is some enormous humblebrag—”

and i like. didn’t even think about it that way. i was just trying to make my point that i had a serious thought in 2020 of like, when the world opened back up, just doing one (1) seriously manipulative thing in my life and convince one of those men who was thirsting for me to buy me tickets to super junior and go with me. it was hypothetical. this hasn’t happened and all but certainly will not. i would not feel good taking advantage of someone’s feelings like that. 

but i had to go on a tangent even before that because i was like. oh my goodness. i didn’t even realize that was a humblebrag. i’m sorry. i’m just telling a story.

[puppy-the-mask]

So I've been cooking up some alternate outfit ideas for my Lmk sona and this is what they'd look like if they were with the Demon Bull Family! The idea is basically they'd be something of a court musician but it's mainly just a title.

Edit: Added the version without her armor <3

I don't have a concrete story but the initial idea was that cas was friends with swk in the brotherhood days and stuck with dbk after everyone else got sealed away and the whole consumption incident went down since she had nowhere else to go (and conveniently was the only lady around that he could ask for relationship advice when courting Iron Fan). They didn't expect Cas to live this long, only really expecting to have her around through her natural lifespan but they noticed she wasn't aging so now she gets to be their babysitter for date nights! Through the years she's been something of an aunt/sister figure and has become fiercely loyal to the family despite having no desire to take over the world. Redson built her electric bass and the armor she wears over her gems, the Bass has 2 extra buttons on it- the fire button spews fire out of the pipes and the Bull button unsheathes her sword from the neck of the instrument since she can't exactly walk around with a sword on her hip so easy these days. She travels with a heavy metal band across the continent- i like to imagine her intro episode has the crew excited about a big band coming to the city and while they wait they run into redson and annoy him cause he's bragging about getting exclusive vip passes to the show. The crew would expect someone mean from the music and the from the rest of the family but Cas is super welcoming and nice when the crew sneak backstage to bother redson some more XD

[fellator]

I have to keep watching but benny's dead and meg is dead and mrs tran is dead (allegedly) and bobby has been finally decently put to rest and castiel is missing so like. who am i suppose to watch it for. sam and dean? don't be silly

[arolesbianism]

Alright boys pack it up no more rain world posting new oni dlc is coming out in less than a week

[muppetebbtide]

trojan war tumblr simulator

🌊 is-the-sea-wine-dark-today

YOU BET IT IS

#the wine dark sea!!!!!!!!!!!! #wine dark sea #wine dark sea posting

108 notes

✌🏻 ajax2electricboogaloo follow

why is achilles the only demigod who's Like That? like he's my boy but u don't see memnon or aeneas or sarpedon acting like him on the reg. why is he so maladjusted? like specifically? I saw his mother once and was so terrified by the sight of a goddess I flung myself to the ground and hid my face in the dirt til she left but I still don't think that accounts for it idk

🏘️ nobody1020

it's blonde man syndrome hope this helps

340 notes

⚔️ sonoftydeus

opening my askbox so that we can discuss strategies on taking troy!

3 notes

anonymous asked: we should all go home :)

⚔️ sonoftydeus answered:

FUCK OFF AGAMEMNON I WANT REAL SUGGESTIONS

50 notes

nobody1020 asked: do u like..... horses

⚔️ sonoftydeus answered:

odysseus do I even wanna know where this is going

45 notes

⌛ isthetrojanwaroveryet?

year 9, day 234: still no....

#all our admins keep DYING

500 notes

‼️ trojan-confessions follow

I think my wife might be sending me anon hate :/ keep getting asks like 'hope u die on the battlefield tomorrow silly slag' and 'menelaus should have curbstomped you' and in her big tapestry of warriors she made me look stupid

🐴 horsetaminghector follow

lmaooo is this paris??

🔮 cryinglikecassandra follow

kinda think helen should send MORE anon hate idk

600 notes

❓ myrmidons-confessions

I was the one who wrote the achilles/agamemnon 100k slowburn enemies to lovers rpf and put it on the group chat but now patroclus is calling me 'agachilles boy' and laughing about it and asking if I can proofread his mock bardic epic where all his dogs are heroes and killing people, so I fear I've made a mistake. I also can't look achilles in the eye anymore... but honestly I've never seen proof he can read so I might be safe

❓ myrmidons-confessions

5000 notes

👑 kingofmycenae

👍🏻 ajaxthegreat

achilles is DEAD and ur posting CRAB RAVE?????

🏘️ nobody1020

I think that's why he's posting it ngl

300 notes

😹 deiphobus42069

imagine being the achaeans and your best warrior gets killed by PARIS, after everyone else had awesome deaths at the hands of sarpedon or hector or memnon... like that's literally so embarassing I just know achilles is fucking fuming down in hades rn. I bet the achaeans are gonna put around that paris was guided by apollo, or that paris happened to hit his only weak spot..... anything 2 try and make it less cringe.... lol lol we're popping the biggest bottles tonight. hope helen's there

🐆 leopardskiniscool

???????????????

#I mean. yeah. but also. #deiphobus wtf I thought we were chill

240 notes

#hope everyone can be normal about the outcome!!! :)

340 notes

🧑🏻 randotrojansoldier-deactivated-8578543

so excited to go back onto the field of battle tomorrow! sure hope I don't encounter any of the big-name heroes

🗣️ homer follow

I hope you don't too! I'm sure you'll do great!

🐎 antilochussss

not the direct address????

✌🏻 ajax2electricboogaloo

direct address got him :(

3000 notes

💂🏻 trojanguardtales follow

fuck my job so much I hope that this wooden horse tribute to the gods turns out to have some guys inside or something just so I can DO something rather than standing here like a twat with my spear

💂🏻 trojanguardtales follow

by ares this can't be happening

345 notes

⚔️ sonoftydeus reblogged menelauskingofsparta

do NOT order achilles from shein!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#oh yeah #I was stuck with temu achilles in the trojan horse for six hours #and by hour two agamemnon had suggested killing and eating him #and odysseus was threatening to 'send him to meet his father' #and it's not even like there's any kleos in killing priam!!! #anti neoptolemus #neoptolemus defenders dni #vent tags

100 notes

[bi-writes]

Could we get some Simon POV on mail order bride reader? Perhaps his thoughts on how timid she is?? Pls and thanks!

mail-order bride

it is something that he knows as soon as you step over the threshold for the very first time. he's observant to a fault; he can't be surprised by anything because he pays too much attention to the small details, to the things no one gives a second glance.

the way your head whips around when a loud noise carries across the room. the way you jump when you weren't expecting him behind you, crowding your space. the soft way you talk, the way you constantly try to make yourself disappear when there are others in your vicinity.

it speaks volumes, this kind of behavior. this intense need to appease others, to not disturb them, tiptoeing to gauge reaction to make sure you haven't done anything wrong, that you haven't upset anyone.

simon knows this kind of timidness all too well. he sees the veil that you wear, the kind that flutters when a hand is raised; he recognizes it, and you are a reflection of a woman that he used to know.

a woman he used to look up to. one that he loved, and one that loved him back.

the more time he spends with you, the more unlike himself he feels, the more aware he is of the other half of himself that is so far away from him, a stranger. never in simon's life has he felt that same burning anger. he's never felt the need to make those around him afraid. he's never relished in being the bigger man, the stronger one--and when the voices get loud enough, he still remembers being the boy who hid under his bed until he was too big to fit underneath it.

so he makes his steps louder. he shuffles his feet on the carpet. he makes them heavier, soft thuds that can be heard in the hardwood of the kitchen.

he makes noise. in whatever room he's in, he makes it known. the clatter of his toothbrush into its holder. the metal scratch of hangers as he gets a jacket. the clatter of a mug in the sink. the thunk of his boots by the door.

you stop flinching. you stop looking over your shoulder. the sounds of his boots coming off, it brings you into the living room to greet him. when you hear his toothbrush in the bathroom, you shuffle inside so you can stand beside him and do the same. when you hear him in the kitchen, you always pad into the room, giving him those big, soft eyes and asking him for the millionth time if he needs help (no, go fuckin' sit down, too pretty to be workin').

there is a woman in simon's life who used to do the same. who used to be too scared of the world to ever live in it. who never got the chance to unlearn all of the ugly that the wrong man had taught her.

simon grabs the canvas bags in the closet, tossing them over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door.

"we're goin' t'be late," simon calls out. "won't 'ave the bread y'like 'f we don't leave now."

"coming! coming!"

you hurry into the living room, shrugging on your cardigan as you go for your purse hanging by the front door. you slip into your shoes, following simon as he walks out the door.

when simon makes his way down the steps, he expects to have to tell you to stop, to let him walk down the steps first so he can give you his hand; but when he turns, you're waiting there at the top of the steps, fiddling with your purse. he holds out his hand, and you take it on instinct, without even looking, letting him guide you until you've made it to the pavement and can walk to the car.

and when you make it to the passenger side, you're standing at an angle, putting your earrings on as you wait for simon to open your door.

as you wait.

after simon pulls the seatbelt around you and clicks it closed, he lingers, staring at you as you try and fix your hair in the rearview mirror. you pause, looking down at him, giggling.

"what is it, simon? i-is there something on my face?"

he sighs deeply, shaking his head. he lifts a hand, cupping your cheek, swiping a thumb under your eye before stepping back to close your door.

"no," simon mutters. "look bloody perfect."

there's no past with you. only present.

[pinkfemgurl]

"It seems like someone raided my room while I've been away~" Your roommate says coyly. You try to explain what's going on but no words would leave your mouth, the sheer amount of embarrassment and shock has left you speechless. "Awww you're blushing, and judging by how you're dressed this isn't the first time you've worn my clothes. I know this because the items you're wearing right now are pretty old and were in the back of my closet." You attempt to take off the clothing but were stopped by your roommate. "Ah let's keep you dressed like this! You look soooo much better this way~ In fact, it's not like you have much of a choice anyways!" Your roommate begins waving the camera in the air mockingly. "Unless... you want me to send these photos of you prancing around in your roommates underwear to your family... Do you?" You shake your head and begin pleading not to do such a thing and your roommate just laughs while taking more photos of you.

"Here's what we're going to do... We're going to gather all of your old boy clothes and put them in giant trash bags. You're going to put on one of my sluttiest miniskirts and crop tops and then we're going to load the bags up in my car and drop them off at a donation bin because you won't be needing them anymore.

Afterwards we're going to hit up the big clothing mall and we're going to use your entire wallet to buy yourself a whole new wardrobe! Don't worry, if you can't afford anything you can always pay me back... by making content." Your roommate says with an evil smile.

"Oh! And before we go I have a gift for you! As a sign of being my new girl roommate, for my general security, as well as to make sure you don't get us in trouble while in public... you are going to put this on!" She smiles gleefully handing you something pink and metallic.

It's a small flat pink chastity cage that she handed you and without much thought she takes it back and begins locking it on you, too fast for you to even react. You ask her why she has one and she looks up for a second after turning the key to lock, locking you in your own emasculated prison and says,

"I've always had a thing for controlling my boyfriends, but this time I think I want a pretty slutty roommate girlfriend under my control~" Your whole body shudders in fear at the thought that this whole ordeal wasn't going to end tonight, and that this was just the beginning of an entire new chapter of your life.

Another long story! I hope you enjoy!

[ravensmadreads]

TAYLOR -

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

i breathe you in (and it changes me)

rating: teen pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader word count: 2K summary: you've been here with him before - rock bottom. But this time, he gives you reason to hope for something new. warnings: alcohol use, mentions of drug use, physical fighting, blood, wounds, bruises, mentions of past toxic behavior a/n: your original ask @bitchwitch1981 got swallowed up by tumblr, so i had to create a new post :( but I wanted to say thank you so much for requesting this - it was more therapeutic to write than i initially thought!

1K ask:

Sweet Taylor, Congratulations on the amazing milestone! 💜 I have decided to go for astrology for The Midnight Seance. I have chosen the prompt “Hold my hand please?” “When you ask so nicely.” and my own darling Dieter Bravo.

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Dieter Bravo Masterlist

The damp heat of the night is made worse by the thick knot of chittering spectators by the back alley of the club. You can hear the fleshy blows, hear the flesh rip and tear the veins, the delighted groan of the crowd after a particularly sickening crunch. White lights of camera flashes flicker, the smell of blood acidic on your tongue, the metallic taste getting stronger the closer you get to the front of the crowd. You see the blur of an arm just as you shove aside a man recording the whole scene with his phone; how much will TMZ pay for even seven seconds of that video?

Across from you, a thick shadow with bloody knuckles paces like a caged tiger, snorting with rage, the spectators jeering and howling their approval. The man, twice as thick as you are, waits at the edge of the fight, his vision locked forward, massive hands itching to rip apart something alive. 

Whatever is left alive of the heap of clothes in front of you.

It shudders, arms and legs curling beneath it, and rolls backwards. The crowd lets out a disgusted groan at the sight of the bloody face. Your heart sinks to the sticky concrete.

Oh, Dieter.

Asphalt digs into your knees as you kneel down next to him, the sounds of the crowd fading as panic swells within you. He doesn’t even register that you’re there until you touch his cheek. One eye completely swollen shut, blood running down from his nose over his upper lip, he meets your gaze and flinches. 

“Sorry,” he slurs – either from his split lip or being drunk out of his mind, you can’t tell, “you look like my ex.” 

“Dieter, it’s me.” 

His collar is torn, blood speckles cover the front of his shirt, and his jeans are filthy. Judging by his own shredded knuckles, he might have actually gotten a few good hits in. Gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning. You put a hand on his shoulder, looking for any other open wounds, for more blood – and he shoves you off.

“Go away. I’m kicking this guy’s ass.” 

Groaning, Dieter staggers to his feet, the blood freely flowing from his nose now. He gets upright and immediately stumbles, hands going to his knees, much to the deformed glee of the crowd. They whoop and laugh and hold their phones higher. 

Even in heels, you’re several inches shorter than him and you intentionally didn’t wear that much clothing – you were going to club with your friends to forget – but you try to shield him from the camera lenses anyway. 

From the back of his throat, Dieter spits out a wad of blood. “Fuck, my head hurts.” The drool that slips from his mouth is pink and frothy.

“Dieter, c’mon, we’re going.” 

You drag his arm over your shoulder, shifting as much of his weight onto you as you can. His entire back and underneath his arm is drenched in what you pray is sweat. Behind you, you know the other man is yelling, shouting, something about teaching that fat mouth a lesson, but you do what you’ve alway done when it comes to Dieter: you put yourself between him and an oncoming car crash. 

Hoping a grown man won’t take a full swing with a woman in kitten heels and a slinky dress nearby, you half-push, half-carry Dieter back towards the way you came in, but you make it two more steps before he pushes you away again, his fingertips drifting down your shoulder. His face is twisted up in agony.

“Fuckin’ stop. I don’t need your help.”

You grab him by the bicep, twisting him to you again, and he stumbles, muttering a gruff sorry. Blood from his nose drips down onto your bare chest. He watches it, transfixed, his emotions crackling from one high to the next low. 

You cup his bruised, swollen jaw and his wet eyes meet yours and for an instant, no one else exists. His bottom lip trembles. 

“Dieter” you murmur, low enough for just him to hear, just enough for him to lean forward, to let himself be captured by you – briefly – just as he always had been. “We’re going home, okay?”

He nods, eyes shut, swaying, and lets himself be dragged away. 

Beyond the black partition, you hear music. Too soft to be distinct, too faint. Yet it sits between your teeth all the same, hums in the back of your jaw. Static noise. 

In your lap, lays Dieter’s head. Your skirt feels damp from where the blood from his nose gathers. It stopped dripping minutes ago but the spot still feels cold, still thick with it. Your hand curls in his hair, loose but weighted. Grounding. He always said this was his favorite spot in the entire world. 

You didn’t tell the driver to go east, towards Sherman Oaks, but the opposite direction, towards the rental property you kept by the beach. Before that, home had always been Sherman Oaks, but . . . in the after, you couldn’t even bear to see the name on the sign. 

Partially it’s practical. Given the swarmed mob, there most likely was another one waiting for him at the gates to his mansion. He doesn’t have his phone, you know, which is most likely a curse and a blessing. When it comes to moments like these, you’ve learned to deal with the problem right in front of you, one at a time. Or rather, the one in your lap. 

You swore you’d never be here again, you swore that you’d learn to unremember what here even feels like, and yet you ran to him all the same. This is not the first time you wonder if leaving him bleeding and drooling into the concrete would have been the right thing to do. 

The car drives you both towards the rental because you want him there. You want him to fill up that empty space in your bed, smear the too messy sink in the bathroom with uncharged electric toothbrushes and toothpaste that tastes like cotton candy, and bring a sense of wonder back into your increasingly dark days. But with all that, comes this. The black partition ahead of you blurs, your eyes grow hot and tight, submissive to the beaks of birds, and the back of your fingers not caught in his hair press harshly to the back of your mouth. You fight a shudder because you know he can’t bear to see you cry. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

His apologies always start like this, a little broken, a little roundabout way of getting to the heart of things. You sniff, your hand slipping to his shoulder and grasping it tight. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay, baby?”

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

Your head bumps the back of the seat, as you swallow a sob and a laugh all at once. You squeeze him – no, no, of course not, you never mean it, you never mean any of it — 

“My therapist said they would help. And then they did. But I couldn’t get you back.”

He mutters something, rubbing his face slowly in your lap, like a blind kitten, his big hand over your knees, but you’re too stunned to parse out his babbling. 

“You went to therapy?” 

“Still in it.” He wheezes through a bruised rib. “She’s gonna be so pissed about this.” 

“You’re not high?” 

He shake-rubs his head again, the curls at his forehead catching against the sequins of your top. “Just drunk. I fucking hate being drunk.” 

He babbles some more, the words looped on tangled string, but you sit up, and gently turn his face towards you. The bleeding has stopped, but the swelling has set in. His right eye is black and blue, the skin puffy and tender. There’s a cut across his left cheek and his lip is split down the middle. Fuck, if these don’t heal right, that could be the end of his career. 

Goddamn it – and why would you care about that? It’s not your job to care anymore. 

You reverently trace a finger over his black eye, his cheek, his lips, to the blood on his temple. Tragedy always looked so good on him. 

His hand catches yours. You think his good eye might be filled with tears.

“I tried to get better . . . for you. For us. I took all the right pills, instead of the wrong ones this time, and I thought I was better.” Dieter shifts, so his back is against the seat and he’s looking straight up at you. He holds your hand to his chest, his other rising up to cup your cheek. That single touch cracks your resolve, your rule against letting him affect you, and you cry. He watches the silent tears roll down your cheeks, over his thumb. You think he looks remorseful. “I tried to get better and you moved on without me.”

It only just now occurs to you that he had most likely been inside the club when you had, had probably seen you and never said anything. He watched you dance and drink and try to forget him with other sweaty bodies and he never said a thing.

Bruised anger, the kind that melts off your ribs, flares bright within you and you jerk your face away from his touch.

“You don’t get to blame me for your shit anymore, Dieter.” 

His fingers curl and he swallows, the dried blood around his mouth cracking. “No, baby, I’m not. I’m not. I’m sorry I ever did. I didn’t mean it, I never mean it – never meant to hurt you. But I do, don’t I? I hurt you all the time.” 

Your anger throbs. “Then why? Why, Dieter, would you wait to get help until after I was gone? Didn’t you want to try . . . to salvage something, anything between us?”

His hand drops to his chest. 

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

You suddenly recognize the weight of his head on your lap, the density of his shoulders against your lap, and you, in a cycle of regret and love, want to scream at him. Want to shake him. Instead you brush his sticky curls off his forehead and a single tear escapes the corner of his eye, down his temple. 

“You silly, silly boy.” You sniff, tears freely flowing, and curl a strand of his beautiful hair in your fingers. “I would have been there for you. I’m glad you got help, and I hate that this was a relapse, but I would never have judged you for trying to get better, even if you failed. You were the one who didn't want me to see that side of you, Dieter. I never stopped loving you.”

For a moment, he goes still, the darkness of the night street obscuring his face, blurring him into one dark shadow that wheezed and sighed. You’re about to seek out his hand in the dark, if not his face, not his wounds, when he lets out the most broken noise you’d ever heard come from anyone. 

It’s a noise that will haunt you in nightmares for years to come.

“Oh,” he says. 

The car rolls to a stop, the faint music barely heard over the rush and crash of the waves on the other side of your rental. The radio goes silent and the partition rolls down. 

“We’re here, miss.” 

You wipe your eyes, mascara streaks turning your finger tips black, and cough to clear the knot in your throat that beats in time with your heart. Hands curling under his shoulders, you move to lift him up off your lap.

“C’mon, Dieter, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up–,”

“Wait.” He visibly swallows, nothing else on his face so clear in the dark. You feel a faint drop on your skirt. “I mean, I’ll go but . . . hold my hand – please?” 

Despite yourself, despite him, despite your tear-drenched lips, you lean down and kiss his forehead. Your shared shaky breaths are trapped between your chest and his.  “Only when you ask so nicely.”

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